#I'm in the last week of the worst month and I did feel overwhelmed yesterday but today I feel like I've broken free

[stardustedknuckles]

I feel like people do not understand when I try to explain that August is hard for me. Which is fair because I don't know why it's hard for me, I don't know in exactly what way, but everything is Wrong and Bad and I'm just holding on by my fingertips usually until about mid September.

But now I have a fitbit! And though these things should always come with a grain of salt, I had to laugh a little when I looked at my average resting heart rate since I got the fitbit in earlyish July.

Visual representation of August absolutely fucking with me. The kicker is that I started having my very small amount of weed and cbd edible on August 4, according to my daily journal thing, and wouldn't you know - that shit started lowering right back down.

[pedroshotwifey]

To the Flame chapter seventeen

Series masterlist

Pairing: Dark!Javier Peña x afab!reader

Chapter w/c: 2.6k

Chapter warnings: physical abuse, mental abuse, toxic behavior, infidelity, reader is suffering some severe depression among many other things, mentions of vomiting (not descriptive), trauma, unhealthy relationships, disassociation as a coping method, victim blaming, angst, hurt/comfort?, suicidal ideation

Chapter Summary: Javi takes something from you, again.

A/N: This should go without saying, but I am so, so sorry for how long it's been since the last update. I'm still not doing very well, but here's this, so. Yeah. Love you all and I beg you to forgive me ♥

****

It still hurts when you wake up, still an overwhelming pain throughout your entire body. Still a sore and swollen throat, throbbing head, and struggling lungs. It’s been almost a week, and nothing’s gotten much better. You’re still you. Weak, useless, aching you. And Javi’s still…Javi. Not Javi from the hospital, or your Javi from Texas, but Javi from the last few miserable months. Not rageful, exactly, but definitely distant and agitated. Enough so that you decide to steer clear. 

You thought—hoped—for a minute that he really did change after that night. But you’ve come to understand that hope is a feeble thing. A foolish thing. 

You mostly stay in bed all day, choosing rest—pretend or not—over facing whatever Javi might try. You think he may still feel a little guilty, and that’s why he lets you stay in bed. There’s no way he doesn’t—not after that. He tried one day to get you up, but you did your best to make it seem like you were exhausted, when really you were just terrified. You know what he was after. He was drunk and hurling names at you left and right. You’re surprised he didn’t take you anyway. No, he just left. Walked out of the apartment and let you shut your eyes again, too worn down to care. 

He’s gone at work right now. You’re still in bed. It’s probably sundown at this point, but you don’t really know because you’ve been staring up at the ceiling for what seems like hours. He’s supposed to be back at nine tonight. 

It’s Friday, which means that Steve and Connie will be coming over for dinner tomorrow. You should be making desert right now so you don’t have to do it in the morning. That would be the smart thing, at least. You should probably eat, too. You’re not sure when you last did that. 

You feel a little sick if you’re being honest, probably from the lack of food and water. Being confined to the dark bedroom for days straight surely isn’t helping that either. You huff a sigh, ignoring the way your throat constricts around the air. You reckon it would feel a little better by now if you’d been using it—talking and drinking some fluids. 

Before you can give yourself the chance to change your mind, you slip out of bed, your feet hitting the cold hardwood for the first time since yesterday morning or so. You drag yourself into the bathroom, leaving the light off as you pee. 

You’re still groggy as you make your way into the kitchen, halfway in a trance as you sit down at the kitchen table. It’s going to take you a minute to fully wake up, but you know you should take your time so you’re not cooking half asleep. The last thing you need right now is another injury. 

You watch the clock as you wait, your eyes following the small hands as they tick away at precious seconds. It probably won’t be long at all before he’s home. It’s already late—later than it should be with the time he was supposed to be off work. You know better than to think he’s working overtime. 

You take a deep breath, pushing unwanted thoughts from your mind, and stand up. Keeping your mind numb has been getting easier as of late. It takes a massive effort, but you would rather have to do that than brew on your current situation. 

It’s hard sometimes, when you get caught up in it, to fall asleep. It seems that night is the worst time for it. Your mind won’t turn off and you end up silently crying until your pillow is soaked and you have to turn it over to sleep when you finally stop. It spirals, your brain wracking up every pitiful thought it can to keep you falling down that damn rabbit hole. Past, present, future, there’s nothing you can think of to comfort you. Only regret and dread swirling around in your dizzy head at every cognizant moment. 

Just like now, as you gather ingredients for PB&J from your cabinets and set them on the counter. You can see now that the sun has indeed already gone down, leaving the dull, yellow, overhead bulb your only source of light. The hue it casts makes you sick to your stomach. 

You glance at the clock again. This may be the latest he’s ever stayed out. A sour taste forms in your mouth as you realize you aren’t worried. It’s a harsh realization. Such a stark difference from how concerned you were the first time he was gone like this. 

But you don’t think about where he is as you make your food. It’s not that you don’t care, it’s just hard to convince yourself of it. He could be down the street or halfway across the world. He’ll come back. And you’ll be here. 

You watch the clock as you eat at the table, the only sound to be heard the ticking of the hands and the occasional traffic in the distance. It’s enough for you to keep your idle mind undisturbed. Enough to keep zoning out. 

It’s not until you’re taking your last bite that the phone rings, making you jump. It’s like you snap halfway back to reality, your vision focusing and your hearing coming back full force. You sit at the table, ignoring the ringing in favor of trying to get back to that safe place. You can feel your emotions knocking at the door, can almost hear them. 

It’s a steady pounding, gentle enough for you to try to push it back, but prominent enough to make it difficult. You think you’re almost there when it suddenly stops and is replaced instead by the sound of metal jingling together. Almost like a set of—

And you’re back, completely and wholly alive in reality, listening to the phone ringing and your husband unlocking the door. Your breath picks up instinctually, your eyes fluttering shut for a moment. It’s a lot, but you have to handle it. You think about trying to get back to the bedroom before Javi comes in, but he’s already closing the door behind him by the time the thought breezes through. 

“Sweetheart?” You hear him call out. He must see the light on. The phone is still ringing. You wish it would stop. 

“In here,” you rasp. That name coming from his sober tongue feels like a stab to your chest.

His footsteps start to head your way, steady. Your stomach twists, but you’re not sure why. He doesn’t sound drunk. 

“Javi?” You call again even though he’s almost to you. He walks through the doorway not a second later. 

He stands there and watches you for a moment. You know you must look like a mess. But all you can focus on right now is how clear his eyes look, how present he is. He’s there with you. You feel small as you get up from your seat and walk to him with tears swimming in your eyes. You recognize how pathetic it is as you wrap your arms around him and start to cry into his chest, but you do it anyway. He’s there. You’ll take what you can while you have it. 

He stands still for a moment before reciprocating your affection and holding you back. But when he does, he molds you to him, leaning down a bit and rocking you gently. 

“Shh, it’s okay” he coos, “what’s wrong baby?” 

You open your mouth to respond, but the truth is that you have no idea. It doesn’t matter though, because that’s the exact moment the answering machine picks up. It’s faint from where it’s coming from the hall near the living room, but it’s the loudest and clearest thing to ever hit your ears. 

“Hey, Javi, it’s Melissa. It was so much fun hanging out with you tonight! These last few weeks have been amazing, honestly. Call me back, I’d love to schedule another little date back at my place. ‘Kay, let me know, bye!” 

You’ve stopped moving, stopped breathing, stopped crying. Javi’s frozen in place too. You’re just two people frozen in time, standing, embracing each other in the nauseating yellow light of your kitchen. God, you want to puke. 

And then you’re heaving. You’re pushing him off of you, staggering back, trying not to scream and cry. Of everything he’s ever done to you…

“No, no, no, baby, please it’s not what it sounds like,” Javi tries to defend himself with rushed words as he steps carefully after you. You almost don’t hear him through the pounding of blood in your ears. 

“Mm, mm,” you squeeze the sound out through your lips. You’re bent over, hands on your knees with your face toward the floor. Tears drop rapidly, blurring your vision but making clear droplets against the tile. Bile burns in the back of your throat, and you realize you really are about to throw up. 

You head toward the bathroom. You don’t rush, scared of falling down. But you make your way there. Javi follows behind. He’s talking but you can’t hear a thing. He stands in the doorway when you get to the toilet, watching you get on the floor in front of it just in time to throw up all the content in your stomach. 

He flips on the light and gets down behind you, petting your back in what could be a soothing manner if you weren’t trying to push him off. 

“Getoffame” you moan, words streaming together. Everything feels fake again, but not in the way that helps tame the pain. No, this nightmare state is more like watching your husband in the damn yellow light of the kitchen as he takes you, unwilling, for the first time all over again. This time though, he’s taken something you’ll never try to understand, never try to forgive. He wasn’t even drunk. He was there tonight while you were alone and hurting. 

He says something again. You have no idea what. You hear the timbre of his voice, feel it in your bones, and don’t care what words formed from it. You sit dazedly in front of the toilet when you’re finished, staring blankly ahead and wishing you would just die. What did you do? Why do you deserve this? Why is it you living through this right now? 

“Get out,” you whisper. Almost too quiet to hear yourself. You come back again. Not completely, but enough so that you have to feel every ounce of hurt in your veins right now. 

“Sweetheart, please listen to me—” 

“Get out.” 

He comes closer, too close, trying to decide if he should get you up or let you stay down. 

“Baby, please get up so we can talk, I—” 

“Get out! I fucking hate you, get out!” Your tears have dried, but your wail makes it sound like you’re still crying. It makes your heart clench in a way you’ve yet to experience as the words come out of your mouth, but you can’t take them back. You don’t even know if it’s true, but it feels like it is right now. 

Javi stops for a moment, and you think for a second that he may actually listen. But then his hands are on your biceps, pulling you up with enough force to make you stand. He has you flipped around to face him and pinned against the counter before you can protest. It doesn’t stop you though, once you get your bearings. 

Your hands are on him now, shoving and clawing and slapping against his arms, his chest, anything to get him away. 

“Get out, get out, get out!” You’re crying the words again, over and over again to drown out anything that he tries to let spill from his lying tongue. 

When his palm stings your cheek, you don’t even flinch. Your breath hitches, but that’s about the extent of your reaction. He can’t do anything now to hurt you more than he has already. 

“Fucking listen to me,” he booms, taking the opportunity of your brief silence to let his words slice through. You’re too tired to do anything, too gone. You stare at him, ready to listen to whatever bullshit he’s going to try to sell. 

“What the fuck was I supposed to do?” He seethes. “You didn’t want to get out of that bed, much less let me fuck you. I did it for you.” 

At a loss for words, you stare at him. Did he hear the words that just came out of his own mouth? 

“You slept with another woman…for me?” Your anger is starting to show despite how hard you try to quell it. It’s a strange type of anger, though, because you find yourself almost wanting to laugh. “You know, Javier, you told me a while ago that I’m a slut, but I’m pretty sure that’s you.” Your tone is cold, ment to cut through skin in a way you’ve never attempted before. 

His jaw clenches, but that’s the only hint he gives away that shows you affected him at all. 

“Don’t say things that aren’t true to make yourself feel better, carino.” 

“Exept you fucking know it’s true, Javi! You fucked another woman! You put your nasty dick inside of a woman who is not me, not your wife!” You know you sound like a lunatic as you yell at him, but you don’t care. You’ve never been so angry, humiliated, and defeated at the same time. It’s an overwhelming rush of emotion. “And you say it’s because I was sick in bed? You fucking put me there!” 

“Not on purpose, fucking christ! You make it sound like I want to hurt you, but you don’t understand that everything I have done since the day I met you, has been for you! It’s about time somebody tells you how much of an entitled, selfish brat you are. I do everything for you, and you don’t give a shit!” 

Out of everything he’s said, you don’t know why those words cut the deepest. But you feel your cheeks heating with embarrassment. Are you acting like a brat? You look into Javi’s eyes, and you can tell the exact moment he clocks what happened. 

“You act like a child, annoying and immature. There’s a reason I have to do the things I do.” His tone is softer now, soft like the tears streaming down your cheeks. You barely feel them. You think your subconscious is fading again, because your emotions start to go again until you’re simply numb. Maybe this is all your fault. 

Through everything, you can’t hate yourself for it this time when you wrap your arms around him, silently begging him to hold you, to forgive you, to stay with you so you’re not alone. You don’t want him to be mad at you, and you don’t want him to really think you’re a child. 

You want to kill that primal instinct that keeps giving in, keeps wanting comfort. This is wrong, a small voice tells you. You know it is. But the louder voice that says you need Javi over anything, is so much easier to listen to. It loves to tell you that maybe if you forgive these things, you can make everything good again. Maybe Javi can forget, too, and you can be happy again. 

It takes longer this time for him to tuck you to him, but when he does, it feels like you can breathe a full breath again. In and out, in and out. He’s here. You can put everything that happened tonight in a little file in the back of your head, push it away, try to forget it. All you want is for things to go back to the way they used to be, so you let yourself pretend. You aren’t sure you can handle anything else right now.

You have a feeling, though, that you’re going to feel very differently in the morning.

******

Series taglist: @corazondebeskar @yorksgirl @nerdieforpedro @axshadows @melaninmommy

@survivingandenduring @kewwrites @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff @missladym1981 @sofiparallel

@koshkaj-blog @sheepdogchick3 @movievillainess721 @jessie8605 @casa-boiardi

@justlulu @iamsherlocked-1998 @hjzghi-blog @glitterymanboy @letstalkaboutshtufff

@untamedheart81 @1nsommia @joelmillersblog @purple-rain8 @callachloe

@mangoslushcrush

[wildlittlefoxsworld]

Matchmakers (Part 1) | The Old Guard | Booker x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader has a friend with benefits in London, but secretly likes Booker. Reader's friend has no time for her, but she's stressed and frustrated. Nicky and Joe know that Booker likes her too, and decided to help the Reader.

Warnings: sexual frustrated!reader, friends with benefits, misunderstandings, anxious feelings

Words: 1.9 k +

Second part

Masterlist

***

You sat on the dining table with your face in your hands in the little cottage near Rome that was owned by Joe and Nicky. You all came here after you had a mission that went well, but you were all really exhausted afterwards. Originally you wanted to stay here for a week and then leave to visit an old friend of you in London, it was still possible for you to have contact to your friends, you weren’t so old, but you were sure it could be only for one or two more years before they would notice that you weren’t aging. But now you were here for thirteen days already, because your friend was on sudden business trip and you had no other place to go.

But that wasn’t the reason you sat on the dining table with fingers in your hair and pulling on the roots a little rougher while you groaned loudly.

“What’s the matter, principessa?” You heard Nicky’s voice and flinched when he sat down next to you on the table. You weren’t aware that he entered the room and you lifted your head lazily.

“You seem very frustrated about something. Do you want to talk about it?” Nicky considered and you frowned. Nicky had a good knowledge of human nature and you weren’t in the mood to talk about your problems, so you just shrugged and your head sink down on the surface of the table.

“Maybe I can help?” Nicky suggested and you shook your head.

“No one could help me,” you muttered.

Nicky laughed about your answer. “For every problem there is a solution. But when you need help, you should tell someone if you want to solve the problem.”

You groaned again. “And how do you want to help me?” you snapped and felt instantly bad to get shirty with him. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled.

“It’s okay. I could search Andy, maybe it’s easier for you to talk to her,” Nicky continued to make suggestions and you burst out laughing in disbelief.

“Andy would tell me to stick myself together. I don’t think it’s a good idea. Then I would rather talk to you.”

“Why don’t you do it then?” Nicky smiled encouraging and you sighed.

“I can’t… it’s embarrassing,” you whispered and you didn’t dare to look in his eyes. He would probably laugh about it.

“Well, I’m sure I heard worse,” Nicky replied seriously with a sly smile. “Come on, Y/N, or I have to guess. I have a clue. You don’t need to be afraid; I’m not going to tell anyone, not even Joe.”

“What you aren’t going to tell me? You have secrets from me, my love?” Joe said playfully pouting from behind you and you groaned a third time burying your face in your hands.

“Is she okay?” Joe asked Nicky worriedly and you heard him moving a chair. He sat down and took Nicky’s hand in his.

“I’m not sure, amore mio, she doesn’t want to tell,” Nicky explained with a still serious voice.

“I’m still here, no need to talk in third person about me,” you grumbled and leaned back with crossed arms over your chest.

Joe laughed and tried to hide it as he clasped a hand over his mouth. “Why are you so mad? Is it your time of the month? Or what is wrong?”

You scrunched your face up in annoyance and turned your head away. “Stop your churlishness,” Nicky scolded him and bopped him playfully. “That’s a delicate topic.”

“Y/N, just tell us and we search for a solution or I just say what I think your problem is.” Nicky was giving you a last chance and you shook your head.

“I can’t be that worse. We can help out in every aspect. We are family, Y/N, we are there for each other,” Joe assured you, but you ignored him and made a huffing noise. You weren't mad with them, you were mad about yourself.

Joe looked helplessly to Nicky and you interpreted Nicky’s gaze, you were in a trap. He wouldn’t let go and you will feel embarrassed for the rest of your immortal life.

“Don’t worry, Joe, you didn’t say anything wrong. I think she’s simply sexual frustrated. I assume your friend in London is the reason for this dilemma and I know he’s too busy to spend time with you,” Nicky deadpanned and your eyes widened in shock. He was good, a good observer and you were trapped. Well, you could always leave, but he wouldn’t stop worrying about you. Nicky didn’t want to be mean or to offend you, but it was still awkward.

“That’s all?” Joe asked confused. “Well, you could visit him when he has free time again or just pick someone in a bar near here. The language shouldn’t be the problem.”

“I don’t like one-night stands,” you answered Joe back and didn’t want to meet his gaze. “Now the cat is out of the bag, but do we really need to talk about it?”

“We don’t have to, but you’re stressed and that isn’t healthy. You need something to release your stress. Did you try something else than sex? Boxing with a sandbag? Running?” Nicky proposed gently and you sighed again.

“I went yesterday and today for a one and a half hour run, but I don’t feel better.” You shrugged again and twirled a strain of your hair between your thumb and forefinger.

Nicky and Joe exchanged looks and you knitted your brow. “What do you have in mind?”

It wasn’t the way you thought the day would go. You talked two hours ago with your friend from London and he would be back on Saturday and you planned to take a flight on the same day. But until then you needed to survive four more days and you didn’t have an idea how to do this.

“Well, principessa, if sports don’t help and you don’t want to be with a stranger, your friend isn’t available anyway; you should maybe spend time with someone you know already.”

You were taken aback for a second and then you shook your head in disbelief. “And who? My only friend with whom this kind of arrangement is possible lives in London. My other friends are female or married.”

Nicky smiled conspiratorial and you quirked an eyebrow. You held your breath and braised yourself for what Nicky was going to say. You hoped he wouldn’t suggest that you should spend some time with Joe and him, because it would be very weird. You wouldn’t agree with this.

“Don’t panic, Y/N. I know you have a little crush, we saw your lingering and admiring gaze,” Joe explained with a mocking tone. But you panicked and whimpered a little. That couldn’t be true. Did they really think you have a crush on them? You couldn’t tell. Yes, you knew them for a while now, but you couldn’t figure out. You gulped nervously and looked at them, expecting the worst.

“I can assure you that your feelings are returned from your crush,” Nicky said with a smile.

“I hope we’re talking about the same person. Yes, I can’t deny that I have a crush on someone, but…” Your voice broke at the end and you bit your lip agitated. Nicky watched you and he noticed that you didn’t feel well with the conversation. He admitted that their words were mysterious and that it made you only confused.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I thought it was obvious… I mean Booker,” Nicky explained hastily and your head fell forwards in relief, placing your hand above your heart.

“Oh god, I thought for the past minutes you meant yourselves,” you responded and laughed assuaged.

“With all my respect for you, I see you as a sister. I love you dearly, Y/N, but my heart only belongs to Joe.”

You nodded in agreement. “That would’ve been so weird.”

“Yeah, we're family, but there we make a boundary,” Joe chuckled and the mood lightened up slightly.

You were so anxious the whole time that you didn't realize what Nicky had told you about the feelings of your crush. “Were you serious? When you told me about… about… Booker's feelings for me. Why are you sure that he does like me?”

Nicky inclined his head and smirked. “He told me.”

“What?… When?… I mean he really told you that…,” you stuttered and couldn't believe his words, yet you knew he wouldn't lie to you.

“Booker… he got very upset… two months ago. That was last time when you left to visit your friend in London. He spoke about how you always run into your lover's arms and someday he will break your heart, because he grow old and you will be always young.”

“He isn't my lover or my boyfriend, we are just friends that, well, you know,” you clarified and Nicky nodded.

“We told him that you aren't in a relationship with him and then Booker said that your friend doesn't derserve you. It was impossible to imagine for Booker how your friend couldn't love you. And he said that he can treat you better, that you deserved to be loved.”

You were shocked and overwhelmed with emotions, to hear those words about Booker's feelings for you. He didn't just like you, he was in love with you, at least you hoped for it. You never imagined that he would return your feelings and you never noticed any sings that he felt mutual.

“Booker really cares about you,” Joe mentioned with a honest gaze to you. “I watched him the last eight weeks. On every mission he was close to you, he protected and always checked first on you. Also at home, he took care of you, looked after of you and tried to spend more time with you. I'm sure you're his priority.”

You got tears in your eyes and they rolled down your cheeks, angrily you wiped them away. You felt stupid that you wasted so much time in London, you could have something so much better.

“I understand why he never said something. I assume he thought that I'm not intersted in him, because I travelled so often to London. I didn't even see that he wanted to spend more time with me. I just thought he wanted to be nice…”

Nicky and Joe simply nodded and Nicky gave you a tissue for the tears.

“What should I supposed to do now?” You mumbled crestfallen and took a deep breath.

“Of course you should tell him!” Nicky exclaimed

“If it's not too late. He could reject me,” you complated the possibility he couldn't want you.

“You will never know if you don't try it,” Joe said convincing. You kne he was right and you nodded nervously.

“Where is he?”

“In the living room working on his laptop,” Nicky answered smiling and nodded towards the hallway that leaded in the living room.

Now or never, you told yourself.

***

What do you think?