Billy Hargrove X F!reader

⚘ Billy Hargrove x f!reader

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

— content warnings: Season 3 spoilers, blood, major character death, ANGST,

— word count: 0.6k

Inspired by: Fourth of July by Sufjan Stevens

Billy.

He was the only thought running though my head as I ran down the broken escalator as fast as I could. My legs burned, but the pain was nothing compared to the burning I felt in my chest at the sight of his limp body on he mall floor.

There was a dark puddle surrounding him, I prayed that it was from whatever beast lay dead next to him, but I knew I couldn't lie to myself forever.

Max' cries got louder as I came closer to Billy's body, she was shaking his shoulder to get him to wake up. But it wasn't working, nothing was working.

Once I reached his body I pulled his head in to my lap, he was so cold, and he only seemed like an empty shell of who he used to be.

I started wailing so hard, my whole body hurt. I felt like I was going to throw up. I wanted to get away from everybody, out of this mall, pretend that this wasn't real, that me and Billy would lay on the hood of his car and look at the stars like we always do.

But I knew I had to stay with him, even if this was going to be goodbye forever, he deserved to have someone at his side if the time came.

When I looked at Billy, he was so pale that I could see his veins. His eyes were open slightly, and I kept staring at them, as if at any minute they might open all the way and everything would be okay.

I held his hand and said, "I love you." 

But I wanted to say so much more. I could write a novel about everything he meant to me: the small compliments he gave me every single day, the way he always noticed when I changed my hair, the way he looked at me in a crowd like we were sharing a secret. How was I supposed to get through this, I wondered, when Billy was the person who helped me through everything?

"I-I'm sorry." He barely managed to sputter out, this only made Max sob even louder, her face buries in my neck.

It felt like someone had stabbed me in the chest and they were now twisting the knife to make it hurt even more.

"It's okay," I mustered up a smile, I had to look brave for him, something he had always done for me, I owed it to him now. "We're okay." Hot tears trickled down my face as I looked at him.

His blue eyes were locked with mine. Those beautiful blue eyes that I always loved seeing, but now this may be the last time I ever see them.

He coughed once more, some of the blood getting on to my shirt, seeping through to my skin. Every drop felt like it burned against my skin, creating burns that would scar, leaving me with a reminder of this night forever.

He heaved out a heavy breath, his eyes still on mine, until they weren't.

His chest didn't rise again for another breath, and his eyes were closed. He looked like he was asleep, and that at any moment he would wake up.

But he wasn't.

He was dead.

The boy who was everything to me, was now gone, dead in my arms as I cried, hoping he would open his eyes, tell me this was some sick joke.

But he wouldn't, he would never hold me again.

Tonight on July 4th, 1985, a part of me died with the boy in my arms, the boy who I loved with all my heart.

copyright 2021 heizenka, all rights reserved. I do not allow my creations to be published of translated anywhere else so please do not repost.

Memories | S.R

Warnings: BAU stuff related, angst, hurt, memory loss.

Wc: idk, a lot.

Author’s note: I was thinking about making this one a series. A short one. Lmk what you guys think.

English isn’t my first language.

You’ve been dating spender for seven years. Three of them, living together. It’s been ups and downs, but at the end of the day you both stayed together, loving each other as much as possible.

He adores you so much. That’s why he lost his mind when you were in an accident and ended up in coma.

“What do you mean you don’t know if she’s ever going to wake up?!”

Your brain suffered a huge damage. Your head impacted the cristal of your car when you got hit by a car.

A drunk driver fucked up Spencer’s life and yours in just a few seconds.

Yes, Spencer was still alive. But at what cost? The cost was seeing you every day lying in a hospital bed, wondering if you would ever wake up.

Spender was so angry. All he wanted to do was to find the driver that hurt you and kill him with his own hands.

Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into one month. Then two.

He cried next to you, begging to your body to wake up and look at him. He was so desperate to see you awake again.

It wasn’t until almost three moths when he arrived at the hospital, and he saw a lot of doctors and nurses in your room. He panicked, thinking that something wrong has happened.

But no one let him get inside the room.

“We need you to calm down, sir.” One of the nurses told him, blocking the way to her room.

“How can I calm down when no one’s telling me what’s going on?!”

You woke up. But you didn’t remember anything. You were confused and in pain. You didn’t even remember your name.

It broke Spencer’s heart to know that. He never thought that it would hurt so much.

“Who are you?” You’ve asked.

It broke his heart.

You spend another week at the hospital, doing nothing but everything. The doctors analyze you, and your brain.

Post-traumatic amnesia, they said.

Everyone has given you a little information about themselves. You know now that he’s your boyfriend.

That’s why you’re confused when you walk into the shared apartment with him. “This is our- place.” He says, shyly

You walk in, confused. You look around… and for some reason you don’t like what you see.

Beige in the walls? Bored.

No pictures on the walls? Any design? Boring.

What about the forniture? It’s all dark brown. There’s even a bookshelf in the living room.

You don’t even like to read.

“I see…”

Spencer walked in behind you, biting his lower lip.

He can practically feel the discomfort radiating off of you. It hurt him, actually. Because once upon a time, you were his calm. He could always walk in and smell you. Your lavender shampoo, your perfume.

Yet now, here you were, looking at their shared apartment like it was the most foreign place in the world.

“Are you hungry, love?” He asked softly. He still called you ‘love,’ though it wasn’t reciprocated now.

You look around the place, still analyzing everything.

“Uh… sure.” You muttered.

With a soft smile, Spencer makes his way to their kitchen.

He began to look through their fridge and cabinets, but after a few minutes, he sighs and walks into where you were still standing.

He wanted to say something, but there were thousands if not millions of thoughts going through his head at the moment. So instead, Spencer simply wrapped an arm around your waist, drawing you into him. He gently guided you to the couch and waited until the both of you were sitting down.

“Can I ask you something?” He asked quietly.

You’re looking at the whole place with curiosity. “Yeah.”

Spencer gently took one of your hands in his, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. He was still getting used to the fact that you weren’t really fighting to get out of his grasp.

Because before, you were like a cat. You loved to be touched, and you loved to initiate the touches. Now, it just seemed like he was bothering you 24/7.

“Do you remember… anything?” He asked, his voice gentle. He was referring to the both of you, to your relationship.

You turn to look at him. “Not yet.”

The answer breaks his heart.

Spencer looks down, nodding slowly.

“I see…” he whispers. His eyes darted back and forth from your linked hands to your face, observing every minute detail about you. He wished he could reach into your brain and press the play button so you can remember him, remember them. “I was just wondering about our relationship…. but- never mind that. Let me go make you something to eat.” He starts. but Spencer doesn’t let go of your hand. Instead, he squeezes it almost desperately like you were going to evaporate in front of his eyes.

With a heavy sigh, Spencer stands up, finally letting go of your hand.

He makes his way into the kitchen and starts rifling through the cabinets, all the while he can still see you sitting on the couch. You still looked lost, and it was like a direct punch to the gut.

He took out a large ceramic bowl and began to prepare something to eat for the both of you.

You stand up, walking slowly around the living room. Not sure where the rest of the house could take you.

You look at the wall… the beige color so unfamiliar. The bookshelf. With books that you don’t think you could ever pronounce correctly.

The science behind the math? What the hell… you think, looking at the books.

From the kitchen, Spencer observed you.

He watched as you studied every little thing around the living room, even the books he had on his bookshelf. He’d be amused if the current situation wasn’t the way it was.

However, Spencer’s grip on the bowl is slightly tight. His stomach clenched slightly as he watched you walk around. You were acting like a person going to a strange house for the first time.

Because, well, technically speaking. You were. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t remember.

Spencer was watching you like a hawk. He watched you closely, his heart in his throat as he saw the gears turning in your head.

He already knew that you weren’t the most academic person on the face of the earth.

He let a small sigh fall from his lips, placing the now full ceramic bowl on the counter. He leaned against it, crossing his arms over his chest and quietly observing you as you tried to make sense of the books.

Your hand is in your lips, picking your nails a little.

You’re uncomfortable. You don’t like this place. It’s nothing like you could have ever imagined as your home.

It doesn’t feel like yours. All this place… scream him. Not you. Or both of you.

The sight of your discomfort is just painful at this point. Because Spencer would do anything to make you feel safe, to make you feel at home.

He watched as you bit your nails, and all he wanted to do was reach out and pull your hands away. It’s a bad habit, love. He would say, as he lightly tugged your hands away.

However, now he could only grimace as he watched you. He clenched his jaw, his fingers digging into his arms.

It felt like centuries when he finally spoke up.

“Are you… uncomfortable?” He asked, his voice low. Spencer wanted to slap himself for asking such a stupid question, because it was plain as day that you weren’t comfortable here.

He slowly pushed himself away from the countertop and began slowly walking towards you. Like he was approaching a frightened animal.

You shake your head. “No. I just don’t recognize any of this.”

Spencer wanted to laugh at the response. It was so unbelievably you and for a brief moment, it felt like you were back. You were still the sarcastic, blunt, and brutally honest person you were before all of this happened.

He stopped just a few feet away from you and shoved his hands into his pockets. Spencer tilted his head to the side, his eyes studying your own as if he was looking for something.

You turn to look at him. “I assume all of these are yours?”

A weak smile graced Spencer’s lips. That look, that expression on your face, it was the same exact expression you had when you realized Spencer was a book nerd.

He shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, they are.” He said simply, nodding his head.

A beat passed before Spencer finally spoke up again. “You hate math.” He stated, a gentle hint of amusement in his voice.

“I do remember that.” You hum, looking back the books

A smile tugged at the corners of Spencer’s lips.

He didn’t expect you to remember anything about yourself, so to hear you say you remember something about your dislikes was like music to his ears.

He watched you study the collection of books on the shelf intently. “So, what do you think about the apartment?” He inquired, his voice soft.

You sighed, touching a book. “It’s okay.”

At your answer, Spencer’s shoulders tensed slightly.

Okay. Just… okay. He knew he shouldn’t take offense because he’s well aware that you don’t remember anything. But your answer and the way you trailed your fingers over the book was enough to make him flinch.

Spencer took a small step forward, standing beside you. He also looked at the books on the shelf, his eyes fixated on the spines of the books.

He could sense the disdain for their apartment in your voice. In the way your eyebrows were pulled down into a frown, and in the way you ran your fingers over the spines of the books.

“You hate it.” He deadpanned, his voice a mere whisper.

“The book?”

He let out a small breath from his nose. A small huff.

Spencer’s fingers were twitching slightly, his hands yearning to reach out and pull you into his arms. He wanted to hold you as close as he could, to press your body against his own just so that he could feel your warmth again.

But your answer just now was a cruel reminder that you didn’t know him. You didn’t know them.

“No…. not the books..” he muttered.

“Then what?” You ask, touching the next book a little with the tips of your fingers

A small pang hit Spencer right in the gut.

He loved your curiosity. He had always loved it. You always wanted to dig deeper into everything, find out everything. He could remember endless nights where you’d lay down next to each other and just talk about the most obscure things that popped into your head.

But now, it all felt foreign.

He pursed his lips, letting a shaky breath fall from him.

“The… apartment. You hate the apartment.” He said quietly, his heart squeezing in his chest.

You turn your face to look at him. “I don’t. What makes you say that?”

His heart twisted in his chest at your nonchalant answer.

Spencer looked back into your eyes, the dull gleam in his own eyes growing stronger as he realized just how little his words seemed to affect you.

He took a step forward, closing the distance between the two of you slightly.

“Because you think the apartment is… boring, and beige. And dull. You hate beige, you never liked beige… and-” he stopped himself before he said anything else.

You blink. “Then why is it still beige?” You ask, shrugging. “I don’t hate it. It’s kind of new to me after all.” You look back at the books.

Everything felt like a shot to Spencer’s heart.

Every word you said, everything you did. The fact that you were so casual, like you hadn’t spent the last two weeks unconscious in a hospital bed.

He took another step forward, his body a few inches away from yours.

“Because…” he muttered, his voice growing quieter and quieter. “It’s the color you liked… I was trying to make it homey…”

“Oh. Right.” You muttered, then your eyes land in a book that caught your attention. “Pretty woman…” you say, before grabbing it.

Spencer’s eyes followed where yours landed and his stomach clenched tightly.

‘Pretty Woman’. It was a romance movie that you always loved so dearly. You constantly watched the movie and even though Spencer wasn’t too fond of it, you loved it enough for the both of you.

He stared at the book in your hands, feeling a pang in his chest once more. You didn’t recognize the apartment, but you had picked out the movie you loved so much.

You look at the book, tilting your head. Curious. You opened it, and you see a handwritten in the first page.

Once he noticed what you were holding, Spencer’s breath caught in his throat.

Inside the cover of the book, in Spencer’s messy handwriting it had the word ‘love.’

That book was a gift, one he had picked out just for you. It was something sentimental now, a reminder of the past he missed desperately.

He took a shaky breath, his fingers twitching at his sides.

Your eyes scan the book.

“I assume this is your letter?” You ask, scanning the book curiously

Spencer felt his body go rigid.

There it was again. The constant reminder that you didn’t remember anything. You didn’t remember him, your relationship, any of their memories, and it hurt. Oh god, it hurt a lot.

He nodded slowly, his heart clenching in his chest. “Yeah.., it is.” He murmured, his voice soft.

“You have the letter of a doctor.” You say, moving into the next page

Spencer raised an eyebrow in surprise.

You weren’t really wrong. Spencer’s handwriting was a little messy and somewhat hard to read.

He took a few steps forward, standing right behind you, so close that you could feel his breath against the back of your neck.

He let a nervous breath fall from his lips, his fingers desperately wanting to reach out and touch yours.

“I get that a lot.” He said, a playful tone in his voice.

“Uh… paola? Or- wait… uh, Penelope? I think.” You say, confused, while you keep moving into the rest of the book. “She told me you’re a doctor.“

Spencer’s lips tugged into a weak smile.

Penelope.

He could vividly remember the first time you had met the energetic and very unique technician. She called herself a technical analyst, Spencer corrected her every time.

At least you remembered her name. That made him feel at least a tiny bit better, though the pain in his chest still lingered.

You look through the pages, noticing small details. Like highlights in some of the pages, little notes with pencil…

“This is mine.”

A pang of pain hit Spencer straight in the gut, like someone had physically punched him.

It was such a sight seeing you flip through the book so nonchalantly. You studied the book as if it was a foreign object that you had never seen before in your life.

It took everything in Spencer to keep himself together. He knew that he shouldn’t be upset, after all it wasn’t your fault that you couldn’t remember, but it still hurt.

“Yeah, it is.” He said, his voice quiet.

You look at the whole shelf. “Like a thousand books and just one is mine.” You scoff, making fun of yourself.

You were trying to make a joke. Spencer could hear it in your voice, and it just made the entire situation somehow more painful than it already was.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to give you a slight smile.

“I like to read. You don’t.” He answered simply, letting a short, dry chuckle fall from him.

“I notice.” You say, scanning the rest of the books. “I can’t pronounce half of these…”

Spencer knew that that was probably true without even having to see the books.

You never really gave two shits if something was educational or academic. You always just liked to make jokes about Spencer’s academic side.

So seeing you stand there in front of the shelf with your eyebrows pulled together as you studied the spines of the books was a little odd, to say the least.

“I’m not surprised.” He muttered.

You tilt your head, your hand about to grab one of the books.

“Is this German?” You ask, about to hold the book

The sight of your hand reaching out to grab one of the books made Spencer’s heart skip a beat in anxiety.

He knew which book you were grabbing as well, which didn’t help. The sight of you holding one of his academic books, reading through it, and trying to decipher the content in your current state was almost enough to push him over the edge.

“Yes.” He said, his voice slightly shaky.

“You understand Germany?” You ask, curious

A faint smile tugged at the corners ofSpencer’s lips.

Of course he did. In college, he had to learn multiple languages as part of his studies. And with his eidetic memory, he remembered virtually everything. Yes, he knew German quite well.

“Of course I do.” He said, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You hum, moving onto the next shelf.

Spencer’s eyes followed you closely as you moved to the next shelf.

His heart rate picked up as he realized what was on the next shelf. Pictures. Pictures that were a constant reminder of your shared life together.

This was going to be painful, Spencer realized as he watched you browse the shelf. It was going to be so excruciatingly painful.

You look at one of the pictures. It was the whole team.

There it was Penelope… JJ… Spencer, you, and two men you didn’t recognize.

“Who are these?” You ask, pointing at a man with a suit and a bold man. “I don’t- I didn’t see them at the hospital.”

Spencer’s heart twisted in his chest once more.

Of course you didn’t recognize who the two men were.

The sight of you standing in front of the shelf, pointing at two men that he considered family, men that you used to consider your own, was painful.

Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat, his fingers digging into the skin of his arms. “That’s hotch,” he said quietly, “and Morgan.” He added, his voice growing more shaky every second.

“Oh…” you hold the picture. “So Penelope, JJ, you, me, and… Hotch and Morgan”

He nodded his head slowly, watching you examine the picture in your hands. The picture of you, Spencer, and the entire team before things went south.

Every fiber of his soul was aching to reach out and take the picture from you. To put it back where it originally was, because if you held it for any longer he was sure that he’d break down in front of you right then and there.

You put it back. “When was this?”

Spencer breathed a shaky breath, the words struggling to come out of his mouth.

“Uh… it’s… a few years old.” He said, his voice strained.

He was staring down at the floor, his fingers digging into his arms so hard that it was surely going to leave marks on his skin later.

You look at the next picture. It was a picture of Spencer and you. You were in his back, smiling at him while he smiles at the camera.

You don’t remember it.

A pang of pain hit Spencer straight in the gut.

He could vividly remember the memory.

He remembered the event that the picture was taken at, how happy you were right before the picture was taken.

And now you stood there, staring at the picture, not remembering any of it.

You take a deep breath, looking at the next one.

It was you, Spencer… and an old lady that looks like him.

“That’s your mom?”

Spencer’s eyes darted up as you pointed at the picture in your hands.

A picture of him, you, and his mother.

The sight of you standing there holding such an important picture made his heart ache, though the sight of you studying it with such nonchalance was even more painful.

“Yeah… that’s my mom.” He answered, his voice strained.

“You look so much like her.” You muttered before putting it back

A weak, forced smile tugged at the corners of Spencer’s lips.

It was just a casual comment, a simple observation, but it meant so much more. He always used to get teased about how much he resembled his mother growing up. And you always used to point it out whenever you got the chance.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, his emotions starting to take over. “Yeah, I do.” He said, his voice quiet.

You look at the next picture… it was Spencer again, with you in his arms. It looks like someone took the picture while both of you were talking or something.

Spencer’s heart twisted in his chest so hard he could barely breathe.

He could remember the moment the picture was taken so vividly. How happy the two of you were, laughing at a joke that he couldn’t remember anymore.

He stared at the picture in your hands, watching as you studied every little detail. Your fingers were running along the edges of the picture frame, completely oblivious to the way that this was killing Spencer.

You feel guilty. Because the man in these pictures is happy. And the one next to you isn’t.

You place the picture back to its place.

“Why don’t you hang this on the wall?”

Spencer took a shaky breath, his heart clenching in his chest.

He was never going to admit it, but your question stung.

He was going to put the picture on the wall. Both of them. He had planned to hang them up on opposite sides of the bookshelf. But then that plan was suddenly interrupted by something that Spencer could never have expected.

He looked away from you, a pained expression on his face, while he answered in a whisper.

“I… I’ve just been busy is all.”

“How old are these?”

Spencer could feel his whole body aching, the pain in his chest so intense that he was surprised he was still standing.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, looking down as he struggled to come up with an answer.

“The first one was… two years ago.” He answered quietly, referring to the team picture. “And the rest are… more recent.”

You hum.

So he didn’t have time for two years you think.

“I see…” you say, scanning the rest of the pictures.

Spencer could tell that you didn’t buy his explanation.

In reality, he had plenty of time to hang up the pictures. It would have taken him less than half an hour to put them up on the wall.

But the truth was, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Every time he looked at them, every time he looked at the memories of you together, he would feel the unbearable pain of you not being able to remember any of it.

“Yeah…” he sighed, his voice quiet.

You notice a little card. There was a baby in it.

“Hank Spencer” you say, looking at the card and the little baby hands imprinted on it. “Who’s this?”

Spencer’s shoulders tensed as you pulled the card off of the bookshelf.

He knew exactly what card you were holding in your hands.

He let a shaky breath fall from him, his heart clenching in his chest as he answered you through gritted teeth.

“That’s Hank,” he said quietly, “he’s my godson.”

“You have a godson?”

Despite the pain he was currently feeling, Spencer couldn’t help the hint of amusement that appeared in his voice.

You always used to joke about how he would never be able to handle a child, let alone raise one, so to have you asking him if he really had a godson brought back some memories that made his heart ache just a bit less.

“Yeah,” he answered, a ghost of a smirk on his face. “I have a godson.”

You hum, putting it back. “Tell me if I’m being nosy…”

Spencer’s smirk grew wider at your words, a hint of amusement still present underneath the pain.

He always used to tease you about how nosy you were, so it was just a little ironic to have you say something like that.

“You always are.” He said, a slight lilt in his tone.

You sighed. “It just feels like I’m taking things that aren’t mine.”

Spencer’s heart clenched as he heard your tone.

You weren’t angry with him, or frustrated. No, you sounded guilt-stricken.

He hated you feeling guilty about the situation, knowing that there was absolutely nothing you could have done differently.

He wanted to reach out and grab your hand. He wanted to pull you into him and hold you until all of the guilt and pain went away. But he didn’t.

“You’re not taking anything.” He said, his voice quiet.

Spencer took a step closer to you, his voice growing quieter.

“These are your things too.” He said, trying to make you realize that you didn’t need to feel guilty for studying the things in your own home. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

You keep staring at the pictures. You clear your throat. “Where- Where is the bathroom?”

Spencer could tell that you were trying to change the subject, which he understood.

He didn’t want to keep reminding you of things you couldn’t remember, he didn’t want to keep hurting you.

He nodded his head toward the other end of the hallway. “Down that way.” He answered quietly.

“And- my- our closet?” You ask. “Or the bedroom. I don’t know…”

An anxious breath fell from Spencer’s lips.

He had been dreading this moment almost all morning. He had been trying his best to keep you from going into your guys’ shared bedroom, but he knew that it was inevitable.

He swallowed the lump in his throat, answering you in a shaky whisper. “The bedroom’s at the end of the hall.”

You nod softly. “I’ll take a shower if that’s okay.”

A pang of pain shot through Spencer’s heart at your words.

Normally, you would have just gone and taken a shower without asking for permission first. He had absolutely no problem with you using the shower. But the fact that you were asking for his permission just showed how far the situation had gone.

He tried his best not to let his emotions show as he nodded his head. “Yeah, yeah, that’s fine.” He mumbled.

“Okay, thanks.” You muttered before walking to the bedroom and find your part of the closet, or your clothes…

Spencer watched hopelessly as you headed into the bedroom, his heart aching with every step you took. He knew that sooner or later you were going to end up in the bedroom, but he just didn’t know how you would react to it.

Once you disappeared from his sight, he let his body slump against the wall, letting out a shaky breath. He placed his palms over his eyes and let himself rest there for a few seconds, trying desperately to hold himself together.

Spencer leaned against the wall in the hallway, his eyes squeezed shut as he strained to hear any sounds coming from the bedroom.

His heart hurts so much. He wanted you back. And it just break his heart so much every single time you talk because you’re confused. And you don’t know what’s going on.

Seven years of memories are lost.

And neither you or him knows if they would ever come back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry for being missing for so long! I just finished my semester in college and now I’m totally free!

Lmk if you guys want the series of this or not

𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐦𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲

♆ Luke Castellan x f!reader

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

— content warnings: mentions of blood, semi-gore, use of y/n, angst, ooc luke, death

— word count: 1.0k

Luke stood in front of her with shaky hands. His sword began to feel like it weighed more than the world, of course that was impossible, as his world was falling apart right in front of him. His world was dying at his own hand and all he could do was stand and watch as the pool of blood surrounding her spread, creating a red abyss around her body, an abyss that he couldn’t get past just so he could hold her for what he thought would be the last time.

 Her eyes searched the surrounding forest around them wondering if there was anyone close by that would find her body and give her a proper send off, because surely Luke wouldn’t . Finally her eyes locked on Luke’s, his flooded with anguish and guilt, her’s with anger and gratitude. 

Luke dropped his sword, and took three small steps towards her, not looking at the massive gash he’d created in her upper abdomen. Y/N showed no sign of fear or sadness, and that scared him more than anything for some odd reason. The girl he’d known was never one to never show her emotions or speak her mind, that was something he’d adored about her.

“This wasn’t the plan Y/N..” The tears that were building in Luke's eyes suddenly became too heavy and fell, leaving trails of regret down his face. 

Luke reached to hold Y/N’s hand, hoping to comfort her in what were going to inevitably be her final moments. He had nothing on hand to help her, and he knew he couldn’t afford the risk of ruining his entire life plan just for her. Her being the girl he’d known for years, the girl who was going to forever hold a piece of his heart, the girl that was going to be the last one to ever see this side of him.

His fingertips grazed her hand and for a moment he felt every ounce of pain ten times more than before. Y/N could see it in his eyes, everything he’d done was finally hitting him, the entire situation was becoming too real for the boy who had taken on so much, but in the end knew nothing.

Y/N pulled her hand away from him, not in sadness or grief, but rather in frustration. Luke lifted his eyes up from her hand to her eyes. His brow furrowed, she looked fine. There was no expression on her face, no tears, nothing. He was falling apart in front the girl he’d loved for years and she looked like she couldn’t care any less about the fact that she was leaving him behind and going somewhere he could no longer follow

“What’s wrong with you..” His brows furrowed in pained frustration, “Why don’t you care about what is happening right now! I’m a traitor, and because of me you’re dying, but you don’t even care!” Luke’s voice raised an octave, desperate for her to have some kind of reaction. 

“Luke, there’s nothing wrong with me, in fact I feel more free than I have in years.” There remained no expression on her face as she spoke, “there’s nothing left for me to do here, I’ve already done everything I needed to do in this lifetime.”

Luke's expression went from one of anger into one of sadness, “What do you mean you have nothing left to do..? You have me, us.”

“No Luke, there is no us anymore. Look at me. I’m bleeding to death because of you. You don’t get to tell me that I should grieve the life I could have had with you when I don’t even get to finish this one.” Y/N’s face remained expressionless. 

Luke swore he’d never felt pain like the kind he was feeling now. He’d practically killed the girl he claimed to love, and now he has to face the consequences of losing her.

“The funny thing is I would have married you if you’d never done this. We were so happy, and like everything you touch, you destroyed me, Luke.” Her eyes began to feel heavier with every word she spoke.

Luke noticed this, but all he could do was sit next to her frozen in fear. His lower lip began to quiver. ‘I would have married you’ it felt like he’d taken an arrow directly to the heart from Y/N herself. As he looked at her slowly drifting in and out of consciousness, his mind began to drive to what would have been if he wasn’t so fucked in the head. 

It would have been them for the rest of their lives. Maybe they would have had a kid,  and he would have had the chance to do what his father never did. Instead he did the same thing, he destroyed the person who he was supposed to love most in this world, and he wasn’t doing anything about it. 

“I’m sorry..” His voice was raspy with the tears he was attempting to golf back so he could have one semblance of control at the moment. 

His eyes lifted to Y/N’s face, and his world shattered. Her eyes were closed, and her chest no longer held the steady beat that used to calm him down whenever they were together. The tears he was holding back fell, and he couldn;t find it in himself to care about anything other than the body that was sitting lifeless in front of him. 

For the first time in his life Luke Castellan felt everything and nothing at the same time, and he had no one to turn to.

loved your prompts 🖤

what about a blurb mixing 8 and 18 from the romance angst list (#1) with Steve Harrington? maybe best friends to lovers or enemies to lovers?

ugh, the queen herself !!!!! i haven’t written for SO long for any joe character’s and it makes me :( sad. i miss him very much. and u know me so well — ANGST requests. prompt 8; ‘“don’t you dare do this to me - no! no, no, no! hey, please!”’ prompt 18; ‘hands trembling while holding their pale, bloodied face. “keep your eyes open, for gods sake!”’

steve’s breathing is labored and he can’t see through the tears that make his eyes burn. when he blinks, he feels them slip down his cheeks.

his hands, caked with blood and dirt, hold your face. you’re too young. you’re too young. you’re too young.

he’s scared and you’re too young to die.

he cradles you to his chest and you think, maybe, you wouldn’t mind dying if steve stays with you. the thought scares you and surely, if your weak heart wasn’t, well, weak, it’d be beating so hard other could hear.

he’s pushing back your hair from your eyes. “hey…hey, honey,” he whispers. he’s always soft when he speaks to you. all smooth. “you…keep your eyes open, for gods sake!”

he watches as you try to widen them, but you just can’t. “it’s…everything’s spinning, steve,” your hand lifts and grips his wrist the best you can. “don’t let go of me, please. please don’t let go.”

he lets out a small sob as he slips his free hand under your shoulder so your more comfortable. “i won’t let you go. i promise. helps on the way. you just gotta hold on, okay?”

you open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out. you don’t blink and your eyes remain glossy. a tear slips out of the corner of your eye and down your temple and gets lost somewhere in your hair.

steve tilts his head and says your name.

“don’t…no, no, please…” his voice wavers. “don’t you dare do this to me… no… no! nonono, please!” he doesn’t realize how loud he’s being. the others are watching from the corner, not knowing if they should approach steve. dustin shares a worried look with hopper.

his arm leaves from under your shoulders, his other hand gripping your face as he shakes it back and forth slightly. he’s screaming your name now as your hand drops from his wrist.

a broken sob leaves his chest as he pulls you closer as your head tilts back in his arms and your arm becomes folded against your chest.

his forehead leans against your chin.

“i’m sorry…im so sorry.”

(❛) - request  (✿) - fluff  (✯) - angst 

lee (bones & all)

am i making you feel sick - ✯

the trip the both of you were taking into the unknown takes a bloody turn.

shadows of us - ✯

love can be strong, but fear is always proven stronger

more to come

copyright 2021 heizenka, all rights reserved. I do not allow my creations to be published of translated anywhere else so please do not repost.

*multi-fandom account*

➳ 𝐁𝐍𝐇𝐀 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

⚘ 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

☂ 𝐔𝐦𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚 𝐀𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

ᝰ 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (coming soon)

copyright 2021 heizenka, all rights reserved. I do not allow my creations to be published of translated anywhere else so please do not repost.