#admittedly my first thoughts after were how do we make this more heartbreaking

[justm3h]

“50% sick” By PerpetuallySleepy

The nicest thing I can do for a surprise Coop fic is do a little doodle in return.

What a delightful little treat! Nailed Coop perfectly. Check it out!

#it’s very cute #my art #subway master coop #subway master ingo #subway master emmet #submas #pokemon #little cuddle joltic #slapped on some colors for shading #admittedly my first thoughts after were how do we make this more heartbreaking #but that’s a story for another time

[queerfandomtrifecta]

How Izzy’s Death Could’ve Made Basic Storytelling Sense

Just to be clear, Izzy is my favorite and I wanted him to live more than anything. This isn’t about that, and that is NOT why I hated his death. Had it served the narrative in a way that made even the most basic storytelling sense, while I’d admittedly have been devastated in a different way (i.e. the character whose queerness was relegated to the subtext in s1 and as soon as it’s textual and his whole arc is that he’s killed, but that’s a whole separate post…), but at least there would’ve been a correctly crafted arc from a surface level narrative standpoint that ended in the death of my favorite character. But that’s not what this is about. It’s is about how the show could’ve actually made the death actually make sense and work effectively. (Also, if you want my unasked for thoughts on how most of the existing plot of s2 (minus 7-8) could’ve easily been adjusted to fix the narrative as a whole and keep Izzy alive, I wrote this)

But. For those in the fandom insisting that Izzy HAD to die, including DJenks who has said as such in interviews (for reasons I do not understand), from an objective developmental editor standpoint, this is what I think needed to change to make Izzy’s death serve the narrative, character arcs and dynamics, pacing, structure, and thematic elements correctly.

It’s about 2K words just so you know what you’re gonna get into. Spoilers under the cut.

Issue 1. Izzy’s relationship with the crew and how they truly became his family this season totally vanished during his death scene. The same crew who he protected from Ed during the later, worse parts of the Kraken phase. The crew who banded together to save his life by hiding him from/lying to Ed about it, and amputating his leg to save him. The crew he saved by crawling up those stairs during the storm, hobbling out into the rain with one leg and shooting Ed before he could shoot a cannon ball through the mast and kill them all. The crew who called him “our dick”. The crew that then banded together with Stede’s half of the crew to him the leg and the new unicorn (aka the figurehead of the ship). That crew didn’t cry a SINGLE tear when he died. What?? Fang sobbed most of episode one and really lost it when Izzy got shot. Where was that when he died?? Izzy’s last speech to Ricky had something along the lines of: piracy is about belonging/family. We are Good. (Forgive me, I’m paraphrasing, but that’s the gist). Izzy truly did find his family in the crew outside of Ed. That was absolutely fantastic, especially in the first four episodes and episode six. It VANISHED when he was dying and dead.

The fix: To make the death impactful, effective, or even to make it make sense on a very basic acting and writing level, the crew should’ve been utterly DEVASTATED. At least heartbreaking music and like 30 seconds of everyone breaking down and holding each other. At least some of them crying and holding each other in the background when he was dying. Come on.

Issue 2. Thematically speaking, is piracy Good or Bad? Again, Izzy tells Ricky that they (the pirates/his crew) are capital G Good. Yet Ed has spent a lot of time maintaining piracy is capital B Bad. He tells the urchins as such. Here’s some money that I never had, now you don’t have to be pirates. Don’t be pirates. He doesn’t want Stede to kill Ned Low in cold blood. Ed just doesn’t want to be a pirate. Even at the end AFTER Izzy dies telling Ed he’s with his family (implied that this is the crew) and they love Ed, Ed LEAVES THAT FAMILY AND LEAVES PIRACY IMMEDIATELY. We’re left with him and Stede watching the family Izzy swore was Good and loved Ed sail away because Ed thinks piracy is Bad. Which is it?? The death served nothing in convincing Ed he could be happy with his found family on the sea as Ed, not Blackbeard, so the dying words were pointless. The thematic elements are all over the place (for the whole season but that’s another post) and that needs changing to make the death scene make sense.

The fix: Izzy should’ve told him he sees he doesn’t want to pirate anymore, he’s glad he’s found love with Stede because Izzy isn’t going to make it, go run your fokkin’ inn, you twat (affectionate).

Issue 3. Izzy died of bad planning and bad luck. Why didn’t they take the gun from Ricky? Between Spanish Jackie, Izzy, and Jim, SOMEONE would’ve thought about it. If not those three, someone else would’ve, but come one. One if not all of those three would’ve known better. Yeah, Izzy happened to be standing in front of Ed and he got shot instead of him, but you’ve gotta be REALLY looking for that to even be aware it’s what happened. It wasn’t even on purpose unless Ed strategically placed himself behind Izzy (which I doubt was the intent). Izzy didn’t position himself protectively/take the bullet for anyone on purpose. It was just happenstance and you only notice it if you’re rewatching and hyper-analyzing everything (which a lot of us, me included, in the fandom do, but casual watchers don’t. It’s totally unclear as far as the surface level narrative goes) Any sort of “heroism” is not acknowledged, it’s barely even noticeable in the shot. If that was the intent, it HAD to be clearer and acknowledged by the characters so the audience would realize the stakes and repercussions of clear choices. As it is, I don’t think it was intentional. If Izzy HAS to die, it should truly have rounded out his arc in a way that CLEARLY changed the course of the scene, leaving him to protect people he’d put in danger at the end of s1. It didn’t. It just read as terrible planning to the point of it being out of character for more than one character, and bad luck.

The fix: Izzy should’ve saved someone. I personally don’t like the idea of it being Ed. I’s have rather he save Stede (Not really, but it’s better than Ed I guess) But really Izzy should’ve died saving the crew. The crew makes the most sense to me, narratively speaking. He’s their figurehead, he’s protected the Kraken Crew for months and they should’ve been fiercely loyal to him, he blames himself for what Ed did to them (more on this later) so it makes sense for him to fiercely protect his crew. His family. Who should’ve been devastated that it happened because Izzy is the one character of the main three who’s managed to earn that status this season.

Issue 4. The death did not serve to move the plot along. There are literally zero things that would’ve been different for the end of the episode, save Izzy being alive and on the Revenge in his rightful role he earned with his crew as the captain, if he’d have lived. Ed and Stede aren’t partnering with Zheng to go after the guy who killed him in the next season. Nope. They got the offer but nah. They’re running an Inn. Which Izzy would’ve supported based on literally everything we’ve seen from him in episodes 5-8. The crew who Izzy protected fiercely and who viewed him as their leader? Not one tear during his death or the the funeral. Happily sailing away to do presumably more Muppet Treasure Island hijinks. No character development happened. No plot development happened. The season could’ve ended literally the EXACT SAME WAY with Izzy alive aboard the Revenge!!! No stakes were changed at all. No one was impacted enough for it to seem like it was even going to be a plot obstacle next season. It just happened, Izzy’s toxic situationship who maimed him multiple times over the course of months to the point of his leg needing to be amputated was sad for one (1) scene, then we moved on and did not seem sad at all at the funeral. What.

The fix: The plot should’ve been driven by the death. Ed and Stede (but especially Ed), and DEFINITELY the crew should’ve been sailing off plotting to avenge the death and defend piracy against Ricky and the British, especially with Zheng who lost her whole fleet. Ricky and the British are clearly (or so I hope, nothing’s clear here anymore tbh) the primary antagonist for the theoretical third season. No one should be running an whim-based inn for fun or sailing off happily into the sunset after the death of the most major character aside from Ed and Stede, who beyond proved himself a major part of something every character (his family) should’ve cared about this season. If he HAD to die, that death should have furthered the plot. But instead, it seems everyone shrugged it off with tears exclusively from Ed.

Issue 5. Izzy got shot in the left side. The side in which canonically NO ONE DOES FROM BEING INJURED ON IN THE OFMD UNIVERSE.

The fix: Yeah I know this is just too nit-picky but it was also just SO sloppy. Like just shoot him on the other side if he has to die, because this was a very memorable plot point more than once in s1. Like, come on y’all.

Disclaimer: Issues/fixes 1-5 would all need to happen together to truly fix it and make the death serve the narrative correctly. Issue/fix 6 is a totally separate route, which I personally hate, but at least the narrative would’ve made sense this way.

Issue 6. The idea that Izzy had to die so that Ed could be free of Blackbeard makes no sense at this point in the story. Ed already threw away his leathers and gave away his treasure to symbolically get rid of Blackbeard, and Izzy very sweetly encouraged him to follow the feeling that throwing out the leathers gave him. Izzy told Stede that he and Ed were good for each other. They balance each other out. Izzy is on good terms with both of them and their relationship, so Izzy “having to die” so Ed could flourish as Ed genuinely makes no sense and came totally out of left field.

The fix for 6: This one stands alone and is my absolute least favorite option, but if it HAD to happen without the 1-5 fixes, here’s how it could’ve made sense. If THIS is truly the way it was going to end, Izzy needed to be continuously antagonistic or avoidant to at least Ed and actually be shown holding Ed back from happiness until that last second. He wasn’t. He was so much better. Izzy clearly does blame himself (that’s for a separate post because I have lots of thoughts there) but to be fair they were both abusive in that relationship, for years it seems. Although I think by the beginning of s2, the power dynamic has clearly flipped and it was Ed who was doing most of it and Izzy was exhausted and knowingly “reaping what he’d sewed” (I don’t Blame Izzy for his abuse but I think this was his mindset) so the crew wouldn’t get the brunt of it.

If he seriously HAD to die because the writers just had to have it that way, those are the changes I think would’ve made the narrative work/make sense, served all the character arcs and dynamics correctly, and actually driven the plot as fictional deaths are supposed to, compelling things into a third season. Seriously, this season finale was a mess of baffling choices the most series finale season finale I’ve ever seen.

Anyway. There’s my unsolicited two-cents. Now back to hoping Izzy’s in the gravy basket waiting to be sea witch necromancied back by seagull Buttons in season 3. I love this show and I hate hating what I hate hating about it because it’s my absolute favorite and I can’t stand it because it’s fantastic and the worst thing I’ve ever seen. (Also, Izzy should’ve lived).

#ofmd spoilers #izzy hands #ofmd #ofmd season 2 #ofmd season 2 spoilers #ofmd meta #izzy my beloved #izzy deserved better #we deserved better #eyyyy djenks if you need a dev editor for s3 just hmu #david jenkins #ed teach #stede fucking bonnet #stede bonnet

[hyperfixated-fan]

I have some semi-coherent thoughts now. I want to specifically analyze that final scene and why that in particular had me bursting into tears. (I still can’t watch it without tearing up.) I use the term “analyze” loosely and really mean stick around and listen to me emotionally ramble.

FIRST of all, they hit us with grown up Omega, which automatically hits you in the feels because this is the naive, bright-eyed child we’ve watched be amazed by dirt now getting ready to head off and fight in the Rebellion.

Then, they hit us with her exchange with old man Hunter. We got that bittersweet ending in the best way possible.

This is the payoff. The Bad Batch has raised her well. She has grown up into the type of person who sees the injustices in the galaxy and wants to do something about it. It’s time for her to take up a cause and fight.

Hunter’s response. “And we want to keep you safe.”

Omega: “You have. But I’m not a kid anymore. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Hunter: “You’re our kid, Omega. You always will be.”

Admittedly, this exchange here hit me deep on a personal level as someone who’s going to be moving out very soon. It’s time to grow up and I want to do this to step into who I am meant to be. But I also know in my parent’s eyes, I’ll always be there little child. And that both warms and breaks my heart just as it does theirs.

My personal life aside, from a storyline perspective, it is adorable how Omega reassures Hunter that they have kept her safe. I mean, just look at her! Look at the bright young person you’ve managed to raise, Hunter. The father genes are strong in this one.

Omega tells him: “Hunter, you’ve all fought enough.”

This in it of itself is heartbreaking. The clones have all fought enough for a Republic that ultimately failed and discarded them. Clone Force 99 was fortunate to end up fighting for something worthwhile. For them, they fought for family and they ultimately won. And now, it is Hunter’s turn to lay down his arms to let the next generation take up the fight. And that stings because while he managed to eventually raise Omega in peace, he cannot fully shield her from having to bear the burden of war.

Honestly, I often think of Thrawn’s lines when talking to Hera and I think it’s applicable to Omega as well. “War is in your blood… You were forged by it.”

Here is Omega telling Hunter that it’s her fight. As a clone, it’s in her blood, in her genes, to fight. As a child raised on the tail end of the Clone Wars, it is her fight because she inherited it. As a person, it is her fight because she’s not one to stand aside while others are oppressed. Once again, a sign of how well-raised she is.

Hunter acknowledges Omega’s readiness, “I know you are… but I’m not.”

Oof. His admittance is a double edged sword. He knows she’s ready, he helped train her himself after all. It’s obvious he is so proud of her, but he doesn’t feel ready to let her go. Listening to his perspective really makes me tear up because it really gives insight on how my parents are handling my move. They don’t necessarily want to say goodbye but they are willing because they know I can accomplish what I set out to do.

THE HUG.

Yeah, I’m drowning in a sea of tears. This is so wholesome!

Before Omega boards her ship, Hunter is sure to tell her, “If you ever need us,

Omega need only say the word and you best believe her brothers are crossing the entire galaxy more than five times to be at her side.

And yeah, that makes me cry all the harder because I know my family will do the same.

And the goggles scene was such another bittersweet punch in the gut.

She’s definitely older than Tech was when he died, but the life she got to live on Pabu and what she’s going to do in the future is exactly why he sacrificed himself. She can live and live well. She’s forever going to be carrying a piece of him with her and carry on his legacy by utilizing the knowledge that he bestowed upon her. I’m definitely sobbing even harder. Tech girlies, I think denial is no longer an option.

Omega takes off in her ship and her theme swells in the background and it a scene of pure art and emotion. Batcher whines as she departs and I am so sad that Omega didn’t get to take Batcher with her because it parallels how I have to leave my fur babies behind!

The Bad Batch has showed us how change greatly affected everyone’s lives and how they learned to adapt to such changes. Yet, there was the constant that no matter what happened, family is still family and you can find a way to carry on to a brighter future.

Hunter’s final lines really get me, “It’s all right, girl. She’ll be fine.”

To me, I can almost take it as a message for myself. As the Bad Batch draws to a close and Omega steps into a new chapter, so must I. It’s rather daunting, but you know what, I’m gonna be fine and I’m gonna make it.

Whatever you are going through, just know you’re going to be fine as well.

#star wars #the bad batch #tbb #tbb spoilers #tbb hunter #clone trooper hunter #tbb omega #tbb tech #clone trooper tech

[tragicbeauty1991]

So I know I’m extremely late to the party, but I FINALLY got around to watching Wish now that it’s up on Disney+ and…I genuinely don’t understand why it got so much hate?? Sure, maybe it wasn’t on par with things like The Lion King or Frozen in terms of the lasting effect it’ll have on pop culture but it was still a good, fun film with original characters and plot and catchy songs. While I can see where some of the complaints are coming from, I feel like ultimately most of them blow the issues out of proportion. As for my personal thoughts on the film…

- The songs were good overall. Maybe not as memorable as some of my favorite ‘90s Disney jams, but topping Phil Collins and Elton John is admittedly hard to do. Ariana DeBose and Chris Pine were great, though. I honestly had no idea Chris Pine could sing so well. “At All Costs” was by far my favorite song of the entire film. I would have loved to see it as a love duet rather than singing to the wishes but regardless, it’s beautiful. “This is the Thanks I Get” got a lot of flak, but honestly, I thought it was catchy and fun—rather reminiscent of Gaston’s pub song about himself.

- Speaking of Magnifico… More backstory, please! I would love for a sequel to do what they did with Frozen and explain all the things that were not fully developed in the first film. I want to know details on what happened to Magnifico’s family… But man, oh man… Was I EVER happy to get a “real villain” again with more of a classic Disney feel—dramatic, over the top, a little unhinged…and just FUN. I think the reason so many people seem to be having a problem with him is that they don’t quite know how to categorize him, though, before his ultimate downward spiral after being possessed by the book. (I think after that point, no one would argue about him being a villain.) But before…while he’s definitely narcissistic and has a temper…he’s not straight-up evil. There’s a big difference in being a bit of a jerk and being someone who makes you legitimately fear for your life. In fact, we have several heroic characters in the Disney canon who at least start out their story in a similar vein. Prince Naveen, Peter Pan, and Emperor Kuzco, for example, are all full of themselves and entitled…but they ultimately choose to do the right thing when it comes down to people they care about. That is to say, Magnifico’s less than ideal character traits we see early on in the film shouldn’t automatically qualify him as a villain. He could frankly go either way. And then when he does “go dark” it’s ONE stupid decision on his part (going for the book) that ruins any chance he had of being like the aforementioned characters. Personally, I like the complexity…and the tragedy of what it means for Queen Amaya. Which reminds me…

- Yes, a villain power couple would have been fun. But honestly, I think I like this better. Partly because of the angst potential here. For all his faults, Amaya DOES genuinely love him, and watching him slowly lose his mind and himself to the power-hungry monster he becomes has to be absolutely heartbreaking for her. Also…maybe it’s just because I identify with Amaya here. I have been in a bad relationship where I did truly love the other person and thought they loved me…but ultimately, they seemed to love themselves more. And I made excuse after excuse for his behavior for a long time because I couldn’t see what he was doing to me…didn’t want to see it…because I loved him. People say Amaya had to have known sooner that something rotten was going on but I don’t know that she ever allowed herself to think anything other than the best of him. Amaya has a good heart…and sometimes those people see the best in others even when it isn’t there. What I really would have loved is to have Amaya and Magnifico sing a short reprise of “At All Costs” in which Amaya is asking, “Really? You’ll hoard all these wishes for your own selfish reasons even at the cost of losing your people’s love? Of losing me?” And Magnifico is just…stoically resolute. That would have hurt but it would have been so good!

- Similarly, I don’t get the complaint about Star. I wouldn’t mind seeing Star Boy like he was in the concept art and having a romance with Asha. But also…Star is ADORABLE, okay?? He may not speak but he has so much personality. Makes me think of like…Pascal in Tangled or even Tinkerbell.

- I know a lot of people complained about there being too many references to other Disney films but this just seems like a silly argument to me. Disney has always liked to leave little Easter eggs in their films and have some fun with crossovers. I am thinking of the Genie imitating Pinocchio and pulling Sebastian out of nowhere in Aladdin. Hidden characters in the background of other films like Flynn and Rapunzel showing up in Arendelle. Hidden Mickeys. And of course shows that were all about a Disney multi-verse that sort of pokes fun at itself like Once Upon a Time, House of Mouse, and even Ralph Breaks the Internet. With this being a special anniversary film, of course we ought to expect more nods to other films and Disney animation history. I thought it was cute. Especially Magnifico’s jab at Asha’s little moving drawing. (“Is that a talent?”) Made me literally laugh out loud.

- I think the one complaint I do agree with at least in part is the, “But Magnifico was right, though??” Some dreams shouldn’t come true. Especially if it’s a wish you’re making when you’re 18. There are definitely things I wished for at 18 that I am glad I did not get in hindsight. Sometimes what we wish for isn’t what’s best for us or others. And while Asha’s wishes are selfless and for others…she seems to assume that everyone else will also have equally harmless, selfless wishes. It’s sweet but perhaps a bit naive. Also…Asha has good intentions but it is rather funny and frustrating as the adult to watch this teenager come in and try to upset the whole system thinking she knows better than the person who has been running the kingdom for years. That said… Asha isn’t totally wrong either. The wishes do ultimately belong to the people who made them and it’s better even if it’s painful to have a dream in your heart than to be lacking purpose. It may be easier to forget the wishes entirely but certainly not healthier. Ironically, if only these two could have worked together, they actually would have made a great team.

Overall, I liked the film. And I think if I was still a child myself, I would have enjoyed it even more.

#wish #disney wish #wish 2023 #wish asha #princess asha #king magnifico #queen amaya #ariana debose #chris pine #Disney

[jamesunderwater]

20 Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ꜰɪᴄ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇʀꜱ

Thanks for tagging me!! @gracelesslady23 @annabtg @kay-elle-cee this was very sweet to get to do.

Ao3 Username: itsjamespotter

1. How many works do you have on A03?

31, wow! How wild, that feels like a lot.

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count?

162k!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

HP

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Show and Tell (3k, wolfstar smut)

Dead To Me (91k, wip lily evans angst)

Tall Dark and Glasses (3k, jily fluff)

"you have no idea how long i've been wanting to do that" (1k, prongsfoot smut)

Bring Your Kid to Work Day(s never end when your godfather is Sirius Black) (2k, good godfather sirius black fluff)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to, or at least have the goal to, but admittedly I'm very bad at it. (not to use it as an excuse but my adhd is fully to blame.) I plan to go back and catch up on all of them soon & have a dream of being much better about it, though. I do intentionally make sure I eventually respond to the ones for my WIPs, at least.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

well, since dead to me hasn't ended yet (kidding kidding kidding kidding!!!) lmao I really thought I was gonna have a hard time finding a fic with an unhappy ending but I evidently forgot who I am. I dunno how to choose between: 1. i don't even know where you end and i begin (500 words, canon prongsfoot....you get it) 2. Promises to Keep (1k words, dorlene with canon ending....you get it)

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Okay listen, do I technically have a fic that mentions living happily ever after in the last line? Yes. Am I choosing that fic? No. I'm choosing Happy Holidays, You Filthy Potters, because 1. smut, 2. sassy young Harry, and best of all, 3. sassy good godfather sirius black 😉

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I've gotten a couple of comments about Lily in Dead To Me but I've decided it's not my problem if people don't have critical analysis skills 💀

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I do! I write smut for a number of different ships and plan on doing others! Uhhh, what kind? the fact that I don't really know what that means probably means it's pretty vanilla 😆 there's a lot of going down on people 🤐

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Haha, no, but if I did I'd probably do PJO/HP

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge. that would be so heartbreaking.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but that's SO cool that people offer to do that for some fics!!!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have!! @charmsandtealeaves and I co-wrote a fic for a jilychallenge last year, before we were even friends! It was my first time co-writing a fic, which was very cool and different, but also didn't feel that foreign to me -- I think because I've spent a lot more years doing para RP than I have writing fics. It was fun to kind of riff off another writer in a different way. I would definitely do it again!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Okay, this is kind of tough because I only recently got into Prongsfoot, and they are the definition of soulmates... But because I ultimately see Sirius as more of an ace/aro character, Jily wins the place of favorite ship in my heart. <3

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Well, I really only have two WIPs posted on AO3: Dead To Me and Just This Once, and I have all of DTM outlined and plan to finish it by fall. Just This Once might be a while, but I also have a plan for it and would like to finish it at some point... But I guess there's a chance I won't finish it -- I do have a lot of other multi-chaps I am going to be starting soon.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Hm. I like to think I'm good at getting into the minds of my characters, really thinking through their motivations and emotions and then expressing those to the reader. I also think I'm fairly good at dialogue. I really like writing banter so I hope others think I'm good at it, haha. And based on what I've been told, my smut isn't half bad 😆

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Oh, definitely writing descriptions of any kind. I never remember to describe the scene and when I do, I think it feels clunky. I'm not great at writing in a more direct way, either; I struggle to express a character's emotions without getting a bit flowery with it. Just generally, I think my writing could be tighter, you know? I'm sure I'll realize other things I need to work on as I write more long fics, too.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Ah, haven't done it yet, so don't have any thoughts to share.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

HP -- Jily on the Neopets forums... never 4get <3

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

If we're talking finished works, I'd have to say Tall Dark and Glasses, which I wrote for the masquerade event for Jilytober last year. To me, that fic has a certain je ne sais quois that is hard to replicate. But unfinished? Dead To Me, hands down, and once it's finished it will be very hard to ever top it. It's imperfect and there are a lot of edits I'd make if I were to go back through and polish it up, but it's the first multi chap fic I've ever written, and beyond just feeling immensely proud of that, the story itself and how I'm writing it is one of the most heartfelt and meaningful things I'll ever write in my life.

these were such a pleasure to respond to, thanks again for the tags! <3 I'm tagging: @goldenbi @abihastastybeans & @nodirectionhome-ao3

#hp #me #my writing #jily #wolfstar #prongsfoot

[lazydoodlesandfanfic]

Our Gal (Steve X Fem!Reader X Bucky)

Characters: Steve Rogers X Fem!Reader X Bucky Barnes

Universe: Marvel, Avengers

Warnings: Presumed death

Request: If it's not too much trouble can I ask a stucky x reader where they first met in the 40's and R was known by everyine as their gal. Fast forward, avengers get invited to asgard by thor and stucky sees R while she was walking around the palace (cause she is a goddess) and it's just like a teary af reunion. (odin found out about stucky x reader in the 40's and he forbid R from going back to midgard)

Steve and Bucky had unique lives. That was undeniable. They had been born in a different time, born during the First World War, and grew up to be in the right age range for the second. They enlisted, they were experimented on, one of them also being tortured, and they were both frozen and thrown into a new time, and that was just the bare basics. However, they never forgot their roots. Steve never forgot his mother who he lost so early, and Bucky never forgot his baby sister who he never got to see grow up, get married, and have a family of her own. He’d often wonder what happened to her, but was always too afraid to go digging. While they were grateful to be in a time that was now a lot more accepting of them- though they still had to put up quite a fight and have Tony make a fuss to get the memorial for them change the phrasing to not call them ‘best friends’, that didn’t stop the pair from getting together whenever they both were free, and reminiscing. Today was no exception.

“Do you remember Y/N?” Steve had asked rather suddenly. These conversations were also great for Bucky in remembering parts of his past that he may not have remembered on first glance, and admittedly, Steve had been wanting to ask this question for a long, long time, but he was never sure if he would actually remember you, since quite a few things were still blurry for Buck- including loved ones. However, the fear of heartbreak of having to remind Bucky of you vanished as Bucky’s eyes seemed to light up, and Steve smiled.

“Do I? I don’t think I ever really forgot about her.” Bucky answered, his eyes wandering off to nothing as he went into a deep thought- reminiscing, pulling all the memories that included your face to the front of his mind, and the more he thought about you, the more memories he seemed to find, until he found one that made him laugh to himself. “Do you remember before you got the serum and we came to meet you in the bar, and we walked in right as we caught that soldier being an ass to you?” 

“And before you could do anything, she walked right up behind him and hit him so hard in the back of the head his cap went flying? And then she berated him until you had to pull her away?” Steve questioned with a smirk, and Buckly laughed quietly to himself. “Did I ever tell you about her reaction to me coming home after the serum?” 

“No, I don’t think you did.” 

“I came in and she was distracted, she turned around and I guess I scared her before she nearly punched me square in the face before I stopped her and she saw my face.” He retold the story, and Bucky burst out laughing, and Steve couldn’t help his own chuckle.

“How the hell did we get so lucky to have her?” Bucky questioned aloud after calming down a little. It was a good question, something Steve couldn’t answer either. They had met you just after they had finished school, your first interaction being when a man had cat called you and started following you when you didn’t respond and both of them, not standing for that, yelled at the dude to leave you alone, nearly causing a fight, before they offered to walk you home to ensure he didn’t continue following you when they were gone, and on that walk home, you three bonded exceedingly well and you agreed to meet with them at a later date. That first meet up quickly turned into a full blown date, which resulted in several more, until you were officially a couple. You blended in so well, it was like you were always there, always meant to be there. Always meant to be their gal. However, now you weren’t there, and the pair suddenly realised this, and a sad air surrounded them. “Do you think she’s still alive?” Bucky inquired.

“I… I tried looking for her. Any trace of her disappeared not long after the war ended. I don’t know what happened, Buck.” Steve answered, now regretting bringing you up. He wished he had a better answer. A real answer. He had tried looking for you- but records were poorly kept back then, or not kept at all, and he was only able to find those first few records of you after their ‘deaths’ because you stayed in the apartment you three shared until the lease ended, and you presumably moved out. He couldn’t find any marriage, birth or death records to show that maybe you could have moved on and lived a good life- a life he and Bucky would have wanted you to have without them, but nothing. You just… disappeared. “I could try having Nat look for her-” 

“Who are you talking about?” The booming voice got the pair’s attention as they turned to look at the demi-god, Thor. His appearance quickly reminded the pair of why they had shown up to work today- Thor was treating them and a few others of the team to a trip to Asgard.

“Oh uh… someone from our past… someone we miss.” Bucky answered, making it clear that he didn’t want to be pressed, and Thor didn’t. He simply nodded, and moved on with telling them that everyone was ready to go, and with that, they tried to push you to the back of their head, at least till they came back. Then they could properly talk about you, their feelings, and how they’d like to remember you by- maybe look for old photos of you and frame them or something.

They arrived at Asgard no longer than 30 minutes afterwards with their host, Natasha, Tony and Bruce. The others had noticed the pair being a little withdrawn, but a silent glance to ask if they were alright and a small sad smile told them they weren’t in the mood to talk, and so they just focussed on the beauty of the kingdom in front of them as they walked down the bridge towards it. Thor pointed them towards several landmarks and their story and importance as they left the bridge and entered the large area just outside the kingdom where people walked around, sitting and talking, or walking around the nearby stalls, watching entertainers, or stood watching their children chase each other around. 

Admittedly, Bucky hadn’t been paying attention. He was busy looking up at the towering structures around him, noticing a balcony on a turret, and he saw some ladies stood looking down at everyone They were far away, and while he knew his mind was just playing tricks on him because of his recent conversation, he swore one of them looked like you, though before he look closer, they evacuated inside. He sighed, before trying to focus on what Thor was saying, catching him talking about a time Loki stabbed him, which cheered him up a little, glancing at Steve to see how he was doing. He was smiling, but he could see that distant look in his eye. This was gonna sting for a long time. 

“Lady Y/N!” Thor’s call caught both men by surprise, immediately making them pay full attention to the god, seeing he’d turned towards one of the large entrances of the main castle, seeing a young lady rushing outside. Bucky recognised the dress colour from one of the women on the balcony, but she approached he realised… it was you. Bucky heard Steve gasp and shudder beside him, and Bucky felt himself become weak like all his energy had been drained from him.

You looked different. You were always radiant and beautiful, but right now, you seemed to exude radiance and beauty in tenfold, your hair styled intricately like the hair of the women around you, decorated with gold and jewels that seemed to drip down to your neck, waist, arms… you looked like royalty.

You looked like a goddess.

However, you weren’t striding over to them, holding yourself with the power you glowed with. Oh no. You were practically charging at them, and as soon as you were close enough, you dropped the front of your skirt to open your arms, grabbing both men and pulling them into the tightest hug you could muster. You were gasping for breath, and the two men were in disbelief that it was actually you holding them. That was, until your heavy breathing turned into sobs as you muttered. “My boys. I thought I’d lost you.” 

Your boys. They were your boys. And you were their gal. 

Both men immediately wrapped their arms around you in return, closing their eyes and just savouring the moment to finally have you back with them, something they had deeply believed would never happen again. The last time either of them had held you like this was on those last missions, promising to come home to you.

“Lady Y/N, How do you know these two?” Thor interrupted the moment rather sheepishly. The three of you gave each other a final squeeze before you pulled away and turned to face the long haired blonde, as well as your boy’s other friends who looked at you in awe. You clamped your hands together in front of you properly, straightening your back and raising your chin. 

“I met Bucky and Steve just before the Second World War when I stayed on Earth for a period of time… We’re extremely close.” 

“As in…” Bruce gently pushed for you to continue, though Steve was the one who spoke up with grin, resting a hand on your arm, and Bucky rather gently tugged on your other arm, and you unclasped your hands to hold his, and rest your other hand on top of Steve’s. 

“She’s our gal.” 

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in! 

*Not my gif

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[coming-back-to-june]

03.03.2023

3:23am

to my cruelest love,

i get triggered by the things others would probably deem trivial. i get triggered by the mention of bees, seeing crocheted bows, your favourite anime, my favourite songs, the musician you mentioned before and his most famous record, chocolate churros, buddhism, your language, and anything that somehow reminds me of you - may it be directly related or not.

most importantly, i get triggered by anything romantic - flowers, chocolates, teddy bears, little seemingly platonic touches with an affectionate undertone, the word "love."

despite knowing that it's a lost cause, i still wonder what would it be like had i been a little more honest? i keep on thinking back to our last interaction. i know that i was already truthful at the time - in fact, more than i should be - but what if i had just strived to be a little bit more honest?

you see, i have always been hard on myself. that is probably why i took a lot of hurt from you.

then again, you were not good for me. in fact, anyone in their right mind would probably celebrate my getting away from you. they would probably commend me for dodging a bullet. after all, you managed to unearth my deepest traumas. you drowned me in a dopamine spike and left me muddled by my own projections.

still, what if i had just used a different word other than "weird" to describe the first instance that i thought it could be different? knowing you, you would probably ignore all the positive stuff that i said in order to twist my words to fit your victim narrative.

sometimes, i find myself wondering about what happened that skewed your perception about the people that were generally just trying to be nice? is it because you've been used and discarded before that you somehow embodied the paranoia? therefore, in order to survive, you use and discard others before they can beat you to it?

then again, maybe this is just one of my many projections. after all, i do have that kind of trauma, albeit not carelessly throwing away people the way you did.

i really need to work on myself, don't i? if i ask you this question, you would probably say yes mockingly. this one, i can say for sure. you have a knack to secretly cover the towel with gasoline before you throw it on fire, effectively masquerading your bitterness with practised sympathy. you use it to get equal with my innate sarcasm, one that i admittedly use to charm others into believing my cause. what you failed to realise is that i can see through it and i chose to ignore it to trigger you. i have always been a little devil's advocate ever since i was a girl.

we never had a good relationship, but somehow i wish we could have been friends. that way, i won't have to form these projections to keep you alive in my mind or to romanticise our toxic similarities that ultimately led to a heartbreaking repulsion.

but maybe, us not becoming anything is for the better.

maybe, me not telling you about what i truly felt is the safest way to get out of that situation, with my dignity intact.

you made me feel unsafe until the very end, and that's because you don't have the courage to confront my truth or to make me confront yours.

so maybe, me leaving you permanently in that place is the best decision i could ever make.

but i hope you do realise that in spite of my words, me wishing you all the best in the world despite all the pain that you caused me is me telling you that i love you.

and me praying for your peaceful healing, despite being a non-believer, is me telling you that this love is real like no other. that even if we no longer see each other, i will tuck your memory safely in the deepest corners of my mind.

it sucks that i feel this way for the wrong person. and it sucks knowing that i will continue to feel this way for a long time.

but you know what sucks even more?

it's knowing that with my healing comes the end to this bittersweet affection.

that no matter how better of a person i think i will be when i survive this, i can never be that person to you because you will cease to exist in my reality.

and as sad as it might be, it is the only way forward.

[angeli-marco-writes]

Sherlock Holmes - Kiss Me, Mr Detective

A/N - Season 1!Sherlock, the cutie. And friends to lovers. Two of my favourite things. I do not own Sherlock Holmes, the character, the universe, the adaptations or anything: this is a work of fiction set on the BBC adaptation of Sherlock. Did I still write 8.2k words (exactly) for it? Yes. I also don’t own the song or the lyrics used within, and if you fancy it, listen to ‘Kiss Me’ by Ed Sheeran while reading.

Warnings - Bad language. Mentions of murder and drug usage. Mild angst. Smut, loss of virginity, masturbation, oral m receiving, penetration, unprotected sex, so 18+.

Summary - After a fight with John leaves Sherlock feeling particularly down, he calls on the one person who is always there to support him. Only tonight, it’s different. Feelings come to a head, exploration ensues, but is this just a one time thing? That depends on whether she stays the night...

TO SHERLOCK, it’s just another normal day, whereas to John? He’d rather not admit how regularly these awful days roll around. Sure, the case didn’t go as well as it could’ve, and Sherlock admittedly could’ve made much more of an effort to comfort John after the apparent ‘heartbreak’ he endured. He just could not understand it. Why the hell was John so emotionally responsive to a case they’d been on for less than twenty four hours which turned out to be a bust anyway? 

“You are absolutely unbelievable!” 

“People die every day, John. You’ve killed people, as have I. It isn’t that great a surprise.” Sherlock deadpans, picking up his teacup, raising it to his lips, drawing a long sip from the warm liquid. 

“Oh, yeah, of course. The proud, the cold untroubled heart of stone, that never mused on sorrow but its own.” John mocks. “Do you not even care that people are still dead despite the fact you solved the case?”

“They’d be dead either way,” he reiterates, “at least we got to them before they completely decomposed. Will me caring about them stop them from being dead? No, Dr Watson, it will not.”

“Sherlock!”

“John!” He mimics. 

John slams his hands down on the desk, shaking the wood and everything resting on it, surely sending the vibrations through the floor and notifying Mrs Hudson of their ‘domestic’ as she so likes to call them. The buffalo even begins to swing. John’s tea is long forgotten, but Sherlock’s is keeping him grounded, calm, as John waggles his fist in Sherlock’s passive, blank face. 

“You-” he pauses, gulping down breath. “You are a fucking machine, I can’t even deal with you right now. How dare you be so cold hearted and untroubled by this. You’re a disgrace.”

As if he hasn’t heard that one before, Sherlock scoffs. 

Placing his teacup back down with a clink, he stands, the darkness of the night, of the room, closing in on them both. Nights like these really are danger nights, any night John leaves him. That’s what's coming next, but there isn’t a thing he knows to say or do to prevent the inevitable. He’ll simply just text Her instead, she’ll keep him grounded. 

“Why? Emotional context? Emotion, whether of ridicule, anger, or sorrow, whether raised at a puppet show, a funeral, or a battle, is your grandest of levellers. The man who would be always superior should be always apathetic.” 

With a huff like a bull, John viciously turns on his heel, blaspheming under his breath, cursing Sherlock out. He reaches for his coat and snatches it off the stand, slamming the door open. 

“MACHINE.” John screams before pulling the door shut with a great slam, seething, the coat stand still rocking in his wake. 

John’s footsteps thunder down the stairs, but before he’s even gone, Sherlock’s phone is withdrawn, and he’s tapping out a message.

Can you come over? Please? SH

It wouldn’t usually bother him as much. The case didn’t phase him, at all, but John’s opinion did. It always does. But today was a particularly long day of being brutish and rude, cold and distant, his usual and true self, but John’s more and more impatient with him now. 

Being called a ‘machine’ is, again, nothing unusual, but this time it stings a little more than usual, especially after his recent arrest, and a fallout with Molly. He only has one person left, right now, who doesn’t hate him. His longest friend, the one he keeps away from it all so as to not tarnish her life with his misdeeds; Y/N, the one he can always rely on.

He knows she’s arrived by the sound of his window crashing open. Crawling up the bricks, skimming the drainpipe, latching onto the ivy; it’s her usual manner of entry. She never uses the door. 

Putting his cups and saucers into the sink, he makes his way through the house, opening his bedroom door to find her already sitting there on the bed, her coat hung up on the hook, her work clothes clinging to her body. 

“Hey there Mr Detective, you okay?” she asks as jovially as she can muster.

The way he ambles across the room, his dressing gown floating behind him, and slumps down onto the bed, instantly tells her he’s not okay at all. She can’t help but to look upon him sympathetically, edging a smidge closer to him, until he’s prompted enough to wrap his arms around her torso, finding his rightful place tangled around her. She knows him well enough - his past, and his current life - to realise she’s the only person he’s ever felt comfortable enough around to do this with, and that brings her a certain swelling pride in her bosom, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Sherlock as he feels her skin heat up against his cheek. 

It doesn’t take long, either, for his head to follow suit, burying into her chest. He’s always, always had a thing for her boobs, ever since they were in uni together. 

That’s something so special about the two of them, he doesn’t have to say anything for her to know he’s not okay the way he does with everyone else. And naturally, he can read everything about her in a split second.

“I’m here, bud.”

Above all else, he just needs to know someone is there for him in moments like these. The world is cruel to him, and Y/N wishes more than anything that it wasn’t. Upon instinct, her hands stray, one to his back, pressing against the silk of his dressing gown, the other cradling his long neck, fingers knotting in the dark curls there. 

She isn’t sure how long she stays there, simply holding him, feeling every twitch of his muscles, every breath of his against her skin, but she likes it. Of course she does, every time she likes it. Sherlock brings her an inordinate amount of comfort at the best of times, today is no exception, especially with what the day has held. Even when she’s the one comforting him, he doesn’t realise how much he helps her too. 

His flat is so familiar, his bed as comfortable as her own. She knows his sock index, she’s studied his periodic table over his shoulder more times than she’d care to admit, and she even has her own toothbrush in the bathroom in case she has to pop over for an emergency freshen up. Sherlock has, and always will be, her first port of call, and that she remembers as she shifts further onto the quilted bedspread, her phone on his oak bedside locker. 

His head begins to stir against her chest, his curls tickling her collarbones, small hums escaping his lips as he pushes himself up, his elegant yet trembling hands still splayed on her waist.

“I could feel your heart beating weirdly, what’s wrong?” he asks, quirking his eyebrows. 

“Just the usual.” she vaguely replies.

Sherlock isn’t having it, though, and scans her a little more. “You’re still in your work clothes.”

“Great deduction. I was hoping you’d go a little deeper, though.”

“You hate wearing work clothes longer than necessary, which means you had plans straight after work, considering you finished… five hours ago? That’s your usual time for today. Counting overtime, forty five minutes, walk to your car, another ten, but your umbrella wasn’t working, round that up to an hour, leaving at 6. You arrived home, no, not home, at your boyfriend’s house for dinner. However, you’re not comfortable enough with one another yet for you to use his shower, or perhaps you are, but you elected not to, and stay in damp clothes that only had seventeen minutes to dry with the heater on in your car for the journey there. You ate dinner, Mexican, had a glass and a half of five percent wine, realised you couldn’t drive, but you didn’t particularly want to stay. Nonetheless you sat and watched the telly with him for hours, football, I can see the dreariness in your eyes. I know how much you hate it, and frankly, same. You stayed for almost all of the match, seeing as you’re now sober, but something else happened.” She lulls her head to the side, prompting him, her smile not meeting her eyes. “As soon as the match ended, he tried to make a move on you, he pressed his mouth to yours, he tried to push his hand up your skirt;” his throat bobs with a vicious gulp; despising the thought of anyone else laying a finger on her, “you swatted him away, rightfully so.” 

He pauses a minute, his harsh tone of voice and his sharp face softening. He can see the vulnerability in her eyes, her walls about to crumble. This woman he appreciates so much. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

Smiling melancholically up at him, she brings her hand back to his hair, her fingers carding through the soft curls. His face buries back into her chest just as her voice offers a broken whisper, “I broke it off. I was the one who couldn’t commit this time.” 

And as she lays her head on top of his, her breathing more shallow, resounding in her chest, he dwells over those very words. The way she said them, not to mention the words themselves, hold a myriad of meaning. What could she possibly-

Oh.

The subtext, yes, impeccable. She’s always had a way with implications and subtext, always knowing that the likelihood of him actually picking up on it is little to none. But now, now he’s become trained to her, her way of life, her way of thinking, her way of speaking. This is too good an opportunity to miss. If she means what he thinks she means, ever hopeful, then this is completely unfamiliar territory. 

Gathering all of his courage in one deep breath, he begins to pepper kisses on her skin. The faintest brush of his lips on the tops of her breasts, all that’s available to him with her shirt the way it is. He feels her heart flutter, her breathing stutter, but despite the chemical flush of her chest, he still isn’t quite sure she likes it. Not until he feels her grip on his hair increase, and he glances up to see her head thrown back. Her spine delicately arches against his hand, thrusting her chest further into his face. 

His nimble fingers reach for her buttons, undoing the top two, giving him space enough to find the valley between her breasts. Lathering kisses there, licking the swells of her boobs, his tongue pulsates with the increased thrumming of her heart. The sensation is new, so unbridled, and he doesn’t quite know what to do with the stirring in his loins right about now. That unknowing is only further amplified by the sound that rips from her chest when he involuntarily bites down on the supple flesh. It couldn’t be… a moan?

Sure, he understands the chemistry of it, the reactions that occur in the synapses of the brain, the pheromones and hormones released when one is aroused, but this is all new to him. And, from his embarrassingly basic level of theory, surely that doesn’t start until some more stimulation on other parts of the body commence? Nipples, perhaps something lower down… then again, what does Sherlock know?

Of course it’s an intimate moment, the closest he’s been to a woman before, and maybe that’s why he freezes, stops, and she tugs his head up by his hair, her gentle, pleasured smile with her lips softly parted deepening the look of bewilderment painted onto his face. Her eyes are twinkling, alight with an excitement he hasn’t seen for far too long. 

“What are you doing?” she whispers. 

He shrugs his shoulders with a sudden force, his dressing gown falling off a little. “I don’t know. But now I feel like I read your pining words all wrong.” 

She gasps, a wheezing sound, sucking the air from the room. She smacks his arm gently, muffled by his button-down and dressing gown. “I wasn’t pining! I was saying.”

“Hmm, same difference.” 

Everyone must acquiesce when it comes to Sherlock Holmes. “But no, you didn’t read them wrong at all, but I know you don’t see me that way, you don’t feel things that way.” 

He pauses, his beautiful plump lips pursed, fidgeting on the bed. Brushing her hair off her face reveals the pain she expressed. However, her eyes glued on his, sadness is betrayed in every line of his young, clean-shaven face. His entire bone structure is taking a nosedive. 

“For you, I’ve been feeling everything from hate to love to lust, and I guess that’s how I know I want to hold you close.”

“Sherlock...” she whispers, her singular word an inflection of surprise. 

Never tearing his eyes from her, his hand comes up to her cheek, rubbing his thumb over the slightly blushing skin, searching her face, with his big blue eyes, for a shred of reluctance. But, all he sees is her, so he elects to do what his heart is yelling at him to do for once, and kisses her breathless. His full lips holding hers, his one hand on her face, the other still wrapped around her back. Hers fly around his neck, clinging to him for dear life.

It doesn’t take long, their movements steadily heating, for their previously slow, intimate kiss to grow into something more, Y/N pulling herself up from the bed and making herself comfortable on Sherlock’s lap. His breath hitches in his throat, a cute little hiccupping sound escaping his lips in between embraces. 

As much as he loves just this, soft caressing and gentle petting, he just knows she wants more. He does too, that much is evident from the length prodding at Y/N’s inner thigh as she moves gently on his lap. She won’t make a move, though, he’s too inexperienced, and she’s too much of a sweetheart to corrupt him, so she thinks. Ever since he first saw her, she’s been corrupting him slowly. He didn’t realise at first, but over the years, he began to understand, and now he’s in too deep. 

For Y/N? It’s always been him. Every breakup she’s had, she’ll come to Sherlock’s flat, full well knowing the real reason she broke up with them, because she couldn’t commit, because she was too caught up on him. 

Skimming his hands beneath her shirt, he savours the press of his hands on her bare skin, warmth seeping from her body into his, his fingers dancing along her spine. Electricity shocks her in bursts, unlike anything else, from his touch alone. 

“May I take your shirt off?” he asks. 

“Fuck, yes.” she groans. “May I do yours?”

“Be my guest.”

In a tangle of limbs, a few buttons pop off, and eventually, two shirts make it out the other side, tossed from the bed and into the laundry pile. Aka Sherlock’s floor. He’s like that: sock indexes, yet he won’t get a hamper. A walking contrast.

His thumbs press beneath the band of her bra, savouring the pressure of the flesh that falls into his hands, but that’s as far as he gets. 

“Never undone a bra before?”

He shakes his head sheepishly. “I know the theory. Just… you always wear peculiar ones.”

“I wear relatively normal bras, and this one is certainly bog standard. Had I known you’d be undressing me Mr Detective, I’d have worn something nicer.”

“Just do it for me.” He requests, chuckling. 

She unfastens her bra, and allows her breasts to spill from the cups, into Sherlock’s awaiting hands. The gasp that erupts from him sends Y/N’s brain into overdrive. He’s cupped her chest through her shirt before, buried his nose into her cleavage countless times, but never before have they had such skin on skin contact. Her lips press to his neck, shifting her closer to him. Sucking on his pressure point, she receives a similar gasp in response, only this one is more guttural, more a sound of pleasure than surprise. He’s wilting from a single kiss to his neck. 

“Has no one ever given you a hickey?” She husks in his ear, her voice alone sending tremors down his spine. 

“N- fuck, no.”

“I’ll make it worth it. All of this.”

“I know you will.”

She fuses her lips onto his again, savouring the faint hesitations as he grapples with his breath, eager to get some control on his mind with all that’s happening. Never did she ever think Sherlock would be here beneath her, his rough fingertips brushing over her peaked buds, and his palms dancing over her waist. Never did she think she’d hear him whisper his next words, either, not in a million years. 

“More.” he pleads. “Can we do… more? Whatever that entails?”

“That depends what you want to do.”

“Get me out of these damn trousers. They're rather uncomfortable.”

She snorts lightly, a piggy like sound, the one they bonded over all those years ago. “I can feel why.”

“I imagine you want out of your work trousers, too.”

“God, yes; they’re ghastly.”

“I don’t think so.” he hums. “You look nice.”

Her cheeks begin to burn, blood rushing to colour them, betraying her true feelings, but as he tweaks her nose playfully, the little snort escapes again. 

They were in the dining hall, second week of university, almost ten years ago, and Y/N was sitting with her friends, downing enough coffee to sink a ship, eating her hangover away, when her friends decided to make her laugh with tales of last night's drunken events. Unbeknownst to her, one of the greatest minds of the twenty-first century was sitting just a few seats down on the half-empty bench, watching her perceptively in his periphery. That’s when he first heard the sound. The cutest thing, and it startled him into action, beginning his deductions almost instantly. Admittedly, her student ID on the table aided him a little. 

He shocked her from her haze, too, as soon as he spoke her name. 

“Y/N, eighteen, jurisprudence first year, freshers week over with. You left a boyfriend back home, but you’re more sad about leaving your dog, as I would be. You don’t particularly care about law but know it’s a good undergraduate to receive anyway. Dyed hair, extrovert, killer hangover, and apparently there’s a little piggy living inside your nose. Sherlock Holmes, would you like some aspirin?”

“That’s weird; what are you, some kind of detective?” She asked, sans malice, a playful bounce to her words. 

“Chemistry, going for a masters. But I do like the mystery, yes.”

“So you’re… bright. Nice to meet you, Sherlock, and it seems you know almost everything you need to know about me. But yes, I will take that aspirin, if you don’t mind. How was your weekend?”

He smiled at her, the first true smile he’d given in a long time. “It was nice, thank you.”

And thus a friendship was born, all because he heard her little piggy snort. 

Her slender fingers work wonders with the fastener and zip of his suit trousers, and even manage hers too, all within the space of a few seconds, but Sherlock is reluctant to let her go, even just to get her trousers off. 

“I need to sit up, just for a minute.”

“No.” Sherlock commands, insistent. “We can make this work.”

“Sure we can, but it won’t be very comfortable. Come on.”

She’s barely peeled away from him and wrestled hers off before he’s drawing her back in for a kiss, his trousers settled just above his knees. 

“Sherlock,” she protests, mumbling against his lips, her hands on his heavenly, broad, muscular shoulders. “Sher!”

Her squeal at his sudden tug on her panties disappears, captured by his eager mouth. And in fact, her panties seem to disappear along with it, thanks to Sherlock’s swift movements and nimble hands. Maybe he’s had some experience to be so good at this…

“You sure you wanna go this far?”

“More sure than I’ve ever been. I need you.” 

He takes a deep inhale, dropping his forehead against hers, his breathing coming out in bursts as he tries to get a grasp on the situation. “Kiss me.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice, instantly getting to work on the waistband of his boxers as his tongue lavishes her own. His hips rise briefly, just long enough for her to tug the elasticated material from around him, slipping past her, and then he kicks it into their growing pile of clothes. His length falls into her awaiting palm, and-

“Wow.” She exhales in amazement. “If I’d known you were packing this much, I’d have jumped you long ago.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Absolutely not, until tonight I thought you’d just laugh at me.”

He pecks her lips affectionately, “Never. You’re bloody beautiful, I’ll let you do anything to me.”

“Hmm, anything, you say?”

Stifling a chuckle against her neck, he recommences, “Maybe not anything.”

Yeah, that's definitely the right call. Still, she finds herself all but clawing at him, her breath hovering teasingly just over his lips, their noses touching, her hands clamped to his cheeks, feeling the building heat there. She must be making such a mess of his bed right about now, but for one night? It can’t matter.

This is a one time thing, it has to be. Sherlock just needs to release some tension, she just so happens to be there. Still, she can’t prevent the little glimmer of hope shining through at the possibility of this being a more-than-one-time thing. The moral compunctions of their friendship after this don’t matter anymore, because he’s leaving a fire in his wake, his delicious fingertips digging bruisingly into her bum before trailing lightly up her spine, skimming her shoulder, brushing her neck - arched for him to reach where he wants, able to mark her as his own - and finally slipping over her lips, taken obediently by her awaiting mouth. Christ, if there’s one thing she hopes for tonight, it’s that his actions never relent.

Whether it’s what he intends to happen or not, his fingers in her mouth give her an idea, one she prays he goes along with at least a little, so she pulls away. The dirty, telling smile on her face hints at what she’s about to do, lending Sherlock to shift a little more up the bed, his eyes following her every move. Hands splayed on his thighs, her small fingers gripping onto the fine hairs there, she begins to take his tip into her mouth, never once breaking eye contact with him. Yeah, this is what’ll drive him insane. 

Inch by inch, she takes him into the welcoming heat of her mouth, pulling off slowly, only to go down again. She adds her tongue into the mix at some point, too, and her hand, on what she can’t reach, tickling his balls, but further than that, his mind is blank. Hot white, washed with pleasure. The sounds he emits are other worldly, so much that he has to muffle himself with his own hand; what would Mrs Hudson say? He’s always had such control over his mind and body, but this… he’s slowly losing all semblance of control, and he’s not even mad about it. What he does know is that there’s a building heat in his abdomen, a coil about to spring, and his cock is beginning to twitch. If she keeps going this incredible way, her teeth grazing him ever so gently, adding another new sensation into the mix, he’s inexorably going to finish before he can help it.

“As much as I adore your torturous ministrations, I think I need to be inside you…” He husks, his voice deep.

A smirk gracing her lips, she looks up at him through half-lidded eyes, mischief glinting in her pretty little mesmerising eyes for a second, before she hollows her cheeks and takes him wholly, allowing his length to slip partially down her throat. Her moan reverberates around him, and Sherlock begins to thrash above her, scrunching the duvet in his hands, not caring if it creases. If there’s one thing Sherlock hates, it’s creases. And being called a machine by his best friend. Right now, though, it seems as though every misstep in his day has led him here, into the welcoming heat of Y/N’s mouth, taking him so eagerly, her tongue lapping at the vein on the underside of his dick, a string of saliva remaining as she pulls away. 

“I think you’ve got a couple of rounds in you, Mr Detective. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes.” He stammers, his head tossed back in pure ecstasy a moment later as she begins to work on the head with kitten licks. “But… can I s- fuck me, say something?”

“I plan on it.” she chuckles, “anything.”

She goes back to peppering kisses all over his member, tip to base, brushing his balls, working her way back up. 

“Touch yourself f- for me.”

“What? Why?” 

Her tone is more inquisitive than anything else, but upon that playfully rueful look in his lust-darkened baby blue eyes, she knows he’s going to get her back for this little display, and he’s just worked out how. It works both ways, she can prepare herself for what’s to come next while pleasuring him. And he gets to watch. It’s a win-win for him. Maybe he likes this sex thing a little more than he’s letting on. 

“Are you sure you want me to? I’ll just make a mess on your sheets, Sher.”

She swallows him again, bobbing her head up and down on his length a few times while he grapples with literal reality. He’s teetering on the edge. One more move, and he’s a goner. His head is already against the wall, lolled there. 

“I don’t care about the sheets, darling, I need you ready for me.”

She gulps, nods, and reaches one hand around her, skimming over her stomach, until it nestles between her thighs. She rubs her thumb over his tip, collecting the pre-come beading there, while she rubs over her throbbing pearl, pressing softly. Then, as she inches down on his cock, taking him in her mouth, she also collects the slick from between her thighs, and uses it as a lube to push a finger inside herself. Of all the times she’s touched herself, she never imagined, even in her wild Sherlock fantasies, that she’d be doing it with his dick down her throat. With every bob of her head, she scissors herself more, sinking back onto her fingers. 

“I think I’m-” Sherlock begins to say, his words cut off by an utterly obscene moan splitting the air. 

She hastily abandons her one post, and wraps both of her hands around his girth, working on what she can’t fit into her mouth with her increased speed, licking and suckling his head as he begins to fall apart, coming, with a scream, down her throat, his one hand clamped over his mouth, biting down harshly to silence his cries; the other buried in her hair. 

His whole body falls lax, completely spent, meanwhile, Y/N savours every drop she’s been able to draw from him. He softens in her mouth, allowing her change to slip away from him, grasping a tissue from the bedside to wipe away any excess. That’s certainly something she never thought would happen… 

He’s calm, though, smiling lazily through hooded eyes, his breathing regulated once more, making beckoning motions to her with his big hands. He’s placated, though, and sliding her hands into his, she’s allowed time enough to get into place, smiling softly at him, raking her fingers over his scalp in a comforting way. Even as she sits herself on his lap, she can feel him hardening beneath her ass, slowly but surely. She was right about him, he’s definitely got another round in him. 

“Do you have a condom?” he asks. 

“No, sweetheart, they’re in my other bag. I didn’t plan on getting any for a while… do you?”

“Not in here, that I’m aware of. John may have stashed some in my less favoured dressing gowns or socks, and he definitely has some upstairs, but I’m unawares.”

“I’m gonna sound crazy here, but do we need one?” She says hesitantly. His eyes widen, he cocks his head to the side. “I was tested after my last partner, I’m clean, and on birth control. You’re a virgin. There’s no point, is there?”

“You have a considerably good point.”

With that, energy rejuvenated a little, he wraps an arm around her body, flipping them over so he’s on top, shadowing her, looming over her, gazing down at every inch of her naked beauty.

“Take your time. I’ll be your safety.”

“I know.” he whispers, a tearful smile making its way onto her face. “Thank you.”

He needn’t say more, because she already knows why she’s being thanked. For her kindness, for making him so comfortable, for accepting the fact he’s still a virgin in his late twenties and, if he’s being honest, has no damn clue what the practicality and reality of sex is. Sure, he’s seen porn. He’s also looked at John’s laptop. But that doesn’t prepare one for when the moment comes. It’s like all of that goes out the window, and he simply remembers the first time he opened a biology textbook at secondary school, pictures of flushed organs staring back at him, desperately waiting to be relieved. That’s what his own coock is like right now, already hard again, virtually pulsating with hunger in his palm. He strokes himself a couple of times, glancing down at Y/N’s wide eyes.

“Are you okay? Can I…”

“Yes, Sherlock,” she chuckles, “whenever you’re ready.”

Now, he thinks. He rubs two digits through her folds, gathering her wetness, enamoured with the way it glistens on his fingertips. Tentatively, he brings his fingers up to his mouth, swirling his tongue around them to get a taste. Eyes rolling into the back of his head, he moans. She’s better than any cup of tea he’s ever had. 

His cock slaps against his lower stomach pleadingly, so he grasps it in his hand, and begins to enter her, pushing gently, feeling every flutter of her walls. Her arms fly out, hands grasping his shoulders, nails leaving crescent moons in their wake at the delicious stretch. It’s nothing like they’ve ever felt before. 

“Can I move?” He asks, balls deep inside her, their pelvises flush against one another. 

“Please.” She all but begs. 

Before doing anything else, Sherlock hooks one strong arm around her body, malleable in his hands, and holds her chest against his. Her breasts push into his skin, her nipples gaining friction from the dusting of hair there. Her one hand cups his slender neck, the other, his sharp cheek. Their eyes meet in a fierce gaze of burning intensity, and he begins to move. Slow, calculated, sharp thrusts punctuate her core. With every heavenly stroke, he can feel the ridges in her velvet walls, squeezing around him unwittingly.

“Jesus,” she cries, her clutch increasing. 

“Hmm, not quite.”

The smirk in his words is quite literally audible. He’s so cocky, so full of himself, and fuck if she can’t feel another gush of arousal coursing through her, drenching his cock. How does he manage to be so attractive when he’s so dishevelled?

“Is that good?” He asks, unsure.

“So good.”

She brings her legs up, skimming the clenched backs of his thighs, until they wrap around him, drawing his hips into her at a new and improved angle. Heels digging into the base of his spine, he begins to move with a new purpose, his thrusts more passionate as his breath is drained from him by her kisses, his eyes alight with a new flame. 

“Oh my God, Sherlock.” She pants, pulling him in for a kiss he greedily returns. 

He drives his hips deeper, squeezing his fingertips into her supple waist bruisingly. It’ll be a mark that she belonged to him once, even just for one night. That’s when he reaches that special spongy spot that makes her entire body buckle. She all but screams, pressing into him wholly. 

The coil is building, ready to break. He seems to be nearing the edge, too, his member twitching inside her when he buries himself particularly deep. She’s oh so fucking close… She licks into his mouth filthily, desperately clashing her teeth with his, eager for his kisses to tide her over. Silence her. Shifting his supporting hand, he trails one dextrous finger around to circle her clit, adding the faintest pressure for a moment. She mewls as he groans into her hot skin, clawing at him, entirely at his whim. Now he knows where to press, he settled his grip back around her, and draws her in close. This time around, he bends his knees a little more to measure his movements more carefully, ensuring that he ruts up and brushes her sensitive bud with his pelvis, helped by the extra friction of his neatly trimmed pubic hair on every thrust within her, his tip just scraping her g-spot.

“I- Sherlock, please tell me you’re- oh sweet mercy- close.”

He grunts softly in her ear. “So close.”

Their lips meet tenderly, passionately, in what they acknowledge to be a final kiss, moans mixing between them, savoured by the other. 

His thighs clench, her legs tighten around his waist, and finally, her sweet walls flutter, squeezing him as she reaches her climax, his not following long after, spilling inside her, painting her soft walls white, marking her. 

“Y/N,” he cries in ecstasy as his orgasm reaches him. “Sher…” she repeats, her saving grace as pleasure washes over her entirely. 

Their whole bodies wind up pressed together, bound together as one, skin on skin completely, becoming one another. 

He lets her down gently, unravelling his grip, unsurprised when their sweaty skin sticks together. Her long legs unfurl, splaying in a butterfly. Sherlock tumbles ungracefully away, somehow landing with a certain gangly elegance on the space of mattress beside her, his arm instinctively flying over to place on her stomach, the skin hot and flushed red. Her chest moves hastily up and down with the thrumming of her heart, while his barely shifts despite his shallow breaths, his white skin glistening in the moonlight. 

“Are you okay?” He huffs, turning on his side. “You look pretty fucked out.”

His baby blue eyes train instantly on her nipples, hard in the open air. This is the first notifier, the first inkling she has to feel self conscious, so she draws the sheet up around her as best as she can. Sherlock’s not having any of it, taking a stronghold on her arms, and pulling her until she’s lying on him, naught to separate them. 

“I’ve never been this close to anyone physically and y'know.” He hums tiredly. She’s never heard him sound tired before… 

She smiles up at him as best she can, “Are you glad?” 

He begins to hold her ever closer, squeezing her tighter, feeling every ridge of her body. 

“I’m so glad that you were my first, in so many ways.” 

Praise from Sherlock is a rarity, and she’ll take it as and when she can, savouring every moment, this time by holding him like a koala, her grip not wavering. 

“I’m glad too, Mr Detective.”

He brushes a kiss to her cheek, “As much as I like this, we need to get you cleaned up.” 

A supporting arm beneath her bum, he picks her up, and unsteadily ambles into the bathroom. 

“I don’t know much about this, but I know you should probably use the toilet, should you want to avoid a UTI, so if you’d like me to leave…”

He sets her down on the loo seat, cupping his hands over his nether regions, and he hurries to grasp for things, until she puts her hand on his arm, squeezing in a conciliatory manner. 

“You do remember the camping trip, don’t you? You really don’t have to leave just because I have to pee, you never did before. In fact, you frequently annoyed me with it if you had a particular point to make, steadfastly refusing to leave the bathroom after following me in there when I went to pee. Why does this change anything?”

He shrugs, dropping whatever was in his arms, “It just doesn’t feel the same now, though.”

“Ooo, and now Mr Detective feels things.” She jokes, poking at his ribs. 

He recoils, chuckling with her, “Only for you.”

As Y/N washes her hand, Sherlock begins to wrangle with a floorboard, clattering about until he eventually pulls out a small lock box, from which he withdraws a packet of brand new marks-and-spencer's ladies briefs. 

“Why the fuck do you have these? Anything you wanna tell me?” she asks, eyes wide.

“John’s idea. He has plenty of girls over here who frequently stay the night, simply a precautionary error.” He takes a beat, gargling with some mouthwash, “they’re clean, new, I just don’t like the idea of you in dirty underwear, and I know how reluctant you are to go without them whenever you’re not in your own bed. I stayed with you enough nights in university to know that.”

Those nights were awfully painful. She’d take the floor, he’d take the bed, and every time she’d have to wash the sheets. He’d sweat and vomit, shake and cry, plead for the pain to be over. He wouldn’t go to hospital, he wouldn’t call his brother, he’d just turn up on her doorstep, high as a kite, almost in tears, knowing he’d gone a little too far. And each time, it was a little farther. 

“Thank you, Sherlock.” 

She takes them from him, and begins to shimmy them up her legs, only prevented by Sherlock moving to grab a handful of her arse. 

“Hmm, I like this. Fancy another round?” He smirks. 

“I’m too tired, babe. Give me a bit.” 

He can see the lazy smile on her face, the tiredness in her pretty eyes, so he wets a flannel, and begins to clean her up with gentle movements between tender kisses.

“How do you know how to do all of this?” She asks, inquisitive more than anything. 

“Instinct, I suppose. I never read or learned about it, seeing as I never thought it would happen.” 

She snaps the waistband before moving her hands to his waist, leaning up onto her toes to reach him, kissing her softly. 

“Look at you now.”

After brushing their teeth in an amicable silence, their pinky fingers overlapping on the porcelain of the sink, he aids her back to the bedroom, settling her on the bed. She has things here: deodorant, toothbrush, moisturiser, and yet somehow she doesn’t have underwear, even after all these years. Perhaps that's one too many things to explain… 

With superfluous extravagance, he throws her his shirt, offering her a wry wink. She finds a blush clawing its way onto her cheeks, dumbfounded. It smells like him, just like a forest glade if it was rained on by tea and cigarettes. Maybe he’ll let her keep it as a memory.

In such a short amount of time, she’s learnt that he has a very sensitive neck. Very. A single kiss there has him biting back a moan. A low one at that, considering his deep voice also drops almost an octave when he’s aroused. His nipples are almost as sensitive as his neck, and he rather likes it when she tugs on them unwittingly. 

His first orgasm comes quickly, but his refractory period is astonishing, and it takes longer to achieve a second high, long enough to make her come more than once, she assumes, though her first orgasm was mind blowing enough for two. Perhaps that’s just because it’s his first time, but it’s impressive nonetheless.

What’s the point in learning all of this if, once he comes around from his post-orgasmic haze, he’ll pretend like it never happened, in typical Sherlock style?

The shirt, though a small gesture, means a lot, and her vision begins to cloud as she looks down at the black cotton. 

“You mean you want me to stay?” She croaks.

Sherlock turns to her from his set of drawers, his face full of apparent obviousness, brows furrowed in that cute bewildered way. 

“Of course I want you to stay.” He states, like it’s the plainest thing in the world, like it’s stupid for her to even ask. But she’s silent, and when she says nothing in response, he launches into a long winded explanation: don’t show sentiment. “I- I just mean, i-it’s midnight, I’m not having you out in London alone. You stay with me. Only if you want to as well...” 

She nods eagerly, “Yes. Yeah, course I want to stay.”

He all but leaps access the room, jumping onto the bed, before planting a proper smooch on her lips, grinning down at her. He slips into his usual side of the bed, and she takes hers, rolling to look at him.

“Don’t get cold.” He warns, tucking the duvet up around her shoulders. She giggles like a child, that small snort sounding again, prompting Sherlock to press his thumb to her nose like a button. “How are you… feeling?”

“I’m fine bub, really. That bloke doesn’t matter to me at all. Bit of a scumbag if I’m honest. You’re the one I’m with, the one I wanna talk about. How are you feeling? Must’ve been a pretty big blow up with John for you to call me and be so... teary.”

He sighs, crestfallen, “He called me a machine.”

Her gasp pierces the air, her hand flying to his hair, stroking in consolation, cooing senseless reassurances to him. She’s done this innumerable times, but now it feels different, like there’s no barrier. 

“He’s done it so many times that it needn’t bother me anymore, but the way he looked at me, like I was this abhorrent monster, especially after the day and the disappointing case we had, it got to me. I hate having feelings.”

“You don’t have to hide them with me, though.”

He hums gently, burying into her chest. “I know. That’s why I treasure you so dearly.”

“That means you also have to trust me, and you’re not going to like what I have to say.” His chest heaves, shifting her whole body. That’s his way of giving in. “Please just talk to John. You know that whenever he leaves, he’ll come back, and try to pretend it never happened. He needs to know you’re human and that he upset you, but also that the case upset you as well. No one’s superhuman, and once you let John in on the fact that you’re not a machine, things between you will be so much easier, because you might agree for once.”

“I suppose you’re right.” He grumbles. 

He pulls her into his warmth, hooking her leg around his as he snakes his arms around her back, breathing deeply from the crook of her shoulder. She begins to pepper kisses on his salty skin, savouring the taste with every small swipe of her tongue.

“Your heart’s against my chest, your lips pressed to my neck,” he breaks off with a faint whimper when she sucks a little harder, “I’m falling for your eyes, but they don’t know me yet.”

“Of course they do,” she whispers brokenly, hoarsely, “they’ve always known you.” She swallows thickly, “Does that mean it’s a feeling you’ll forget?”

“No, I don’t think I ever can.”

The silent words that pass between them both are so special, too special to be spoken aloud. ‘Think I’m in love now.’

“Kiss me like you wanna be loved.” He begs. 

And really, who is Y/N to deny him? They just stay that way a little while, revelling in their lazy kisses, until she begins to fall asleep. It isn’t the first time she’s fallen asleep in his bed, not by any means, but it’s the first time she’s fallen asleep in his arms. She isn’t mad about it.

“Settle down with me, cover me up, cuddle me in. You were made to keep my body warm.” She smiles into her words, and embeds herself into him, entirely covered by the duvet, spattered in his kisses, safe in his arms. Sherlock feels safe with her legs around him, her fingers in his curls, holding himself against her. Amicable silence is how they drift off, Peaceful.

John re-enters 221B at a respectable hour. He got a fair amount of sleep on Greg’s sofa, having no girlfriend in the picture right now, but not enough to deal with Sherlock just yet. Not before his coffee. He expects to see Sherlock sitting in the exact same spot as when he left, perhaps just with a refill of tea, his fingers still steepled beneath his chin, eyes closed yet wide awake. Instead, he arrives at a seemingly empty, considerably clean flat, with no Sherlock in sight. Perhaps the unsleeping man must actually be asleep, he thinks, so he quietens down, and toes off his shoes before wandering farther into the flat. Even if the man does piss him off extraordinary amounts, perhaps he should just check he’s okay…

He gives the bedroom door a quiet rap, listening in momentarily before pushing it open. Frankly, he’d rather have found Sherlock with a cigarette in hand and the whole flat torn to shreds for the level of surprise he gets upon reaching the bed. His first idea is to scream bloody murder, but that might annoy Mrs Hudson, and upon stepping closer, even in the sliver of daylight through the curtains, he sees the duvet riding down a little. The last thing in the world he ever thought he’d see: Sherlock in naught but boxers pressed against a half naked woman, his palm splayed on her bare thigh. Sherlock? Spooning? It seems so, his entire body pressed to this woman. John feels himself go rigid, his feet glued to the floor, his gaze unmoving from shock. 

It takes his phone to buzz in his pocket to get him moving, and when he does, all he tries to do is balance precariously on his tip toes in a wry attempt to get a birds-eye view of the whole thing. He’s not disappointed, or disturbed, once he does, though, his army agility proving useful. Sherlock’s hand is holding her, fingers entwined, just next to her chest. He wonders how comfortable it is, but if they’re staying this way, it can’t be too bad. Maybe all Sherlock needed to loosen up was a good shag. 

She’s wearing his shirt, too; Sherlock’s black dress shirt from the previous day. And Sherlock? He never seeps in anything less than a full set of pyjamas, he’s weird like that . 

This girl begins to stir, her lips parting gently, small hums escaping. Next, her eyelids flutter, and her hair shifts on the pillow. He didn’t make any noise, did he? John was specifically careful not to, just in case. He doesn’t fancy Sherlock’s wrath just yet. 

One eye opens, and she whispers, almost incoherently, “Hi John.”

How she knows his name and who he is, he’s not at all sure, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen this face in his life. The hair is familiar, and maybe, if she were more awake, he’d recognise her smile, but he’s never seen a woman in Sherlock’s company beside Molly Hooper. Speaking of… 

Before he can even say anything, though, before he can ask who she is or if she wants tea or if she date-raped his roommate, she’s mumbling, and detaching her hand from Sherlock’s, rolling over. Dumbfounded, John just stands there and watches her cuddle into Sherlock’s chest, her arms wrapping around his torso like second nature. Even in his sleep, not consciously thinking about his actions, he grips her back - one hand resting just above her bum, and buries his nose into her neck.

John can’t help but smile to himself. Maybe their fight was for the best if Sherlock now has a girlfriend, someone he turned to for solace. So, he grasps for the top of the duvet and pulls it up over both of their figures, reaching their shoulders, and leaves, staring wistfully for a brief moment at the seemingly happy couple. 

The weight of the duvet of what startles Sherlock, though, stirring him a little, inviting him to him against Y/N’s skin, smiling with eyes barely open. This is really nice, he thinks to himself, not waking up alone. 

She smiles back blearily, and in her morning voice, whispers to him, “Kiss me Mr Detective.”

#sherlock #sherlock holmes #bbc sherlock #johnlock #sherlolly #mystrade #sherlock smut #sherlock fanfic #sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes imagine #sherlock holmes smut #william sherlock scott holmes #mycroft holmes #molly hooper #dr john watson #sherlock bbc #john watson #sherlock x oc #sherlock x reader #sherlock fluff #sherlock angst #sherlock fic

[highfunction]

I’m a relatively new Larrie, so please don’t come for me if I get anything wrong with what I’m about to say about all of the things I’ve seen so far, just educate me lol.

I was watching the 1 hour biggest Larry Proofs video and even though I’ve seen all of these clips before, it feels like the two of them leave literally no room for doubt…consistently for over a decade. Again don’t come for me, but I wasn’t a Directioner. I started listening to Harry’s stuff around this time last year, and deep down the rabbit hole I went. I adore Louis and his music as well, though admittedly, I wouldn’t know about him if it wasn’t for this ship. That being said, if he weren’t equally as loud as Harry in all of these clips and proofs, I think I’d likely have been more skeptical of the whole thing and wouldn’t be writing this now.

I don’t have a great grasp on the whole timeline. I know about the contracts, but still don’t understand fully if/when they would be at liberty to come out, or if the rules or timeline would be different for each of them (send a bitch links I’ve been awake for 2 days).

Anyway, after consuming all of the Larry content possible over the last year or so, and given everything that’s happened the last few months during both of their tours, I can’t fathom a world where it’s possible that they were never together. Before H went on tour this year, I wasn’t FULLY convinced they were still together, i thought they could have broken up during the 1D days and still be fond of each other. But after how insanely loud they’ve been on tour..i mean….I literally have so much respect for OG Larries, ya’ll have been in this deep for so long and it seems like there were a lot of confusing times, and times of frustrating radio silence. You guys compile every scrap we get fed and connect all of the dots they leave for us and I’m so thoroughly impressed lol.

There’s a small portion of me that worries that all of this is loudness is for PR as well, the suddenness of it all, being so in our faces, them telling us everything without saying the words, (pls, pls don’t hate me for saying this but I’m living proof that Lou’s fanbase has expanded from Harry, NOT saying that to take anything away from Louis or his own career…he is fantastic and talented, it’s just kinda facts). Those things sometimes make me worry we’re being taken for a spin. But then I see stuff like this hour long video, knowing that there’s a 2 and a half hour compilation and 945676543 other videos like them, and I’m reminded that this has literally been going on for over a decade.

Watching Harry dodge interview questions about the girls he’s “dated”, always being respectful and kind of the women, but rarely answering any questions seriously. The way he doesn’t use pronouns when describing the kind of person he wants to be with, I caught those things before I had any idea about Larry anything. At first I thought he just genuinely didn’t want people in his business…until I clicked on a Larry video. The way the boys were with each other from back in the day, when we get to see them interact when they’re younger, through all of these years of them being forced to act like they aren’t madly in love even though they can’t keep their eyes or hands off each other. All of the awkward interview moments where the whole gang was visibly uncomfortable and looking to management after something was said. All of the signs, hints, puzzles, lyrics, etc…they don’t add up to someone who doesn’t want their identity known. These men are literally screaming for someone to unlock the closet and it’s heartbreaking.

I realized that there’s absolutely no chance there was a decade-long intent to profit off of this ship. There’s no way for my brain to fathom it making sense that these men would do that. You can tell in interviews that Harry doesn’t like to lie, he doesn’t enjoy misleading fans with publicity, it makes him visibly uncomfortable and he seems to do everything in his actual power to negate stunts and call attention to what they really are. It’s a sickening part of the job, part of the industry, and it obviously comes at a personal cost. He can tolerate doing a pap stunt but only barely, he doesn’t fake emotion and he doesn’t hide emotions either. He’s careful and calculated in what he says, and you can see his face light up when there’s a question that he can leave open to interpretation but answer honestly and we ALL know the exact face and who he’s thinking of.

I don’t know as much about Lou’s personality, there isn’t as much specific content, OBviOuSLY. But I do know he’s cheeky and clever as fuck. It’s sad to see him go from being so young and happy and able to be himself, to being worn down into who they made him pretend to be. He’s consistently opportunistic when it comes to Larry related things, it seems like he puts thought into what he’s going to say or do, while Harry is more impulsive about it. It’s been a pleasure to see clips of him on this tour, soaking in the support he was told he would never get by being himself. He didn’t even have to ask for it, and it showed up in waves of rainbows at every venue he’s preformed at. He continues to acknowledge his appreciation for it, and it’s heartwarming to see his solo career picking back up at a rapid velocity after not being able to tour for so long. He knows we see him, knows we hear him, he feels the love, and it seems like he really, genuinely wasn’t expecting it.

It makes me wonder how deeply Simon and other management got to Louis on a personal level after the split. I know all of the boys had different situations, and different ways of coping with what was expected of them. But could he have still believed that the fanbase would turn on him, no one else would sign him, his career would be over etc..if he was out? I hope that isn’t the case, and if it ever was, I hope there’s not a shred of doubt in his mind that his fans love him for who he is, not for what he had to pretend to be.

I know I’m new here and I’ve probably gotten things wrong or didn’t explain myself right because I have no control over my thoughts right now, but I know one thing for sure: those boys have been in love since they were first on camera together. Whether they’re together or not right now, they’re still in love with each other. I think I’ve been afraid to write about my feelings about them for a while because I hate watching other people tear larries apart. I don’t believe for a second that they don’t love that this fanbase exists for them. They’ve kept it alive for a reason and I choose to believe that reason is because they love to see that we see them. They love knowing their voice is getting through to people, even if they have to speak in code.

I don’t know why I wrote all of this. I don’t know why I fell into the rabbit hole so hard. It’s not a fetish thing or a sexual fascination in any way for me. To me it’s like watching 10 years worth of a tragic and beautiful love story where two boys in modern time are forced to hide their sexuality, and forced to publicly portray a different one, just because Simon Cowell’s manager convinced him it was the right move for himself at the start of his career, and in turn convinced the boys of 1D to do the same. It’s a cycle of abuse and it’s difficult to watch. But the hope that they’ll be able to come out of this one day, the hope that it’ll be soon? I think that’s what drew me in and thats what makes me feel like I’m here waiting until they can both pick up a flag and say who they are out loud as many times as they want, in front of as many people as they want. Until then, I’m just clowning with the rest of you.

If you’re still reading this you’re probably as damaged as me lol. Feel free to message me to talk Larry things if you’re over 18! I have a lot of questions and I could talk about it forever and I have no one irl who gives a shit about it lmao.

#larry stylinson #larry #larry is real #larry is literally real #harry styles #louis tomilson #louis and harry #harry 1d #louis 1d #stunts #press #music #one direction #i follow back

[seriouslysnape]

Hi!❣️ Your writing is pretty cool, and I love the way you portray Sev, especially!

If it isn't a bother, of course... Could I make a request? Where Snape and the Reader are expecting, and go through all the nine months (like, through things like cravings, mood swings Snaddy has to endure, buying the child's stuff and decorating the room, all of that), till delivery? Only if you'd like the 'prompt', of course.

Wish you a nice day☺️

I LOVE THISSSSSS. YES DAD SEV >>>

__

Paternal Figure

Severus Snape x Fem. Reader

Warnings: Language, Emetephobia, Sexual implications.

Word Count: 5,161

“We’re going to be one happy family.”

__

“How much longer?” Severus questioned, eyeing the pregnancy test that was lying face down on the bathroom counter.

You looked at your wrist watch that was secured on your trembling hand. You saw that it had been more than enough time for the pregnancy test to do its job. A quivering sigh flowed from your chest as you reached for the test with trembling fingers.

“It should be ready.” You replied.

Severus sat up straighter from where he sat on the bathroom floor, his blood pumping with eagerness and nervousness. You held the test to your chest for a second with your eyes closed and head lulled towards the ceiling.

You and Severus wanted a baby badly. After being married for a few years, the baby fever was becoming harder to resist between the two of you combined. It started out as a casual thing. Severus first briefly mentioned how there was still an empty room in the house that needed to be occupied. You assumed that he meant as an office space or maybe even a large walk in closet.

But when Severus suggested that the two of you turn that space into a nursery, you knew what he was implying. You had always wanted to have kids with Sev. In the beginning, Severus wasn’t totally sure how he felt about having a baby. He wasn’t great with younger people, and he was always afraid he wouldn’t be a good dad.

However, the longer the two of you were together and the more life you shared together, the more he wanted nothing more than to put a baby in you. He wanted to raise a child and teach it all the wonders of the wizarding world. He wanted your baby to be perfect.

The two of you sat and chatted for a long time about it, not wanting to rush into things. It was a huge deal after all; bringing a human into the world was a life changing ordeal. You talked it over, and you both happily agreed that you would start trying for a baby.

You admittedly became a little obsessed with getting pregnant in the first few months. You tracked your menstrual and ovulation cycles much more than usual, eventually memorizing everything down to the minute. You tried any wizard (and even a few Muggle) tricks in the book to increase your chances of conceiving, including basically pouncing on Severus any chance he was around.

If you had a free minute to spare, you were shoving him into bed and having sex with him. At first, Severus found it rather endearing that you were so excited to have a kid, but he became concerned as time went on. Getting pregnant isn’t always a quick process. Some women can so much as look at their husband and get results while some spend a better half of their life trying to even get a positive pregnancy test.

You were proving to be one of the harder cases.

With each negative pregnancy test, the more frantic you became. You felt like your fertility window was closing in on you rapidly, and if you didn’t get pregnant soon, it’d be too late. The first few negatives didn’t phase you much, but by the fifth or sixth, you were feeling discouraged. Severus was much more patient than you during all of this, holding you flush to him when you burst into tears of frustration.

It had become a monotonous and vicious cycle. You’d try to get pregnant, buy a pregnancy test, get a negative result, and fall into a weeping heap onto the bathroom floor. After one particularly hard let down, Severus stepped in. He was rocking your sobbing frame in his arms, hushing you and comforting you as best he could.

He suggested that the two of you take a break for a while, and that maybe you were trying too hard. The stress couldn’t have been good for you as a whole, and maybe taking a more casual approach would be best.

“Here’s what I’m thinking, my love. You and I take this step by step. We continue life as normal,” He said softly; “If you get pregnant then that’s good, and if you don’t, then we remain calm and try again. If much longer goes by, then we can go see your doctor.”

You nodded into his chest with heartbreaking sobs, agreeing that this had taken a huge toll on your body. You apologized for your crazy behavior, but Severus only gave a light laugh and kissed your head.

“No, no, my dear. Don’t be sorry. I want this just as much as you do.” He consoled, sweeping you off of the floor.

You were a bit apprehensive about Severus’ approach to this, but you were willing to try anything. Fast forward a few weeks later, and this was the first test you had taken since taking Severus’ advice.

“Sev...” You croaked out; “What if it’s negative?”

You were sitting against the door in your tiny bathroom, Severus sitting on the wall across from you. Your knees were almost touching one another’s as he replied.

“Then we accept it, take a few days, and try again. It’ll be alright, [Y/N].” He reassured, resting a hand on your knee in a loving way.

You exhaled deeply, already half expecting to be disappointed. You nodded, and quickly flipped the test so you could read it. Your heart hit your feet and bounced back into your ribcage at the sight. You were stoically silent as you stared in silence at the test.

Severus was watching with a clenched jaw, prepared to comfort you in case it wasn’t what you wanted to see. You kept looking at it for a few more seconds to make sure you weren’t dreaming. The double pink lines were as clear as day.

You were pregnant.

Tears filled your eyes, but they were tears of happiness. You turned the test so he could see it.

“It’s positive,” You said, smiling through the tears streaming your face; “We’re going to have a baby.”

Severus’ jaw fell open and stars of delight shot over his eyes. He himself gazed down at the test as if it would explode right in his hands.

“You’re pregnant...” He breathed out.

You nodded, wiping away at the tears with a genuine laugh. A blinding smile appeared on Severus’ face as he moved to pull you into a tight embrace. A few tears leaked from his eyes as well, the two of you mumbling “I love yous” to each other as you cried out the adrenaline and undeniably glee that you were feeling. It had almost been a year since you started trying, and now it seemed that it had paid off.

You were going to be parents.

__

The first trimester of your pregnancy was less than pleasant. While you were eternally grateful to be carrying your first child, you weren’t too thrilled about the symptoms that came with it. You were violently sick for the first few weeks, basically bringing back up anything you tried to hold down. Even something as mild as pumpkin juice was enough to make you sick just from the smell.

As disgusting as it was, Severus was by your side any time you fell ill.

“It’s okay, darling. Let it all out.” He soothed, rubbing circles onto your back as you let out another hurl.

You seemingly puked up everything you had eaten in the last ten years into the toilet bowl, a new groan escaping your chest every time you had a chance to take a breath. Severus kept your hair out of your face as best as he could, trying not to visibly grimace every time you threw up.

You closed the lid of the toilet for a minute, draping your arm over the top of it and resting your forehead on the heated skin of your forearm.

“Don’t look at me. I don’t want you to see me like this.” You grumbled miserably.

He gave a chuckle, and even though you couldn’t see it, he raised his left hand to reveal his silver wedding ring.

“In sickness and in health.” He said, wrapping his long legs around your from behind, resting his head on your back.

“I think this is an exception to that vow.” You joked, hoping that the relief you were feeling was to signal the end of today’s sickness.

Severus hummed.

“I think that this is exactly what it was referring to,” He corrected, his heart fluttering when you lifted your head with a weak smile; “Just as beautiful as ever.”

You snorted at that, but you were heartwarmed.

“How did I ever deserve you?” You asked, falling into his open arms.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

When you were actually able to have an appetite, you wanted any and every food imaginable. The pregnancy cravings were insanely hard to ignore, and it was even harder to ignore the weird things you craved.

“What...is that?” Severus questioned cautiously as he entered the kitchen, catching you in the middle of biting something he couldn’t even discern.

You looked at him with wide eyes and stopped mid-chomp. You didn’t respond, not even sure how to explain this to him. His gaze averted to the open pantry, and saw that mostly everything had been raided and placed on the kitchen counter. He had noticed that satisfying your cravings had proven to be the most difficult thus far. He inspected the food item in your hand and his stomach lurched when he realized what it was.

“Is that a treacle tart with...” He trailed off, barely able to finish the thought.

You finished his sentence, rather ashamed.

“...pickles.” You confessed.

Severus was sure that his face had turned a nasty shade of green at the thought of your concoction. He shuddered and made you put it down. You had always been creative and experimental in the kitchen, but this was too far.

“Okay, I’ve been supportive of every strange food combination you’ve come up with, but I draw the line at treacle pickle tarts.” He said with a voice full of amusement.

You whined.

“I know it’s weird, but I can’t help it. Everything we have sounds good.”

He scratched the back of his head. He never liked to tell you how to live your life, but there was no way that this was good for you or the baby.

“I don’t think Little One is going to appreciate pickles and desserts.” He noted, placing a hand on your very small baby bump.

“Little One” was the nickname that he had coined for your developing child. You and Severus had decided early on that you wanted to keep the baby’s gender a surprise up until delivery. Severus hated to keep referring to the baby as...well, “the baby”. So he had instinctively come up with all kinds of nicknames along the way.

“Well, I’m pretty sure that Little One is the only reason I want pickles.” You snapped back.

“It’s not the pickles. It’s the pickles with the tart that I can’t stomach.” Severus explained.

You sneered at him, but Severus continued before you could snark back at him.

“I’ll tell you what, princess. How about we whip up a bunch of your favorite foods, and we’ll have a nice dinner together?” He offered.

Your belly grumbled at the sound of that. You nodded in agreement, and you and Severus prepared a heavenly meal.

On top of the all day morning sickness and the nauseating cravings, your hormones were going absolutely nuts. You had never experienced such frequent mood changes like this, and poor Severus was the victim of all your emotional outbursts. It seemed as if you were blowing up at the smallest of details.

“Damn it, Sev. How many times have I told you not to leave your socks on the floor?” You hissed, angrily picking up his dirty socks.

Severus poked his head out of the bathroom that was adjoined to your bedroom, a guilty look on his face.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I left them there.” He said truthfully.

“Just like how you didn’t realize that you left the sink faucet dripping or how you forgot to put the pillows back on the bed when you got up at 10 in the morning?” You mocked, throwing his socks into his laundry basket.

He caught how aggravated you were, and exited the bathroom to talk things over. Severus didn’t want you to be upset with him, but he knew you were just going through a lot of changes and couldn’t really control your emotions well.

“I assure you that I didn’t do those things on purpose,” He said, not even an ounce of irritation in his voice; “I’ll pick up after myself.”

His light and friendly tone made you realize that you had overreacted once again. Severus had not once lost his temper with you, no matter how bad you had nagged him. Your shoulders slumped and you looked at your feet that were close to being covered by your steadily growing bump.

You felt bad for being on his ass about something 24/7. He was trying his best to help you and make your pregnancy as comfortable as possible. You yelling at him all the time wasn’t fair to him.

“I’m sorry, Sev. It’s not you.” You uttered for the hundredth time in the last three months.

He only smiled and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Not to worry, my dear,” He mewled; “I can handle being screamed at for as long as it takes.”

__

The second trimester was actually easier than the first as far as symptoms goes. Your morning sickness had subsided, you had adapted to your ever changing hormones, and you weren’t tempted to eat everything in sight. While the symptoms were still there, they didn’t completely dictate your life.

You and Severus were well into the finer intricacies of planning for the arrival of your baby boy or girl. You were in the process of converting your extra bedroom into a nursery, which was a challenge for Severus. He was a shitty interior decorator, which wouldn’t be an issue if he hadn’t insisted that he decorate the baby’s room.

Severus wanted to be as involved as possible, never wanting you to think that he wasn’t there for you. You were ecstatic with the idea of him taking charge of the nursery, but you soon realized that wasn’t a good idea.

“We are not painting the baby’s room BLACK, Severus.” You protested, eyeing the cans of black paint on the floor.

Severus had gone out and bought all kinds of paint supplies. Paintbrushes, paint rollers, stencils, tape, etc. He was adamant about doing it all by hand (as opposed to using magic; a suggestion that he was horribly offended at), and had taken it upon himself to buy everything.

You had forgotten that there wasn’t much color interest in the world of Severus Snape.

“And why not? There’s black in other parts of the house.” He argued.

You put your hands on your hips, your back beginning to arch from the weight of your five month swelling belly.

“Yes, but this is a baby’s room. I don’t think he or she is going to like it,” You retorted back; “It’ll be too dark and...scary. I want Little One to be comfortable in here.”

Severus looked around. Perhaps, black was too extreme for such a small human. He looked a tad defeated and disappointed in himself. He was trying his hardest. You caught his dejected look.

“Oh, honey. I know you want it to be perfect,” You said, taking his face into your hands; “We can do it together. Maybe we can sneak a bit of black in here somewhere.”

He nodded.

“So, what color should we paint the room?” He asked.

You looked around this time, biting your lower lip in thought. You wanted to have gender neutral colors, and something that would be cozy for the baby.

“How about we paint the walls white? That way we can add pops of color wherever we see fit.” You said after a moment of thought.

Severus agreed, but was holding to your promise to have at least some black in the room. The nursery was an ongoing project, lasting about a week and a half. The crib was the last item placed in the room, and it was complete. You and Severus stood in the middle, basking in the finished nursery.

“It looks great, S.” You said, looking at the black painted changing table and the mobile above the crib.

“It does. I’m glad you helped me.” He admitted, eyeing the moving pictures on the walls.

You wrapped your arms around your husband’s waist, his lips falling to your head in response.

“We’re going to be one happy family.” You announced.

Severus laughed into your hair, his heart beating with hope.

“We already are.”

You had officially made it past the halfway mark, and your due date was quickly approaching. There was still so much to do, and not a lot of time to do it. Your bump was already huge, and you still had another trimester to go. You were getting to the point where swollen feet and an aching lower back was crippling your ability to go out and do much.

You were laid out on the sofa with Severus rubbing your tired feet. You were fighting the aching pain in your back and legs from the unevenly distributed weight from your midsection.

“I really need to go out today.” You winced as another round of soreness flooded your body.

Severus’ careful hands continued to massage the aching muscles of your feet.

“Why, love? You can surely go on a day where you’re feeling in higher spirits.” He said.

While he wasn’t totally wrong, you were at the point where every day was the same as the last. You had a feeling that you wouldn’t have a “higher spirits” day for a while.

“I suppose I could. But I need to get baby clothes, pacifiers, bottles.” You grunted, exhaling heavily.

You really needed to do this, but you just weren’t feeling up to it. Then you had an idea. Since Severus didn’t get to put all his effort into the nursery, you thought you could give him a second chance.

“Severus, could you possibly go out and buy baby stuff today?” You suddenly asked.

You were honestly expecting him to say no, considering he knew nothing about baby fashion. Instead, his face brightened and he leapt up from the couch.

“Of course! Why didn’t you just ask?” He queried, giddy with joy.

You laughed at his anticipation, giving him a few instructions.

“Alright, Sev. Don’t buy anything ridiculous or anything that’s made of uncomfortable material,” You said; “And do NOT get anything Slytherin related. As much as you would like it, we have no clue what Little One is going to be sorted into when he or she is old enough.”

Severus groaned.

“Not even a-”

“No Slytherin stuff.”

“Well, what about a-”

“No, Severus.”

He groaned again, but accepted your request. As badly as he wanted his daughter or son to be a Slytherin, there was always the chance that they wouldn’t be. He’d love them regardless of what House they were in, but it would tickle him to death if they were a Slytherin.

So Severus went out into Diagon Alley with extra pep in his step, jittery as he went from store to store getting stuff for his little girl or boy. Severus had never paid much attention to baby clothes, and now that he was looking, his heart was swelling with excitement.

There were so many cute sweaters, onesies, socks, and pajama sets that absolutely made Severus burst with joy. He would pick out about a dozen outfits to start out with, knowing that you’d have to go buy more once the baby was older. But each time he thought he had enough, he’d spot two or three more outfits that he just had to buy.

He could not WAIT to see his baby in all of this stuff. It had obviously been a while since he was a child, and he was amazed at all of the new things that had been invented to make parenting easier and childhood more fun.

He bought a pacifier for every day of the week, and enough toys that would last your kid through kindergarten. He bought blankets and stuffed animals and anything else that a baby MIGHT want. Your baby was going to be spoiled to the max.

Truth be told, Severus went a little overboard with his purchases. He came back with no less than ten bags full of baby materials. You not-so-gracefully lifted yourself from the couch when he entered, several bags hooked onto each of his arms. He had a proud smile plastered on his face.

“Oh Merlin, Severus! What all did you buy??” You questioned, eyes bugging out at all the goodies in front of you.

“Clothes, pacifiers, bottles. Everything you asked for.” Severus stated innocently, you rifled through the bags at all the baby wonders.

“And toys, blankets, and stuffed animals.” You finished his list.

You looked at Severus with an entertained smile, his cheeks glowing red.

“I just want Little One to be happy.” He shrugged meekly.

You let out a soft “awh” and captured his soft lips in a sweet kiss. He already loved this baby so much that it melted your heart.

“With you as their dad, they absolutely will be.”

__

You had never been happier to enter your third and final trimester. You were in the home stretch, and you were so excited to meet your baby. You were about to pop like a balloon and, quite frankly, you had enough of it. Don’t make any mistake about it, you had cherished every moment of being pregnant, but you were ready to get some somewhat decent sleep without being kicked in the ribs every 5 minutes.

Although, with a newborn around, you weren’t sure how much sleep you would get.

Over the course of your pregnancy, Severus had become more and more protective the more your baby grew. Now that your due date was only a few days out, he jumped at any sudden movement or noise. He had eyes and ears like a hawk. He came barreling into the living room, completely naked and dripping with water from where he had just stepped into the shower.

“Darling, what was that? Are you alright?” He asked frantically as if he had just heard an airstrike.

You looked up from your book, readjusting the pillow that was underneath your massive belly to support the weight.

“Severus. I sneezed.” You declared.

Relief washed over him, and he ran a hand through his damp hair.

“Oh. Do you need anything?” He asked you for the millionth time that evening.

You laughed shortly, nodding your head.

“Yes. I’m fine,” You said; “Please try to enjoy your shower.”

Severus had been on your tail nonstop for the last three weeks. Even though most pregnancies go the full 40 weeks, your doctor said that labor could be expected once you hit 36. Sev didn’t want you out of his sights in case you went into labor early. He didn’t want to miss anything.

You had begged him to break away just for a minute, for his sake and yours. He padded back to the shower, ignoring the way his heart was thumping in his chest. You went back to your book, grinning to yourself at your anxious husband.

Once Severus was showered and somewhat calmer, you had grown tired and were ready to get in bed. Growing and carrying a baby had really tanked your energy levels, but Severus didn’t mind going to bed early. As long as he knew you and the baby were safe, he was content.

He laughed out loud when you slid into bed wearing only a pair of panties and a t-shirt that you had used a spell to stretch out. It was the only sleepwear that fit you due to your risen belly.

Getting comfortable was next to impossible, but you had gotten used to it over the last few months. You didn’t mind, because you knew it’d be back to normal soon. Severus was eyeing your tummy, looking to you with expectation once you were settled.

“Go ahead, Sev.” You giggled, knowing what he wanted.

Every single night since you had been pregnant, Severus would rub your belly and tell the human growing inside of you goodnight. Severus shimmied down to where his face was in front of your bump. He lifted the shirt up to reveal your bare belly. He left a kiss on the stretched skin, carefully placing both of his hands on you.

“Hello in there,” Severus said, smiling proudly when he felt the baby move at the sound of his voice; “Are you still kicking your mother?”

You even nodded at that, thinking about all the times that the baby had soccer kicked your ribcage or hit your bladder just right. You placed one hand over one of Severus’, and put your other in his hair as he spoke.

“I’m so ready to meet you. I love you so much already. Other than Mum, I never thought I could ever love someone this much,” Severus spoke gently; “You two are my whole world.”

You rubbed his hair as you listened. Severus had been nothing short of amazing during this process. He was more than you could ever ask for. This baby was going to be loved endlessly.

“I don’t know how great of a father I’ll be. I didn’t exactly have ideal parents. I admit that I don’t have a model to go off of. But I will love you no matter what,” He spoke; “I hope you sleep well, Little One. I can’t wait to see you.”

He pressed another kiss to the side of your belly, before returning to your side. You were misty eyed at his words, turning so you were facing him.

“Oh, Severus. You’re going to be a wonderful dad. I’ve seen the way you love this child,” You assured; “Little One is going to love you. And there’s no one else I’d rather bring a baby into this world with.”

Severus still had a modest amount of nerves, but it was drowned out with joy. He was so ready for this baby.

“I love you.” He whispered.

“I love you, Sev.” You whispered back.

You leaned to kiss him, but just as your lips touched, you felt a contraction and a massive gush of fluid flushed out between your legs, soaking both of your lower halves. A startled gasp fell from your mouth, and Severus eyes grew about three times their normal size. You both knew what that meant.

Little One was about to make his/her entrance into the world.

__

Getting to the hospital from the time that labor began was a blind rush. Severus was positively panicked, which didn’t help your attempts to remain relaxed. He had spent 9 months preparing for this moment, and he was still caught off guard.

The hospital was busy, but you had a team of nurses and doctors ready to go. You were wheeled into a delivery room, your doctor checking to see how dilated you were. He let you know that you had one of the fastest dilations he had ever seen, because you were already at 10 centimeters. There was no time for an epidural or a spell.

It was time to push.

The nurses got your legs into delivery position, Severus taking your hand as the doctor and nurses guided you through it. You gave a hard push, screaming bloody murder and squeezing the circulation out of Severus’ hand.

“You’re doing great, my love. Keep pushing.” He praised you.

Your head fell back onto the pillow with gruff, heavy breaths. You were filled with a pain you couldn’t describe. You needed this baby out. The doctor gave you a second to rest, before instructing you to push again. You took a deep breath, every muscle in your body tensing up as you pushed. Severus scrunched his nose at how badly you were hurting his hand, but he didn’t dare say anything.

The baby’s head and shoulders were out, ear splitting cries echoing through the room. It was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Severus peeked between your legs, and you saw the way his face filled with pure love as he saw your baby for the first time.

“Oh, [Y/N]. Little One is gorgeous...” He breathed, wanting you to push again so you could be able to see; “Push again, darling. You’re almost there.”

The nurses and Severus were encouraging you as you pushed hard a few more times, your baby finally entering into the world. Severus was a little too squeamish to cut the cord, but he watched every single movement as the doctors and nurses cut the umbilical cord and got them cleaned up. You were breathing heavily, your entire body shaking from the strenuous action. You whimpered out to Severus, who had a better viewpoint than you did.

“Is the baby okay? Please tell me the baby’s okay...” You whined out, desperate to see him/her.

Severus was close to crying, but it was the happiest he had been in his entire life.

“The baby is perfect. You did so well, my love.” He said, kissing your sweaty forehead.

The chaos in the room died down, and one of the nurses had swaddled the crying baby. She gave a huge, kind smile and set the baby in your arms.

“Say hello to your baby girl.” She cooed.

Tears fell from your eyes as she was placed into your arms. Her cries dwindled out at the feeling and sound of your and Severus’ voices. She was the most stunning baby you had ever seen. Severus felt something awaken in him. A side of him that had been itching to come out.

“A girl...oh, a girl.” You cried happily.

Severus sniffed, holding back tears.

“She’s beautiful. She’s perfect.” Sev croaked.

He placed a kiss on her forehead, her small baby whimpers making his heart explode. The two of you sat in silence, raking over your baby’s perfection. After a minute, you looked up at Severus with a smile.

“I just thought of something we have to do.” You said.

Panic flashed over his face again. You had done everything he thought. What could there possible be to do?

“What is that, darling?” He acquired.

You giggled, kissing Severus’ cheek.

“We’ve got to pick a name for her.”

#severus snape #severus snape x reader #severus snape x you #severus #severus snape x y/n #alan rickman #Harry Potter #harry potter snape #severus snape imagine #severus snape blurb #seriouslysnape

[christ0pher-evans]

Shattered Heart

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader Warnings: Angst / Cheating / Mentions of Sex  Word Count: 1.9k 

A/N: I never usually write RPF angst fics, only fluff or smut, but I was drowning in many of my drafted smutty stories (not a bad thing) and I felt like I needed to clear my head with something different. I had this idea and Chris was the best fit. If you don’t feel comfortable reading RPF then please don’t! Based on ‘I love you’ by Billie Eilish. Please reblog and like🖤

 ♡

PRESENT DAY Laying in bed, wrapped tightly in Chris’ arms and listening to his soft snores over your shoulder was your confirmation that it was the weekend. Any other day you would be waking up alone, Chris already long gone and busy working. You shifted carefully before sliding out of his gentle grip, putting on your oversized jumper which was discarded on the floor from last night. 

Once you were downstairs and waiting for the pot of coffee to finish, your gaze lingered on the big garden to your home; the hammock that held a blanket from summer evening cuddles, Dodger’s toys flung carelessly from energetic play dates and the makeshift bar that you had built together for the parties you always hosted. All things that highlight the life that you and Chris had started together seven years ago. Smiling to yourself and caught in your memories, you didn’t even hear Chris coming down the stairs. You only realised his presence across the kitchen once you turned around. Taking him in quickly, you noticed a look of anguish fixed on his face. 

“It’s not true, tell me I’ve been lied to”

“Babe, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

Upon trying to approach him, to check he was alright, he hastily stepped away as if he was frightened from your touch. Looking away from you, he stayed silent. 

“Chris?”

Now, you were airing on the edge of nervous, genuinely worried something bad had happened but something was also telling you to stay put, to not move closer to him. You kept your distance, leaning against the breakfast bar for support against the unknown. 

“Y/N, I… I have to tell you something.” 

Sick rushed to your throat at the tone of his voice; coarse and frightened. You stayed quiet, too scared to ask him to continue. 

“Last night..” he took a deep breath, “last night, at the work dinner, before I came home; I kissed someone else.” 

Chris took another deep breath before he looked up. You were already looking at him, tears building in your eyes. Gripping the edge of the counter, you bit your lip and took a shaky breath, too afraid to do anything else incase you collapsed from the utter heartbreak washing over you. 

“Y/N, please say something.”

The sound of Chris speaking startled you, suddenly conscious of how long you’d been frozen, practically in suspended animation. Your ethereal bubble of love and adoration abruptly shattered, even the sound of his voice was making you shudder. 

Deep down, you were burning with rage, but your voice only came out as a whisper, “Tell me it’s not true, tell me you’re lying.”

You pleaded, praying and begging that this was some horrible practical joke that he wanted to play on you. 

“I - I’m not lying..”

“So, just to be clear, you went to a work dinner when you knew that I would be spending the fifth night in a row, in our home, eating alone-?” 

Chris went to interrupt but you weren’t finished. You were determined to get your point across before you crumbled. 

“-You went out and kissed someone that wasn’t me and then came home to me, sat and had wine with me and then made love to me but didn’t have the respect for me to tell me the truth the second you walked in the door last night?!” Staring at Chris, you felt the first tears drop onto your flushed cheeks. You didn’t mean to sound so harsh but when everything was fracturing around you, your emotions were the last thing you were trying to control. 

“Up all night on another red eye, I wish we never learned to fly” 

THREE YEARS AGO “Chris, I thought you said you were going to be home this week? It’s our four year anniversary!” You sighed into your wine as you sat eating dinner with him one Sunday evening. 

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry but they want to squeeze in a week of location shooting, it was a last minute decision.” 

You flicked the contents of your dinner round your plate, sad at the thought of another week at home alone. As an editor for a fashion magazine, you could do a lot of work from your home office therefore you’d already told your boss that you were working at home all week to spend time with Chris. In these situations you were so grateful to have an understanding and flexible job but frustrated to have such an in-demand and famous boyfriend. Sitting in silence with Chris, you couldn’t help but feel like this was another nail in the proverbial coffin that was your relationship. 

“Come with me!” Chris blurted out nervously. “You were working from home this week anyway, why not just work from London?” 

Your heart felt warm suddenly. The idea of spending a week in London with Chris was exciting and the sense of feeling wanted squashed your previous anxiety. 

“Of course I’ll come with you, if you want me there?” 

Chris leaned forward, reaching out and pulling your face to his, lips gently brushing against yours as he whispered, “There is nowhere that I could be in this world where I wouldn’t want you by my side, ever.” With that, he caught your lips in a bruising kiss. 

SIX MONTHS AGO “Chris..” you sigh, holding your phone away from your ear so he doesn’t hear the sob that escapes your lips. “I just don’t think that flying me halfway across the country will fix these problems!” 

You were exhausted with fighting a losing battle. You played with the loose tendrils of hair that had fallen around your face, waiting for his reply, wondering if he understood your hidden rejection of his offer. 

“Y/N, you can’t tell me that you want to see me and sort our problems out in person but moan when I offer a perfectly valid solution! I know I’m away a lot at the moment, but your job is so flexible, I don’t understand why you wouldn’t just come with me in the first place!” 

You involuntarily groan, irked by what Chris had thought was a perfectly acceptable compromise. He had missed the point completely. Flying from state to state, hell even country to country for the past six months just to get an iota of time with your husband was taxing, it was also forcing you to surrender your own life to follow his. All you wanted was for Chris to understand the sacrifice you’d been making. 

“Okay Chris, I’ll book my flights now. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You sighed, disconnecting the phone call and slamming your phone on the sofa in frustration. 

Reflecting back on the past few years, you felt ashamed at your naivety with Chris. You had taken everything with a pinch of salt because you could only imagine how difficult it was for Chris to uphold a relationship, let alone a marriage, with his career, so you were happy to make a small sacrifice if it resulted in spending time with Chris but now you realised, you were sacrificing everything for his happiness, not yours. 

“Cryin' isn’t like you” 

PRESENT DAY The words you had spoken hung over the room like a dark cloud. You knew you were being heinous before you’d given him a chance to explain but you were heartbroken. Your fingers skimmed your lips, disgusted that they’d entwined with Chris’s after he had kissed another woman, disgusted that they had begged him for release as you made love after he had kissed another woman. 

As you wiped your own tears from your eyes, you noticed tears spilling from Chris’s eyes. Your body went rigid - you had only seen Chris cry a handful of times. The feeling of sympathy and guilt should have been foreign to you in this situation but you felt pain from his misery. You could see the torment in his eyes, and you knew that he was angry with himself for hurting you; maybe, just maybe you could sort this out and salvage your marriage. 

“Shouldn’t I be the one that’s crying?” You tried to make light of the problem but recoiled at the distastefulness of your question. 

Moving to the now well-brewed pot of coffee, you poured two mugs before placing one at the other side of the breakfast bar for Chris, a symbolic waving of the white flag. You sat down, anxiously waiting to see if Chris would follow, hoping that you could sort this out like adults and maybe try to recover your trust and your marriage. That’s what you wanted, right?

“Maybe we should just try, to tell ourselves a good lie” 

You took the first sip of your second cup of coffee, still sitting in silence. You had been pondering with how to start the conversation but was admittedly hoping Chris would instigate it. Looking like that wasn’t going to happen, you tore off the bandaid and asked the question you had been dreading finding out the answer to. 

“So, can you start from the beginning and tell me what happened? I think I need to understand what transpired before we move forward.” You spoke calmly, channelling your nerves into picking at your nail varnish. Distracted by the chipped pattern on your nails, you were startled when Chris spoke up. 

“So, um, obviously you and me, we’ve been dealing with what feels like a long distance relationship; even though we live in the same house.” Chris paused from a moment, and you thought he was going to start crying again. You had to look down into your coffee, scared that if you started crying also, you wouldn’t stop. 

“Not that we haven’t handled that before, but this time it felt different, it felt worse. I know it’s not your fault Y/N and it’s not mine either, our jobs are so demanding but I was just feeling so alone.” 

Your heart was shattered at Chris’ confession. Knowing that you were both hurting from the same issue but keeping it to yourselves, it seemed absurd. 

“She was always there. I saw her every day at work, definitely for many more hours than I was seeing you each day, and she is nice. She became my friend and my comfort.”  

Now you felt like you’d been stabbed through the heart. Hearing Chris talk about another woman being everything you thought you were to him crushed you. How could you ever trust him again when he chose another woman to confide in?

“We get on really well, and um, whilst we were waiting outside the restaurant for our taxis, it just sort of.. happened.” 

The rest of the conversation passed by like a bad dream. Remembering snippets of trying to stay calm as Chris told you he made the first move, screaming at Chris when he told you he would still see her at work every day and crying into his shoulder when you admitted you wasn’t sure if this marriage  had a future. 

Chris had left hours ago to stay at a friends house to give you some space. You glanced at the tissues surrounding you - reminders of the tortuous day - as if you were looking for the answers among them. Wiping your puffy eyes for the final time, you waited for something, or someone, to make the decision for you. 

Now, it felt like the quiet at the end of a storm. Like your nightmare had come full circle. You sat in the same spot, alone. 

Part Two: Troubled Heart

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans angst #fanfiction #rpf

[myriadimagines]

Chips and Orange Soda (part ii)

Brooklyn Nine-Nine One Shot

Pairing: Reader x Jake Peralta

Other Characters: Amy Santiago

Warnings: theft, threats of violence

Summary: When a series of bodegas are robbed, Holt assigns Jake and Rosa on the case. You, a cashier, become a suspect, but Jake has a gut feeling that you’re not a suspect at all. In fact, he thinks you’re the key to solving the case.

Part One: Chips and Orange Soda

Word Count: 2,319

A/N: the second part to my submission for @locke-writes​​‘ writing challenge!! admittedly it gets kind of into an ethical dilemma that i didnt mean to go into and that’s unnecessarily deep but you’ll see what i mean ajskdhas but anyway disclaimer again!! not in law enforcement!!! this is not accurate when it comes to crimes!!! i really hope the reveal/ending isn’t too disappointing and that u guys still enjoyed the story!!! it does get a little more serious in this part but i still hope it’s in character/tone with the show!!

reblog/feedback/comments are very much appreciated!!!

Jake is careful to open up the door of the bodega, which is all bordered up with tape as the shattered glass has yet to be replaced. The inside looks better at least, no longer sectioned off with police tape, and business seems to be going on as usual, with customers in between the aisles and some at the counter. Jake resists the urge to grab a snack for himself, and he glances around the room, frowning as he realises there’s no sight of you.

Jake finally approaches a young man manning the cash register. “Hey man, is y/n in?”

He shakes his head. “Sorry dude, they don’t work Tuesdays.”

Jake smacks the side of his head, remembering how you mentioned it to him. He moves to exit the store when he notices the live security footage playing on the screen behind the counter. Pointing it out, Jake says, “Hey, looks like you got your cameras working again.” 

The man looks over his shoulder, before turning back to Jake with furrowed eyebrows. “What?”

Jake frowns slightly, his hand falling to his side. “y/n told me that your cameras were down last week.” 

The man remains confused, staring at Jake as if he’s speaking another language. Slowly, he finally responds, “Nah, they’ve been working fine. I don’t know what y/n’s talking about.” 

Something inside of Jake’s stomach twists, and he frowns. Despite how hard he’s been trying to defend you, he can’t help but admit to himself that you’re not making it easy. He digs through his pockets, pulling out an old receipt, and he grins to himself as he flips it over and finds your number on the other side. Pulling out his phone, he cringes slightly at his 6% battery level, and he hopes he has enough to make a call.

Dialling in your number, he raises the phone to his ear. It rings a few times before someone finally picks up the phone. Taking in a deep breath, Jake says, “y/n? It’s Jake, the detective from last week. We… we need to talk.” 

—

Jake paces around the briefing room, shaking his head as he tries to piece everything together. After coming back to the precinct following his failed attempt to find you at the bodega, Jake had filled up a corkboard with pictures and other small pieces of evidence he and Rosa were able to gather, although it was looking rather sparse. Your lie about the security cameras definitely presents as an obstacle, but he tries not to think the worst of it. He hasn’t told Rosa yet, who had gone out to meet with the forensics team again, fearing what her reaction would be towards you. Maybe you were mistaken, maybe the robbers managed to figure out a way to wipe the footage. But something about the situation doesn’t sit right with Jake, and he lets out a defeated sigh. 

“Hey, Jake,” Amy peeks her head inside, knocking at the door, and Jake looks up. She gestures back to the bullpen as she continues, “You’ve got someone here to see you. Sounds like they’ve got some information on the bodega robberies.” 

Jake perks up, rushing past Amy out of the room. His eyes widen as he sees you linger by his desk, nervously glancing around the room. He nods as a thank you to Amy before making his way over to you, and he greets, “Hey, y/n, thanks for coming in. How have you been doing?”

You meet Jake’s gaze, and you can’t help but soften at his tone. He seems to genuinely care, and you can’t help but feel an overwhelming sense of guilt. Nodding, you reassure him, “I’m okay. I’m… I’m glad you reached out, actually. There are some things that I need to tell you about. Can we go for a walk?” 

Jake hesitates. He knows that he should probably bring you to the interrogation room instead, but he finds himself nodding. He grabs his leather jacket hanging on the back of his chair, and he nods towards the elevator as he remarks, “Sure. Let’s go.”

—

You and Jake make your way through the streets of Brooklyn, finding yourself at a nearby local park. You can’t help but smile at the sight of children running around, squealing at one another as they chase each other in some sort of game, but you can’t ignore the pit in your stomach, the gnawing guilt that has plagued you ever since your first interaction with Jake.

You finally happen upon an empty bench in a quiet corner of the park and you silently take a seat. Jake sits beside you, and your breath begins to tremble. Jake patiently waits for you, eyes wide with concern as he finds himself shifting closer to you, subconsciously wanting to comfort you despite not knowing what’s to come. 

“I… I haven’t told you everything that I know about the bodega.” you finally confess, and Jake takes in a deep breath. He nods slowly, silently urging you to continue, and you look up to meet his gaze as you continue, “I know who did it. And the other robberies, too.”

Jake stares at you, and you can tell it’s clearly a lot of information to take in. He presses his lips together, trying to process all this, before he quietly asks, “You’re trying to protect someone, aren’t you?” 

Your expression crumples, and your shoulders slump as you bury your face in your hands. You swore to yourself you wouldn’t cry, but as the overwhelming reality of the situation begins to sink in, you’re suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Jake’s expression falls, and despite knowing that the two of you are practically strangers, he wraps an arm around you, gently rubbing his hand up and down your arm as he tries to soothe you. 

“It feels like I’ve been trying to protect him all my life, but I- I feel like I can’t, anymore.” you manage to say through sobs, and Jake frowns, eyebrows furrowing in concern. Gulping, you finally reveal, “My brother.”

Jake sucks in a sharp breath. He’s all too familiar himself with broken homes, with strained familial relationships. You’re almost afraid to look at him, but Jake’s expression is one of understanding, of sympathy. He gently reassures you, “Take all the time you need, alright?” 

You nod, trying to compose yourself the best you can. You fold your hands into your lap, perhaps a poor attempt at stopping them from shaking, and you manage to hold your tears back long enough for you to begin explaining, “It was always just me and my brother, you know? My single mom had to raise us, but we barely saw her because she was always working. But my brother and I always had each other’s backs, and I thought it would be that way forever.”

You’re distracted as a pair of kids dart past you, and Jake notices the bittersweet smile that appears on your face as you watch them. Quietly, he prompts, “When did you feel like things started to go wrong?” 

“I mean, my brother was always a rowdy kid, always getting into trouble, but it just kept getting worse and worse. I’d try to bail him out, but there was only so much I could do.” you continue. “As we got older, I started seeing him less and less. He’d show up whenever he needed help, but that was it. Until he showed up the night before the bodega robbery.”

“He came to see you?” Jake’s eyes widen in alarm, and you nod. You can feel a pit forming in the bottom of your stomach as you think back to that night, and you uneasily run your hands through your hair. 

“I didn’t know he had robbed those other bodegas. But he came around asking for me to let him and his friend in, basically. Asked me for the key. I told him no, that I could just lend him money, and he… he got angry.” your voice shakes slightly as you stare off at some point in the distance. “We’ve had our fights, obviously, but this was different. I was almost scared of him.”

You screw your eyes shut as you remember seeing the smashed in front door, the fear swallowing you whole as you worried what might happen next. Jake doesn’t try to prompt you further, knowing how difficult this must be for you, and he lets out a soft sigh as he wishes that you didn’t have to go through such a thing.

“I don’t want him to go to jail. I just want him to be okay.” you can feel your words getting caught in your throat as you struggle to continue speaking. “But he doesn’t even feel like my brother anymore. That night was just… I- I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“What about the cameras?” Jake quietly asks.

“That was me.” you sigh, nervously wringing your hands together. “I couldn’t sleep that night, so eventually, I… I just got up and went to see if he had really done it. Part of me still had hope that maybe he didn’t. When I saw the door broken in it just… crushed me. I almost feel like he did it on purpose, to scare me. But I still wanted to protect him, so I… I went in to delete the security footage, and rushed out before anyone could see me.”

Jake leans back onto the bench. This is it, he realises. With your revelations, it seems as though the case is solved. But seeing the heartbreak on your face doesn’t make the solved case as satisfying as it usually is.

“I just feel like I’ve failed him.” your shoulders slump, your voice barely audible. “He’s my family I have, and I just… I just wish it didn’t have to be like this.” 

“Hey, you didn’t fail him, y/n,” Jake gently insists, and to your surprise, he reaches out to take your hand, giving it a squeeze. “You’ve been an awesome sibling, better than he deserves, really. But he chose to do this, and that’s not on you.” 

You nod, trying your best to believe him, and from the earnest expression on Jake’s face, you feel like you could. You manage to muster up a smile, and Jake smiles back at you. Nodding back in the direction of the precinct, Jake tells you, “I do need you to need you to come back to the precinct to make a statement. But you’ve really helped us, y/n, and you did the right thing.” 

A part of you has doubts, but you try your best to take comfort in Jake’s words. Jake gets to his feet, and you stand up with him, and Jake offers you a small smile that reassures you that everything will be okay. 

—

You bump the cash machine closed with your elbow as you count out some change. Sliding it over to the customer alongside their bag of snacks, you politely smile at them before they step aside to leave. You wave the next customer in line forward, only to realise it’s Jake standing before you, and your eyes widen as he offers you a sheepish grin. He steps up to the counter, placing down a bag of chips and a bottle of orange soda, and you exchange a knowing smile as you lean forward, “Hey, Jake. Did… did everything go alright?”

“We got him and his buddy.” Jake confirms, and you let out a breath you didn’t realise you were holding. “They tried to give us the slip, but I chased after them.”

You narrow your eyes slightly, and Jake quickly corrects himself, “Okay, Rosa chased after them, but that doesn’t matter.”  

You laugh, and Jake snorts with you before continuing, “There’ll be a trial, obviously. I’ll give you more updates when I hear them.”

You nod, before sliding Jake’s stuff back to him. You don’t even bother ringing his purchase up as you tell him, “It’s on the house.” 

“What? No.” Jake hurriedly searches through his pockets for some change. “You don’t have to do that.”

“It’s the least I can do.” you insist. Jake offers you some cash, but you shake your head. “Seriously, Jake, thank you, for everything.” 

You reach out, closing Jake’s hand, and your gaze lingers on one another as your hand remains on his. He smiles, and Jake feels like his heart might beat out of his chest as you smile back at him. Before he can stop himself, he blurts, “Do you want to get dinner with me sometime?”

You blink at him in surprise, and Jake winces as he worries he might’ve blown it. Stammering, he continues, “It’s, uh, my way of saying thank you. For helping us solve the case. And for the snacks.” 

Jake watches as a smile spreads across your face, and you chew on your lip as if trying to contain your happiness. “Is this a date?”

Jake grins at you. “It can be.” 

“Just tell me when and where.” you nod excitedly, and Jake beams at you. “I’d love to go out with you, Jake.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jake claps his hands together. He scoops up his snacks, backing away as he continues, “Hey, I’ve got to run back to the precinct, but I’ll text you, okay?”

“Got it.” you nod, grinning from ear to ear. You can’t help but chuckle as you watch Jake clumsily try to open the door, but he stops himself. 

“Oh! By the way,” Jake spins around on his heel. “Do you guys sell batteries?” 

“Um,” you glance over your shoulder at the inventory behind you. “We’ve got some. What kind do you need?”

“It’s for a clock.” Jake sighs, and you raise an eyebrow at his reaction. “It’s… a long story.”

tag list: @myfriendmagislit / @thedamagedcne / @real-fbi / @writinqss / @thisismysecrethappyplace / @natalia-helena-alianova-romanov / @dontjudgemepeepswrites / @hauntedpocdreamer / @locke-writes / @lgbtonystarks / @fangirlsarah16 / @kittensanddarkclouds / @randomfandomimagine / @ofthedewthesunlight / @bravelittlesunflower / @gothicwidowsworld​ / @halfofwhatisayismeaningless / @amirahiddleston / @interwebseriesfan24​

#reader x jake peralta #jake peralta x reader #b99 imagine #b99 #b99 one shot #jake peralta #jake peralta one shot #imagine #imagines #reader insert #oneshot #one shot

[the-tiniest-one]

Parenting Rock Lee with Might Guy :)

Note:@xemaliahrssx here ya go! I hope it tastes just like you dreamed it would!

Sitting at the kitchen table, watching Guy and Lee devour the dinner you made, had you feeling nostalgic... You watched with your head rested on your hand. It was the little family moments that you appreciated more than anything else these days. "Yeah! and then I caught him in a cross block!" Lee said, describing their latest mission, his mouth full of food.

"Haha yes yes (y/n) you should have been there, our Rock Lee is becoming a real force to be reckoned with, much like his handsome sensei" Guy said with a wink in your direction.

"Handsome indeed" you said with a grin.

Thinking back to the days when you were a little more of a workaholic made you laugh. If you told your younger-self all those years ago that you would be Konoha's worst helicopter parent in just a few years, you'd have never believed it. Guy was a perfect match for you in that regard. You two were a well oiled machine when it came to parenting.

While Lee could do no wrong in your eyes, Guy was a bit heavy handed in his discipline of Lee's skills as a shinobi. You kissed every bruise and scrape, while Guy was teaching him how to prevent them in the first place.

Rock Lee has had more than his fair share of the short-end-of-the- shit-stick his entire life. BUT One could be forgiven for not recognizing the true level of hardship the boy has overcome in his short tenure as a shinobi. Lee is a true underdog.

Lucky for him, you've always been a bit of a sucker for an underdog.

You thought back to those early days......

Even before Lee evolved to a mini version of your childhood crush, you felt the need to protect him. Watching him fumble and practice jutsu in vain day after day.....early in the morning and into the night. You would watch him from a distance while training your own team. One early morning, you decided to check in on the boy with long black hair. He kicked at a post, counting off as you looked on...10....11.....12.....his kicks were weak even for his young age. As he got closer to 50 he fell back, overwhelmed by the pain of repetitively beating his shins into the wood without chakra to safeguard his bones.

Clearly angry at his situation, the thought occurred to you that maybe he wasn't using chakra because he couldn't....the boy had tears streaming from his eyes. It broke your heart to watch a kid who couldn't be more than 10, cursing his life.

"A kid working that hard shouldn't have to feel that defeated..." you said to yourself.

You felt conflicted. Torn between wanting to step in and takeover his training...but feeling the weight of responsibility that would come with encouraging a child to chase a pipedream that would only lead to disappointment. You knew all too well what happens to weak ninja. The reality was that it would be cruel to encourage the boy to peruse a life as dangerous as that of a shinobi. You were no slouch when it came to taijutsu but ninjas are able to compete with one another because of the advantages that come with developing kakai genki.

Could a boy with no use of chakra stand a chance against the generations of those families of ninja who use fearsome jutsu and tactics like lightning...wind....wood or even hereditary gifts like the dreaded sharingan or byakugen? The real answer was sad and harsh. No. He couldn't.

You wouldn't be so irresponsible as to tell the boy he could be anything but a failure.

If he perused that path, he would die young.

So you stood back, restraining the desire to comfort and nurture the little boy out of what you told yourself was mercy. Day after day, week after week....you watched on....until it became too much. You couldn't sleep anymore, couldn't function on missions the same way. Always thinking back to him still out at those training grounds.....always struggling.

....

One morning it was pouring rain. You called off training that day for your team and headed out to the place you knew he would be. He was there of course. He was doing his best to catch a cold while practicing hand signs to no avail. After watching him for a few minutes you finally asked, "What's your name kid?" speaking loud to project over the rain. Startled he looked up to where you stood, perched on a post a few feat away. "I...Im Rock Lee" he said timidly. You laughed at his shy but sweet face, "Im y/n" you said.

"Your kicks look like they could use some work", holding your palm about chest high, to show him where his blow should be landing. The boy grimaced...clearly angry with his lack of direction in training. You laughed and the both of you worked on his kicks for the duration of the morning.

"I think you'll be a splendid ninja someday" you said as you offered him a bit of lunch you packed. The boy looked up at you with the most heartbreaking fear in his eyes, "I can't use chakra" Lee said barley above a whisper, clearly ashamed to tell you the truth.

You ruffled his hair. "Look kid, life is shitty sometimes. But I can tell you are someone who will never quit. No matter the odds, and that is something worth more than all the talent in the world." He instantly smiled up at you, melting your heart for what would be the first of a million times. Laughing and showing you also first time you saw that shiny smile that you would come to love more that anything on earth.

From then on he was your responsibility. Your chest burned with pride in his concrete determination. Feeling instantly the protective burn and feral instinct to insulate him from anything that would hurt him.

....

It was about a year later when things evolved. You and Lee had become close. He, being an orphan as you found out he was, had taken your invitation to live in your spare bedroom. It wasn't long before you were nagging him to be sure and eat breakfast before class, take baths every night. You were often hearing your mothers voice echo in your own as you guided the child to a structure he lacked.

You even went to his parent meetings at the Academy, much to the surprise of Iruka (because he himself was 2 years older than you and had known you since you were smol) laughed when you asked to see Lee's reports.

----

Then one hot summer day you got the order... your team was dispatched on your first extended mission with your new genin. 3 months on a C rank mission to Suna. Your heart sank as you remembered Lee's graduation exam was in just a few days. Before you left, you kissed his forehead and promised a tearful Lee who had become just as attached as you over the last year, that would bring him back a graduation present.

You just knew he would finally pass.

....

Returning to the village near midnight you couldn't wait to see Lee. After giving report to Lord Third, you quickly made your way home. Quietly cracking the door to his bedroom, you peaked in to see his sweet little face. The snoring boy looked peaceful.

"He cut his hair?" you thought puzzled..."he must have done it himself, it looks a little odd." You laughed at the thought of him using a bowl to cut his hair.

Then your eyes traveled to the headband still around his forehead, "He passed!!!" you quietly celebrated, careful not to wake him up. You placed the promised gift on his dresser, a brand-new set of num-chuks you'd had made in Suna.

The next morning you were up before sunrise making a celebratory breakfast when an extreme round of knocking came from the apartment's front door.

You quickly answered, immediately flustered when on the other side was none other than Might Guy....the same Guy you'd had the hots for over a decade.

"Y/N!, I must have the wrong address! I was looking for one of my students!" Guy said in his familiar boisterous cadence. Laughing nervously you started to respond, when behind you Lee pushed his way through the doorframe. Your eyes widened at the sight.

The haircut made sense now, Lee stood side by side with his sensei. He was wearing Guy's jumpsuit... they could have been father and son.

Looking at the two of them standing side by side in front of you for the first time gave you the most jarring sense of dejavu.

"Guy sensei! Look what Y/N brought me from her most dangerous mission!" Lee brandished the weapon, beaming up at his teacher who laughed and winked in your direction. "Ah, a great choice! Only the most skilled ninja know how to use such a fine weapon! We must enlighten you at once Lee my boy!" With that the handsome jonin and your sweet Rock Lee were off to train.

You had known Guy since he was still struggling to gain entrance to the Academy, you knew that the man who radiated confidence today, only earned that ability through blood, sweat, and tears.

You apprehensively accepted that Might Guy was a good match to be Lee's sensei.

"Be careful!" you called, more than a little apprehensive at the thought of your sweet baby boy training with such an admittedly impulsive man. Feeling a small tug of sadness as you watched the two of them disappear down the street.

"Lee's getting tall..." you though as you closed the door.

....

Over the next few years Lee had grown into a strong young man. You felt such extreme pride in everything he did. Even though you being in your mid-twenties were not nearly old enough to be Lee's mother, he had taken to occasionally calling you mom.

Lee was never embarrassed of you as he grew into a teen like some of the other kids his age. He was always just as willing to give you a hug before a mission as the day you met him.

It would be a lie to say that the relationship you and Guy shared hadn't also matured along the way. Although you weren't Lee's biological parents, anyone would be forgiven for thinking that you were. Everything you had admired about Guy, his hot-bloodedness, his devotion to youthful perseverance, his love of his village had been passed down to your surrogate son.

It was only natural that you and Guy would become a team in raising Rock Lee. Over time after a few years of dinners, training sessions, birthdays, holidays etc...Guy decided to propose to you.

It was a literal dream come true. You couldn't say yes fast enough. But as required when two shinobi become married, when you went to sign the paperwork to make your marriage official, requesting a stamp of approval from Lady Tsunade....she extended to you a folder with a second set of forms.

Guy beamed as you read the contents. Adoption papers with Lee's name printed at the top in bold.

"He will always be our son. Since we are making it official... why not add one more?" Guy said with a laugh. The tears began welling in your eyes. "He's 17" you laughed, "I love you" is all you could think to say in response to the most kind gesture you have ever witnessed.

Guy held his trademark thumbs up high as he replied, "Lee will always need his mom, no matter how big he gets!" His words like music to your heart...

You'd never felt so complete as you walked hand in hand with Guy, on your way home to surprise your sweet son with the news.

Upon telling Lee what the two of you had done, he looked from the papers back to you. Confusion spread across the sweet ravenette's features. "But I do not understand" Lee said with a hand rubbing the back of his neck. "Have you not always been my mom?"

The innocent look in his eye and profound sincerity in his voice made tears well in your eyes for what felt like the tenth time that day. You laughed and swept he and Guy into a hug that didn't last long enough. "What's for dinner?" the two men asked in unison and in that moment you knew you were the luckiest person in the world.

#rock lee #might guy x you #might guy relationship #naruto imagines #naruto #naruto fanfiction #might gai imagine #might guy fanfiction #rock lee fanfiction #parenting with maito #rock lee's mom #maito guy #rock lee imagines #rock lee x y/n #team gai

[peach-coke]

PEACHY!! I just finished the final. How u doing? What do you think?

Hey Sol! Sorry for leaving you hanging with an answer for a couple days but I had to process. And mourn, after all I said goodbye to something that has been part of me for 15 years. That's half my life. It's weird and I don't think I've ever cried as much as I have in the past 3 days but... Well. Luckily, they're happy tears. "Don't cry because it's over, cry because it happened" aside? I love the ending.

It's all I could've ever asked for. Ah, who am I kidding? It's more than that. I was prepared to be gutted in a really bad way. I am gutted but for all the right reasons. It was tragic. It was painful. It was beautiful. But most of all? It was a Love-Letter.

I know there’s a lot of people who’re upset about parts of the episode; I understand. We’re all grieving in our own ways. I hope however, that once the dust has settled and feelings stop spiking into extremes, people will realize that the episode left so many things unsaid and ambiguous... Meaning there's lots and lots of space for interpretation and headcanons to “fix” the finale into something that makes it better for you. And I’d like to think this was done on purpose.

I’m soo sorry I end up rambling on one of your asks again Sol, but I’ll do exactly that to pick up some of the things I’ve seen people be most upset about and give some of my perspective on them. Maybe it’ll help some people to feel better and grow to love the final as much as I do ♥

One thing I’ve seen a lot of people be upset about is that Dean didn’t get to live the life they’ve fought for so hard. Actually? We don’t know that. There is no timestamps, no indicators that tell us they didn’t do what we saw in the first domestic montage for a couple years. The only hint we have is that Miracle is still around and kicking, so it couldn’t have been more than maybe 6 years (because 6-8ish is when a dog that size shows clears signs of aging). Besides that? Nobody and nothing stops us in believing they had that “domestic bliss with a little bit of hunting on the side”-life for quite a while before it happened.

Them talking about mourning Cas and Jack is no indicator either. I still mourn people I lost 15 years ago, when the occasion calls for it or I remember them in moments that they would’ve loved to be part of. Mourning never stops… Of course, even 6 years aren’t a lifetime. But do we really think Dean - our Dean - would’ve been happy and content with a 9-to-5 job? Yeah, didn’t think so either...

Then, we have the rebar. Which honestly didn’t bother me at all, for several reasons. First, I love parallels and this episode was so full of them… Not only was the whole “stabbed in the back” thing a direct callback to arguably the most painful death in the series to date – Sam’s first in All Hell Breaks Loose – it was also a callback to The Song Remains the Same. The episode where Sam is stabbed by Anna – with a rebar/fixture she ripped out of the wall - and bleeds out on the floor. The only reason he got out of it alive, is because John!Michael fixed him. Otherwise? He would’ve died by being stabbed with a rebar. Just like that.

Ash himself told them that they died several times together and can’t remember because the angels don’t want them to. We, the viewers, have never seen them die together until Dark Side Of The Moon. Which strongly implies that they must’ve died on random hunts. More than once.

So Dean’s death in the barn? That’s what happens to Hunters who have no divine intervention. That’s what happens to Hunters who are living the life without being chosen for something bigger. That’s what happens to Hunters with free will. Dean’s death in the barn was a true Hunter’s death. The one he always wanted. There’s no glory, there’s nothing special about it. It just is. And I thought that was tragically poetic in its own way.

I know people were expecting them to go out Butch and Sundance style. Together – I admittedly wanted that too. But the way Dean’s death happened didn’t bother me at all. And honestly? Sam’s soul died in that barn, too. We know it did. So they did go out together, one way or another. It was just not the way we expected.

The cinematic parallels of Sam’s life without Dean to Dean’s life without Sam after Swan Song honestly floored me. It was beautifully heartbreaking.

We see Sam living his life while Dean is driving along “right there beside him, every step of the way”. We see him holding on for Dean, fulfilling the promise he made to his brother about living on. Making sure there’s always a Winchester that knows love left in the world. The final sacrifice of Sam, the bravest and strongest man we know. Sam, who sits down in the car he once called home, to be close to the one person that always held the same connotation. Sam, who knows his other half is waiting for him, sitting just there in the same spot he is. Every step of the way. That’s my Supernatural right there.

What I especially like about the whole thing is, that it once again leaves us with another take besides the one we actually saw and thought obvious. We can also pretend Sam died on that werewolf hunt, shortly after Dean’s death. There is nothing that stops you from seeing this as canon, (There’s actually quite a few hints that it’s a very strong possibility), because the way the whole scene played out could’ve easily been a daydream of Dean while he was driving in heaven.

The fact they left it open like that is a gift, in my eyes. They could’ve easily forced a fixed narrative on us. But they didn’t. Same with so many other things. They left us with so many possibilities and room for our own takes. And I think it’s fair that people need time to process what we’ve been given here. It’s fair that people are still upset about some aspects, because they have yet to realize that there is a pathway for them to see it differently, without discarding canon at all.

There’s only one thing that is not open for interpretation. And that’s that Sam and Dean love each other as much as two human beings can love each other. And none of them is complete without the other. I never quite understood why some people needed the show to end on romantic notes. Supernatural has never been about that. It has always been about the deep, abiding love those two brothers had for each other and how neither heaven nor hell ever stood a chance against it. Platonic love is just as beautiful as romantic love; sometimes even more so. And that’s what this finale showed us.

And that’s why I love it so much. Why I say it’s a Love-Letter. It’s a Love-Letter to us; The ones who’ve been there all the way from the start. The ones who’ve seen the show for what it is and what it has always been: The epic love story of Sam and Dean Winchester.

Despite all that, it is still valid to dislike the ending. You are entitled to do so. But if you really think Sam and Dean - two soulmates, surrounded by the people they love, at peace - spending the rest of eternity together in heaven is the absolute worst possible ending that destroyed everything the show ever stood for? I’m sorry, but in that case you did not understand Supernatural at all.

#Asks and Requests #Sent in by solisoccasus #SPN Spoilers #SPN Finale Positive #Sam and Dean are Soulmates #and y'all can take that from my cold dead hands

[dogbearinggifts]

What are your thoughts on tua S2? Did you feel like the characters grew? What did you like? What did you not? I’m interested in your perspective. Your analysis are super thoughtful and interesting!

Aw, thanks, Anon!

Overall, I really enjoyed S2 and thought it was a solid follow-up to S1. I do have my quibbles about it, so I think (for ease of reference and because my thoughts are a little scattered today) I’ll list some of my personal highlights (in no particular order) before getting into what I didn’t like as much.

Big spoilers ahead.

Allison. I thought they handled her storyline especially well. Of all the siblings, I think she had the most difficult obstacles placed in her way (not only is she a Black woman landing in 1961 Dallas, but she’s a Black woman landing in 1961 Dallas who can’t even speak in her own defense for a year) and they sugarcoated exactly none of it. The writers pulled no punches when showing what civil rights protesters went through, which just made their nonviolent response all the more breathtaking. Allison’s fear and anger during those scenes were palpable even as she kept them hidden. But along with that horror, we see the kindness and warmth of the Dallas Black community, the women who take her in simply because she needs their help, and her love for Ray, perhaps heretofore THE most thoughtful husband ever portrayed on screen. I loved him, and I loved him and Allison together. While I understand and respect his choice to stay in 1963, I wish they’d gotten more time together. They both deserved it.

Vanya. We got to see how much the baggage from her past affected her by glimpsing what she might be like if it were taken away. It’s an interesting philosophical question, and it was explored well, in my opinion. She finds it easier to love and be loved, and she stands up for herself more readily—but she also doesn’t hesitate to use powers she can’t quite control and threatens Five without fully realizing how dire her threat is (or how it might dredge up traumatic memories she doesn’t know exist). The moment where Ben finds her curled up, fully convinced she’s a monster, was heartbreaking. I loved watching her find happiness with Sissy, even if that was fleeting (and dear god, Sissy deserved her happy ending with Vanya, dammit, I don’t care if it would fuck up the timeline). Her patience and sweetness with Harlan were just beautiful. And the way she used the confidence she gained during her amnesia to fully come into her own not to exact revenge on her siblings, but to save them, was fucking phenomenal.

The humor. There was a lot more humor this season, and it was awesome. So many iconic scenes—Olga Foroga, Luther babysitting two homicidal Fives, Elliot awkwardly lecturing his guests on the history of Jello, “NEW TIMELINE NEW ME,” “Your vagina needs glasses,” AJ the fish gobbling up the cigarette bubbles, Five getting to say “fuck”….this season was a lot funnier than the previous one, and I think that was one of its strengths.

Klaus’ cult. It was played for laughs, which I both expected and thought was the best way to handle it. He didn’t want to start a new religion with himself at the center; he just wanted to not get thrown out of any more diners, but Destiny’s Children had other ideas. The “I too am a fraud!” scene was hilarious and tickled the question of whether or not a religion founded on false pretenses can still help those within it find meaning.

Luther. Getting him away from his dad, his siblings, and the Academy was exactly what he needed to become the pure of heart and dumb of ass genius we always knew he was, but his first major step in that direction was heartbreaking. We all knew he’d be rejected once he got to the Academy. We all knew Reginald would rip his heart out and stomp on it in his admittedly fashionable shoes. It gets Luther out on his own and forces him to become his own person apart from his dad, but that doesn’t make it any easier to watch. He got the positive character development he needed, but the catalyst was tragic.

Diego. We see, for the first time, exactly how Reginald kept him in line—not with meds or with PTSD-inducing torture, but with words. Even when he knows Diego as little more than a stranger, Reginald is able to rip off his skin and fling it in his face with a single diatribe; and even at 30, with years away from his dad, Diego is left unable to speak, feeling as if all of his accomplishments up to that point were the work of a dumb kid who thought he was smarter and more capable than he actually was.

Luther and Diego sharing a braincell. Luther has bad ideas. Diego has bad ideas. When they put their bad ideas together, they get terrible ideas. I loved watching them work together as a team, rather than being at each others’ throats for most of the season, even if I’m left hoping Olga Foroga had a pleasant and quiet day after that phone call.

Reginald. At first glance, it may look like the writers were trying to make him likable so they could parade him around as your average abusive-parent-with-a-soft-side. But it’s more nuanced than that. Abusive parents (and abusers in general) often fly under the radar because they fool outsiders into thinking they’re good people. They’re active in their communities. They give to charity. They have friends who attest to their virtue, significant others who think they’re the greatest. And that’s what we see with Reginald. We see him as the rest of the world did: an intelligent, eccentric man with a sharp sense of humor who cared deeply about scientific advancement. That’s how he evaded suspicion—because there were stories from years past of lively parties at his mansion, of what a gentleman he was to Grace and of how he did everything he could to save little Pogo. But those stories would all have come from people he considered his equals. When he’s with people he considers his inferiors—aka, the Umbrella kids—he’s openly condescending and demeaning. We get to see how he fooled the world, and it is chilling.

Elliot. He deserved better, and you can ship him with any one of the Hargreeves kids and get the cutest thing ever. 

The Swedes. They said so much while speaking very little.

Ben. He got more personality and screen time, and it was glorious. His love of his family and resentment toward Klaus practically leapt off the screen. The way he says “I’ve missed you all…so much” once they’ve all left was one of those right-in-the-feels moments; and watching him get so much of what he’s wanted for years when he possesses Klaus was beautiful.

Now, as for things I took issue with….

Ben. I understand why they ended his arc the way they did. I get that they were probably afraid the Klaus/Ben dynamic would grow stale if they didn’t change it somehow and wanted to give him a larger role in S3. His death(???) was heartbreaking and extremely well-done. But it also wasn’t foreshadowed. We never got any sense of what ghosts in the TUA ‘verse are, so the fact they can be destroyed by a ton of sound-turned-energy or by going too far into someone’s psyche or whatever happened….it’s not that it doesn’t make sense so much as there’s not enough evidence to determine whether or not it makes sense. It feels like the writers just kinda made that up so they’d have a reason to change Ben’s relationship dynamics, but if that’s the case, couldn’t they have done it another way? Couldn’t they have made it so the immense energy or psychic woo-woo or whatever gave him a power-up instead of destroying him? Vanya transferred some of her energy into Harlan and brought him back to life. Couldn’t something similar have happened with Ben? And if it tied him to Vanya as well as to Klaus, great! More fodder for angst and humor! (”Vannyyyyyyyy, stop hogging Ben!” “You got him for 17 years, Klaus, you can part with him for 20 minutes.” “Guys, don’t I get a say in this?”) I’m glad they didn’t write him out of the series entirely, but I still wish they’d kept him and all the character development he’d gotten throughout S2.

Episode 10. It looks like they tried to cram half a season’s worth of developments into 45 minutes. Twenty minutes in, I’d already said “Wait what the fuck” half a dozen times. A lot of those moments were explained later on, and I was able to make enough inferences to fill in any lingering plot holes, but…still. Too much stuff, too little time. E9 was a perfectly satisfying ending to the season. Yes, it leaves the siblings stranded in 1963, but they could’ve tied up those loose ends in the S3 premiere.

Lila. She’s an incredibly fun character, but her arc is kind of a mess. Most of that is due to E10, and I do feel that more time to let her arc breathe would’ve worked wonders, but I’m left feeling like her turn from “Handler is the best mom ever and I lurve Diego too” to “KILL DIEGO AND HIS EVIL FAMILY” to “Handler is a bad mom and Diego is right” happened too quickly.

The Commission. Okay, so, the Handler announces the entire Board has been killed, and she’s stepping in as director even though everyone appears to know she’s been demoted (and demoted pretty severely—she went from having an office bigger than some apartments to being a case management drone). There’s suspicion and lots of it. But then, La Resistance is….ten or so people in a single room? And when she calls the temps agents to her side, thousands of them show up ready and willing to fight and die? I dunno. Just seems like there should’ve been more splintering going on there. Again, I think they needed more time to tie everything up.

Aside from those complaints, I loved the season. I set aside most of a day to binge it, and I do not regret that decision at all.

#the umbrella academy season 2 spoilers #tua s2 spoilers #umbrella academy season 2 spoilers #The Umbrella Academy #Umbrella Academy #tua #luther hargreeves #Diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #reginald hargreeves #grace #pogo #number one #number two #number three #number four #number five #number six #number seven #anon #answered

[twomoonstwosuns]

the best day

pairing: single dad!poe x daughter

warnings: briefest mention of sex, mention of minor bullying

word count: 1.5k

inspired by: ‘the best day’ - taylor swift 

a/n: i had this in my head for awhile, i hope you enjoy! if you’d like to be added to my permanent tag list and be tagged in anything i post, please let me know! if i tagged you and you’d like to be removed let me know too!

The sound of the front door slamming shut caught Poe’s attention from the kitchen followed by heavy footsteps going straight up the staircase. He had decided to leave work early and surprise his daughter by being home when she got home from school and was making her an afternoon snack. A second door slamming shut made him furrow his brow and he put down the knife he was using to cut up an apple to go upstairs and investigate. 

“Hon?” He knocked softly but only heard silence on the other side of the door. He knocked again before opening. “Hey, I’ve got some apples cut up if you want—“

She sat at her desk, head on top of her arms and her shoulders shaking. The breath she took in shook with sadness. Poe frowned and walked over slowly, not wanting to frighten her. 

“Hey…” He put his hand on her back and rubbed it gently. “What’s going on?”

All she could do was cry, the sound breaking his heart right in two. He kneeled down next to her so he was eye level and she immediately threw her arms around his neck, crying softly into his shoulder. Poe hugged her tightly, cupping the back of her head and kissing the side of it. She didn’t say anything and he didn’t push her to. He just let her cry. 

Her tears slowed and her cries grew quieter until the only noise that came from her was sniffles. 

“Are you hurt?” He asked quietly and she shook her head, a quiet sigh of relief escaping his lips. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She took a shaky breath in and it caught.

“I…I d-don’t—“

He shook his head and kissed her cheek. “You don’t have to if you’re not ready.”

She nodded and hugged him tighter. Poe held onto her as she continued to calm down. He moved back and cupped her cheeks, thumbs wiping the leftover tears away. 

“Come with me.”

He stood up and headed out of her room with her right behind him. She followed him downstairs and he told her to wait in the foyer while he put the apples in the fridge and grabbed his keys. They went out to the car and she got in the front seat. 

“Where are we going?” Her voice was hoarse from crying. Poe started the car and looked over at her with a soft smile. 

“I don’t know. I guess we’ll see.”

Poe set out on the road, her favorite top 40 radio station filling the silence at a low volume. He looked over at her occasionally, her head not moving from its place against the window as she watched the trees and houses pass by. The tears hadn’t returned but she still looked down. 

Being a single dad was tough. Poe had to be both mom and dad, which was admittedly easier when she was younger. Left at his doorstep by an ex-girlfriend at just a couple months old with a note tucked into her car seat, Poe thought he had done a pretty good job raising her without a mother. She was kind, polite, and the two of them were thick as thieves. But there were times when Poe felt the pressures of raising a girl, now a teenager, alone. 

He was lucky to have such strong women in his life to be there for his daughter and so grateful to have them step in and help him, especially when she started asking about boys and when her time of the month first came around. Poe was good at a lot of things, but that was way out of his comfort zone. 

He was so proud of the woman his daughter was becoming, but he’d be a fool to hide the fact that he was terrified about her teenage years and all the firsts that came with it — her first kiss, her first heartbreak and, god forbid, her first time. He found himself wishing a lot of the time that he she would just stay little forever. 

Poe finally stopped the car about an hour later and she looked around, not recognizing where they were. Small shops lined the street on either side, big windows with their big colorful displays catching people’s attentions. 

“Dad, where are we?” She asked as she got out of the car. He looked around for some kind of sign and shrugged. 

“Ummm, I’m not really sure. I just kind of drove. Let’s walk around and find out.”

He walked up to the sidewalk and looked back when he saw she wasn’t following him. He gave her a humored smile.

“Come on.”

She looked at him skeptically and caught up with him. They walked by a few stores, taking a minute to look at the items in the window but not going inside. She didn’t seem all that interested, but Poe was hoping there would be something here that would make her forget whatever it was that was troubling her. It wasn’t until they got to the other side of the road that she finally spoke. 

“I heard my friends talking about me behind my back.” Poe looked at her and she looked down and played with the sleeve of her hoodie. 

“They hurt your feelings.”

She nodded and swallowed hard to keep herself from crying again. Poe put his arm around her shoulder.

“Girls are….young teenage girls especially….” He was at a loss. He had never personally dealt with any kind of girl drama before, so he really had no idea why her friends would do that and what to say to make her feel better. 

“In my opinion, because I have no knowledge of how teenage girls operate…I think if you talk about someone behind their back, you’re insecure or jealous. Maybe even a little bit cowardly…because they can’t say it to your face.”

She nodded slowly and sighed. “I don’t like some of the same thing they do.”

“There’s nothing wrong that.”

“I think they think I’m…uncool or something. I don’t know.”

“Sweetheart…” Poe stopped walking and she looked up at him. “You are your own person. If there’s something you don’t like, big or small…you shouldn’t pretend to just because you think it’ll keep them around. I hate pickles with a passion and your Aunt Rey and Aunt Leia don’t understand why…but they don’t think I’m any less cool.”

She bit back a smile. “That’s…not exactly the same thing, dad.”

He shrugged and smiled softly. “My point is…don’t change yourself for anyone and don’t sacrifice your comfort and happiness just to please someone else.”

She knew he was right, he always was…but she couldn’t take him to school with her the next day to help her when she came face-to-face with them. How many more of her friends talked about her behind her back? Who would she talk to? And how long would she feel hurt by this? The questions swirled around in her head. The sadness she had felt earlier had been replaced by anxiety. Poe squeezed her shoulder as if he could sense it and she gave him the smallest of smiles. 

She stayed silent and he kept his arm around her as he started walking again. They came across a store that had a shirt she liked in the window and she stopped to look at it. 

“Want to go in?” Poe asked. She bit her lip.

“Can we?”

He nodded and gestured towards the door, allowing her to lead the way. She walked inside and looked back at him.

“You know, I hate pickles too.”

“They’re the worst.” She nodded in agreement and let out a giggle and he smiled at the sight of a smile on her face. 

They spent hours walking around and Poe let her go to every store she wanted to go to. They talked about everything not related to school until she completely forgot about them and laughed and smiled harder than she thought she could muster up after what had happened at school earlier. She found some clothes that she really liked and Poe bought them for her before stopping for ice cream. They each chose a flavor and gave half of their ice cream to the other, a little tradition they had started a few years prior. 

The drive home was happier. Her phone was hooked up to the car’s bluetooth and played her favorite songs, most of which Poe had never even heard of. She sang along, Poe looking at her when questionable lyrics came up. All she did was shrug and sing louder. He eventually turned the music to his favorite classic rock station, to which she laughed as she protested, and then it was Poe’s turn to sing loudly at the top of his lungs. He smiled widely when she started singing along with him, all the bad parts of the day completely forgotten. 

What was a bad day quickly became one of the best days she’d had in a long while, and she had her dad to thank for that. She knew she always would.

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