#I HOPE YOURE DOING WELL!!! SENDING YOU LOVE AS ALWAYS!

[urdreamydoodles]

Hi hi!! Hope your day’s going well!!

I adore the krakoa headcanons you have for the x-men, how willing would you be to do something similar for mcu characters?? Idk if there’s an equivalent though, if not it’s no problem ❤️

MCU CHARACTERS X FEM!READER

A year after your death, you are resurrected and reunited with your lover

Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanoff, Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson, Peter Parker (Tom H.), Stephen Strange, Thor Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, T'Challa, Marc Spector, Steven Grant, Jake Lockley, Scott Lang, Wade Wilson, Logan Howlett, Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter, Wanda Maximoff, Pietro Maximoff & Erik Lehnsherr

Requests are reopened since I'm going to have surgery for my scoliosis...yes, it's bad news, it's a major operation, so I need your requests to feel better. PLEASE SEND ME REQUEST. I don't have surgery for another four months so I have plenty of time since I'm at home! I can't wait to see all your ideas, I LOVE YOU <3

Tony Stark

- Tony Stark, the man who could build a new world with his hands but could not stop them from shaking when they lost you. He spent a year in ruins, laughing too loudly at parties that could not fill the silence you left behind, drowning in half-finished projects where your ghost lingered in the curve of every wire. He never stopped talking about you—not to his friends, not to himself, not to the night. You were the equation he could not solve, the loss he could not engineer his way out of.

- When he sees you again, standing in the flickering light of his workshop, the wrench in his hand slips, clattering to the floor. He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe. His mind, sharp as ever, gives him ten different explanations, each more impossible than the last, but his heart—his battered, grieving heart—gives him only one. “Tell me I’m dreaming,” he says, voice hoarse, because the alternative is something he cannot afford to believe.

- And then you speak, and the walls he built to keep himself from shattering crumble in an instant. He is across the room before he knows it, hands gripping your arms, your face, tracing the proof of you. The ache in his chest is unbearable, but not from pain—it is the sheer weight of having you again. “They told me I was crazy,” he murmurs against your lips, against your skin. “Guess they were right.”

- You are back, but time has moved without you, carving deeper lines into Tony’s face, dulling the arrogance that once carried him like armor. He watches you like you might disappear again, fingers always brushing your wrist, your hip, the pulse at your throat. He doesn’t sleep much—he never did—but now, when you wake in the night, he is already awake, watching the rise and fall of your breath as if it is the only thing tethering him to reality.

- He brings you everywhere, makes no excuses for it. “My ghost, my rules,” he says when someone questions it. He builds new suits and doesn’t let you out of his sight, not when danger is near, not when a single misstep could take you away again. He has never been a man who believed in second chances, but for you, he will believe in anything.

- The world thinks he is Iron Man, but you know the truth: Tony Stark is just a man who loved and lost and refused to let death win. He holds you like a miracle, like proof that he was right to fight for the impossible. And for the first time in a long time, he is not afraid.

Steve Rogers

- Steve Rogers has always known loss—has carried it like a second skin, worn it like a name he could never leave behind. But losing you was different. It was not the cold silence of the ice, nor the distant ache of time slipping through his fingers. It was immediate, brutal. It was your blood on his hands, your last breath against his cheek. A year passed, and he carried on because that was what he did, because that was what you would have wanted. But he stopped looking at sunsets. Stopped drinking coffee the way you used to make it. Stopped believing that the world could ever feel warm again.

- When he sees you again, standing in the doorway of the safe house, the shield strapped to his back feels heavier than ever. His breath catches, his heart stumbles, and for a moment, he wonders if this is some cruel trick played by an enemy who knows exactly where to cut him open. But then your lips part, and you say his name, and the sound of it is like the first breath after drowning.

- He moves toward you slowly, hesitantly, as if one wrong step will shatter the illusion. His hands hover over your face, your shoulders, trembling with the unbearable need to touch, to feel, to know. And when you don’t disappear, when you are warm and real beneath his fingers, something inside him breaks. His arms crush you to him, his breath shaking as he buries his face in your hair. He is crying, but he doesn’t care. “I held you,” he whispers. “I held you.”

- After that, he does not let you go. The world calls him Captain America, but to you, he is just Steve—the man who wakes up in the middle of the night just to press his forehead against yours, the man whose grip tightens every time you reach for his hand, as if to reassure himself that you are not a dream. He does not know how to make peace with this miracle, so he does not try. He simply loves you harder, holds you closer, refuses to waste a second of the time he was so cruelly robbed of.

- He is more protective now, but it is not the suffocating kind. It is the quiet, steadfast kind, the way he always positions himself between you and an open door, the way he memorizes the sound of your breathing while you sleep. He does not speak of the past year unless you ask, but when you do, the grief in his eyes is something ancient, something that will never fully fade.

- Steve Rogers has always carried the weight of the world, but with you beside him, it is lighter. You are proof that even after all the battles, all the sacrifices, the universe still has kindness left to give. And he will spend the rest of his life earning it.

Natasha Romanoff

- Natasha Romanoff has survived on borrowed time for as long as she can remember. She has lost, she has bled, she has walked away from battlefields without looking back. But losing you was different. It was the one wound that did not heal, the one loss she could not turn into fuel. She did not cry. Did not speak of you. She simply moved forward, faster, harder, with reckless abandon—because if she slowed down, even for a second, she would have to feel the hollow space you left behind.

- When she sees you again, standing in the shadows of a dimly lit alley, her knife is in her hand before she even registers what she is seeing. Her body reacts the way it was trained to, but her heart—her traitorous, fragile heart—stutters in her chest. “No,” she breathes, shaking her head as if denying it will make it any less real. “No, I buried you.”

- And then you step closer, into the light, and she sees the familiar curve of your smile, the warmth in your eyes. She drops the knife. It clatters against the pavement, forgotten, as she crosses the space between you in two strides, her hands fisting in the fabric of your jacket. Her lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if she can taste the truth in the way you breathe against her mouth.

- After that, she is different. Softer, in ways only you will ever see. She touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reverence. A hand at the small of your back, fingers trailing over your wrist, knuckles brushing against yours as if reminding herself that you are here. The world may question, but Natasha has never cared for the world's judgment. You are hers, and she is yours, and that is all that matters.

- She does not let you fight alone anymore. Not because she doubts your strength, but because she refuses to feel that kind of loss again. She watches you when you sleep, when you move through a room, when you laugh. She memorizes the details she once took for granted—the exact color of your eyes in the morning light, the rhythm of your voice when you call her name.

- Natasha Romanoff has spent a lifetime making peace with ghosts, but you are not one. You are flesh and blood, a heartbeat beneath her palm, a warmth she never thought she would feel again. And this time, she will not let you go.

Bruce Banner

- Grief is not an emotion Bruce Banner can afford. He has spent a lifetime suppressing, locking away the parts of himself that feel too deeply, because feeling too much is dangerous, and losing you nearly ended the world. The Hulk roared in agony that day, the earth itself trembling beneath his wrath, but even in his most furious state, even as he destroyed everything in his path, you were gone. And no amount of strength, no amount of science, could bring you back.

- He stopped fighting after that. Retreated. Isolated himself in a place where no one could see the way his hands trembled when they weren’t balled into fists, where no one could hear him whisper your name like a prayer, a question, a plea. He stopped shifting into the Hulk—not because he was afraid, but because the monster within him had nothing left to fight for. There was only silence, only the ghost of your touch, only the unbearable weight of having lived when you did not.

- So when you return, standing before him in the quiet of his lab, he does not react at first. His mind, trained to doubt, to question, to disassemble and understand, tells him it cannot be real. That the chemicals in his brain are firing incorrectly, that his grief has finally shattered him in a way no transformation ever could. But then you say his name, and it is not just sound—it is gravity, it is a force pulling him from the abyss.

- He crosses the room in a single breath, hands hovering over your face, your shoulders, your waist, unable to trust his own touch. He is afraid to break you, afraid to break himself. And then your fingers slip into his, grounding him, reminding him that this is not a hallucination, not a cruel trick of his subconscious. You are warm, real, here. And just like that, the weight he has carried for a year crumbles to dust.

- After that, he does not leave your side. He watches you sleep, not because he doubts, but because he cannot waste another second of the time he was so certain he had lost. He builds new defenses, new protections, because if death could not keep you, then neither will any enemy foolish enough to try. He teaches himself to trust happiness again, to allow himself to feel, because with you beside him, it is no longer a danger—it is a gift.

- Bruce Banner has always been afraid of his own power, but with you, he is not afraid. He is a man, not just a monster, and for the first time in a long time, he believes in the possibility of a future. A future where he is not alone. A future where he is not running. A future where you, against all odds, are still his.

Clint Barton

- Clint Barton has never been one to dwell. The life he leads does not allow for it—grief is a luxury, mourning a weakness, and the only way to survive is to keep moving. But when he held you in his arms, felt the last shudder of breath against his skin, something inside him shattered. And he did not put the pieces back together. He let them fall, let them burn, let the silence swallow him whole.

- The others saw him continue—heard his sharp wit, watched him loose arrows with deadly precision, saw the same easy smirk that had always been there. But they did not see the empty spaces where you used to be. Did not see the way he avoided the places you had loved, the way he drank in solitude, the way his hands curled into fists whenever someone mentioned your name.

- So when you return—when you step into the dim light of his hideout, when your voice cuts through the silence he has lived in for a year—he does not believe it. He grips the bow at his side, tension in every muscle, because this is a trick, a trap, an illusion designed to destroy him completely. But then you move closer, and the way you look at him—the way only you ever have—makes the doubt in his mind fracture.

- And then he is there, hands gripping your waist, your arms, his forehead pressed to yours as he exhales a breath he did not know he had been holding. He does not ask how, does not ask why. He only pulls you closer, lets himself collapse into the only thing that has ever truly felt like home. His fingers are tight against your skin, unwilling to let go, unwilling to lose you a second time.

- After that, he is different. Lighter, in ways only you will notice. He is still Clint—still sharp, still reckless, still throwing himself into danger without hesitation—but there is a warmth now, a flicker of something that had long been extinguished. He touches you constantly—not in fear, but in reassurance. His hand on the small of your back, his fingers brushing against yours, a quiet, wordless promise that he will not take a second of this for granted.

- Clint Barton has always been a survivor, but he did not truly live until you returned. And now, with you beside him, he has no intention of losing that again. He is yours, wholly and completely, and this time, no force in the universe will take you from him.

Bucky Barnes

- Bucky Barnes knows the taste of loss better than most. He has drowned in it, clawed his way through decades of it, watched everyone he has ever loved slip through his fingers like sand. But losing you was different. Losing you was not the slow, creeping erosion of time. It was a blade to the gut, a wound that never closed, an ache that settled deep in his bones and refused to let go.

- He did not grieve the way others did. He did not cry, did not rage, did not seek solace in memories. He simply stopped. Stopped talking, stopped trying, stopped allowing himself to feel anything at all. Because feeling meant acknowledging the gaping wound your absence had left behind, and that was not something he could survive.

- So when he sees you again, standing in the doorway of his apartment, he does not move. Does not breathe. His mind—trained to expect deception, to anticipate betrayal—tells him this is a trick. But then you step forward, and the way your eyes soften when they meet his, the way your lips part in a quiet whisper of his name, makes the world tilt beneath his feet.

- And then he is there, crossing the space between you with the kind of desperation that only comes from losing something you thought was gone forever. His hands tremble as they frame your face, his breath shuddering as he drinks in the impossible reality of you. He does not trust words, does not trust his voice to hold steady, so he simply presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in, grounding himself in the proof of your existence.

- After that, he does not let you go. He does not speak of the past year, does not tell you how empty it was, how he spent every night staring at the ceiling, waiting for sleep that never came. He only shows you in the way he touches you, in the way he holds you closer at night, in the way his fingers linger on yours as if afraid you might vanish again.

- Bucky Barnes has spent a lifetime being taken, being controlled, being used. But you are the one thing that was his, the one thing that was real, and now that you are here, he will fight for you with everything he has. You are his salvation, his anchor, his second chance at something he never thought he deserved. And this time, he is never letting go.

Sam Wilson

- Grief is a weight Sam Wilson carries well, but carrying it does not mean it is light. It sits in his chest, heavy and unmoving, an ache that never quite fades. Losing you was not a clean wound—it was jagged, raw, a battlefield farewell written in blood and breathless whispers. He held you, watched the life slip from your eyes, and still, somehow, he had to stand up. He had to keep fighting. Because that’s what you would have done. That’s what you would want.

- But wanting and doing are not the same thing. He laughed in public, told stories that made others grin, carried himself with the same easy confidence. But alone? Alone, it was different. He spoke to you sometimes when the night was too quiet, when the wind sounded too much like your voice. He ran until his lungs burned, trying to chase the memory of you, knowing he never really could.

- So when you stand before him, alive, breathing, real, the world does not feel like the one he left behind. His first instinct is denial—a trick, an illusion, a cruel joke played by something with too much power and not enough mercy. But you look at him, and there’s something there, something he recognizes too well. Love. History. You. And suddenly, the weight in his chest is gone.

- He moves before he can think. One step, then two, then his arms are around you, his head buried in your shoulder, a shuddering breath breaking from his lips. His grip is tight—too tight, maybe—but he doesn’t care. He needs to feel you, needs to know this isn’t a dream he’ll wake from. He says your name like it’s the only word he remembers, his voice thick with everything he couldn’t say when you were gone.

- After that, Sam is different. Lighter, freer. He still fights, still leads, still carries the burdens of the world on his back—but he does it with you at his side, and that changes everything. He touches you constantly, a hand on your back, fingers brushing against yours, small, quiet reassurances that you are here, that he did not imagine this.

- Sam Wilson has lost many things. He has seen friends fall, watched the world tear itself apart. But this? This is something he never thought he’d get back. And now that he has you, he swears to himself—he’s not losing you again. Not now. Not ever.

Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

- Peter Parker does not know how to exist in a world where you do not. The pain is not sharp, not a clean wound he can stitch together with time. It is suffocating. Slow. A weight pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs, making every step feel heavier than the last. He was holding you, talking to you, and then you were just… gone. And nothing he did, no amount of strength, no web-slinging through the city, no late-night patrols could change that.

- He keeps going. He has to. That’s what Spider-Man does. That’s what you would have wanted. But some nights, when he is alone, when the mask is off and the world is quiet, he feels like a boy again—small, lost, powerless. He whispers apologies into the dark, tracing the memory of your touch, trying to pretend he still remembers exactly what your voice sounded like. Because he’s terrified he’s forgetting.

- And then, one day, you are there. Standing in the shadow of a flickering streetlamp, watching him with the same eyes he never thought he’d see again. At first, he doesn’t move. He can’t. His brain refuses to process it, refuses to accept this impossible, beautiful reality. And then you smile—small, hesitant, you—and he breaks.

- He crashes into you, arms wrapping around you so tightly it almost hurts. His breath stutters, hands shaking as they press against your skin, your hair, anything that proves you are real. “You—” His voice cracks. “You died.” And it’s not an accusation. It’s a question, a plea, a broken whisper of disbelief. But you are warm, solid, here, and he holds onto that with everything he has.

- After that, Peter is clingy. He doesn’t mean to be, but he is. His fingers find yours without thinking, his arm curls around your waist at every opportunity, his webbing pulls you to him when you step too far away. He is afraid—afraid this is temporary, afraid that one day he’ll wake up and you’ll be gone again. But he also smiles more, laughs louder, lives in a way he hasn’t since he lost you.

- Peter Parker has lost so much. But this? This is a miracle. And Peter—Peter is going to make sure he cherishes every single second of it. Because this time, he has you. And that? That is everything.

Stephen Strange

- Stephen Strange is no stranger to loss. He has lived through pain, through heartbreak, through the destruction of things he once believed unshakable. But losing you—that was something else entirely. That was not just loss. That was devastation. It was the kind of pain that settled into his bones, that made the world feel quieter, colder, less.

- He did not weep. Did not rage. Did not crumble beneath the weight of it. Instead, he buried himself in his work, in his magic, in the relentless pursuit of something—anything—that could fill the void you left behind. He scoured the multiverse, searching for answers, but found only silence. Death, it seemed, was absolute. Even for you.

- So when you stand before him, alive, whole, untouched by the grave, he does not react at first. His hands twitch at his sides, eyes sharp, mind racing through a thousand possibilities, a thousand explanations. This must be a trick, a deception, some cruel game played by forces beyond his understanding. But then you speak his name, and the way you say it—the way only you say it—breaks him.

- He crosses the room in three steps, hands cupping your face, searching for any sign of illusion. But there is none. There is only warmth, only life, only you. His breath stutters, his fingers tighten, and for the first time in a long, long time, Stephen Strange allows himself to feel. His lips crash against yours, desperate, searching, as if trying to convince himself that this moment is not slipping through his fingers.

- After that, he is possessive. Not in a way that is suffocating, but in a way that is unmistakable. His cloak wraps around you when you are cold, his hands find yours beneath temple robes, his magic lingers in the air around you like a silent guardian. He does not say it—not outright, not often—but you know. You have always known. He cannot lose you again. He will not.

- Stephen Strange has faced the impossible, has bent time and reality to his will. But this? This is the greatest miracle of all. And he, a man who once scoffed at faith, finds himself believing in something again. Because if the universe had any mercy, any kindness at all, it would let him keep you. And this time, he will fight for that with everything he has.

Thor Odinson

- Grief and gods have never mixed well. Mortals mourn with time, with rituals, with whispered prayers to the sky. But Thor? Thor does not know how to grieve in a way that does not tear the world apart. He held you as you died, cradled you against his chest, his hands helpless against the tide of fate. The sky wept with him that day—thunder cracking, the heavens splitting open in rage, the storm inside him unfurling with no battle left to fight.

- He left Earth after that. It was too loud, too full of life, too painfully real in your absence. He searched for answers in the stars, in old myths and forgotten magic, in the whispered promises of gods who had lost more than he had. But the truth was simple: not even the might of Thor, not even the power of Asgard, could bring back the one thing he truly wanted. So he drank, and he fought, and he laughed too loudly to hide the fact that he was breaking.

- And then, one day, he turns, and you are there. Standing in the golden light of the Bifrost, impossibly, beautifully alive. His breath catches in his throat, Mjolnir slipping from his fingers, his entire body frozen between disbelief and desperate hope. “This is a trick,” he says, but his voice is hoarse, unsteady, as if saying the words out loud might make them false. But then you smile, and he is undone.

- He crosses the space between you in an instant, crushing you against him with a force that nearly knocks the breath from your lungs. His hands tangle in your hair, his forehead pressing against yours, and his chest heaves with something between laughter and a sob. “You have returned to me,” he whispers, reverence in every syllable. And then he is kissing you, fierce and unrelenting, as if proving to himself that this is not some cruel jest of fate.

- After that, Thor does not let you go. Not truly. His arm is always around your waist, his hand always at the small of your back, his eyes watching you as if you might disappear the moment he looks away. He tells you, constantly, in grand declarations and quiet murmurs, how much he loves you, how he will never lose you again. You are his greatest treasure, more precious than any throne, any kingdom, any power the cosmos could offer.

- The God of Thunder has lost much—his home, his family, pieces of himself that may never fully return. But you—you are here, in his arms, alive once more. And Thor, a warrior who has fought countless battles, swears that he will fight against gods and monsters alike to keep you at his side.

Loki Laufeyson

- Loki knows loss better than he knows himself. He has lost love, trust, family. But losing you—that was different. That was a wound he could not charm away with silver-tongued words, a pain he could not outwit or outmaneuver. You died in his arms, your fingers curling weakly around his wrist as the light in your eyes faded. And for the first time in his life, Loki Laufeyson was powerless.

- He did not rage. He did not scream. Instead, he withdrew, wrapping himself in silence and solitude, retreating into the shadows where grief could not be seen. The world continued without you, and he played his part well—smirking, deceiving, spinning tales as if he were not hollow inside. But in the quiet moments, when no one was looking, he traced the ghost of your touch on his skin and whispered your name like a prayer.

- So when he sees you again, standing before him in the flickering candlelight of some forgotten sanctuary, he does not react—not at first. His body stills, his breath catches, and his mind races through every possibility, every cruel illusion that could explain this. But then you speak his name, soft and familiar, and something in him shatters.

- He reaches for you hesitantly, his fingers brushing over your cheek as if expecting you to dissolve beneath his touch. And when you do not—when you are warm, and real, and here—a sharp breath leaves his lips, and he pulls you against him with all the desperation of a man drowning. His grip is tight, unyielding, as if trying to convince himself that you will not be stolen from him again.

- After that, Loki is different. Not softer, not weaker—if anything, he is more dangerous, more cunning, more willing to do anything to ensure you remain by his side. He keeps you close, always within reach, his sharp wit reserved for those who dare to threaten what is his. There is no force in the universe he fears, no power he will not challenge, if it means keeping you safe.

- Loki Laufeyson has never believed in fate, in mercy, in second chances. But you? You are proof that even the most broken of men can find something worth living for. And this time, he will not lose you. Not to death. Not to gods. Not to anything.

T’Challa

- T’Challa was a king before he was a man, a warrior before he was a lover. But you—you—were the one thing that belonged solely to him. With you, he was not a ruler, not the Black Panther, not the protector of a nation. He was simply a man in love. And then, in a single moment, in the chaos of war, you were gone. And he—T’Challa, the unshakable, the wise, the just—fell to his knees, holding you as the life slipped from your body.

- He did not mourn in ways the world could see. There were no public displays of grief, no speeches of loss. He carried the weight of your death in silence, bearing it with the same quiet dignity that he bore every burden. But in the stillness of his chambers, when no one was watching, he let the sorrow take him. He traced the last place he had held you, whispered your name to the night, and wondered if he would ever learn to breathe without you.

- So when he sees you again, standing beneath the glow of Wakanda’s golden lights, his heart stops. His breath catches. And for a moment, he is afraid to move—to hope. But you step forward, your eyes locking onto his, and everything else ceases to matter. The world falls away, and there is only you.

- He crosses the distance between you in a single step, his hands cupping your face with reverence, with disbelief, with a depth of emotion he has never let himself show before. He does not ask how or why. He only whispers, “My love,” as if speaking the words aloud will make them real. And then he kisses you—slow, deep, a promise, a prayer, a thousand unspoken words pressed into your skin.

- After that, T’Challa is your shadow, your shield, your unwavering protector. He does not smother you—he respects you too much for that—but he watches, always. His fingers linger against yours in quiet moments, his gaze softens whenever you speak, and when he holds you at night, it is with the quiet, unyielding certainty that he will never let go again.

- T’Challa has lost many things—his father, his home, pieces of himself in battles fought for the greater good. But this? This is something sacred. And a king who has been given back his heart will protect it with everything he has.

Marc Spector

- Marc Spector has never been good at losing people. He has lost too much, buried too many, carried ghosts in the hollows of his ribs and the shadows of his mind. But losing you—watching you die in his arms, feeling your body grow cold as his own blood soaked into the ground—was something else entirely. It didn’t break him. It obliterated him.

- He stopped pretending after that. Stopped holding himself together, stopped fighting for anything beyond survival. He threw himself into missions with reckless abandon, took every fight as if he was begging for someone to land a fatal hit. He couldn’t sleep in your bed, couldn’t bear to hear your name spoken aloud. He tried—Khonshu knows, he tried—to find a way to bring you back. Bargained with gods, hunted down forbidden magic, but nothing, nothing, worked. So he gave up. He accepted that this was his punishment, his curse, to keep losing the things he loved until there was nothing left of him.

- And then—then—you were there. Standing in the doorway, alive, whole, looking at him like you weren’t a phantom haunting his grief. He didn’t move at first, didn’t breathe, convinced you were another trick of his fractured mind. But then you spoke—soft, hesitant, like you weren’t sure if he would even want you back. And the moment your voice reached him, Marc snapped.

- He was on you in an instant, his hands on your face, your shoulders, your arms—anywhere he could touch, anywhere he could convince himself you were real. “Tell me I’m not dreaming,” he whispered, voice shaking, breath unsteady. And when you smiled, when you nodded, he kissed you—desperate, bruising, like a man drowning who had finally found air.

- After that, Marc is different. Not softer, not gentler—he has never been those things—but determined. He refuses to let you out of his sight for too long, refuses to take a single moment for granted. The nightmares don’t go away—sometimes he wakes up reaching for you, convinced he’s lost you all over again—but you are always there, grounding him, reminding him that miracles exist.

- He still fights, still follows the path Khonshu carved for him, but now, there’s something else driving him. Not vengeance. Not guilt. You. You, alive and breathing, laughing in the golden light of morning, rolling your eyes when he gets in one of his moods. And if he has to fight every god, every monster, every force in the universe to keep you by his side? So be it.

Steven Grant

- Grief is a lonely thing. And for Steven, it was lonelier than most. He didn’t have Marc’s rage or Jake’s cold detachment—he just had absence, an empty space beside him where you used to be. You had been his bright thing, his sunbeam, the warmth in his life he never thought he deserved. And then, in a moment of violence and blood, you were gone.

- The flat was too quiet after that. He still made tea for two, still caught himself turning to tell you something, still found little reminders of you everywhere. Your books on the shelf. Your perfume lingering in the air. A sweater you’d stolen from him, draped over the back of a chair. He couldn’t let go, couldn’t move—just existed, stumbling through the days with a polite smile and eyes that held too much grief.

- And then, one evening, as he shuffled into the flat with the exhaustion of another day spent pretending he was okay, he saw you. Standing there, real as anything, watching him with that soft, hesitant look you always had when you weren’t sure how he’d react. He didn’t even think. Didn’t question. Just dropped whatever was in his hands and ran to you.

- “Oh, love,” he breathed, his voice cracking as he cupped your face, pressing his forehead to yours. He was crying—of course he was crying—but he didn’t care, didn’t even try to stop. “I—I thought—oh God, I thought I lost you.” His hands trembled as he touched you, as if afraid you might disappear if he wasn’t careful. But you didn’t disappear. You were here. And when you kissed him—gentle, reassuring—he let out a broken, disbelieving laugh.

- After that, Steven becomes more himself again. The light comes back into his eyes, the warmth into his voice. He tells you every day how much he loves you, how grateful he is that you came back. He holds you for hours sometimes, murmuring little things against your skin, afraid that if he lets go, the universe will take you away again.

- You are his miracle, his impossible, wonderful second chance. And Steven, the man who never thought he was enough, now knows one thing with absolute certainty—he will never take you for granted again.

Jake Lockley

- Jake doesn’t grieve the way others do. He doesn’t sit in sorrow, doesn’t cry himself to sleep. He compartmentalizes, shoves it all into a locked box in the back of his mind and throws away the key. When you died, he didn’t break down. He didn’t scream. He just acted. Found the ones responsible. Made them pay. Made everyone pay.

- He convinced himself that was enough. That revenge was all he had left to give you. But when the dust settled, when the blood was washed from his hands, there was nothing. Just an emptiness so vast it threatened to swallow him whole. He became a ghost, slipping through the world unnoticed, unseen. He only spoke when necessary, only acted when called upon. If Marc and Steven noticed how much darker he’d become, they didn’t say anything.

- And then—then—you were there. Sitting in the backseat of his car like you belonged there, like you hadn’t died in his arms a year ago. He slammed on the brakes so hard the tires screeched, his pulse roaring in his ears. He didn’t turn around at first. Couldn’t. His hands gripped the steering wheel like a vice, his knuckles white with tension. “Not funny,” he rasped, his voice low, dangerous. “Not a game I wanna play.”

- “It’s not a trick, Jake,” you whispered. And that was all it took. He turned, his breath catching as he finally let himself look. Let himself believe. And the moment he did, something inside him snapped. He surged toward you, pulling you into his arms with a desperation he rarely let himself show. His face buried in your neck, his breath shaky and uneven, his body trembling as if the entire world had just shifted beneath his feet.

- After that, Jake is ruthless about keeping you safe. He doesn’t care how you came back—only that you did, and that nothing will take you from him again. He’s always watching, always waiting, always a step ahead of any potential threat. He doesn’t say it out loud, but it’s in the way he tucks you close against him in crowds, in the way his fingers ghost over your pulse like he’s memorizing it.

- Jake Lockley is not a good man. He never claimed to be. But you—you are the one thing that makes him want to be. And if death couldn’t keep you from him, nothing else will either.

Scott Lang

- Scott never truly believed in happy endings, but he believed in you. He believed in the way your laughter could turn an ordinary day into something extraordinary, the way your hand in his made him feel like maybe—just maybe—he was enough. Losing you shattered him in ways he didn’t even know were possible. You died in his arms, your blood on his hands, and in that moment, he stopped believing in miracles.

- He tried to hold it together for Cassie. He smiled, told jokes, did his best to pretend he was okay. But he wasn’t. His apartment felt too big without you, the bed too cold. He found himself talking to the empty air, half-expecting you to answer. The worst part was the moments right before he woke up, when his brain still tricked him into thinking you were next to him, breathing softly in sleep. And then he’d open his eyes and reality would sink in like a knife to the gut.

- When he sees you again, it’s like the universe plays a cruel trick on him. He blinks, rubs his eyes, thinks he’s hallucinating. But then you smile, that soft, knowing smile he dreamed about, and everything collapses. He doesn’t think—just moves, just grabs you, just feels. “Oh my God,” he breathes, his voice shaking, his arms wrapping around you so tightly he might never let go. “Tell me this is real. Please tell me this is real.” And when you nod, when you whisper his name, he lets out a half-laugh, half-sob against your shoulder.

- Scott becomes clingy after that—not in an overbearing way, but in a you-can’t-leave-me-again way. He constantly reaches for you, constantly checks if you’re still there. He makes up for lost time—cooking you breakfast (badly), taking you on spontaneous road trips, making you laugh until you can’t breathe. Every moment is precious now, every second a gift. He refuses to waste a single one.

- He tells you everything he couldn’t before. How much he missed you, how much it hurt, how many times he caught himself looking for you in a crowded room. He never wants to take you for granted again. Every night, he holds you like you might disappear in the morning, presses kisses to your skin as if he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

- Scott Lang doesn’t know why the universe gave you back to him, but he doesn’t care. All he knows is that this time, no force in the world—no villain, no bad luck, no cosmic cruelty—is going to take you away from him again.

Wade Wilson (Fox)

- Wade doesn’t mourn like other people. He doesn’t wear black, doesn’t cry softly in the night. No, Wade’s grief is ugly, loud, chaotic. After you died, he became worse—more violent, more reckless, more unhinged. He threw himself into fights he knew he couldn’t win, hoping—praying—someone would finally land the killing blow. But they never did. His healing factor cursed him to keep living, to keep hurting.

- He talked to you like you were still there. Made jokes to the empty side of the bed. Left your favorite snacks untouched in the cabinet. The others tried to check on him—Weasel, Domino—but he just shoved them away with a laugh, a joke, a bloody fight he walked away from without a scratch. “I’m fine,” he’d say, voice hollow behind the mask. “Totally normal levels of depression. Probably a seven out of ten. Maybe an eight. Who’s to say?”

- And then, one day, you walked through his door. Just like that. No fanfare, no dramatic music—just you, standing there, looking at him with that same familiar amusement in your eyes. He froze. Blinked. Looked down at the bottle of vodka in his hand. “Oh,” he muttered. “Guess I finally drank myself into hallucinations. Took long enough.” But then you said his name, your voice real, and everything inside him broke.

- He tackled you before you could even take a step closer. Knocked you onto the couch, onto the floor, onto him, his arms squeezing so tight it was a miracle you could still breathe. “If this is a dream, I swear to Ryan Reynolds’ beautiful abs, I will murder my subconscious,” he babbled, his voice cracking. He touched your face, your arms, every inch of you, just to be sure. And when you laughed—when you really laughed—he just lost it. Full-on ugly sobs, face buried in your neck, refusing to ever let go.

- After that, Wade is worse—but in a different way. He never shuts up about how lucky he is. Clings to you, wraps himself around you like a human (questionably clean) blanket, dramatically declares that if you ever die on him again, he’ll personally go to hell and drag you back himself. He texts you every five minutes when you’re not around. If you so much as sneeze, he’s already googling life-threatening illnesses.

- But beneath all the jokes, the over-the-top antics, there’s something soft there. Something raw. Wade Wilson doesn’t believe in happy endings. But he believes in you. And if the universe was kind enough to give you back to him, then maybe—just maybe—he’ll finally start believing in second chances too.

Logan Howlett (Fox)

- Logan is no stranger to grief. He has lost more people than he can count, buried more loved ones than he dares to remember. But losing you—you—was different. It wasn’t just another loss, another name on the long list of people the world had taken from him. It was the loss. The one that finally made him want to lay down and never get up again.

- He disappeared after that. Vanished into the wilderness, into the places where no one could find him. He drank himself into oblivion, picked fights with men twice his size just for the chance to feel something. The nightmares were worse—your face, your voice, the way you reached for him as you died in his arms. He could still feel your blood on his hands, still hear your last breath. There was no escaping it. No running fast enough.

- When he sees you again, it’s not dramatic. It’s not loud. It’s silent. He turns, expecting an enemy, a threat—only to see you. Standing there. Alive. His breath catches in his throat, his heart hammering against his ribs like it’s trying to break free. For a long moment, he just stares, his jaw clenched so tight it aches. “No,” he finally rasps. “No, that ain’t possible.” But you just step closer, your hands trembling, your eyes pleading. “Logan,” you whisper. And something inside him snaps.

- He moves before he can think, his arms wrapping around you with the force of a man drowning who has finally found solid ground. He buries his face in your hair, breathes you in, his whole body shaking. “If this is some kinda sick joke,” he growls against your skin, “I swear to God—” But you just hold him tighter, and he finally—finally—lets himself believe it.

- After that, Logan is fiercely protective. More than before. You are his second chance, his proof that maybe—just maybe—the world hasn’t taken everything from him. He keeps you close, always within reach. He doesn’t talk about the time you were gone, doesn’t say how lost he was without you—but you see it in the way he touches you, like he’s making sure you’re still real.

- Logan has lived a long life, filled with too much pain, too much loss. But now, with you back in his arms, he thinks—just for a moment—that maybe, maybe, he finally has something worth fighting for again.

Matt Murdock

- Grief became a quiet shadow in Matt’s life, a presence that never left. He carried it with him in the way he adjusted his tie, in the way he spoke to Foggy and Karen like he was fine when he wasn’t. He still went out at night, still fought in the streets, but the fire inside him had dimmed. He no longer fought to save the city—he fought because it was the only thing that numbed the ache of losing you.

- He whispered your name in his prayers, his voice breaking over the syllables. In his apartment, your absence was louder than anything else. He reached for you in his sleep, his hands closing around nothing, waking up with an emptiness so heavy it stole his breath. He let the guilt drown him—because you died in his arms, and no matter how many bones he broke or how much blood he spilled, he couldn’t change that.

- When you return, he knows it’s you before you even speak. The world is full of sound, full of heartbeats, full of voices—but yours? Yours has always been different. His entire body stills, his breath hitching in his throat. He listens, waiting for the trick, the deception, because he knows what death feels like. But then you say his name, and the world tilts sideways.

- He moves without thinking, reaching for you, his hands trembling as they trace over your face, your hair, your lips. “You’re real,” he breathes, almost afraid to say it. “You’re real.” And when he finally lets himself believe it, when he pulls you into his arms and holds you so tightly it aches, he lets out a broken sound—somewhere between a sob and a prayer.

- After that, Matt is different. He refuses to let you go alone anywhere, his protectiveness manifesting in quiet touches, in the way his fingers always seek yours. He’s softer now, more open with his emotions, because he’s lost you once and he won’t make the mistake of taking any second for granted.

- At night, when the city is quiet and his scars ache, he traces over your skin as if memorizing every inch of you all over again. “I don’t know how I deserve this,” he whispers against your hair, his voice raw with devotion. “But I’m never letting you go again.”

Frank Castle

- Frank has always been good at loss. Not because he accepts it, but because he survives it. Losing you, though? It was a different kind of wound, one that never stopped bleeding. He didn’t cry. He didn’t scream. He just became colder. The world lost all color, all meaning. He didn’t live after you were gone—he just existed, a weapon with no purpose but destruction.

- He stopped talking. Stopped caring. The men he hunted became nothing more than names on a list, their deaths nothing more than numbers. He never said your name, never spoke of you, because acknowledging you were gone would break something inside him that even he couldn’t put back together.

- And then, one night, you stand in front of him, breathing, alive, looking at him like he’s still the man you loved. He doesn’t believe it at first. His grip tightens around his gun, his entire body coiled and ready for a fight because this? This is cruel. And yet—your eyes. Your heartbeat. The way you whisper, “Frank?” like it’s his name that brings you back to life.

- His hands shake as he reaches for you. He touches your face like it’s something fragile, something that might disappear if he presses too hard. And when you don’t, when you lean into his touch with a softness he thought he’d never feel again, something inside him shatters. He pulls you against him, his grip almost desperate, his breath ragged. “I lost you,” he rasps against your hair. “I lost you, and I didn’t—I didn’t know how to keep going.”

- Frank becomes your shadow after that. He’s gentler with you than he’s ever been with anyone, but that protectiveness? That fire? It’s stronger than ever. If anyone so much as looks at you wrong, they won’t live to make the mistake twice. But with you? With you, he is something softer, something almost human again.

- He doesn’t pray, doesn’t believe in fate. But at night, when you sleep beside him, warm and real, he presses a silent kiss to your forehead and whispers, Thank you. He doesn’t know who he’s thanking. Maybe the universe. Maybe you. All he knows is that this time, he won’t waste a single second.

Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter

- Losing you broke Dex. And when Dex breaks, he destroys. He tried to keep it together—tried to pretend he could move on, that he could keep living without you—but the anger, the madness, the unbearable emptiness inside him only grew. The world felt wrong without you. He felt wrong. He stopped sleeping, stopped feeling anything but the burning need to punish whatever took you away from him.

- He lost control after that. Killed without hesitation, without remorse. Let his mind spiral, let his demons win, because what was the point of fighting them without you? You were his anchor, the one person who made him believe he could be more than the monster inside him. Without you, he had no reason to pretend anymore.

- When he sees you again, he doesn’t react the way most people would. No tears, no disbelief. He stalks toward you, his entire body trembling, his breath uneven. His fingers twitch like they’re reaching for a weapon—like he can’t decide if you’re a dream, a trick, or something worse. “You’re dead,” he says, voice flat, empty. “I held you while you died.” And then, quieter, almost desperate—“Tell me this is real.”

- The second you touch him, the second your fingers brush over his, he breaks. He surges forward, his arms crushing around you, his breathing ragged against your skin. “Don’t leave me again,” he whispers, his voice shaking. “Please. I can’t—I can’t do this without you.” And for the first time in a year, his mind is quiet. The rage, the spiraling thoughts, the unbearable emptiness—it all stops the moment you’re back in his arms.

- After that, Dex is obsessive. He always had that trait in him, but now? Now it’s even worse. You are his, and he refuses to let anything take you away from him again. He follows you like a shadow, sleeps with his arms locked around you, memorizes every detail of your body just in case the universe dares to rip you away from him again.

- There’s a darkness inside him, one that never truly fades. But with you alive, with you real, that darkness is tempered by something softer. Something dangerous. He’s not just a killer anymore. He’s yours. And if anyone tries to take you from him again? He’ll burn the whole world to the ground.

Wanda Maximoff

- Grief clung to Wanda like an old, tattered shawl, woven with the ghosts of everyone she had ever lost. She had thought she had reached her limit—that the universe could take no more from her than it already had. But then it took you. And that, she realized, was the cruelest cut of all. She had survived wars, watched cities crumble, lost her family, her brother, her home. But losing you? That was the first time she felt herself break.

- She became something else after you died. A ghost walking through her own life, untethered from the world. The wind carried whispers of you—the echo of your laughter in a marketplace, the ghost of your breath against her skin in the moments before she woke up alone. And the anger—God, the anger. She lashed out when she fought, red energy sparking at her fingertips with a ferocity she couldn’t contain. She wanted to hurt the universe the way it had hurt her.

- And then, like an answer to a prayer she had never dared to whisper, you stood before her again. At first, she thought it was another cruel trick, another illusion meant to unravel what little remained of her sanity. But then—then she felt you. Your heartbeat, your warmth, the undeniable reality of you. And the moment that truth settled into her bones, she collapsed into you, shaking, weeping, hands clutching desperately at your arms, your shoulders, your face.

- “You were gone,” she sobbed, burying herself in you like she could merge her soul with yours. “I—I felt you leave me.” And for the first time in a year, her magic did not rage. It did not spark and burn with untamed grief. It simply was. It curled around the two of you like a shield, like a silent promise that she would never let you be taken from her again.

- After that, Wanda became something softer, but not weaker. She still held the storm inside her, but now, it had purpose. Now, it had you. She held you like she was afraid the wind might steal you away again, always touching—fingers brushing over yours, arms wrapping around you in sleep, a protective hand against the small of your back in public. She had lost everything before. She would not lose you again.

- At night, when the world was still and your breath rose and fell against her chest, she whispered things she could never say in the daylight. Apologies, promises, prayers in a language she had almost forgotten. And when you stirred, murmuring her name, she simply kissed you—deep and slow, like she could pour her very soul into you, like she could make you stay this time.

Pietro Maximoff

- The world never felt fast enough after you were gone. Time slowed into something unbearable, something suffocating. Pietro had always outrun grief before, always left it in the dust, but your death? That was a weight even he couldn’t shake. He stopped joking. Stopped running for fun. The world lost its color, its spark, its meaning. What was the point of moving quickly when you weren’t at the finish line anymore?

- He tried—he really tried—to pretend. To act like he was okay, to throw on that smirk and tell people, “Eh, I’m fine.” But Wanda knew. She saw it in the way he sat still for too long, the way his hands trembled when he thought no one was looking, the way he lingered in places that reminded him of you. His speed was once his escape, his freedom. Now, every step forward only took him further away from the last time he held you.

- And then—then he sees you. And for the first time in his life, he can’t move. He just stares, his heart a violent drumbeat against his ribs, his breath caught somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “No,” he whispers, blinking rapidly, because this has to be some sick joke. “This isn’t real.” But you are. And the moment you take a step toward him, he snaps.

- He moves too fast, too desperate, grabbing you like you might vanish if he lets go. His hands cup your face, his lips press against every part of you he can reach—forehead, cheeks, hands, lips. “You’re real,” he gasps between kisses, between shaky laughter and choked sobs. “You’re—you’re real.” And suddenly, the world isn’t slow anymore. You are his new gravity, the only thing keeping him from spinning out of control.

- After that, Pietro is obsessed with feeling you close. He picks you up just to hear you laugh, carries you even when you insist you can walk. He talks more, filling every silence with his voice because silence is what haunted him for a year. And he touches—not just because he wants to, but because he needs to. Holding your hand, leaning against you, brushing his fingers over your cheek just to remind himself you’re here.

- And at night, when he curls around you in bed, his heartbeat thrumming like a song against your skin, he whispers things he’s never said before. “I thought I lost you forever.” “I never stopped looking for you.” “If you ever leave me again, I swear I’ll outrun death itself to bring you back.” And when you tell him you’re here, that you’re not going anywhere, he presses a lingering kiss to your shoulder and finally—finally—lets himself breathe again.

Erik Lehnsherr (Fox)

- Erik was already a man carved from loss, molded by grief, his soul tempered in the fires of tragedy. Losing you was not just another wound—it was the moment he snapped completely. He did not rage. He did not weep. He simply became something else. Harder. Colder. More dangerous. Without you, there was no reason to hold back. No reason to believe in anything but vengeance.

- The world paid for your absence. He became relentless, his war against those he deemed responsible for suffering escalating beyond reason. He did not believe in mercy anymore—because if the world had shown you none, why should he? But in the rare, silent moments when he was alone, when his hands were still for once, he would stare at the space beside him and feel something that terrified him. Emptiness.

- When you return, he does not react as a man should when seeing his lost love brought back to life. He does not run to you. He does not whisper your name like a prayer. He simply stares, cold and unreadable, his mind calculating every possibility—illusion, manipulation, deception. And then—then you reach for him, and the moment your hand touches his, his composure shatters.

- His hands shake as they frame your face. His breathing is shallow, his eyes burning with something unreadable. When he speaks, his voice is low, trembling with something dangerous. “Who did this?” he demands. Because someone had to bring you back. And Erik Lehnsherr does not believe in miracles. But when you smile—when you whisper, “I’m here, Erik”—his fury dissolves into something broken, something human. He kisses you like a dying man gasping for air, his hands gripping you as if afraid the wind might steal you away.

- After that, Erik is ruthless in his protectiveness. He keeps you close, watches you with the sharp gaze of a predator waiting for the world to try and take you again. But in private, in the spaces where no one else can see, he is something else. His hands are reverent as they hold you, his voice is soft when he speaks to you, and his nightmares—the ones filled with loss—fade when you press a kiss to his temple.

- He does not believe in peace. He does not believe in forgiveness. But he believes in you. And that? That is the only thing in this world he will not let go of again.

[luvvcharxo]

so in love with you - mark grayson headcanons

warnings: fluff, smut, NSFW CONTENT!! MINORS DNI. word count: 541 summary: boyfriend!mark x fem!reader headcanons. notes: hi so this is just some tired rambling from me because i have writers block so i cant write an actual fic. sorry, hope this feeds the mark lovers. yall, the suit stays on!!

boyfriend!mark who always makes sure to bring something for his girlfriend when he's late (as usual) to a date.

boyfriend!mark who tries his best to plan the dates, but secretly likes it when you take charge.

boyfriend!mark who has you saved as his wallpaper, a picture of you in his phonecase, and has a picture of the two of you as his pfp for EVERYTHING. no one can argue with the fact that that man loves you.

boyfriend!mark who always makes time to send you a 'good morning' and 'good night' text. it doesn't matter whether he's just been beaten up, or is about to be beaten up, he will always do his best to make time for you.

boyfriend!mark who likes to show his affection subtly, like when he does the sidewalk rule or when he holds your hand when he notices you feeling anxious. he's not opposed to PDA, too.

boyfriend!mark who feels happy when you show PDA, a big smile on his face if you give him a small kiss before going to work or school, or when you hold his hand when walking together.

boyfriend!mark who likes to remember little stuff about you, whether it be that one makeup product you wanted ages ago, or the name of your first pet. he'll even remember that one person you hated years ago and talked shit about to him.

boyfriend!mark who's too scared to initiate anything physical, worried you'll reject him (even though the two of you are literally dating).

boyfriend!mark who gets flustered during the first time you have sex, but eventually gets the hang of it.

boyfriend!mark who could live between your thighs and would be the happiest man alive, eating you out for the rest of yours (and his) life.

boyfriend!mark who worries whether he'll hurt you with his viltrumite strength, but you reassure him that you'll be fine. besides, you wouldn't mind getting crushed by those muscles anyway. it would be a nice way to die.

boyfriend!mark who stares at you for a moment when you stop him from removing his suit when you two are on your bed.

boyfriend!mark who's face turns bright red when you sheepishly ask him to keep the suit on, doing your best to prevent yourself from grinding against his hard length that you can already feel poking against your thigh.

boyfriend!mark who actually enjoys it (maybe a bit too much) when you sit in his supersuit-cladded lap, the friction between your lower halves making you let out a small whimper.

boyfriend!mark who's grateful for the fact that the suit is so tight, meaning he can still feel everything you do and how you feel.

boyfriend!mark who can feel your wetness seep through the fabric when you remove your pants.

boyfriend!mark who can't help but cum in his suit when you let out the most pornographic moan he's ever heard after rubbing against his hard-on.

boyfriend!mark who doesn't cares about the clean-up (that's a problem for future him to think about) and instead flips the two of you over, a smug smile on his face, ready for round two. maybe with the suit off, this time.

extra notes: hiii im so sorry if this isnt written well. im not used to writing sexual content, but i hope this is okay. love u guys, and reblogs are very welcome!! :3

⋆ MASTERLIST

[sevsgiirl]

Omg okay I can't stop thinking about needy lovesick Sevika with a younger femme partner (you can totally do a continuation of the fic you wrote) so what if, she's a little needy&insecure for their age gap? That her girl gets bored/annoyed with her? (She doesn't have this type of thoughts all the time, but the seeds of doubts grows when she hears other people talk, not directly about her and reader, but in general but it does linger when others points out how different they are) or in her own way, she start craving more compliments, affections from her but dunno how to do it and at the same time she's trying to gauce if her girl still likes her (she does!!) yet just the thoughts/doubts hurts Sevika like so bad, because she would do anything for her darling, what she has to do to make her girl still love her and not leave her?

— sevika with a younger partner and feeling insecure

synopsis: sevika doesn’t have a type. whether they’re older or younger, just as long as they could keep up with her that’s all mattered. but ever since you two started dating, she starts to wonder if she’s the one who could keep up with you and how deep down, it scares her that you might find a problem with it eventually.

note: I just had to post this before going to sleep because the idea is too good. I love the way your brain works and again, thank you for sending in the req <3 love you and I hope you like this.

you were a beacon of light in the cesspool of chaos that is sevika’s life.

to this day, she still doesn’t understand how you and her got into a relationship but here you are now, going strong for almost a year and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

you two rarely get into arguments, when you did she never hesitates to reach out and fix the situation right away because she can’t stand being on bad terms with you for long.

you two are on the same mental wavelength, which sevika appreciates given how you’re a lot younger than her. she’s in her 40s and you were in 20s, but sometimes she forgets because conversations always run smoothly between you two.

but just because she forgets that doesn’t mean other people fail to bring it up.

when you started dating, it was a bit difficult given how it wasn’t received well by a lot of her peers. not that they judged her for it because they could never unless they wanted to have their face busted in. but it was the occasional remarks that had a hint of judgement in them that made sevika uncomfortable.

things such as “she’s a bit young, isn’t she? you better keep an eye on her especially because you’re always at work. it’s hard being in a relationship with someone who’s at a different stage in life as you.”

both of you had jobs but her work compared to yours was hectic. you work as a waitress at jericho’s meanwhile sevika is paid to get her hands dirty for silco. the job was tedious and draining and sometimes she comes home, tired to the bone that she could barely catch up with you. which she feels immensely guilty for.

you’ve reassured her that it isn’t a big deal and that you understand her status in zaun is far more important than yours. you’ve always acknowledged sevika’s role in the under city and why she was feared by many, that’s what attracted you to her in the first place. she was loyal, devoted and her endurance was insane.

but still, despite how sevika’s job is her number one priority, it still doesn’t slip her mind that she may accidentally neglect you and your needs without her knowing.

and she knows it takes a toll on you too, you just don’t want to bring it up because you respect her too much. and she was right because when she came home early one night you weren’t there, and it was almost midnight when you finally returned and you were shocked to see sevika sitting on your couch waiting for you. usually she’d be back around 2-3am.

“hey, you didn’t tell me silco would let you off the hook early,” you said but your words became background noise because she was too focused on your appearance. you were dressed up and from where she sat she could tell you’ve had a lot to drink.

it’s not that it upset sevika you went out, you could do whatever you want but it saddens her that you didn’t even go out of your way to tell her about it assuming she’d be coming home late. is this what you do when she’s not here? go out with your friends and have fun? it’s not that she expects you to wait for her in your apartment all day while she’s away for work.

still, the thought bothers her as she wonders what you must’ve been up to while she was gone. she tries to set the thought aside, not wanting to think bad of you because she knows you’d never go against her back. but certain thoughts crept up at the back of her mind. did you meet someone while you were out? were you offered drinks? did someone invite you out to dance?

“sev, baby, you there?” she didn’t even realize she zoned out until she felt you cupping her cheek “are you tired? you shouldn’t have stayed up for me.”

she shook her head “it’s alright. but yeah, silco let me off early and I wanted to surprise you.”

your shoulders sagged “I’m sorry. I assumed you’d come home late again so I decided to just go out with friends. had I known I would’ve waited so we can stay in and cuddle.”

despite your flattery words, the only thing that stuck to sevika was you implying she’d be late again. you didn’t mean it maliciously, there was no bitterness in your tone but instead there was just… acceptance. which frustrated her because people were right.

perhaps being at different stages in life does this. you needed a partner who you can home to and have fun with but instead you got her who’s always late, is already asleep when you probably want to stay up and have sex at night. she would force herself to push through just for you but she isn’t getting any younger and it shows.

maybe it’s because others have planted it in her head that you two are just far too different that’s why she’s overthinking like this, but it’s becoming more and more evident that they were right and if she doesn’t find a way to fix this, god knows before you start seeing the cracks and the dents as well.

and so in the following day she asked silco if she could cut off her usual hours at work to get back home early. at least for a few weeks and silco was shocked for a second because if there was anyone who’s extremely dedicated to their job, it’s her.

but it’s because of that he deliberates on the request “very well,” he answered “but if the matters are urgent I expect you to come in either way,”

well, it’s better than nothing, sevika thought. what matters is she’ll try to find some time to spend the following weeks with you and to hopefully regain the spark in your relationship.

not that she’s saying it’s lost but she’s scared it will. because if her days don’t consist of work, she’s either at the bar playing cards to blow off some steam, which isn’t exactly a productive way of spending one’s time.

unlike you, you have tons of friends who you go out with at clubs and sevika just doesn’t want to think about all the people you meet there, who are probably the same age as you, and have wanted to ask you out but you turned them down because of her.

meanwhile, she’s here and she can’t even keep you happy like how you deserve.

it eats her up alive that’s why as soon as she comes back from work a lot earlier than usual, she immediately engulfs you in a back hug when she sees you cooking in the kitchen.

you gasped, not expecting her “sev, you’re home.” you were surprised as you turned around “did something happen?”

she shook her head, smiling “no sweetheart, silco just let me off early again. plus I’ve been meaning to spend more time with my girl…”

you still weren’t used to the disruption of the routine, because she’s normally away at these hours, but you weren’t complaining.

and with that, you spent most of the evening cooking and catching up with each other. you didn’t miss the way sevika followed you around the house like a lost puppy when you started cleaning up to get ready for bed.

you raised an eyebrow when she wrapped her arms around your waist while you were washing the dishes, noticing how she’s awfully more needy than usual.

“baby, go rest. you just got back home from work.” you giggled and she just shook her head.

“I just want to spend more time with you. I feel like I haven’t been the best partner.”

that halted you in your tracks and you angled your head so you can face her “baby, what makes you think that?” your eyebrows were furrowed and she just held you tighter.

she lets out a breath, tired and awfully nervous about vocalizing her doubts. what if once she points it out you start seeing the red flags too? and then these affectionate gestures just won’t be enough? what then?

“I know with my job and the responsibilities I have, I haven’t been able to fulfill your needs. you have so much ahead of you and I’m always at work and I just don’t want to make it seem like I’m wasting your time.” she said and you just stood there, letting her words sink in.

“you’re young and you could be with someone whose head isn’t always stuck in a bunch of paperwork or is running around the lanes doing silco’s dirty work.” her jaw clenched and she starts to wonder if admitting to all of this was a good idea.

“I’m sorry, princess. I just don’t want to bore you by leaving you here at home all by yourself…”

you immediately swiveled around in her arms and took her face in your hands.

“sev, look at me.” you said, your voice stern “I could give less than two fucks about people my age. you think when I got into a relationship with you I didn’t know what I was signing myself up for? of course I did and I don’t regret any of it. I know you have responsibilities and I accepted all of your duties the moment you became mine.”

“I could never be bored of you, baby.” you told her, thumb caressing her cheek “you don’t treat me any differently because of my age so why should I? I love it that you’re so hard at work and that you provide for me. the fact my salary at jericho’s isn’t even enough to pay half of our rent but you don’t mind because you provide for us both, why would I find that boring? that’s fucking sexy.”

she couldn’t help but let out a snort “oh, so what you’re saying is that you’re staying with me because I’m basically your sugar mommy?”

you grinned “amongst other things,” you said before capturing her lips with your own.

the kiss was hot, heavy and slow as sevika gripped your hips and pulled you against her. pushing her knee up and sliding it across your thighs and she started rubbing against your clothed cunt, making you whimper.

“so you’re not bored of me? or mad?” she asked as she pulled away to look at you.

you rolled your eyes “you could be 23 or 75 for all I care and I still wouldn’t get bored of you.”

your finger drew circles around her chest as you fluttered your eyes up at her “plus you fuck me like you’re 23 anyway, so I don’t see why I would look for someone my age.”

she couldn’t help but laugh, swooping you up in her arms and you circled your legs around her waist as she walked you to your bedroom “god, you’re such a handful.” she said.

you smirked “but you love it.”

[justcruisingaroundrevived]

So. You ever heard the song Final Girl by Graveyardguy? It's basically a dude talking about getting off on stalking and terrorizing this girl who he thinks is all innocent and sweet only for the song to reveal that the girl is just as messed up as the guy, if not even more. So, with that song in mind, could you perhaps write a fic about yandere Pete with a fem reader who actually enjoys the disturbing displays of "affection" and loves playing the innocent victim for him despite being just as twisted as he is. The type of dynamic where he'd send her those gorey and disturbing love letters, and she'd frame them and swoon over every bloody Polaroid photo he'd send. Every animal bone in her mailbox is cleaned and displayed on her dresser. Every threat of violence seems like a declaration of love to her. Maybe she'd even do things on purpose to drive him crazier. Leaving her clothes drying on the clothesline for just a little longer than needed so that he has ample time to steal them. Pretending not to notice when he stares at her so he can fantasize for even longer. Yeah.

God I love your work so much I really hope this isn't too deranged of a request. Okay thank youuuu!!

signed,

- Pete's final girl <3

Do You Wanna Be The Final Girl?

Summary: Yandere! Pete x Willing! Reader

TW/CW: Yandere behavior, obsessive tendencies, stalking, animal bones, preserved body parts, implied erection, Pete being a pervert

A/N: A lot of you want to die, and that’s kind of real <3

Reblogs are appreciated!

* You first notice him looking at you in class. Doodling in your notebook, you looked up and saw him

* Red baseball cap, blue jacket, skull shirt. His eyes looked straight into your soul. You swore he was drooling a little while doing so

* Admittedly…he was kind of cute. You don’t know, something about the way he stay fixated on you while doing the most mundane tasks was something

* Then came him staring you while you were at your locker. His friends were talking about nerdy shit, and he was still focusing on you. It was like you froze him in place

* Okay…he had a staring problem, but so what? Maybe there’s something behind you that he’s invested in (you know you’re lying to yourself, but whatever keeps your mind busy

* The final straw was a package sent to you. Opening revealed the complete skeletal form of a bird.

* Strangely, you didn’t freak out. Sure, most people would be calling 911 right now and report the creepy horror kid’s sending them bones of animals

* You, on the other hand, were flattered. Finally, a guy that wasn’t afraid of expressing his emotions and actually had the balls to open his heart like that!

* You displayed the bones proudly, and wrote in your journal about him

* Could you consider it a cat and mouse game? Maybe

* He dropped his schedule one day, and you took note on what his breaks were.

* Pete started to see you more often. It was like when he was there, you were there as well. Pretending to be busy (you were just looking at your locker) and felt your heart go out of your chest when you felt those same eyes on you

* It was so exhilarating, honestly. You had a secret admirer, and sure, it may be stalkerish, but who cares?! He was a catch

* Sadly, looking in his direction met him hiding from you.

* Every time he sent you weirder stuff (like a preserved mouse heart or a pig’s kidneys), it was proudly displayed on your desk. Some nights, you look at them and admire them. He was such a sweetheart, honestly! He even started to memorize your favorite animals

* And those “love letters” kept you going for the entire week when you were feeling down

* You finally got to talk to him when the teacher partnered you two up.

* Admittedly, it was weird. For someone so brave, he was weirdly silent with you

* Looking away at you, becoming red face while you talk, and mainly focusing on the blank piece of paper

* You said your goodbyes, and “left” your hoodie.

* Pete was shaking at this opportunity. You always had that hoodie on, and just leaving it here?! It was like the gods answered his prayers

* He looked left and right…he picked it up…

* And he smelt. Every sweat, lotion, body mist, food you had for lunch today. EVERYTHING was on your hoodie.

* He may or may not have a tent forming in his pants

* You? Watching him in the corner. God, it was so exciting seeing him act like a creep. His true nature. It was like watching all of your dreams come true

* “Fuck tease” he growled. He stuffed your jacket into his bag and ran out of that library

* Even his thick accent was so fucking hot!

* God, you can get used to this

[munsonsmixtapes]

Leave Us in Ruins

Eddie x reader, Steve x reader

Your relationship with Eddie becoming rocky as you discuss your future and when he begins to just tolerate you, he ends up sending you right into the arms of the person he always worried about.

cw: mention of pregnancy, Eddie and reader argue, hurt/no comfort

This is very loosely based on “Tolerate it” by Taylor Swift as well as the All Too Well short film. Special thanks to @the-witty-pen-name for letting me yap and giving me feedback!

The bed dips when Eddie’s sits on the edge, maneuvering himself so that he’s under the covers with you, pulling you to his chest. You bury your nose in his wet hair, giving it a whiff because for whatever reason, your shampoo smells a lot better on him.

His arms wrap around your tightly, giving you a squeeze like he does every night. It’s part of your nightly routine and you expect it every time he crawls into bed with you. He then follows that with a kiss to your lips, telling you how much he loves you before the two of you fall asleep.

You’re whispering in the dark even though it’s late and you both have work in the morning. But this is your safe space where you can tell each other anything. Your deepest fears. Your darkest secrets. And you know that Eddie will never judge you because that’s just not who he is.

“God, I wanna marry you,” you whisper and the giggles that have been falling from Eddie’s lips quickly fizzle out into silence and he hopes you can’t hear how loudly he’s just gulped. This is the moment he’s feared for so long and now it’s here and he doesn’t know what to say.

Bile is progressively rising in his throat and his mouth is so dry that he’s sure that no amount of water will help. He doesn’t know why he’s so nervous-well, maybe he does. The idea of marriage terrifies him. And it’s not that he doesn’t want to be with you forever, because he does. He just doesn’t like thinking about standing in front of all of your friends and family in an itchy suit, vowing that he’ll love you until death do you part.

He doesn’t get why it’s such a big deal, why everyone wants to get married. You’re already together, why spend all that money and time just for a last name change and a couple of rings. You’re already as happy as can be so why make this big life change when it really won’t alter anything at all?

“You do?” He asks, trying to play it cool, but the man is sweating bullets. He can’t just tell you how he feels right here, right now. He can’t break your heart before bed, that would be cruel. And Eddie isn’t cruel.

“Yeah,” you say, snuggling into his chest and he doesn’t even have to look at you to know that you’re grinning. He takes a deep breath, trying his best to get the courage to tell you the truth. Should be easy enough. It’s just like ripping off a bandaid. Except this one is going to hurt so bad, the kind that pulls off the scab, leaving the wound open.

But he doesn’t tell you the truth. He just says “Let’s go to bed,” and turns out the lamp, leaving you in complete darkness, wondering if it was something you said. You’re blaming yourself, hating yourself for bringing something like that up with no warning and now you just wish you could go back in time and take it all back. You didn’t mean it. You were just so caught up in your love for him that you just blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

But the longer you think about it, the more you realize that you didn’t actually do anything wrong. He was the one who fucked up in this situation. You told him how you felt and he just dismissed it, suggesting that you got to bed instead of acknowledging your feelings. He’s even gone as far as turning the opposite side and you didn’t even realize that he had let go of you.

You wrap your arms around yourself, the room feeling like it’s ten degrees colder and you’re freezing without his body to keep you warm. He’s slipping through your fingers and you don’t know what happened to make him behave so coldly towards you when not even ten minutes earlier, he was telling you that he loves you through fits of giggles. This is the first crack and eventually the entire thing is going to crumble into a million pieces, you can just tell.

“So you’re saying that you don’t want to marry me?” Eddie can see the tears in your eyes and it’s breaking his heart seeing you like that. You’re crying now and this isn’t one he can hug you through because this time, he’s the one that hurt you. He can’t kiss this one better and that’s what’s really fucking him up.

Something wet drops onto his shirt and it’s only then that he realizes that he’s crying too. He quickly wipes his tears then rushes to you to wipe your tears away too, but you step away, looking at him like he’s a stranger, because at this point, he is.

“It’s over, Eddie,” you tell him, crossing your arms over your chest as you turn away from him. This is it. It really is the end.

You’re getting further away and he’s running as fast as he can to get to you, but you eventually disappear into thin air. Eddie drops to his knees, sobs raking through him as he’s saying your name and the words “I’m sorry" over and over until they’ve lost all meaning.

Eddie wakes up in a cold sweat and lets out a sigh as he realizes that it was just a dream, he turns over in the bed to pull you to his chest, but your side of the bed is empty and cold. He hurries out of the bed and as he gets out of the room, he realizes that you’re just in the shower and he lets out a deep breath. So you really are still here and he didn’t fuck things up nearly as bad he thought he did.

He opens the bathroom door just as you’re turning off the water and as soon as he sees you, a wide grin breaks out on Eddie’s face, but yours stays the same. It’s weird, almost like he’s not even there at all. He reaches for the towel on the counter and hands it to you and you take it without a word. So you are mad. Message received.

You wrap the towel around your body then get out of the shower before pushing past Eddie to head to your room to get dressed for work. He follows you, completely understanding what’s going on, but he wants you to tell him so he can figure out how to fix it. In your two years together, you’ve never been this upset with him. But then again, he’s never been that much of an ass before so he supposes that he deserves it.

This is the quietest you’ve been since you’ve gotten together. There’s no sweet words shared between kisses and the worst part of it all is that you won’t even look at him. You just continue to get dressed like he’s not even in the room and with the way you’re treating him, he might as well not be. It’s so bad that you’re not even letting him pick out your shirt like you do every time he sleeps over.

“Did I do something?” Stupid question. He knows exactly what he did, he just doesn’t want to admit it. Because then he’ll realize that you’re anger is justified and then he has to accept just how badly he fucked up and he doesn’t to believe that he hurt you that badly.

“What?” You ask, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “No, you didn’t do anything,” you shake your head, putting on a smile and Eddie lets out a sigh of relief.

“But you took a shower without me.”

“That’s because someone turned off my alarm and now I’m running late.” You’re putting your shoes on as quickly as possible before grabbing your jacket and heading out the door to your room in a blur.

He’s hot on your heels as he follows you into the living area of your apartment, standing there expectantly as you put on your jacket and grab your keys.

“Lock up when you leave, yeah?” You ask, then slip out the door, not even kissing him before you go. You always kiss him before you leave. Oh, you’re pissed.

You take a deep breath as you exit the building, trying to calm yourself down so you’re bringing your anger into work. But seriously, not even an apology or acknowledgment that he fucked up? You don’t know who that guy is, but he’s definitely not Eddie. Eddie would have gotten onto his knees and begged for forgiveness.

This just doesn’t make any sense to you. You thought you really knew him, but you guess that the two years you were together were just a load of shit. You really thought you wanteds the same things but now you’re realizing that you really don’t know Eddie at all. Now he’s just a stranger to you now that you know that he never actually did want to marry you. He’s progressively becoming the kind of man he’s always claimed to hate and you’re not entirely sure what to do about that.

-

The living room is quiet except for the tv that’s playing a show rerun softly. You and Steve are lying on the couch. Your shirt is pushed up and his hand is rubbing your now large baby bump, looking at it so lovingly that you feel like you could melt. He’s been nothing but a sweetheart throughout your entire pregnancy. He’s just been there to help, not even asking for anything in return.

“What about Olivia?” He suggests. You’ve been suggesting baby names back and forth and this is the first one that he’s given that’s actually had potential.

“Hm,” you say. “Olivia,” you repeat. “Olivia Robin. Oh, Steve, that’s perfect!”

You wrap your arms around him and give a tight hug, pulling him as close to your body as he can despite your bump being in the way. He hugs you back instantly, burying his face into your neck, taking a chance and pressing a kiss to it. He knows it’s risky, but he just can’t take it anymore. He’s gotta show you just how he feels about you after all these years.

You pull back to look at him, your gaze shifting to his lips and he’s realizing that you want this too. Well, to kiss him, at least. Your hand rests on his cheek and you both lean in slowly until your lips meet. It’s soft and sweet and everything Steve thought it would be. He can finally go to sleep tonight knowing what your lips feel like.

He feels fireworks in the pit of his stomach and for once, it’s like everything between the two of you makes sense to him. This just feels right and he hopes that this won’t just be a one time thing.

-

The kitchen is silent besides the sounds of you and Eddie doing dishes. Tension between the two of you is high and you’re both so in your own heads, so convinced that you’re both right that you can’t even see the other’s side.

You can still see the scene in your head so perfectly. You can still feel his hand setting yours back down on the table, silently telling you that he didn’t want to hold it like he always does.

And he doesn’t even understand why it hurt you so badly, trying to play it off like it was nothing when it was everything to you. He sees it as simply just not holding your hand in the moment, but to you, the small crack in your relationship has become even bigger to the point where it’s almost shattered like you’ve been fearing for months.

He’s turned on some music to try and lighten the mood and it’s clear that he doesn’t even get it. He doesn’t know that what he’s done was wrong. And you’re not going to spell it out for him this time. He’s gotta figure this shit out on his own.

He takes the dish that you’re washing from your hand and pulls you in for a dance like he always does when you do dishes together. And even if you were upset with him, you’d still join in, not wanting to let the whole thing ruin the moment, but not tonight. You’re staying strong.

He’s trying to spin you around, but you just glare at him, the anger bubbling inside you like a pot that’s about to boil over.

“What’s wrong?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowing.

“What’s wrong? Eddie, you dropped my hand.” Your voice is small now, almost as if you can’t believe what you’re saying.

“Oh, that,” he says, waving the whole thing off like it’s nothing. He honestly doesn't even know what you’re talking about, the moment that you clearly so vividly remember that Eddie has absolutely no recollection of.

“Yeah, that.”

“I just didn’t want to hold your hand. Why are you being so dramatic?” That’s the final straw. Dramatic? Oh, if he wants dramatic, you’re going to give it to him.

You slip your hands out of his and watch his face fall then screw up into offense.

“Not so fun now is it?” You ask, raising an eyebrow as you cross your arms over your chest. “Why didn’t you want to hold my hand?”

“I don’t know, okay?” He asks, getting progressively more frustrated, just wishing that you’d drop it already. “I was just trying to have fun with my friends. Is that so wrong? I-I don’t know what the fuck you’re even talking about. You’re acting weird, y/n.”

“I’m not acting weird, you are. I mean, who the fuck even are you? Because the Eddie that I know would have held my hand the entire night and made sure to include me in his conversations, but you’re some stranger now so I guess I should lower my expectations.”

“What the fuck is going on with you? Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what? I’m upset by something that you did and now you’re trying to convince me that what I’m feeling is wrong.”

“You’re acting like a real bitch. God, it’s like I don’t even recognize you anymore. All you do now is complain about what I’m doing when you’re just setting your expectations of me too high.” The anger is building progressively and you can’t believe he’s trying to flip this on you. What have you done to Eddie except love him despite his flaws?

You only realize what you’ve done when you see Eddie press his hand against his cheek. It all happens so fast that you’re staring at each other in shock. Neither of you expected it, you least of all. You’re usually pretty good at keeping your cool, but hearing him call you a bitch filled you with a rage that you’ve only seen but never actually experienced until now.

With that, you turn on your heel, tears streaming down your cheeks, blurring your vision so that you can barely see when you run into Steve by the stairs.

You throw yourself into his arms, desperate for a shoulder to cry on. He’s been there for you your entire life, the one person who you can feel like you can go to for anything. He’s been so helpful these past few months as your relationship with Eddie has gone up in flames.

He holds you and runs his hands up and down your back the way he knows you like as he just lets you cry. He doesn’t think he should say anything right now. He already knows what happened and is sure that you just want a shoulder to cry on, no advice.

“Sorry, sorry,” you sniff as you pull away, grimacing when you see that you’ve gotten snot on his shirt.

“It’s okay,” he assures you. “Do you want to crash on my couch tonight?” All you can do is nod and he takes his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders before leading you out the front door, making sure to shoot Eddie a glare who’s watching the both of you from the kitchen. Eddie flips him off then storms towards the front door and slams it as soon as the two of you are outside.

Fuck this, he thinks. You two deserve each other. Even though Steve is his friend and even introduced him to you, Eddie’s always been worried about him and you being alone together. He trusts you, but he’s always been scared that Steve’s going to make a move with him being in love with you and all. He’s always afraid that one little moment between the two of you is going to be the reason why you’ll break up with him and he knows he deserves it.

He’s been nothing but a dick, progressively pushing you away more and more as the months have gone on. He’ll get into bed long after you’re asleep and will be gone before you get up. It’s like he’s purposefully ignoring you and he can’t figure out why. It’s like he knows this isn’t working and he wants to ignore the inevitable as long as he can. He can’t lose you. He just can’t. But seeing you leave with Steve, his jacket draped over your shoulders, it makes him realize that he’s pushing you into someone else’s arms and he’s going to beat himself up about this for the rest of his life.

-

You’re asleep when Steve pulls up to his apartment building having cried basically the whole ride there. The whole situation with Eddie clearly took a toll on you so he decides to let you rest, picking you up as gently as he can as he carries you inside the lobby.

He’s staring down at you as you sleep and hates how much he desperately wants to be the one to do this every night. But he lost his chance and then was forced to watch you fall in love with his other best friend while he had been pining for you for the majority of his life. And he loves that you’re happy but he’s still wondering what it would be like to be yours. But he doesn’t want to get between the two of you so he just sits on the sidelines and watches the two of you fall even more madly in love with each other as the days go on.

And he feels so selfish for feeling that way but he can’t help it. He’s been in love with you his entire life and has watched you date all of those other people, not even considering him to be an option. And it breaks his heart even more every time. Why isn’t he good enough for you? What has he done to make you not see him in a romantic sense?

He shakes the thought and gets to his apartment, struggling to get the door open but when he finally gets it, he carries you straight to his room, trying so hard not to wake you up. He lays you down onto the bed and takes off your shoes before putting the blanket over you and turning off his lamp.

Once he’s sure that you’re settled, he heads back out to the living room and grabs a blanket before lying on the couch, his bed for the night. He then turns on the tv to have some background noise, tossing and turning the entire night like he always does. Steve doesn’t think that he’s ever had a good night’s sleep in his life so why does he think tonight will be any different?

-

The next morning, you wake up to the smell of coffee that wafts into the bedroom that you immediately recognize as Steve’s. Of course he would insist that you take the bed while he sleeps on the couch. That’s just the kind of guy he is.

You get up and realize that you’re still in your dress from the night before. You must have passed out before you could borrow some of Steve’s clothes. You pull back the blanket and head into the kitchen where Steve is at the table eating a bowl of the cereal you remember the two of you eating as kids.

You sit down across from him and take a deep breath, preparing to tell him what you had been mulling over for weeks, months even. It had to come to this eventually right? These past few months have been so rough and as much as you don’t want things to end, you know they have to. They can’t keep going on this way. It’s not good for you and it’s certainly not good for Eddie.

It was a long time coming, you think, as Steve pours you a cup of coffee, fixing it with just the right amount of cream and sugar. He knows you so well and it hurts so much that you thought Eddie did too. You really thought he wanted to build a life with you. But now all of the fantasies of the two of you at the altar and rocking cradles are all being packed up into boxes along with the Eddie you thought you knew.

You don’t even know who he is anymore. Now all he seems to care about is getting promoted at the record store where he works and doing gigs with his band. He’s not making time for you anymore, not even leaving space for you in his bed when you come over, lying directly in the middle. It’s almost like he’s purposely trying to cut you out of his life and it hurts even more knowing that you were the one who did all of that for him. You got him the job at the record store. You lined up all of those gigs for him and now it’s almost like he’s tolerating you.

“I’m breaking up with Eddie,” you tell Steve, almost too quickly, but you’re just trying to rip off the bandaid. The quicker the better. But as you rip it off, the wound starts to bleed, badly, so overwhelmed with the pain and the finality of your words that you just sit there, silently pleading Steve to respond.

He’s so shocked by your words that he ends up letting the coffee overflow and spill out onto the table. You’re quick to stand up and hurry to the sink to grab some paper towels and wet them before coming back to clean up the mess because he’s clearly too stunned to do so.

“You’re what?” He asks as he sits back down, trying to wrap his head around the whole thing. He knew you were going through a rough patch, but you didn’t think it was bad enough to warrant a breakup. God, this is going to kill Eddie.

“I’m breaking up with Eddie,” you repeat as you continue to wipe up the spill, more confidence in your voice this time. You say the words so nonchalantly as if you’re telling him what you’re going to order for lunch. This is big news and it’s almost like you don’t even care.

“I thought things were getting better.”

“Well, they’re not,” you huff, maybe scrubbing the table a little too hard and now Steve is concerned that you’re going to remove the finish. “You saw the way he treated me last night, Steve. I deserve better.” It’s so jarring having his own words thrown back in his face. He’s told you that so many times with other guys, but he never expected to hear it coming from you about Eddie of all people. This is all too much to take and now he suddenly feels the need to lie down.

He doesn’t know why it seems like he’s the one who’s being broken up with. Maybe it’s because in a way, he is. When it comes down to it, he’s eventually going to have to pick a side. And as much as he loves Eddie, you were there first. God, he feels like a child whose parents just told him that they’re getting divorced.

He’s already going over in his head about what he’s going to say to him, how he’s going to be there for you, how mad Eddie’s going to be. He doesn’t care about that, though. Steve was your friend first and the two of you are a package deal. Eddie knew that going into this.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. This fucking sucks. I-I really thought you were going to be together forever.”

“Me too,” you reply, feeling tears prick your eyes. Steve turns you to face him and wipes your tears with the pads of his thumbs before standing to pull you into his arms, rubbing your back sympathetically as he lets you cry into his chest. For the first time in years, it’s going to be the two of you and even though he should be happy, he just can’t be knowing that you’re so broken up about the whole thing.

-

Three minutes. Three minutes until you get your life altering results. You stand at the bathroom counter, breathing in and out deeply as you look at the little test in front of you. You stare at it, hoping that the results will show up sooner but you still have over two minutes left.

The anticipation is killing you and you’re not sure how you’re going to cope if it’s not what you want. You’ve always wanted kids; being a mother is something you’ve wanted to be your entire life and knowing that that tiny stick is holding your future is starting to make you sick.

The floor in the hallway creaks and you turn to your left and see Steve leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest as he gives you a wide smile. He then enters the bathroom and pulls your back to his chest, wrapping his arms around you as he rests his chin on your shoulder. He reaches towards the counter to turn the timer against the wall before lifting his head to smile at your reflection. It’s all teeth and it reminds you of his old school pictures, always smiling so wide that his cheeks hurt.

“You’re gonna be a mom,” he says, his tone nothing but loving.

“You don’t know that,” you roll your eyes. “It could be negative.” Steve laughs at that. You’ve been like this all morning, waiting for him to get home from work so he could be there when you took the test. There was no way he was missing this.

“I’m sorry, I’m just excited.” He has been looking forward to this probably more than you have. He’s wanted kids just as much as you have and now he’s going to have a chance to raise one with the woman he’s loved since he was six years old. He’s dreamed about this for years and can’t imagine doing this with anyone else.

“Well of course you are,” you turn around to glare at him. “You’re not the one who has to carry the thing for nine months.” You didn’t even think about getting pregnant this soon. You wanted to be settled down first, married, even. But one missed period later even after being so careful, your life is about to change one way or another. Even though you can’t even imagine having a baby right now, you keep thinking about how heartbroken you’ll be if it’s negative.

“No, but I can get one of those fake stomachs if that will make you feel any better.” Steve has been there with you through everything. As soon as you told him that you missed a period, he ran to the store and got you the best pregnancy test on the market, according to an employee he asked. And then he went to work at the bar before you could take it so here you are at five in the morning, not-so-patiently waiting for the results.

“I’m sorry, you’re being sweet. I’m just nervous. There’s so much riding on this and-” the timer goes off and it’s like everything is in slow motion. You turn to the text and cover your eyes before holding it out to Steve who has to put his glasses on to even see it. The gasp he lets out makes everything so obvious and you have to turn the test around to confirm that he’s not just fucking with you. But sure enough, there it is, the faint pink plus sign. The one you wanted so badly to see.

“Congratulations, mama!” Steve says as he picks you up and spins you around, giggles pouring from both of your mouths. This is it. You’re getting exactly what you wanted and you get to do it with your best friend. The only person you can imagine spending this next chapter of your life with. For the first time in years, you’re finally starting to feel like yourself and nothing, absolutely nothing can change that.

[g4rvez-r3id]

(Not) A Jinx

S7! Spencer Reid x Clumsy!Barista!Fem! Reader

Synopsis: Spencer has been going to a new coffee shop recently and that’s where he finds you — a clumsy barista who screws up orders and asks for help all of the time. After a confrontation with a customer, Spencer sees you and assures to you that you’re not a jinx like you seem to think you are.

Category: Fluff, with a hint of angst

Warnings: reader is a barista at a coffee shop (not a very good one) i love projecting, based on a semi-real situation, reader is overwhelmed/has a breakdown, spencer being a comforting softie, crying, cute nickname used (cutie), i think that’s it- otherwise fluffy

Author’s Note: i love projecting into all my fics hehehe/ divider belongs to bestie erika @esote-rika (as all cute dividers i use are) i hope you enjoy this, it’s based on a semi-real situation i go through at my new job lmao (i hate making drinks)

Spencer had just recently started frequenting this new coffee shop a few blocks from Quantico. It was quaint, the pastries were delicious, coffee was self-served and usually very busy around the time he’d go. And though it’d be busy, he still enjoyed it.

By now, all of the workers knew his name as well as his order. A large coffee with a lot of sugar and a blueberry muffin. He’d even indulge in a warm croissant for Garcia every now and again.

To say that he found his new favorite place was an understatement. A quiet place he even decided to gate-keep from the rest of the team so they wouldn’t hog all over what he’d created for himself. It was also the place where he’d met you.

Not that long ago, you’d started working at the coffee shop. You’d taken his order a few times and spoke shyly to him whenever he’d show up, he found it endearing about how timid you were, it reminded him of himself when he was in his early twenties.

The one thing he’d noticed whenever frequenting this coffee shop was how much you’d been on the registers as a cashier. Specifically on Mondays and Tuesdays, not that he was keeping track or anything. He’d never seen you in the kitchen, prepping food or even prepping the long list of ingredients for an iced latte. And when he did, your coworkers were quick to send you to the registers to take orders. He’d figured that maybe you were just always set to cashier whenever you’d come in or maybe you already had enough people handling drinks.

And then he’d come to the realization to why he didn’t see you working on drinks that often. He’d had gone in to get his regular coffee and blueberry muffin this morning during a rush hour. He was actually still waiting on the blueberry muffin when he saw you.

You’d been moving a million miles per hour anxiously as you looked on your screen, frantically muttering to yourself — “How the hell do I make an iced caramel macchiato again?” “What the hell is an americano?” “Wait, was that four or five pumps for the large cups?” People had been watching and waiting for their orders, staring hard— even glaring at you as you tried making four orders at a time.

There was then a point where you eventually gave up trying yourself and asked for help. You said sorry for bothering them and your co-worker had just given you a deep sigh and helped you anyways.

As you tried your best to help her without getting in her way, a man who obviously wasn’t patient enough to wait any longer quickly chided in, saying he’d been waiting for his iced coffee for nearly fifteen minutes now. You politely tell him you’re working on it and you’ll get it out in no time. The man rolls his eyes but nonetheless waits.

And then once you got him his order with shaky hands. Once he was gone, you’d returned to the other orders and within a minute, the man marched right back in towards your area and shouted something about how the drink was disgusting and how badly can you screw up a simple iced coffee?

He could see the defeat in your eyes as he called you ‘stupid’ and decided to chime in with a firm grip on his coffee cup. “Sir, I don’t mean to cut in but I happened to overhear and as much as I understand your frustration, she’s new and maybe you could… I don’t know, give her a break? She’s just learning.” Spencer was never one to speak up. He hated to, but for you? He’d felt the need to. Especially when he saw you working very hard and even shaking to the point where he worried he may need to call a doctor before you pass out on the floor.

“Listen, pipecleaner,” The man scoffs at Spencer. “Why don’t you just back off? This doesn’t concern you.”

Spencer ever rarely pulls this card, but again, for you — he pulls out his badge out from his pocket and flashes it towards the man. “Actually, sir, I’m with the FBI and since I am with law enforcement, I can report and say you’re causing a disturbance to the store and verbally harassing an employee to her face. That could get you banned from the store, maybe even the police will be involved. And you don’t want to risk that over a simple iced coffee incident, do you?” The man looks at him dumbfounded and slack-jawed and when Spencer turns to you, your cheeks turn a soft shade of pink as you stare back, a little frazzled at the fact that he’d stood up to a customer for you. Sure, you had disgruntled customers in your life every now and then, but rarely did anyone stand up for you.

The man grumbles something under his breath and inevitably decides to leave the store and you look at Spencer, grateful and eyes widened, “Thank you.” Spencer nods, with a tight-lipped smile. “Of course, he was being a jerk.”

And the conversation ends there, you go back to trying to make drinks and Spencer finally gets his muffin but before he can leave, there’s a large clatter heard and he turns over to see you looking at the ground at the three coffees you’d just made and you frown, almost as if you’re on the verge of tears.

Your co-worker, who looks like she’s ready to wring your neck out, speaks to you calmly and tells you that she will handle the drinks and to just go on your break. You figure that’s the best thing you can do at the moment, without screwing anything else up. So, you walk out from behind the counter with your head in your hands.

And Spencer watches the whole thing and decides to follow you outside. He doesn’t know what it is that draws him outside to you, he was ready to leave. He got what he needed and didn’t need to be there any longer. But he was willing to spare a moment or two when he saw how distressed you were.

Once he entered outside, he saw you kick a chair over and quickly flinch when you kicked the chair too far towards the table and the umbrella outside had fallen on the cement and you quickly picked up the umbrella before anyone else witnessed you kick it over and you shut your eyes as you squat down and Spencer frowns as you let out a heart-wrenching sob that aches inside him. And you cry and cry and cry.

He doesn’t really know what to do, but he knows you’re upset. He stands there awkwardly, contemplating on going to bother you when you clearly don’t want to be bothered. But he musters up enough courage to walk towards you and clears his throat as he simply says — “Hi.”

You gasp and look to him before quickly wiping away your tears that cascaded and stained your cheeks. You take a moment to calm yourself down before wiping your hands on your apron. “I’m fine. Sorry.” You say, still looking at the ground and avoiding his eyes as you stand from where you’re sitting.

“I didn’t mean to just… invade your—” Spencer pauses, not knowing exactly how to refer your current breakdown. Would it be offensive to you if he did call it a breakdown? “Are you okay?” He manages a more simple approach, a friendly approach.

You exhale, hands on hips as you look up at him— “I’m normally not this bad, I swear. I just… today’s just been really overwhelming and I hate making the drinks, which is very ironic considering I work in a coffee shop and literally all they have me do is just be on the registers since that is the only thing I can’t manage to screw up and I really need this job because I need the money and I’m just so so tired all of the time since I work two jobs and I’m just… ugh.” You cover your eyes with the palms of your hands and look at the man and sigh more, “I’m so sorry, I’m very prone to ramble and to drone on and on and on, feel free to tell me shut up any time.”

Never, Spencer wants to say. I, too, am prone to rambling. And it’s refreshing to be on the opposite end of a good ramble.

“It’s okay,” He tells. “I’m sorry you’re having a bad day.” You sigh, “It’s not your fault. I really do appreciate you sticking up for me, you really didn’t have to.” Spencer shrugs a bit, “It’s really no problem. And he was being a jerk.”

“I kinda deserved it, though,” You say and Spencer furrows his brows in confusion because why would you think that? “I’m not that good at my job, if you haven’t noticed.”

“That’s ridiculous—” Spencer tries but you shake your head, disregarding his input. “No, I’m not. Every time I’m alone on drinks, I always have to ask for help. I always ask for help when I shouldn’t have to. I’ve been here two months, I should know all of this stuff by now. Why do you think I’m always on the register? I’m just a big fat jinx. I get in the way.”

It then clicked to him now. Your co-workers decided to continuously put you on cashier because they didn’t want you in the way. And when you tried, it ended up going awry. Spencer frowned, he believed you’d tried. No matter what, you were still trying to do your job. He pitied you, you didn’t deserve to feel like this about yourself. Because as far as he was concerned, you were trying. And not a lot of people did that. They often admitted defeat before they even had the chance to try.

You turn away from him so as not to look him in the face. You’d just poured your whole heart out to the man about how you felt about your job and he was a complete stranger. Somehow, it’d felt a little embarrassing but it was easier opening up to a total stranger than to someone you already know, at least to you.

“I don’t think you’re a jinx,” Spencer spoke up. “You’re still learning. It’s not your fault. Everyone works in different ways. You know, working styles typically fall into four unique types — idea oriented, logical, detail oriented and supportive.”

You tilt your head and furrow your brows, “And what type do you think I fit?” You wonder with a cross of your arms, intrigued by the conversation. He gawks at you for a moment before thinking to himself. “I think you’re the supportive type. You’re empathetic and people oriented. At least from what I’ve seen when you take my order. You really do try, even if you don’t think you do. You are. At least you’re trying. That’s more than what other people do.”

You stare at the man interestingly, studying him almost. He was nice to you, you were just as much a stranger to him as he was to you. “Thanks.” You smile. You stare at each other for a minute before Spencer pauses — “So you said you’ve only been working here a few months?”

“Yeah, I can’t really afford living in this economy nowadays. Had to get two jobs to live.” You reply and Spencer nods, “Yeah, I’ve only seen you a handful of times, so I… I just happened to notice.”

He wasn’t going to add onto the fact that he watches every time that you do work, he notices when you scrunch up your nose when you’re focused, he notices that you sing to yourself every once in a while or that you walk around like you’re on a mission.

“Really?” You ask.

Spencer nods, “Yeah, trust me, you’re not an easy person to forget. That and I do have an eidetic memory, so it’s easy not to forget.”

“So, like… a photographic memory?” You ask and Spencer winces as he corrects— “It’s not quite the same, considering eidetic memory is a more short-term form of memory while photographic memory, on the other hand, is thought to be a more long-term form of memory.” You chuckle a bit, already admiring little quirks you’ve never seen before. Especially not in a man as delicious as him.

“S-Sorry, I… I tend to ramble.” Now, he was the one apologizing.

“Hey, I’m not judging. I just poured my heart out to you not that long ago.” You chuckle again and look around. “I should, uh, probably get back to work. I only get ten minutes.”

Spencer nods with wide eyes, “Yeah, uh, I should go, too. I… I work, too. At the BAU in Quantico, in fact.”

“Oh, really?” You ask, another interesting thing to mark down in your mental note. “FBI?” Spencer nods, “Yes, I, uh—” Before he can even go into detail about what he does for a living, someone calls your name and informs you to come back in since you’re ten minute break was now up.

Man, time flies when you’re speaking with a handsome stranger that doesn’t think you’re a jinx.

You turn back to Spencer with an awkward chuckle, “Well, I should get back. Maybe I’ll see you around again soon?” Spencer nods, “Yes, I hope to see you again soon, too.”

You wave at him goodbye and begin to walk back towards the doors. “Uh,” You hear Spencer and whip your head back around to see his gears turning in his head. “If you ever… want to, uh, go get coffee— at another place, that is… sometime, would-would you… be up for that? S-Sometime?”

You smirk at him and his attempt of asking you out. “Yeah, I’d like that.” You say and Spencer gives you a crooked smile. You go to push the door open, only then realizing it’s a fucking pull door and pull it open and walk back in without another word, leaving Spencer with a large smile on his face the rest of the day.

He’d gone back to the coffee shop the very next morning and ordered the usual. Only this time, he’d saw a little message written on the side of his cup. Your phone number etched with a heart and your name right next to it.

XXX-XXX-XXXX

ㅤ♡ Y/n

call me sometime, cutie!

Needless to say, Spencer kept going to the coffee shop. And it wasn’t just for the coffee anymore.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

Lights, Camera, Colombia

💫  Chapter One 💫 

Summary: Ten years after he quit the DEA Javi gets approached by a production company, asking if he would like to be involved in the production of a documentary about Pablo Escobar and the drug war. When he agrees, he meets you, one of the producers of the documentary and the woman who he will spend the next months working with on the documentary and travel back to Colombia, the woman who will get to know about the side of him that he never wants anyone to see, the woman he wants to spend the rest of his life with.

Chapter Summary: Javi and you finally meet when you pick him up at the airport in Colombia and you get to know each other. And oh boy you just know the next couple of weeks are gonna be trouble....

Pairing: Javier Peña x fem. reader

Wordcount: 7.4k

Rating: T (for some flirting)

Warnings: angst, fluff, a look into Javi’s head, Javi's anxiety, food mentions, flirting so much flirting

A/N: I am so excited to finally get the first full chapter out! I tried to do as much research as possible but we all know this is fictional so just roll with it lol

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Full Masterlist // Javier Peña Masterlist // Lights, Camera, Colombia Masterlist

Flying was not something Javier particularly enjoyed. 

It wasn’t even the flying part about it, but all the rest. And most of it, the waiting. He hated to sit around and just do…. Nothing. Hell, he even brought a book with him that he attempted to read on the layover in Houston. Instead he went to the bar to have a beer.

He had been okay in the planing of this trip to Colombia. He had checked in with you, made a couple of suggestions, even though what you had planned out was already close to perfect. 

The two of you had talked quite a lot through email and through phone to get to know each other a little before spending so much time one on one. 

He knew a little about your family and that you had been working with TC production for a little over five years now. The last documentary you had worked on had won a couple of awards and after finding out about that Javier had asked you to send a copy of it to him so he could watch it. 

And you did. 

It was a documentary about how the drug war affected the whole of the United States.

And Javi had loved the way it was put together. He could only hope that this one would be just as good. 

He knew that you already had been in Colombia for the last couple of days to prepare. It was quite the schedule you worked out, but you always left enough time to relax for a day or two before moving on to the next location to shoot. 

Only last week you had gotten the confirmation that you’d be able to shoot in what was left of La Cathedral, which apparently had been bought by a benedictine order to be turned into an actual cathedral with time. And you’d also be going to Hacienda Napoles. Something he found himself excited about, since he didn’t have the chance to go there back then. 

Yet overall what he felt about going back to Colombia was anxiety. 

In the week leading up to his flight even his nightmares returned. He had to schedule an extra appointment with Margery and she taught him some breathing exercises to calm himself down. Sure, he could have taken anxiety meds, but there were better times to start looking into that then when he was about to leave the country for six weeks. 

And so he took those breathing exercises and a big glass of whiskey instead of anxiety meds. A combination that would hopefully get him over the next couple of weeks. 

His CIA contact had informed him that he indeed was still on some kill lists in Colombia. But he was told not to be too concerned, the cartels had other issues to figure out at the moment. That, and he was traveling under a wrong name. 

Also set up by his CIA contact. 

Maybe if he hadn’t been a mess back then (well… he is still kind of a mess) things with Heather, the CIA contact, could have worked out. She was pretty, super intelligent and had a killer smile. They had met shortly after he came back from Colombia and had to get to one last DEA hearing where she was sitting in. 

It was a short but intense fling they had. And thankfully they parted ways as friends which was why he could reach out to her for a favour like this. 

She also took care of the gun permit for the journey for both him and you. 

„Flight 405 to Bogota, Colombia is now ready for boarding. Please proceed to your gate“

He took a deep breath before he emptied his glass of beer. Closing his eyes he counted down from ten as he took some deep breaths, before he grabbed his backpack and walked out of the airport bar and towards his gate. 

He gave the flight attendant a small smile, her cheeks flushing as she handed him back his boarding pass before he proceeded down towards the plane, pleasantly surprised that he would fly first class. 

Not that he had much from it. 

He was asleep before the plane was even up in the air. 

Maybe the next time you were considering a new project it should be somewhere more up north. Like…. Canada or…. The north pole. 

You had been in Colombia for four days and even though people around you were telling you that this weather was completely normal and actually quite cold for the season, you were sweating like crazy from the moment you got out of bed. The humidity was not something you were used to or fond of. 

You were more of a rainy day under a blanket type of girl.

Though you could admit that there were worse ways to spend a sunset than on a hotel balcony facing the ocean with a glass of white wine while only wearing your underwear. 

You had spend the day meeting up with the film crew who would already be busy tomorrow with scenery footage and interviewing some of the locals while you would go to the airport to pick up Javier. He had told you he could rent a car but you had waved him off, telling him that you had to get used to driving in this city anyway. 

If you were honest with yourself, you were excited to meet him. 

You had talked quite a lot in the last weeks and you got to know him a little. He had opened up a little about how Colombia had changed him and that while part of him was looking forward to see how the country changed, there was also the lingering anxiety about what had went down there all those years ago. 

You were pretty sure that only a fraction of the things that happened while they were working in Colombia had been made available to the rest of the world and you hoped that you would learn a little more. Sure, there would be things he could not talk about but the journalist in you wanted to at least try to get something new out of him. 

And, of course, you knew that he was an attractive man. 

Even if he aged very poorly, which you don’t think he did, you did see the ID of his DEA badge and ID that he sent to you via mail, he would still be just your type. 

Something you hoped would not disturb your work. 

Then again, a little flirting never hurt nobody, right?

But you were going to far ahead. You hadn’t even met in person yet and here you were already flirting with him in your mind. 

You sighed, watching the sun disappear into the ocean. 

In four days you would take him to the old search bloc building and after that to one of the drug labs that he had taken down that was now a restaurant. 

You had high hopes for the next weeks and you were excited to start working. 

His plane had touched down almost 45 minutes ago and you were growing a little anxious. You hoped that there were no issues with him traveling under a cover name or with his gun. 

You were pleasantly surprised that the permits had been dealt with so quickly. 

Just as surprised as when you learned that he was still on four kill lists from new cartels that had formed in the wake of Escobars death and the downfall of the Cali cartel. 

You hadn’t told Javier yet that depending on how good this documentary did, you might get the chance to do one on the Cali cartel too. 

But that was not something you were concerning yourself about now. 

There would be a time for that in the future. 

Now, you were excited and a little anxious  as you waited for Javier to walk out of baggage claim. 

And you didn’t have to wait for that much longer, the doors opening and there he was in the flesh. 

Carrying a big brown suitcase in his left hand, his eyes hidden behind some dark sunglasses as he walked out. Since he didn’t know what you looked like, it gave you some time to take him in. He was the definition of tall, dark and handsome and if you thought yesterday that he could become a problem, you were now downright fucked. 

There was the hint of grey in his otherwise dark brown temples, his moustache trimmed to perfection. Dark, full brown hair that looked perfectly messy, as if he walked right out of a photoshoot. His pants were tight, his baby blue dress shirt, the first couple buttons open and revelling his chest, tucked into his jeans, a leather jacket covering his broad shoulders. 

If he was only half as a flirt now as he was back when he was working here, things were going to be interesting in the next couple weeks. He came to a stop, taking his glasses of and let his gaze wander through the crowd, most likely trying to find you. 

You took a deep breath, suddenly not the humidity being at fault for making you sweaty. 

„Javier?“ You asked as you walked towards him, his head turning as he heard you, a small smile sneaking to his lips as he said your name. 

„Yeah, that’s me,“ you couldn’t help but grin, stopping when you were in front of him, holding your hand out for him to shake. 

He took it, his hand enveloping yours completely as he shook it and you gulped. 

„It’s so nice to finally meet you in person,“ you said.

Going through security was surprisingly easy considering he was traveling under a false name. They checked the documents, asked what he was doing here and how long he would be staying and if he had a ticket for his return flight. 

The long part was waiting for his suitcase. It gave him time to get to the restroom to pee and then throw some cold water into his face after he looked at himself in the mirror. 

He really was back in Colombia. 

Giving himself twenty seconds to freak out about it, he threw another hand of cold water into his face before he used a shitty paper towel to dry himself up. Walking out to the baggage carousel the suitcases were finally getting thrown out, yet it took another ten minutes for his to make an appearance. 

With his backpack over his shoulder and his suitcase in his hand he finally made his way out onto Colombian ground. The airport looked a little different from how it did the last time he was here. 

Apparently Starbucks had also finally made its way to Colombia. Something he found quite weird with how good the local coffee was. 

He was still wondering about that, when he took his sunglasses off to let his gaze wander over the people who were waiting. He never saw a picture of you so he had no idea what you looked like. 

Yet for some reason pretty came to his mind when he thought of you. Even though he only knew your voice. 

He heard his name being called from his left side and he turned his head just in time to see a woman approach him. 

You. 

He said your name and you smiled and fuck if he thought you were pretty, actually seeing you with his own eyes and seeing how pretty you were? Well, fuck. 

He took your hand, shaking it once, seeing your smile light up your whole face. 

„It’s so nice to finally meet you in person!“ You said and he nodded. 

„Likewise,“ he said, cringing internally. Likewise? Really Javier?

„Was your flight okay? I had the worst turbulences on my way here. Almost kissed the ground when I made it out of the plane,“ you joked and he smiled. 

„I slept all the way through. I think the realisation that this was really happening caught up with me there,“ he said, nervously rubbing his hand over his neck. 

„I can’t even imagine how you must be feeling. Only reading about everything that happened and knowing that you were there for almost everything? Unbelievable,“ you said in awe and he was sure he was blushing. 

„Yeah. The last time I’ve been to this airport I had just been fired,“ he snorted and you huffed a laugh, starring at him. 

„Are you ready to get to the hotel?“ You asked him and he found himself nodding. 

„Follow me,“ you said and turned around and Javier found himself falling into step next to you as you led him out of the airport. 

„The car rental gave me a super tiny car but I am supposed to get a new one tomorrow. So…. I hope you fit into the seat,“ you joked and he found himself grinning. 

„I am sure I’ll make it,“ he said, winking at you as you looked up at him. 

He caught himself looking over his shoulder, seizing up every person around him, looking for a potential threat. He felt his hands getting sweaty and he reached for his sunglasses, putting them back on his nose while he took a calming breath. 

For the first time in a long time he felt the need for a cigarette.

The humidity outside was like running against a wall as they made it out of the airport building. You slowed your steps, noticing Javier was looking around, his sunglasses back on his nose. 

„It looks different,“ he said after a moment, looking back at you. 

„Yeah?“ You asked and he nodded.

„Also feels fucking different,“ he chuckled a little uneasy, trying to work through his anxiety. It had been a long time since he felt like this. You gave him a small smile, fighting down the urge to take his hand or touch him, feeling like you wanted to comfort him. 

„We’re almost there. I hope you like the hotel. It just opened this year,“ you said as you stepped inside the car park, leaving Javier to feel like he could finally take a breather, a lot less people now around him. 

„I’m sure it will be fine. As long as I get a bed and a beer I am happy,“ he said, adding „I think I underestimated how being back here would have me on edge.“

You stopped walking and looked at him.

„If at any point it gets to much, please tell me. I know you said you’d be fine, but being back here must be a lot for you. I’d never judge you if you ask for a break or even stopping this whole thing. I don’t want this documentary and being back here to be a reason that you end up hurt in any way, okay?“ You asked. 

He took a deep breath after he listened to you, exhaling with a sigh. 

„I’ll be fine,“ he said and you narrowed your eyes and he found himself smiling. 

„I’ll tell you if anything gets too much, I promise,“ he added and your eyes softened, before you nodded and turned away from him to continue to lead him to the rental car. 

And if Javier found himself checking out how great your ass looked in the jeans shorts you were wearing? Well he had to get the thoughts in his head to focus on something else than being back in Colombia now, right?

The drive towards the hotel was quiet. 

Javier was busy looking around and noticing all the changes in the city and you were busy, well, driving. 

It’s not like you can’t drive. But with living in New York City you don’t get to do it much and definitely not with being yelled at in a language you understand but never felt really confident to speak. 

Javier on the other hand was surprised how much he recognised as you drove. Then again he did spend many years driving these streets. There was something different though. There were a lot more people out on the street. No buildings were damaged from gun holes or explosions. 

It seemed…. Happier. Brighter. 

„The hotel is actually on the ground where the old embassy building was,“ he heard you say and was reminded that he wasn’t alone. He had completely zoned out. 

He looked at you, seeing how you were gripping the steering wheel tightly, muscle tensed. There was sweat running down your temples even though the A/C of the car was running on full speed. 

He got the impression that driving was not your most favourite and he made a mental note to ask and offer to drive himself later on. 

„They relocated the embassy?“ He asked and you nodded, changing the lane, blinker set to drive to the right. 

„They didn’t need a big building like that anymore and they wanted higher security, so they moved to a new build building around twenty minutes from here,“ you explained, releasing a sigh of relief as you finally saw the hotel right at the end of the street. 

Javi on the other hand was impressed by the big building in front of him that had no resemblance to the office building he had spend countless hours chasing after cartels and making numerous, oftentimes questionable decisions. 

The whole area around where he used to spend his everyday life for years was completely transformed, nothing reminding him of the familiarity he felt walking these streets everyday. The café he used to get his coffee from was gone, replaced by a flower shop. The little empanada shop he used to get 80% of his dinners from gone, the whole building transformed into what looked like apartments. 

There were big trees lining up the street. 

If Javier didn’t know that he had been driving this street daily for two years he would never think this was the same place. 

You drove around the hotel and down the street until the car stopped in front of the entrance. You turned of the engine and let your head fall back against the headrest, closing your eyes as you released a long breath. 

„Not the biggest fan of driving?“ Javier asked softly. You shook your head. 

„Not the biggest fan of driving,“ you said, before you looked at him with an exhausted smile. 

„I’m sure you want to freshen up and relax. I made a reservation at the hotel restaurant for later today so we can talk through some of the things I have planned for this week. But we only start the day after tomorrow, so… there’s no rush, okay?“ You said and he nodded at you. 

„Great,“ you nodded back before you took a deep breath and got out of the car. Javier did the same, walking towards the trunk to retrieve his suitcase and backpack. Before that though, he took his leather jacket off, the heat outside being really unbearable. 

Was this the climate change bullshit he had read about? He didn’t remember it being that fucking hot in this country apart from the time he was forced to spend time with Stechner in the jungle. 

You on the other hand schooled your face into what hoped look like expressionless once he was out of his jacket. It definitely wasn’t the jacket that made him broader, it was just… him. 

You turned towards the hotel and the valet who thankfully would park the car for you before Javier could catch you starring. You were still mezermermised by the foyer of the hotel, a chandelier that was bigger as the car that you had just driven hanging over the desk, hundreds of lightbulbs artfully arranged. 

You smiled at the woman behind the desk, having talked to her for a while the day before to get some recommendations for restaurants and bars in the closer area. You more felt that saw Javier as he followed you, a shiver running up your spine, the hairs on your neck standing up. 

It was like you could feel his eyes on you and you fought the urge to turn around to confirm it for yourself. 

In broken Spanish you asked for the keys to yours and Javier’s room and she gave them to you with a kind smile. Turning around you indeed caught Javier starring at you, sunglasses back in his chest pocket, eyes snapping up from what you were sure was your ass as he looked at you. 

„You got the room next to mine. Both are facing towards the ocean more or less,“ you said, handing him the key to his room and he nodded. 

The elevator ride up to your floor was a quiet one, both of you in your thoughts, the ding of the elevator arriving making you jump. You glanced up at him, finding him already looking at him before he stepped out and walked down the floor, you following him. 

„I made the reservation for 7pm, is that okay?“ You asked. 

„Perfect. I hope they got some good tamales. Otherwise we have to check if the place Steve and I used to get ours is still there in the next days,“ he said and you smiled a little, nodding. 

„I would love that,“ you said, stopping front of your room. 

„I’ll see you later?“ You asked, Javier nodded. 

„If you need anything, just call or knock. I’ll be researching for another project, so I’ll be awake,“ you said, opening your hotel door and looking at him. 

He just nodded again, giving you a small smile as he walked past your room and towards his own. You took a step inside, letting your head rest against the door as you heard a click when his door closed. 

Yeah. 

You were in trouble now. 

Even though he had slept through the flight, the moment he got out of the shower in his hotel room he fell asleep again. And surprisingly he hadn’t dreamed of anything. It was just a blissful two hour long nap he woke up from once he got cold, having fallen asleep with just a towel around his hips. 

With a groan he turned on his back, staring at the ceiling. 

If he felt anxiety about being here when he first got here this morning, his feelings now where…. Different. He just didn’t know how exactly yet. 

Then again he didn’t know how he felt most days. Now only the added confusion about being back in a place that plagued his nightmares came on top of it. 

And then there was you. 

When he talked to you on the phone leading up to this stay in Colombia he felt himself more and more looking forward to talking to you. The phone calls to you being the highlight of his day. He found himself thinking about what you were doing through certain times in the day and he questioned if he could be attracted to someone he had never met before. 

But then today you had met and fuck if Javier thought he was in trouble on the phone with you, right now, knowing you were just on the other side of the wall of his hotel room was a whole different story. 

You were beautiful. 

In every single way possible and he had only spend an hour with you. Part of him was scared to find out what would happened once you spend every single day with each other, but there was also a part of him, a part he forgot existed, that was excited. 

Excited to get to experience this new version of Colombia with you. 

Excited to get to know you.

He took a look at the clock on his bedside table, realising it was later than he thought. And maybe he spent a little more time getting ready, before he made his way towards your room to pick you up for dinner. 

You on the other hand did everything but research the project you had planned. Almost immediately after you took your shower you had called your friend in the states who knew about the documentary and about how much you already had started to like Javier during your phone calls. 

But now?

Holy crap this would either be a very long and exhausting six weeks or this would be the best six weeks of your life. And you needed to let all these thoughts out before you were going out with Javier to dinner. 

No. Not going out. 

This was just a work dinner. 

A meeting. 

Going out sounded too much like a date, which it definitely wasn’t. 

Which is why you did not wear the little black dress that had somehow made its way into your suitcase. You chose the light green summer dress that made your ass look great instead. 

And if you spent more time on your make up and hair?

Well you were going out to a four star restaurant. That’s why you did it.

And you really didn’t do it for the look in Javier’s eyes as you opened the door, ready to join him for dinner. 

You sat outside in the lush parklike garden of the hotel, enjoying the last hues of the sun warming your skin. All the way from your hotel room, throughout the lobby and into the restaurant you could feel Javier’s warmth next to you. 

You didn’t know his hand had been hovering behind you all the way, 

Now you were sitting across from each other, both trying desperately not to ogle each other while waiting for the drinks you had ordered and reading through the menu. 

You had ordered a glass of white wine and Javier a glass of whiskey. 

„The menu sounds good,“ he said finally and you looked up at him, his eyes still reading the menu. 

„Yeah? I don’t think I ever had any of this except the salad,“ you said, pursing your lips. 

„Really?“ He asked and you nodded. 

„Even though I travel a lot for work I keep eating what I know like a true American tourist,“ you cringed and he chuckled. 

„I could order for you? I know my way around the local cuisine. Or at least I did,“ he offered and you set the menu down with a smile. 

„I would love that,“ you said, leaning back in your chair. He gave you a small smile before he continued to read through the menu. 

„Any allergies?“ he asked. 

„None that I know of,“ you said and he nodded. 

You used the time the waiter took to get your drinks to look around the beautiful property, your eyes seemingly always landing back on Javier as he still read through the menu. 

He had changed into a simple white polo shirt and some black jeans. You knew he must have showered, his aftershave filling the whole elevator cabin, making you positively dizzy. He smelled like he looked, sexy and a little dangerous. 

„You sure?“ He asked once the waiter brought your drinks and you just nodded, listening to him as he ordered for the both of you. 

Waiting until the waiter had everything written down and taken the menu’s back with him you reached for your glass of wine, bringing it up to smell it, closing your eyes. 

You may not know your way around food, but wine? Yeah. You knew enough. 

„Can’t believe what this place turned into,“ Javier said after a while and you looked at him as he looked around. 

„In my research I learned that the old building had so much asbestos in the basement, that the renovation would have cost more than just to tore it down. That’s probably why the hotel chain got the property pretty cheap. And the location is really great. I walked toward the presidential palace earlier this week, it was so close,“ you smiled, finally taking the first sip of your wine. 

„I had a lot of meetings in there,“ he sighed and you tilted your head in interest. 

„What if I said we’re going in there next week?“ You pursed your lips and he raised both eyebrows.

„Really?“ He asked and you nodded. 

„I haven’t told you yet but I do have some meet ups arranged throughout our time with people you have worked together. And from what I gathered from talking to them before hand you were all friendly with each other,“ you explained and he narrowed his eyes. 

„I didn’t make any friends here,“ he said slowly. 

„Now I know that that isn’t true. Steve Murphy and you seemed like friends,“ you said and he rolled his eyes, picking up his drink.

„He’s a fucking pain in my ass, that’s what he is,“ he snorted before he drank from his glass. 

You chuckled. 

„I bet the two of you were nothing but trouble working together. From what I gathered from our phone calls….“ 

„Honestly, and don’t tell him that. He was the best partner I could wish for out here. We went through a lot of shit out here. But he always had my back, even when I fucked up. And I really fucked up,“ he sighed.

„What did you do?“ You whispered and he looked at you, setting his glass down. 

„I’m afraid, that’s classified,“ he winked and you laughed. 

„Of course it is. I hope I can get some insider scoop out of your on our little journey through the drug history of this country,“ you said and he hummed, lips twitching into a grin. 

„Guess you have to find a way to get your inside scoop out of me,“ he winked. 

„Oh I have my ways, Agent Peña, don’t you worry,“ you winked back before you both laughed. 

„We’re gonna start with you showing me your favourite places, or what’s left of them,“ you explained after you had the best empanadas you ever tasted as a first course. Javier, or Javi as he told you repeatedly to call him, told you a little about the work he was doing now, working as a consultant for the DEA in San Antonio.

He also told you he kind of hated his job, but had been doing it all his life and didn’t really know what else he could be doing instead. 

„I’ve been working on movies all my life really,“ you said with a shrug after he asked how you got into your job. 

„Really?“ He asked with a grin, you nodded. 

„First movie I made was to blackmail my sister after I found her kissing Jimmy Miller in our garden when our mom was getting groceries,“ you said proudly and Javier laughed with a shake of his head. 

„Remind me to never get on your bad side,“ he chuckled.

„It was her fault really, she broke my favourite toy,“ you chuckled too. 

„God, sometimes I’m really glad I don’t have any terrorising little siblings,“ he sighs, still smiling. 

„None?“ You asked, and he shook his head. 

„I was a miracle baby more or less. Mama tried for a while to get pregnant and once the doctors said it was better to stop, boom, I happened. But she was already in her mid thirties which back then was… ancient to become a mother so both her and papa decided I was enough,“ he explained. 

„Well, you haven’t missed anything without siblings. They’re kind of annoying, honestly,“ you say. 

„You and your sister not on the best terms?“ He asked and you sighed. 

„I wouldn’t say we’re on bad terms but… she’s the poster child. She went to college, married her high school love and had a baby. And because of all of that she sometimes does this thing where she tries to  tell me how my life should be going. Because that’s what’s expected, right? You get married, you have the child, or children, and you life happily ever after while your husband brings home the money so you can have your picture perfect life, right?“

„If that makes someone happy, sure,“ Javi shrugged. 

„Exactly. If that makes someone happy, they should do it. But I am not like that. I love my job. And if I end up falling in love and having kids, that man would have to deal with that. Cause I can’t see myself quitting my job go become a housewife,“ 

„I think I could become a stay at home man,“ Javi mused and you were so stunned after your little rant you could do nothing but laugh, enjoying the way the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled at you. 

„What? Don’t I seem like the type to stay at home, take care of the house, maybe the kids? All of that of course only after I trick someone into marrying me,“ he joked and you smiled softly. 

„I think you’d make a great stay at home husband for a very lucky lady some day. Or man. Whatever you’re into,“ you added quickly and he laughed. 

„Woman. Just women,“ he clarified quickly and you raised one eyebrow. 

„Really?“ You asked and his eyes narrowed. 

„What’s that tone supposed to mean?“ He wanted to know and you just hummed. 

„Nothing… Just…. Surprising. I would have bet you’re into men too,“ you shrugged, and he pursed his lips, bringing one of his hands up, his fingers rubbing over his perfectly groomed moustache. 

„Are you?“ He asked.

„Into men? Oh yeah,“ you winked and he huffed a laugh before he shook his head. 

„Into women,“ he clarified. 

„I think so. Like, I’ve never been with one, but if I end up meeting a woman and fall in love with her? Who am I to run away from that?“ You asked and he hummed. 

The waiter came and took your empty dishes, informing you that the main course would be served in a couple of minutes. 

„Do you…. Do you have someone at home waiting for you?“ Javier asked and you couldn’t help but smile. 

„I do,“ you said seriously and you might have imagined it, but Javier’s face fell for a moment. 

„His name is King George and he’s currently staying with my best friend,“ you said, his face changing into confusion. 

„He’s my cat,“ you clarified and Javier released a breath he was holding in a chuckle. 

„So no. No one waiting for me at home Javi,“ you smiled, „What about you?“

„No,“ he shook his head, „I think I have some issues letting people in,“ he confessed, eyes widening as the words tumbled out of his mouth. 

„But that’s not something I should talk about with anyone else than my therapist or my fictional future wife with,“ he added and you smiled softly. 

„It’s okay. I have the same problem. When you’ve been on your own for so long, it’s hard to do this step of letting someone in. Not just in your head and heart. But in all your routines, your house, your life, your  family. It’s….. The person has to be worth it,“ you said and he nodded. 

„Yeah, It’s…. It’s sometimes easier being alone than opening up to someone only to get hurt in the long run, a sentence no one at home would believe I just said,“ he chuckled to himself, picking up his drink. 

„Well I get what you mean. I rather be happy alone, than miserable in a relationship. Though I have to admit there are some things I miss about it,“ you hummed, resting your arm on the table.

„Like what?“ Javi asks, interested.

You hummed. 

„I miss cooking for someone. Which sounds dumb, but cooking for yourself feels like a chore. If I get to do it for someone else? Well that’s something else entirely,“ you said and Javier smiled a little. 

„Yeah. I hate eating fucking microwave dinners on the couch by myself,“ he said and you chuckled. 

„Exactly. Like…. I am good most times, I am happy with how my life is. I just ask myself sometimes if there’s more? Like am I going to stay alone until the day I die or is someone out there who can handle my crazy ass?“ You asked and he hummed. 

„You don’t seem so crazy to me,“ he said with a small grin and you raised one of your eyebrows, challenging. 

„You’ve meet me what? Six hours ago? Give it time,“ you nodded with confidence. 

„I’ve known you for a couple of weeks and from what I know? I think you’re an intelligent woman that loves her job and is good at it. You’re funny and between us, you’re fucking sexy as hell,“ he said like it was the most obvious think while your eyes widened, warmth spreading over your cheeks. 

You were trying to come up with a response to his words when the waiter approached, serving the main courses. Javier winked at you and you suddenly felt so hot, you were sure he could see it. 

You took a deep breath, reaching for your glass of water to take some sips. 

„This looks good,“ you finally said, picking up your fork. 

„Yeah,“ Javi said, eyes still on you with a look you couldn’t quite place. 

„Shall we eat?“ You asked and he nodded before he picked up his fork too. 

You continued to talk all throughout your dinner, though you made an effort to talk more about the trip and less about your personal lives. You were not sure why, but you felt way to comfortable with Javi and opening up to him about your life. 

Not that this was bad, you just didn’t want to dump everything on him. This was a job and once this was finished you would most likely never see him again. You would move on to other projects while he moved on doing god knows what. 

Sighing you picked up you new drink, looking up into the by now dark night sky, Javier having left to look for the restroom some time ago. 

Why were you freaking out right now?

This was a dinner. Technically a dinner with a client. 

A very attractive client who kept looking at you with his big brown eyes that seemed to hold so much longing and hurt in them that you felt like you wanted to hug him and never let go of him. 

There was so much more to Javier Peña that you thought in the beginning. From interviewing people in preparation for the documentary the people seem to respect him for the work he had done and was still doing, but were judging him harshly for everything else he did. Be it how he got the work done or how he spent his private life. 

More than once you had heard the word manwhore when talking about him and frankly?

If you would look like him, you would be one too. 

„Penny for your thoughts,“ you jumped when you heard his voice behind you, a plate of what looked like cake in his hand that he set down in front of you. 

„What’s that?“ You chose to ignore his questions as he sat down across from you. 

„This is Postre de natas. It’s a kind of milk pudding and it’s maybe my most favourite dessert on this planet,“ he said and you nodded.

„Where is yours then?“ You picked up your spoon.

„It was the last one, you should have it," he said with a warm smile and you found yourself smiling back. 

„That’s… That’s very sweet Javi," you said softly before you brought the spoon to your lips, eyes widened when the sweetness exploded in your mouth. 

„Oh this is fucking delicious,“ you hummed happily, loving the was Javi’s eyes lit up as he smiled at you. You ate almost half of it, before you sat your spoon down and pushed the plate towards him. 

„You take the rest, or I will have a sugar shock that won’t let me sleep,“ you joked and he laughed quietly before he started to eat, a long moan escaping his lips as he tasted the first spoon. 

He closed his eyes in complete bliss while you schooled your whole demeanour to not react to how watching Javier eat his dessert felt like watching porn. 

He licked his lips, humming to himself, sighing at every taste. 

„I feel like I should give you two some privacy,“ you finally found the words to tease him and his eyes dropped open, looking at you before you saw his cheeks flush a little. 

„I would say I’m sorry, but I’m really not. This might be the closest I got to having sex in a long time,“ he said, chuckling and your eyes widened, before you laughed. 

„Guess I gotta find myself a desert that’s that good, huh?“ You joked and he licked his lips, having finished the dessert. 

„Or someone to have sex with,“ he shrugged and you rolled your eyes. 

"Like it’s that easy,“ you said and he pursed his lips, eyes playful.

„The guy at the bar has been eyefucking you all night,“ he said and you were about to turn your head to look when he stopped you. 

„Don’t look. He’s not worth your time,“ he said and you titled your head. 

„And how do you know that?“ You asked and he smirked. 

„Saw his dick in the bathroom, he was next to me. Trust me, he is not worth it,“ he said seriously and your lips parted in shock before you giggled. 

„Oh my god,“ you shook your head and he grinned. 

„This is the weirdest business dinner I’ve ever had in my life,“ you still laughed, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. 

„Well this has been the best dinner I’ve had since I can remember, so thank you for that,“ he said and your smile at him softened. 

The waiter approached, asking if you wanted to order anything else but you shook your head, much like Javi before you asked him to bill the dinner to your room. 

Both Javi and you emptied your drinks before you both decided it was time to head back to your rooms. 

You walked through the restaurant back towards the elevators, walking close by each other. You couldn’t help sucking your lip in to hide your laughter when you past the man Javi had talked about sitting at the bar, nodding at you with a grin. 

Even if he was attractive, all you could think about was what Javier had said about him and you had a hard time not bursting out in giggles all the way to the elevators. When you risked a glance at Javier he was grinning too and you both chuckled as the elevator door opened. He waited for you to step in, following you, standing beside you as you pressed the button to the floor. 

You didn’t know if it was seeing the guy, being so close to Javi or the three drinks you had but you found yourself asking „So if he’s not worth my time, how do you compare to him?“ 

You saw him suck his bottom lip between his teeth, before his tongue dared out to lick over his bottom lip. 

He was about to answer when the elevator doors opened, having reached your floor. This time he put his hand on your lower back as he led you out of the elevator, slowly walking up the hallway towards your room. 

You were already fiddling with your key when he stopped in front of your hotel room door. 

„I’e be definitely worth your time,“ he finally said and you looked up at him. 

„Yeah?“ You asked, voice just above a whisper. He nodded. 

„And not just because my dick is bigger than his,“ he said, before he slowly leaned down to kiss your forehead. Your eyes widened, processing his words as he reached for your room key, unlocking the door for you. 

„I’ll see you at breakfast?“ He asked and you dumbly nodded, before you slowly walked into your room. 

„Sweet dreams," he winked as he pulled your door closed and only then did you realise that you had held your breath. 

„I am in so much fucking trouble,“ you mumbled to yourself with disbelieving laugh, looking forward to what the next few weeks would bring. 

next chapter

Taglist (please send me an ask if you want to be added to the LCC Taglist, I only have a taglist for this series, not for all of my works)

@pasc4lfuzz// @kirsteng42 // @imdreaminghere // @greenwitchfromthewoods // @theorganasolo // @inept-the-magnificent // @maried01 // @nationallampoonlemmings // @sunnytuliptime// @desuidesu // @galway-girlatwork // @missladym1981 // @bergamote-catsandbooks

[zzbubblegumbitchzz]

https://www.tumblr.com/zzbubblegumbitchzz/779199661988855808/idk-how-you-feel-but-i-think-quinn-can-be-a-full

Maybe not to the extreme degree of continuing dom/sub play in the public eye but he’s always been in control. Growing up? Oldest. Now? He’s the captain. The leader. Frequently referred to as the best dman in the league. He feeds off power and having it over his partner drives him crazy.

bro i rambled hard

no because agree. hard agree actually and a lot of people forget this or don’t know it, the sub has all the control and i mean that.

so with the whole in public thing, it’s very toned down. very soft dom outside in the world or around people. he knows his people can very obviously see the slightest bit of it but that’s it. Quinn did not consent to them seeing that, just like did not consent to seeing that. you know what i mean?

truthfully? it’s almost instant. i feel like Quinn’s the kinda guy to be open with his partner. he’s open, especially with this kind of thing. you’re open, willing, ready to explore that. so yeah, i think it starts slow and more or so in the bedroom.

when you’ve adjusted to him as a dominant sexually, maybe you just start auto doing things outside that bedroom.

you’re “quinny can you help me?” and he’s running in just to brush your hair or “quinny can you get me a soda?” and his immediate reaction “did you finish your water bottle?” and when you say no. “well that’s your answer. finish your water first.”

it’s kinda a switch that flips for you, damn he’s bossy but i like it. i don’t have to think? he does it for my own good? okay.

quinn sees that glimmer in your eye when he kinda corrects your behavior. makes himself a mental note to chat later, cause that’s exactly what he was hoping for.

he’s big into rules. there’s not that many tbh but they’re important, especially to him and especially while he’s gone. big into a sticker chart too, it’s an easy way for him to see what you’ve remembered and what you needed more direction with.

i think he’d be into collaring too, he’s the kinda guy who has multiple types. the public collar that’s more or less a necklace, the bedroom collar, and then the everyday around the house kinda collar. and he has no shame tugging any of them when he wants you to act right.

he has the look. ya know what i mean? i’m sorry i think he wants you kinda bratty sometimes, i think he likes brat taming. he very obviously loves when his girl is so good and listens. but sometimes when he gets home from a bad game, he just wants to take it out on you and his favorite way is when you get mouthy and he corrects that.

now in public? he’s quiet about it, he’ll grip your hand a little tighter or he’ll send you a quick text. just something easy, something unknowing to everyone else.

he hates repeating himself so it’s a one and done. he’s not a three strike you’re out kinda guy (except at the very beginning when you’re both adjusting)

idk man i go on and on about this

[ilysungho]

to be honest, i can't stop thinking about dom!jaehyun × virgin!reader.

we've been known that jaehyun is made from boyfriend material through and through, and if you were to be in a relationship with him he'd be the softest most caring boy, always making sure you're comfortable.

he'd know you are a virgin, it was only fair for you to tell him that you weren't ready to go all the way with someone before he comitted to you, but he couldn't care less. he'd be so busy loving you that being intimate with you would honesty slip his mind most of the time.

that's why when one night, when messy kissing turned into making out, turned into hands roaming all over one another (clinging to whatever skin is at the reach of each others' fingertips) turned to you softly moaning against the shell of his ear suddenly turned into you telling him that you want to take him. fully. he loses his mind.

it's almost as if it all the pent up desire he had carried since the start of your relationship (unbeknownst to himself) awakens, and he can't do anything besides comply.

to me, he reads as the type of boy who'd be in love with the idea of being the first to have you, to mold your mind and the way you experience your sexuality into the perfect match for his own preferences. he'd be so eager to teach you everything, his chest filling with pride the moment your hips clash against his own following the rythm he had set up even when his hands are busy worshiping your perfect breasts.

and don't even get me started on how feral he'd get after seeing your perfectly carved body laying under his own, panting, skin shiny because of how sweaty you'd be, yes, but also because of the thick layer of cum covering your belly and pooling around your navel.

this is kind of senseless word vomit, i just think that your first time with myungjae would be so soft yet so full of lust, and i'd love to know YOUR take on it (duh, i wouldn't be asking you if i didn't). i just need someone to validate me and my softdom!myungjae agenda.

p.s: can i be ⭐️ anon? because i have the feeling that i'm going to be sending asks here often

i’m going to be so honest. i’ve been gatekeeping this because it’s so beautifully written but i also don’t want to keep it in my asks for too long because i want you to know that i’ve seen this! and yes of course you can be star anon! and omg, this did not feel like word vomit at all!! i loveeee how you wrote this out… tugging at my heart strings because even without specific details, the whole idea of what you’re saying sounds so perfectly him. i’m excited to see more from you love 💗 my thoughts will be under the cut! i hope you enjoy~

softdom!jaehyun is nothing but kind and thoughtful. since the beginning of the relationship, he’s only ever been doing everything that’s within your comfort level, never pushing for more than what you want. there’s be times when he does get needy with you, but he keeps it to himself pretty well. he knows he has to be patient to get more than just making out with you, yet he can’t help but feel guilty when he’s masturbating to your pictures alone in his room. they’d be perfectly innocent ones too, pictures of yourself smiling while having ice cream, giggling as your friend takes a pic of you, etc. he notices every part of you through those pictures, and also while you stay put beside him with lips interlocked. his hand would softly hover over your waist before being placed there gently, and he would pull you closer to his body. still, he would hesitate to bring you as close as he truly wants you to be.

the type of love he shows is so pure and full of romance that even the smallest gestures have to be grandly laid out according to him. the idea of taking your virginity came with numerous plans on how to do so in a perfect manner, one that you would remember for a lifetime. but when you ask him for more… and more… and more… ally eh planning goes down the drain as he is asking you if you’re absolutely sure you want it. he can’t wait either until he enacts one of the many occasions, so he’s grateful you’re asking him now. but he would still do the very gentlemanly things: taking you to the bed, slowly undressing you while loving your body, constantly asking for what’s good and to tell him when you like it…. jaehyun’s only goal is to have you enjoy the process as his fingers trace your slit, the other hand caressing your hair as he speaks calmly. “is this good love?” “tell me if it hurts ok? i don’t want to do that to you.” “you’re such a darling princess, so beautiful like this.” his focus is solely on you as you respond to him in a small yet jittery voice. and he would notice that, taking your lips with his once again to distract you from any nervosity building up. soft smacks of your lips would accompany the sound of his fingers rubbing you slowly yet throughly. he would only let go to let you both catch your breath until you grab his shoulders and just stare at him, biting the bruised skin. his tender smile and loving eyes work together to just tell you to relax, to just let him do all the work. he promises to make you feel good.

after you release through just fingering though, jaehyun gets serious again, asking you for the umpteenth time whether you’re positive you’re ready. and as you come down from your high, all you can do is look at him and nod, a whimper of a yes barely escaping as he gets a condom out of his wallet. he’s finally putting it to use after waiting for so long, and he looks incredibly needy now. he could satiate a smidge of your hunger, but his is far more immense. he knows what it feels like to have sex, and he’s done it a good amount of times before meeting and dating you. but he’s been waiting too long to have a taste of you, and he fears that he too won’t be the same after being your first. everything has him excited as he puts on the condom, adjusting it so he is comfortable enough before pushing into you slowly. you just bite you lip a bit harder as you watch and feel him enter into you, effectively stretching you out. it hurts, and you knew it would hurt, but jaehyun did everything he could to minimize the pain so that you would feel the pleasure surge through you. high pitched whines and teary eyes grace his ears and eyes as he bend down slowly to cup your face. his thumb wipes away the tears forming, questions once again being asked so he knows how you're feeling and acts accordingly.

overall, jaehyun's attempt at making you feel full of love despite it being your time is a very good success, and he's going to be thinking about every motion, every notion, every reaction. he's going to be thinking about it all, impatience running through as he always is thinking about what he can get you used to, to shape you into the perfect one for him in every way possible. he wants to make sure that all your firsts with him are unforgettable, just as he is to your life.

[surveillancy]

Hey there! I was wondering if you could write something I been thinking about recently-

It's about Pure Vanilla, recently I saw the dialogue between Holy and him thought "Whoa this man surely doesn't take good care of himself, I would love to help him"... And then I realized I have various problems like he does with overworking or not eating (in my case, simply I don't feel on the mod of eating).

Then, I just began to wonder, how would he react to a reader (maybe friends but he or both are pinning for the other) that helps him with all his problems, as in, really kind and all, almost taking care of all of his worries and trying to help him improve, only to realize the reader is the same or worse on taking care of themselves- it would be like looking into a sick mirror, and if not like he can scold them because he is perfectly aware he does the same to himself- idk, just a silly idea

"sharing hardships" - pure vanilla cookie x reader

✧ ✧ ✧

the light of the vanilla kingdom’s grand library flickered softly, casting warm golden hues over the scrolls and tomes piled high on the wooden desk. pure vanilla cookie let out a small sigh, rolling his shoulders as he attempted to focus on the document before him.

the moment you noticed, you were already at his side, gently nudging a steaming cup of tea toward his hands. "you're overworking yourself again," you chided, your voice soft but firm.

he blinked, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he accepted the cup. "you always notice, don’t you?" his fingers brushed against yours for just a moment. brief, fleeting, but enough to send warmth through his chest.

"of course i do," you answered simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. you had made it your silent mission to keep an eye on him. he was a beacon of hope to so many, and yet, who was there to remind him that he, too, needed rest?

you were. always.

you made sure he ate when he got lost in his duties, that he slept when he refused to, that he let himself breathe between the endless responsibilities of being the kindhearted ruler he was. you picked up the burdens he never voiced, carried them as if they were your own, and never once did you complain.

it was only natural. until, one day, he saw it.

the way your hands trembled ever so slightly as you poured him another cup of tea. the exhaustion that pooled in your eyes when you thought no one was looking. how you never asked for help, never spoke of your own struggles, as if they were insignificant compared to the weight he carried.

it was like looking into a mirror.

"you…" his voice faltered as realization struck, his heart tightening with something unbearably heavy. "you do the same thing as i do."

you glanced up at him in surprise, the teapot still in your grasp. "what do you mean?"

pure vanilla cookie set his cup down with a soft clink. "you take care of me so diligently, but… have you ever stopped to take care of yourself?" his gaze was no longer just kind. it was searching, aching, almost pleading.

you opened your mouth, then hesitated. what could you say? that you were fine? that it didn’t matter, because he was the one who truly needed the care? because you had convinced yourself long ago that his well-being was more important than your own?

pure vanilla cookie sighed, shaking his head. "i cannot scold you," he admitted, "because i am no different."

a small, wistful chuckle escaped his lips. "but that is precisely why i cannot allow you to go on like this."

he reached out, taking your hand in both of his, cradling it with the same gentleness he used when healing others. "hardships are meant to be shared, are they not?" his voice was barely above a whisper, laced with something vulnerable, something tender.

you swallowed thickly, your heart twisting painfully. you had spent so long tending to his wounds, and yet here he was, holding your hand as if trying to heal the ones you never acknowledged.

"…then let's share them," you murmured at last. "together."

a silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t heavy. it was warm, filled with something unspoken yet understood.

his fingers curled around yours just a little tighter.

"yes," he breathed. "together."

✧ ✧ ✧

requests: open!

[unbearableblog]

Messages

Chapter 1

Summary Carmy’s actions towards the reader might eventually lead to consequences. Word count ~2,2k Warnings 18+, cursing, angst A/N  I have no beef (no pun intended) with Chicago. Everything I wrote is based on the feeling I got from the show and what I read about its history. I really hope you like this chapter as much as the first one. I know it's been a long time! I had a job, had health issues, actually went to Michelin restaurant and a bunch of other things. You're always welcome to share your thoughts.

Chapter 2

"Carm, I don't know about this..." you say and take a step back, shaking your head.

"Just try it," he says, seeing your hesitation. "It's okay, I got 'u."

Skeptically, you slowly take the knife and start chopping the greens in a "chef" way, the one he showed you just a second ago. Little by little, you do it. You barely breathe as the knife slices through freely and efficiently, but controlled enough to keep your fingers safe.

“Perfect, chef”

You turn to see Carmen's reaction. He is looking at the food, smiling, and then softly chuckles and turns to you. There is nothing but love in his eyes. Nothing but you.

"What do you mean it's not from him?" your sister asks with confusion.

"I don't know! It's not from fucking Carmen!" you yell while standing in her living room. The gift is right beside you, carefully placed on the round white coffee table in front of the couch.

"Who's it from then?" she asks just as calmly, almost chuckling.

"Another chef?" you use your arms dramatically to get your point across, frustrated at her not understanding.

"What chef? Girl, how many-"

"It's not from fucking Carm! Fuck! I don't know what to do!" you plop on the couch, hands covering your face.

Madeline sits down beside you. "What's going on? So what? You got some cinnamon buns, what's the big deal?"

"Because they're not from Carmen, that's the deal!" your head falls onto her shoulder, and she wraps you in her arms, rubbing your back.

"Tell me what's wrong."

You let your initial frustration out with the yelling, and the only thing left was sadness. Confusion. Disappointment.

"They're not from him. He's ignoring me."

"Ahhh, I see. And who are they really from?" she keeps moving her hand in circles while holding you, and that makes you feel much safer. You relax more and more.

"I went to the bakery today, remember? His old friend- or whatever they were- was the guy to teach Marcus."

"And why is he sending you gifts?" her voice sounds above you.

It's hard to think. You felt so much, and now your mind is drowsy. "I told him how much I love cinnamon buns. I guess it's just a courtesy."

"Wrapped with a red silk ribbon? And a written note? Yeah, nice courtesy.." she smirks at you.

"Stop," - she doesn't, "Stop!" you whine. "It can't be like that."

"Yeah? And what's stoppin' it?"

"I'm literally dating his friend."

"Are you though? You said it wasn't much of dating anymore. Does he know that?"

Fuck.

"Uhh..."

"Well, that's what I'm talking 'bout. The guy saw the chance and shot his shot. At least you know he cares about you. Look at that sugar! He must have used half the bakery's stash for that, I'll tell you that."

You laugh.

"No, seriously, don't eat them all in one sitting, I can feel my blood sugar rising from here."

You felt something else instead - hunger. You looked at Madeline and back at the box a couple of times and then reached for it. You took one bun for yourself and gave the other one to her. Both of you appreciated the beauty in your hands, and after a sigh, took a bite of heaven.

It was divine.

"Holy shit, Liv. His hands are a miracle."

But you knew that - you saw them with your own eyes.

Chicago is cold. So fucking cold. It wasn't unusual for you - after all, you grew up in Europe, but here it felt different. The streets felt blue and lonely as if Carmen was the only person who lived there. But again, it's not like you had much time to discover the city when all you did was related to Carmen. Your college had a very lenient schedule, meaning you had classes occasionally, and the remaining assignments you did at The Beef. Chicago is mostly a blue-collar town, and witnessing struggling people was not unusual. A sneaking thought would sometimes slither into your head, making you wonder if you would ever live here if it wasn't for Carmen. The atmosphere made you depressed. The Beef made you forget. All the bickering, no matter how much it sucked, involved people, and that meant that at least somewhere you would be noticed.

You loved Carmen so much, and seeing him struggle was your hell. So you gave up everything for him. Your own ambition went on the backburn - how could you when his brother just died? How could you when he had a whole business to run? When he would grasp his chest and wince, when he would look at you so lovingly, when your baby was in pain, everything was worth it.

You would do anything for him.

And then The Beef was becoming The Bear and you for sure had to shut up. Carmen had so much on his plate, and if only you held out for a little while until it opened, and then just a little more until you got it up and running and gave the money back to Uncle. Maybe then you could think about what you actually want and where to go with Carmen, how you want your relationship to grow, and where you want to travel. Then it would all be okay.

The phone is in your hand as you count the time in Chicago. It's 7 hours behind, and here it's almost afternoon, so it should be fine. You click on Carmen's number and hit "call".

Ring.

Ring.

Ri-

"Hi, Liv. How's Copenhagen?" it is so nice to hear his voice. Ugh, you miss him.

"Uhh, it's a lot. It's soo beautiful here, so much warmer too. It’s so much different from Chicago, I really needed this. I wish you were here.

"Listen, I- ...no, Cousin, I said-... no-no-no..." you listen closely and can hear Richie yelling back something about cold. Or mold? "I told you not to touch it!"

"I'm sorry, I gotta go. Call you sometime," he hangs up.

You silently put the phone on the table.

"Have you talked to Carmy?" you blurt out, continuing the walk across the water like that question was not divided into a thousand different statements.

You promised Marcus to show him the city. He, in turn, encouraged you to try even more pastry, They were good, delicious, even, but your mind kept going back to what you had earlier.

"Yeah. He was super stoked that I loved the boat. Said he didn' doubt it. And that he couldn't find the cat either-"

Fucking asshole.

"- so don't feel down, it's probably somewhere out there, stealing the food in the city," he smiles at the thought, probably imagining a sneaky cat grabbing a fish at the market while the owner turned away.

"Oh. Good to know." You are boiling with anger. At this point, it's starting to get to you. You're tired of caring. Carmen made his decision.

You decide to forget about him and focus on the peaceful water around you, beautiful architecture and so many people. That's the one thing you always loved - you never knew who you would meet or what you could learn from a stranger. Copenhagen was so different from Chicago. That place, maybe the Beef mainly, sucked you in and the rest of the world didn't matter. Here, otherwise. It felt.. open. This place felt enough as it is, but it somehow reminded you of the rest of the world too, encouraged you, moved you. You would never admit it, but you felt so free. What was the next thing you would do? Next place you could go? Why weren't you thinking about that in Chicago? You were still so young...

Was it all a mistake?

The next sleepless night you decided to join Marcus again. You walked in and plopped your bag on a chair. Luca was already quick on his feet, of course.

It’s 5 AM, how is he so productive?

After short greetings, the three of you continued with business.

You watched them talk about types of dough, what flavors go together best, and the secrets of the art of cooking, and then it was time for Marcus to put his skills into practice. It was always a little nerve-racking, as if it was you trying.

After a while, Marcus went outside to call his mom and Luca took the time to clean up. This was your chance.

“Hey…” you began.

How do you even ask it? Thank you for the orgasm-inducing pastry? Did you mean to flirt with your friend’s girlfriend?

“Yeah, Liv,” he’s turned away from you, but you can hear the smile in his voice. God, his accent.

“Thank you,” you decided to go with simplicity.

“You’re welcome. Was it enough?”

An “oh god, yes” came out involuntarily.

“Good”. He smiled pridefully again.

You began to understand that Luca is not a man of many words.

He stopped cleaning the surface adjacent to the wall, and turned towards the table in the middle of the room, the one they practiced on. Luca’s mind seemed busy for a moment.

“Do you wanna try?” he looked up expectantly.

“Oh, no-” you immediately answered. All that time you spent cooking with Carmen didn’t really amount to a lot, and even Marcus was struggling with these desserts, you wouldn’t wanna -

“Why not? Marcus said you were an honorary chef. I’d like to see your skills.”

“Here,” Luca said assertively and handed you the piping bag. You smiled awkwardly and shook your head making up an excuse, which was pointless because he followed up with an assertive “take it”, which you couldn’t resist. Oh god.

Hesitantly, you took the hefty piping bag in your hands and attempted to copy the swirl nearby.

A minute later you took a step back to judge your work. It didn’t look anything like his. Luca came a little closer to see better.

“Softer,” he corrects after a short inspection. You hunch over the table to try your luck again.

“No, like this,” he suddenly placed his palm entirely over yours and leaned closer so that his shoulder controlled yours. Your breath hitched. Only Carmen gets this close.

His body guiding yours seemed to work, and you got the exact amount of pressure and curve needed to pipe the filling.

“Flawless, chef,” and you see that his eyes aren’t on pastry anymore. You notice up close how warm-toned his skin is. Are those.. freckles?

Beat.

The high-pitched screech of the door made you jump and rapidly step out of Luca’s half-hug. He remained as he was, only placing his hand on the counter now.

“Everything alright?” The question surprised you but it turned out it wasn't for you.

“Yeah, mama’s good”, Marcus responded lightly. “I think we can go now tho. Thank you so much for the lesson.”

His eyes caught the imperfect practice rounds, which surely couldn't belong to a seasoned chef.

“You tried these when I was out?”

“Yeah, Liv did it”

You turned to Luca with a face. You kinda had no choice.

“Liv!” he beamed. “I’ve been telling you to try something! I can't believe I missed it. Man, you don’t know how long I’ve been tryna get her to work on pastry, she loves’em so much! Denmark is truly a land of wonders, I’ll tell ya” Luca openly laughed. For such an enigma like him, you took that as a sign that he was warming up to both of you.

You both went out to the fresh air and then headed home. Madeline was out so you were free to enjoy a cup of tea in a soft chair by yourself. As the hot water left a burn on your tongue, you reflected on the past days.

Moments like these were rather rare with Carm when he was slow, quiet and gentle. They were especially rare now when both of you were so busy. You knew he wasn’t always this patient with chefs. Somehow Luca’s felt different.

And then a thought struck you.

You didn’t see him coach Marcus like that.

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

🏷️Tag list (tagged everyone in the comments) @l0nalol @soursopsista @swedesfics @nervousnerdwitch @marymustdie @pinktrappy @mrs-reeves-17 @bxtchopolis @smoooore @miley1442111 @awkwardalie @carma-fanficaddict @eternallyvenus @sia2raw @helloheyhihowdyheya @m1dnightsnackz @grxnde-dwt @custarrds @cinnamongirlblogs @melancholicmelanin @yellowfielde @althea-tavalas

[multiversefanfics]

Touch Starved

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Warning: nothing but fluff Summary: Dean is touched starved, he needs you to keep him grounded. Word Count: 644

Dean Winchester — The man, the myth, the legend, the big scary hunter that wasn’t afraid of anything. Except losing you.

Dean loved being touch by you, even more than him touching you. Both sexually and romantically, this big, strong, man was a softie at heart. He hunted the worst or the worst yet the only thing that could make him fall apart was you.

Sure, Dean faced many many losses, but none of that matter when it came to you, you showed him love and kindness that he’s never experienced before, in the beginning he felt as though he didn’t deserve it, he still sometimes feels like that.

You’re the one that brings him back down to earth, the only one that could make him forget all about the turmoil that just occurred hours ago. Dean definitely wasn’t one to share either, so when Sam had all your attention one night during some lore research, he walked around the bunker library huffing and puffing until you finally asked him what was wrong.

“You’re giving Sammy all your attention, while i’m over here alone, withering away to nothing.” You rolled your eyes and continued to flip through the book Dean had enough, he wanted to cuddle, he wanted kissed, he wanted you to rub his back in that special way that he likes, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He slammed the book shut and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder. You let out a yelp and smacked his butt, you looked up at Sam throwing him an apologetic look, he understood Dean was relentless.

“Dean! We have work to do.” He didn’t care, he wanted you all to himself, the lore can wait.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m in need of some cuddles and. kisses.” He continued up the stairs to your shared room.

There was nothing you could do but lay on his shoulder patiently waiting for him to put you down, there was no use fighting it or trying to negotiate a deal, he was dead set on cuddling.

When the two of you finally reached the room, he pulled the blanket back and laid you on the bed, you shot him a glare as he crawled in bed beside you. You admit, he was very persuasive when he really wanted something.

He nuzzled his way into your arms, causing a giggle to leave your lips. “You’re really needy today.” He nodded against your chest, pulling you closer to him.

You loved when Dean got like this, it showed you that he truly needed you, even when he was angry or just in an all around bad mood, you were always there for him. He left soft kisses along your jawline, as you ran your fingertips up and down his spine, he shivered at your touch but ultimately relaxed under it as well.

“Y’know, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, sweetheart.” Hearing him say those words made your heart flutter, you knew he was telling the truth too.

Dean wasn’t one to talk about his feelings, not even with Sam, but when it came to you, the words came out like vomit, half the time he didn’t even know he was saying them until he looks at you and you're staring back at him, adoringly.

He felt safe with you, he knew you wouldn’t make fun of him for feeling the way that he did, maybe a little playful teasing when he was super mushy, but you loved him regardless and he knew that.

You started to rub his back in that special way that he liked and only you knew how to do. His breath got slower and light snores began to escape his lips, you smiled softly and allowed yourself to relax, falling asleep along with him.

Everything was perfect and you couldn’t be happier.

A/N: This came out of nowhere and was written in less than 20 minutes, I hope you guys like this if you want to be tagged in future fics comment here or send me a message. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. 🥰

Main Masterlist - Dean Winchester Masterlist

Taglist: @iwudbutnah @littlesoulshine @miss-marmalade

[onlybeeewrites]

What are The Odds

Pairing: plantonic (?) Haymitch x fem!reader, Burdock Everdeen x sister!reader, plantonic!Maysilee Donner x reader, Asterid March x reader

word count: 2.5k

Summary: Y/N was always stuck in the middle of good and bad luck. But what happens when maybe her luck finally runs out?

Warnings: MAJOR SPOILERS FOR SUNRISE ON THE REAPING!! violence, blood, death, cursings

A/N: THANK YOU GUYS for all the requests I’ve gotten! I promise I’m gonna get to them soon in the next few weeks. But I’m almost done with Sunrise on the Repaing (I have like 3/4 chapters left) and I needed to write. So pls feel free to send in any requests for SOTR <3 thank yall and enjoyyy

~~~~~~~~~~

The morning was crisp, the air biting at the exposed skin of your calves.  Where the end of your dress ends, just a few inches until the tops of your boots begin. 

As you step out of your small home in the Seam, the weight of the day’s significance hanging over you like a heavy fog. It was funny. How such a terrible day could look so beautiful.

As the morning sun started to shine down, the clouds above them almost too perfect. Too perfect for this terrible, terrible day. Because today was the Reaping.

Not just any Reaping though.

No.

Because that would be too easy. No, today is the Reaping for the 50th Hunger Games. The second ever Quarter Quell. And this year? The Capital was especially cruel as they announced just two weeks ago that twice the amount of tributes would be entered into the games.

Two boys and two girls from each district.

48 tributes.

And the whole district felt it. The weight that suffocated your small district. The sword that hung over your heads. It hard to ignore the tension in the streets of District 12, of the Seam. 

The square will be filled with hopeful faces, but you can’t help but feel a cold knot in your stomach. Her hands tightening around the small paper bound package, not much bigger than a roll from the bakery.

Beside you, your twin brother, Burdock walks with his broad shoulders hunched against the growing warmth of the morning. 

Both of your boots crunch against the dirt and gravel of the ground. The two of you silent as you head through the Seam and towards the center of town. Around you, lingering kids do the same. 

But know Burdie is already gearing up to say something about your usual “distractions” today. You do it every year. The same packaging in your hands. A little hope in the dark time of July 4th. 

“I saw you,” he says, nudging you with his elbow, his voice a low, teasing growl. His eyes narrowing down on you. “Making eyes at Haymitch again? You know better than that, Smalls,”

Smalls. You hated that he called you that. You had always been shorter than him, not by much. But you have. 

You roll your eyes, shoving him lightly. “I wasn’t making eyes at him. You’re imagining things, Burdock. Why would I made eyes at Haymitch?” You ask as if it was the most ridiculous thing in the world. But your twin knew better. 

“Oh, right, like you weren’t just staring at him across the Hobb yesterday.” His voice takes on an exaggerated, sarcastic tone. “What’s next, you going to hand him a love letter too? I’m sure Lenore Dove wouldn’t appreciate that,”

Lenor Dove. Your beautiful, and fierce cousin. The troublemaker. And Haymitch’s girl. 

You huff, pursing your lips as you push the thoughts away. You weren’t angry with your cousin. You couldn’t blame her for falling for Haymitch. With his wit, the charm, everything about him was magnetic.

But you’re too stubborn and embarrassed to admit that, let alone let Burdock know that his teasing is getting to you. “I wasn’t staring. I was trading. He just so happened to be in that direction,” she said simply.

“Uh-huh.” He smirks, clearly enjoying the way his teasing is getting under your skin. “Well, maybe you should be careful, or he or Lenore Dove might think you’re a little too… interested.”

“Trust me, I’m not,” you mutter under your breath, though you’re unsure who you’re trying to convince. But the last thing you wanted to do was get between your cousin and her guy, who also is happens to be your brother’s best friend.

Burdock smirks and nudges you again. “You know better, Smalls. Besides, you can do better than Abernathy. So can Lenore Dove but god forbid we tell her that,” 

“Yeah I’ll keep that in mind for when I see Asterid,” you added, a smirk growing on your own face as you bring up your brother’s crush. Well, more like unofficial girl. Though the whole district probably knew about their feelings for each other. 

Though before he could retaliate with another word, the two of you approached the town square. The whole space has been transformed for the day’s festivities. Banners of Panem were hung. Large screens and other decorative items. 

And then ahead of you, a figure emerges from the crowd—Haymitch. The air feels like it shifts when you see him, and for a second, everything else fades into the background. He walks towards you both, his face shadowed though his usual smug expression crossed his face, hands in his pockets.

You step forward, swallowing back the nerves swirling in your stomach, hand over the package. “Hey, Haymitch,” you say softly, your voice trying to sound like everything was normal. Like the odds weren’t completely stacked against all of you. 

He raises an eyebrow, a hint of surprise flickering in his gaze when you hand him the gift. “What’s this?” he asks, his voice giving away the curiosity growing as he takes it from you.

“Happy birthday,” you say quickly, offering a shy smile. “I made it for you.”

His expression softens for a moment, though he’s quick to hide it behind his usual guarded look. He pulls the wrapping away with practiced hands, revealing a small leather bracelet, the stitches tight and neat. It’s simple, but it’s a piece of you—something you put effort into, something that’s yours to give. 

You always tried to give him something handmade, or something he could use. With the hunting your family does, it gives a little extra coin. But this year with the Quarter Quell? Something in your stomach told you do to it. You just weren’t sure if it was for you, or him.

Burdock, standing a little behind you, rolls his eyes and mutters just loud enough for you to hear, “Gods, you’re so weird.”

Haymitch chuckles low, glancing at Burdock with a smirk. “She’s considerate, Burdie. That’s more than I can say for you.”

You quickly step back, feeling a flush creeping up your neck at Burdock’s teasing. “I have to go,” you say, your heart racing a little faster as the reaping draws closer. You don’t want to linger too long.

You look between the two boys, “I’ll see you guys afterward,” you say, giving your brother a hug and Haymitch a nod and smile before going and checking in. Afterwards,  youtoward the girl’s side of the square, the weight of the moment sinking in as you join the others, trying to push away the nerves, the fear, the uncertainty.

As you reach your spot in the crowd, you find your group of friends. Asterid March, and Maysilee and Merrilee Donner.

 you glance back one last time at Haymitch, who’s now inspecting the bracelet with a small smile. Burdock is standing beside him, muttering something that you can’t hear, but you catch the shake of Haymitch’s head, that wry grin on his face.

For a moment, everything feels normal. For a moment, it feels like nothing has changed. But you know that’s not true. Today, everything will change.

And as you stand there, heart thumping in your chest, you know that you’ll never forget this moment, even if it’s the last one that ever feels like it.

The square is packed, the air thick with a mix of anticipation and dread. The Capitol’s anthem blares from the loudspeakers, a stark contrast to the somber faces of the District 12 residents. The parents and families of all the children packed away in the square like animals. Watching and waiting to see which four unlucky children get picked.

Which four they have to mourn this year.

It wasn’t long before the mayor gave her speech. Replaying the clips and propaganda of the Dark Days, the games, and the past Hunger Games.

Drusilla Sickle, the Capitol-appointed escort, steps onto the stage not long after. Her presence is as flamboyant as ever, her face adorned with thumbtacks and tiny buzz saw blades, a grotesque display of Capitol fashion. She raises her hand as she begins, and you feel the knot in your stomach growing, playing with the ring on your right ring finger. 

“Welcome, District 12!” Drusilla’s voice rings out, dripping with feigned enthusiasm. “Today, we gather for the 50th Hunger Games Reaping, a special Quarter Quell year,” she said adjusting her clothes again.

Drusilla continues, her tone mocking. “First, we shall select our female tributes.” She turns to the glass bowl beside her, swirling her hand inside before pulling out a slip of paper. Unfolding it, she announces, “Luella McCoy!”

You feel absolutely sick. You know Luella. A little girl from the Seam, just down the street. You had seen her grow up. Knew her family. You helped them as much as you could. 

And as you watched, Luella steps forward, her face pale, eyes wide with fear. Though she doesn’t cry. She slowly joins Drusilla on the stage, standing stiffly beside her. And you try not to think 

Drusilla’s hand delves back into the bowl, and she pulls out another slip. “And for the second female tribute. Y/N Everdeen!”

Your breath catches in your throat. Your name. Your heart races as you feel the weight of countless eyes upon you. Burdock’s gaze meets yours across the square, his face a mixture of concern and helplessness. 

But you can’t bring yourself to look at him. Not when your blood has absolutely run cold. You were going to die. It was as simple as that. You were a hunter sure. But hunting animals were much different than hunting humans.

So incredibly different. 

So how the hell were you supposed to do this? Against 47 other tributes? 12 of them being Careers.

Swallowing harshly, you finally snap out of your daze. You turn to your three friends give them biggest hug you could muster. And before you leave, your eyes land on Asterid, “Take care of my brother. Please,”

A final wish. You can’t imagine what your death would have on your twin. The guilt he may feel. Would he tell stories about you to his children? Would Asterid? Or would you be a missing piece of him that he never speaks about.

You hear people crying off to the side. Ma. It’s your parents. But still, you school your features the best you could while you force your legs to move, each step heavier than the last, until you stand beside Luella on the stage. And you don’t look anywhere in particular. Just staring off into the crowd of kids that you grew up around. Grew up with. 

Drusilla gives a theatrical sigh, clearly enjoying the spectacle. “Now, for our male tributes.”

She draws a name. “Wyatt Callow!”

Wyatt, known for his quick wit and math skills. His family are gamblers. He was always the one picking out the odds of things. Especially when the games came around, he was particularly handy to his father and brothers. 

Drusilla reaches into the glass bowl again, her fingers trembling slightly as she pulls out the second slip. “Woodbine Chance!”

Woodbine, a lanky boy with wild eyes, freezes. His gaze flickers toward the crowd, then back to Drusilla. He walks out to the aisle that leads to the stage and pauses for a moment. 

Then without warning, he turns and bolts, pushing past Peacekeepers and scattering bystanders. A gasp ripples through the crowd.

“Stop him!” Drusilla shrieks, her voice high-pitched with panic, echoing into the microphone and bouncing off the walls of the square.

The Peacekeepers react swiftly, drawing their weapons. Woodbine’s desperate sprint is cut short as a single shot rings out from the rooftop of the justice building. The gunshot echoing through the square. 

He collapses, lifeless, his defiance snuffed out in an instant. Woodbine is sprawled on the ground, a dark stain spreading beneath him, his wild eyes frozen open.

Then, everything erupts into chaos.

Someone screams—a raw, broken sound that cuts through the cold morning air. Peacekeepers move in a blur, shouting orders, raising their rifles. The crowd surges in confusion, some people shoving to get away, others frozen in place. A woman—Woodbine’s mother, maybe—cries out his name before a Peacekeeper tries shoves her back from the body of her boy. 

You barely register any of it. Your body moves on instinct. Luella is beside you, trembling. Without thinking, you grab her and shove her down, pressing her against the stage, your own body curling over hers.

“Stay down,” you whisper, though your voice is swallowed by the rising panic.

A second shot rings out. Then another.

Something cracks against the stage beside you—wood splintering, or maybe stone. You squeeze your eyes shut, tightening your grip around Luella as she shakes beneath you. Her fingers clutch at your sleeve. 

People are shouting, Peacekeepers are barking orders, but it all blurs together, muffled, distant. You focus on the rough wood beneath your hands, the sharp edges digging into your palms, the way Luella’s breath stutters beneath you.

Then, just as suddenly as it began, the chaos dulls. The shouting ebbs, the frantic movement slows.

You don’t move. You don’t lift your head.

A voice—sharp, commanding—cuts through the settling dust. “Get them up.”

Hands grab at you, hauling you off Luella. Your legs buckle as they drag you upright. The world tilts and sways, your vision swimming. Luella is being pulled to her feet beside you, her face pale, her eyes wide.

Drusilla Sickle stands at the podium again, though her elaborate Capitol mask of composure is cracked at the edges. Her mouth is tight, her hands trembling as she smooths down her ridiculous outfit.

“Well,” she says, voice brittle. “That was… unfortunate.”

The Peacekeepers have formed a barricade around the stage, their rifles held stiffly at their sides. In the square, bodies are still. Woodbine is gone—dragged away, erased.

Drusilla clears her throat, shaking out a new slip of paper with a forced smile. “Let’s try that again, shall we? Back to your places! We only have a few minuets!”

You have no idea what’s going on before the peacekeepers bring you and Luella and Wyatt back into the crowds. Right where you were.

Stunned, you realized what was happening. The beer making you do everything all over again. And for what? The camera? You try your best to seem like this was the first time. But it’s almost worse knowing what’s coming.

Luella is called again. Then you. Then Wyatt.

But it’s the name she reads next makes your stomach drop.

“Haymitch Abernathy.”

No. No no the second boy was already called. It was Woodbine. They couldn’t get replacement. This wasn’t fair. This wasn’t right. Not for Haymitch. Not for anyone who saw what really happened.

You wanted to scream. To shout. To cry that Haymitch didn’t deserve to be sent to the games like you, or Wyatt, or little Louella. But no sound came out. Like they completely stole your voice from you.

A silent murmur ripples through the crowd. You turn your head just in time to see Haymitch step forward, his usual smirk absent, his expression unreadable. Why had they called him? What did he do to get himself here? Or were the odds not in his favor.

He takes his place beside Wyatt Callow. The four of you—Luella, Haymitch, Wyatt, and yourself—stand before District 12, before the Capitol’s watching eyes.

Drusilla claps her hands together, as if that will erase the blood, the fear, the chaos.

“There we have it! Our tributes for the 50th Hunger Games!”

The anthem plays. The ceremony continues until it wraps up. 

As if nothing happened at all.

As if you, Wyatt, Luella and Haymitch didn’t just have a promise of your deaths handed to you on a silver tray.

[alllgator-blood]

I genuinely love the way you write each character. They're all so distinct, and you don't shy away from their vices. And the angst?? I'm absolutely living for it. Genuinely a masterclass for tugging at the heartstrings. It's so visceral that it's just leaving me at the edge of my seat. The Yule comics were absolutely gorgeous. The grief you pulled from your own personal experience has created a marvelous arc detailing just how hard each Bishop was struggling to cope in their own way.

Each stroke you make and letter you type is simply ethereal. Even a silly doodle from you is made with such earnest that it feels like you're just making masterpiece after masterpiece. Seeing you on my feed has me kicking and squealing with absolute delight!

I hope you're doing well, and I can't wait to see more from you! 😊💜✨

This means the world to me, thank you so much!!! The few times my family asks what I've been up to and I talk vaguely about my comics, I'm always met with "??? WHY WOULD YOU MAKE THAT??? WHO WANTS TO READ THAT" and while it sucks to hear or whatever, I prefer to internalize asks like these because THIS is why I draw. YOU GET ME! And anybody that follows this blog gets me as well which is more support than I've had in a long time. Maybe ever??

Sad comics for me have always been THE way I get my feelings out, I'm not so great with words to describe how I feel and it's also hard to capture that feeling with just one picture, therefore...ANGST COMICS! I get hit with that feeling of "this is like deeply personal maybe I should just save this for when I do OC art again" when I make stuff like the yule comic or the one I'm about to post, but idk the bishop family has a fuckin death grip on my heart. They SUCK but they still love each other enough to literally fight to the death on each other's behalf, even if two of them know they won't win. IT'S REALLY GOOD I love them and I feel very fulfilled when I write for them.

I think about those guys all the time and it feels like an honor having other cotl fans see my comics and feel emotions over them. I'd be making these even if nobody saw them, been doing comics for years that nobody has ever seen, but genuinely running this blog and seeing people's feedback has gotten me to wake up earlier than the afternoon just to post/read stuff. Even if sometimes I disappear because I'm terrible at being social, messages like these really do make the amount of time I put into my art 100% worth it. I appreciate you and I hope you're doing well too, thanks for taking the time to send me this!!

[hotchnerwrites]

hi i have a really weird request i was hoping you’d fulfill :) i read your request guidelines and it says you write for spencer reid but it looks like you write majority hotch fics, which i also enjoy:) i have hoping for a spencer reid x reader fic, i don’t have much of a plot in mind so you may need to get creative, or maybe it could just be headcanons, but anything with a weird reader. like maybe she’s an elementary art teacher type vibe (maybe she’s actually an art teacher, or maybe she works at the BAU, your choice) and she has pet bugs and wears cool clothes, that sort of thing. everyone always writes the reader to be really type a, really similar to spencer, yk? and as much as i love those fics i personally think he’d work well with a little more carefree, creative type person too. thank you so much and you absolutely do not have to write this if you don’t want too!!

Ladybird 🐞

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: SFW, headcanons kinda, reader uses she/her pronouns, no use of (y/n), fluff

A/N: Hi anon! so glad you enjoyed my other fics! I'm so happy you requested Spencer, i've been itching to write my pookie but it's not a common request (yet?), i only have one other published fic of him. i looooooooooove writing his big brain self and ur idea of reader being an opposite personality type was so delicious to write ugh i'm quite happy with this fic. i also have some drafts of him (academic rivals, fluff fics etc.) but i don't post them bc im not at a 100% with them, they're much longer fics too lol. if you want those, i'm happy to post (slowly) so lmk. anyways, enough yapping, ENJOY THE READ!!! mwah mwah mwah <3

My requests are open! Please read my rules before req'ing. Send me stuff! :)

Spencer wasn’t accustomed to the sensation of being in the dark. If something new crossed his path, he’d devour every piece of information he could find, understanding it, processing it, then neatly filing it away in his mind for later use. The idea of being uncertain—it made him uneasy, like a puzzle with a missing piece, gnawing at him until he could fill it in. He hated the discomfort of not knowing.

But you… what were you?

You moved through life with a kind of fluidity he couldn’t quite grasp. Were you like water? No, no, you were too solid, too grounded for that. Fire, then? But you weren’t wild or destructive—your warmth didn’t burn Spencer, it invited him in. The wind, then. You were untethered and free. But even that didn’t feel quite right. The wind didn’t create, and you were full of creation. You existed in a plane ruled by feeling rather than logic, instinct over calculation.

Spencer couldn’t fathom you.

He prided himself on his ability to categorise things, to turn life into binary or categorical data. But you slipped like butter through his mental filing system, like something he could never quantify. You smelled like rain and cedar, like something both fresh and familiar, like petrichor clinging to the edges of an old wooden frame. He couldn’t place it, couldn’t place you, and maybe that was why he couldn’t stop thinking about you.

When you talked about your job— you were an elementary school art teacher— you talked about it with a kind of excitement that made Spencer envious. It was silly, really, but he wanted the one to be taught by you, to spend more time trying to figure you out. He loved his work, too, but it was so full of danger and death, and the way you loved yours made him want to be a part of the world you had.

The first time he met you, Spencer spent an embarrassing amount of time trying to decipher the colours in your outfit. He knew different textures weren’t supposed to be mixed (the Vogue magazine he had swiped at the doctor’s office had declared the mixing of dots and stripes a cardinal sin), but you had layered patterns like a painting. It shouldn’t have made sense. So why did it? He had opened his mouth to ask if there had been a method behind it, but you had flashed a smile at him that made his unfaltering mind stop dead in its tracks, and you had said, “Don’t overthink it, Spence. Just feel.”

As if it was something he knew how to do.

You weren’t chaotic, not exactly—but you were unpredictable. Spencer, with his equations and calculations, with his logic and probabilities, had always sought comfort in knowing the outcome before things even began. But you—you weren’t an equation. You were the space between the numbers, the part of the formula he couldn’t solve. You were a walking, talking example of Ramsey’s theorem— he knew where you started and where you ended, but he couldn’t untangle what was in between.

Every morning, you took a picture of your coffee. It was the same drink every day, but you persevered, swearing the foam made a new image every time. You’d tried to rope him into theorising with you, to get him to see the shape of the world in the swirls and patterns of the cream, but Spencer could never really see it like you. 

“You know it’s just milk and coffee, right?” He’d say, leaning over your shoulder to examine the mug. “There’s no scientific basis for anything more.” 

But you never held it against him. Sometimes, you’d nudge him with your elbow, a grin tugging at the corners of your mouth as you said, “I think you’re missing out on a whole new dimension of the universe, Reid.”

He’d hum, a little smile on his lips, and then he’d drop the subject—mostly. He wasn’t one to argue for long, especially when it came to the things that made you happy, like the ritual of your morning coffee or the way you’d rearrange your art supplies by colour, even though it made absolutely no sense.

When Spencer found out you kept bugs as pets, he’d nearly leapt out of his chair.

“You— you have a mantis,” he stammered, eyes wide as he watched you let it crawl delicately over your fingers.

“That’s not just a mantis, Spence,” you scolded him gently, a smile tugging at your lips, “Meet Matilda. She’s my friend.”

Spencer blinked, processing. “Statistically, most people keep a cat or a dog—“

“I’m not a statistic, Spence,” you’d reminded him, voice gentle as if you were talking to one of your school kids.

He tried to understand, tried to decipher why anyone would choose to keep an insect as a pet, but logic evaded him, a feeling he only experienced around you. But when he’d watch you play with Matilda like she was the best thing in the world, he let it go.

He started bringing you little things—odds and ends that made him think of you. A book of surrealist paintings he thought you’d like. A smooth, speckled rock he found outside the precinct. A jar of local honey from a case in a small town, because you once mentioned you liked the taste of dandelions.

And every time, you’d accept them like he had just handed you a moonbeam, eyes lighting up in unadulterated joy.

“See?” you had murmured one day, holding the honey jar up to the light. “You do feel things, Spencer. You just don’t realise it.”

No, it wasn’t about logic. Maybe, it was just about you.

One day, Spencer caught himself carefully placing a ladybug outside on a leaf, rather than brushing it away. As he counted its spots for you— something about them bringing luck— he realised something.

Oh.

I love her.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate any likes/comments/reblogs/follows. Constructive criticism is welcome. Do not plagiarise my content and/or post it anywhere without crediting me.

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[sketchy-tour]

wait I think this ask didn’t manage to send- stupid wifi lol

Well anyway it’s been a while haha have something I did for you today at class , something small to share , a doodle for sure I really liked your cookie hope you will like it

I do see in the crk game my suger cubes getting used a lot and I need to make new ones every time but I think your cookie with their high energy stole it for sure! XD

Hope you have good day/night

IM SOBBING OH MY GOD ITS MY SILLY!!!!!!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THIS AUGH YOUR ART IS ALWAYS SO LOVELY IM GONNA EXPLODE!!!!!!!! WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!!!!