#cause i still clock out of existence without warning

[yzzart]

WHEN I WAS LED TO YOU... ── KENJI SATO

── summary: Kenji could get used to his routine, but, only with you by his side.

── word count: 982!

── warnings: F!reader, nothing intense, mention of Emi and Mina, Kenji being a little needy.

“Come on…” — A voice, entering the melody with softness and familiarity, passed through the player’s ears. — “…i know you’re awake.” — The statement was accompanied by a laugh.

Kenji could easily — in fact, completely — conclude that that voice belonged to an angel; even though he doesn't admit to being so religious, openly. — By having his eyes closed, in satisfied tiredness and drowsiness, he was more likely to believe in his conclusion.

Even in unpleasant, unstable situations and, insanely, worries about his life — like worrying about his stats in games, trying not to destroy the city while fighting some monster, and teaching Emi something practical and not blunt — and not wanting to hear or see nothing in front of him, Kenji had his refuge; a place to feel safe and at peace, at home.

“Ken…” — You voice pleaded, with more sweetness and, trying, to mix a little seriousness. In addition to moving between the thin, silky sheets of your body, wanting to get even closer to the boy.

In fact, he could melt into the bed, right there, just to hear your voice crying out to him like that.

Releasing a brief sigh, and pulling a breathing line, inhaling your scent, which was stuck to the pillow, Kenji tried to communicate with a mumble; which even he himself had no chance of understanding. — Perhaps, his consciousness still remained trapped in his sleep.

Because you found his action funny, your laugh, a little more hoarse, enveloped Ken's ears again; automatically forming a placid smile on his lips. — Moving his head, the young boy, with his eyes sensitive to the light, comes across your image resting on the pillow and covered, just enough, with the white sheet.

Sato was mentally grateful for the privilege of waking up every day with this vision.

"Good morning, my love." — You said, without holding back your wide smile; something that captivated and welcomed Ken's chest. — Your orbs moved, without haste or greed, across the boy's face, memorizing, for countless times, every little dot that existed in the region.

"Morning..." — He replied, followed by a yawn and another grumble; a sudden and unexpected movement was caused in the bed, obviously, it was the player's body snuggling against your. — Like he wants to fit in with you. — "What time is it please…?"

“Hm…” — Your eyes crossed the clock next to the bed. — “Soon, it will be 9:30.” — With his head buried in your neck, Sato let out a whimper, causing a tickle.

“It’s not possible…” — He complained, almost whimpering; as a sign of caress, your hand entered your lover's soft black hair, causing affection and tenderness.

The oldest settled down, and, briefly, relieving a growl, memorizing a purr; feeling on your skin, a satisfied smile adored by the attention. — A true paradise for young Sato and he had no problem admitting it.

“I think someone forgot about the interview they promised for today, right?” — He definitely forgets; by the way his head moved from where it was, and how wide his eyes were, Ken had nowhere to run. — “Yeah, you forgot.” — You raised one of your eyebrows.

“Wasn’t it due tomorrow?” — He questioned, still not believing and with some messy black locks standing out on her forehead. — “I’m sure i had it scheduled for tomorrow.” — He rushed into words. — “Actually, i’m not so sure.”

End of the season, therefore, decisive games for the team and more efforts towards a high level of dedication; it also meant several interviews and moments of questioning about the games, his teammates and his personal life. — Sato understood that it was important, of course, it was part of being a baseball star, however, when trying to balance his life as an Ultraman, a player and, recently, the father of a giant baby lizard, it wasn't such a simple thing.

He wasn't alone, not to mention Mina, and, thankfully, he had you by his side. — Trying, as much as possible, and persisting in helping him; even when, thinking about your care and certain risks, he warned you that he didn't need it. — Evidently, the guidelines were not followed, for a pleasant reason. — And now, seeing you taking care of Emi, as if she were your child, lit up Sato's eyes.

“It really is today, Ken.” — You confirmed it and, unsurprisingly, another wave of mumbles and incomprehensible words and rolled eyes. — “At least, it will be the last one before they enter the rest period.” — Your hand moved along Sato's long, strong, bare arm, reinforcing his attention.

“At least there is a bright side.” — He murmured, shaking his head, prolonging his thoughts, at the same time, reusing the contact of your hand against his skin. — “I need to take a break.” — He said, turning towards you. — “Urgently.” — Like a somewhat defenseless creature, he returned to his comfort, now, with his head under your chin.

"I know, honey." — Your fingers stroked Kenji's hair, for the second time, while his arms wrapped around your waist, squeezing you, with the need to keep you close to him. — “And you will soon.” — Subtly, and delicately, your voice soothed him. — “Don’t worry about Emi, i’ll take care of her for today.” — Kenji thanked, once again and mentally. — “And maybe we’ll make a list of what we can do during these days off and she’ll go along with us.”

Your boyfriend's familiar, radiant laugh spread throughout the room, resounding in your chest. — For a short time, Kenji had understood his relationship with Emi and achieved a paternal image; visibly, it wasn't just him. — The small, and immense, baby witnessed you as a second mother.

“Yes, yes, of course.” — He pulled away, coming face to face with you, looking into your eyes, in pure ecstasy and passion. — “You’re the best, dear.” — Bringing his lips to your forehead, Kenji gave you a long, careful kiss.

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

Hii! I love love love all of your finnick fics! Could I please request a fic where reader is also a victor from an earlier game and she is in an established relationship with Finnick. They both get reaped (not the same district) for the 75th games and reader gets critically hurt in the part where the cornucopia spins. Like she falls into the water after maybe being injured and she can’t swim, so Finnick has to risk everything to save her life.

I’m really looking for like a hurt/comfort with a seriously injured reader and Finnick going through hell to save her because he cannot imagine a life without her in it.

Thank you so much if you’re willing to write this or something like it, feel free of course to change anything to your liking!

two souls, one heart | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick refuses to lose the love of his life. your inability to swim complicates things, especially when the cornucopia begins spinning.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: pre-established relationship, heavy angst, drowning, death, bone fracture

notes: thank you so much!!! i really enjoyed writing this, shed a few tears but still enjoyed it lmao. listen to 'beginning of the end movement v' by the newton brothers on repeat for the full experience <3

A quiet nursery rhyme was being sung by the water's edge.

The calm waves around the Cornucopia lapped at the rocks, the blistering sun causing the surface to sparkle. Wiress' voice interrupted Peeta as he mapped out the arena's clock-like wedges in the dirt. Everyone was focused on the map; you should have been too.

Dark blue ripples had your eyes captivated. So tranquil. So hauntingly beautiful. Loving the sea was in your blood, as your District Four was your home. You would think coming from a fishing district would mean your swimming abilities were mastered. In reality, they were practically non-existent. No matter how many times Finnick had attempted to give you lessons, they never stuck.

Neither of you seemed to care though, always too enraptured by simply being in each other's company—feeling Finnick's hands support your body as you floated on the surface...

"Don't you let go of me, Finnick Odair, or I swear to god I'll drown you."

"Will that be before or after you drown first?" he chuckled, though ultimately tightening his grip on your body in an attempt to reassure you.

....hysterically laughing when he got wiped out by a sudden wave...

"No way! I can't—" You broke into a fit of laughter— "I can't believe that just happened!"

"Are you laughing at me, sweetheart?" Finnick asked, trudging through the water towards you, his hair drenched and swept across his forehead.

"Yes!"

You doubled over, knees buckling as you struggled to contain your laughter. Despite trying to put up a serious front, Finnick too let a few chuckles slip at the hysterical sight of you.

"Oh really?"

Just like that, his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you down into the cold water, earning him a squeal just before you crashed together below the surface.

...and washing up on the sandy shore in each other's arms, salty lips capturing one another.

"I'm covered in sand," you murmured against Finnick's lips.

He gave you another kiss before pulling away. "It's okay," he said, pecking your lips again. "I'll help you wash off in the shower when we get back." And then sent you a stomach-flipping grin.

Even though you wouldn't trade those memories for the world, if you had known your life would soon depend on the ability to swim, you would have paid much more attention to the lessons.

Finnick stood closely beside you, his trident digging into the dirt as he gripped it tightly in case of an attack. He had noticed your drifted attention, observing the way your eyes stared at the rippling water, like death was lurking just beneath the surface waiting to drag you down to the murky depths.

He could protect you from most things in the arena, but fear was something entirely different. A trident couldn't defeat the darkness in your mind.

A hand slid onto your lower back, rubbing gentle strokes to gain your attention. Your gaze tore from the blinding blue and settled onto Finnick's face beside you, watching his mouth curve into a light smile. You knew the silent words he was trying to convey: 'You're okay, sweetheart. I've got you.'

For a fleeting moment, the anxiety had disappeared. How could anything ever go wrong with Finnick by your side? The corners of your mouth quirked, preparing to send him a smile in response. But it never came. Something new had caught your attention. The woman by the water was no longer singing.

Wiress had been murdered.

The second Katniss let her arrow fly into Gloss' chest, everything around you seemed to explode into action. Anything that could go wrong would go wrong—Murphy's Law. And it did.

The Careers had initiated an attack.

Charging forward from the waterside was Cashmere, determined to avenge her brother's death. Instinct quickly kicked in and the spear in your hand was sent barrelling through the air and into her chest. As you watched her body slump to the ground, an enraged yell came from the side.

Finnick was fighting Brutus.

With your only weapon lodged within Cashmere's chest, aiding Finnick was impossible. Enobaria revealed herself beside Brutus, displaying her vicious fangs and throwing a dagger that sliced a small cut across Finnick's shoulder. Though the wound was minor, your heart lurched as he cried out in pain.

Before a single thought in your brain could form, your legs were moving. Not towards Finnick, but after Enobaria. Remember who the real enemy is—screw that. Finnick could have died. Your Finnick. He called out your name, his voice hoarse and frayed, but you continued on, hatred fuelling each step. It seemed Katniss and Johanna had the same idea, following behind you with their weapons bared.

Salt water sprayed onto your face, but you paid it no attention. Nor did you notice as the jungle surrounding the island began to blur into one overwhelming hue of green. Only when your body was thrown to the harsh rocky terrain did you realise what was happening.

The Cornucopia had started to spin.

Nothing could compare to the terror you felt as gravity's merciless force dragged your body toward the violent waves surging against the rocks. Just as your lower legs breached the edge, a hand grabbed onto your own. Katniss. She too was hanging onto Johanna whose only lifeline was an axe buried in the rocks.

A moment—that was all you were given to scan your surroundings. Supplies and sharp-edged weapons were flying everywhere. White water was spraying into the air. Finnick, who was thirty feet away, was gripping onto a rock ledge whilst keeping Beetee from sliding into the furious waves. His head turned to the side and even from a great distance, your eyes met.

It was at that moment you knew, you just knew the odds weren't going to be in your favour. God forbid you lived a simple happy life with the man you loved, days spent together on a calm beach. God forbid the Gamemakers gave you one last chance to be in his arms. God forbid you survived.

And with that sudden realisation, the universe, sick as it was, decided it was time.

Your hand began slipping from Katniss's; an unseen tear fell from your eye, and you smiled. A smile of goodbye sent to the love of your life. His face contorted into one of agony, lips moving but you couldn't hear his voice over the roaring waves. Still, you knew exactly what he was shouting.

"NO! NO!"

There was nothing he could do but watch your body disappear into the waves, repeating over and over "no, no, no," and praying his cruel eyes had deceived him. They hadn't.

Dark blue was in every direction you looked. The undertow tossed and rolled your body like a ragdoll in a washing machine and despite your attempts to swim, the surface only seemed to be slipping further and further out of your reach. Darkness engulfed you, so thick that you couldn't tell which way was up or down. That was when the panic set in.

Your arms and legs thrashed frantically, struggling against the water's force, desperate to reach safety or an air pocket. Cold water flooded your throat as you gasped uncontrollably. You screamed as every attempt at breathing felt like fire burning in your lungs. Finnick. Where was he? Where were you? What was happening? Why wouldn't it stop?

Thoughts submerged your mind in terror, and you were powerless to stop them. All you could do was feel. Pain. Fire. Burning

At some point, the Cornucopia had ceased its spinning and your body came to a rest in the water. An eerie calm suddenly washed over you; a sense of clarity stilled your wild movements. This was the end. There was no future. No hope. The world above wasn't yours to call home anymore. You now belonged to the sea.

Of course, your water-logged mind had forgotten that home was where the heart was, and your heart was still beating... above the surface, in the aching chest of another.

Tendrils of hair floated around your face like fronds of seaweed. Rays of sunlight penetrated the surface, turning the surroundings a vibrant sparkly blue. As you sank further down, the water, now a comfortable lukewarm, cradled you in its embrace. It felt safe, like being in Finnick's arms again. Like home.

You gazed at the sun's rays; they looked beautiful. You felt beautiful. But time was running out and the bright light soon began shrouding your entire vision, though not before you witnessed a dark figure dive beneath the waves.

**********

Finnick loved the ocean. He spent most days in District Four down by the beach, swimming, spearfishing, and watching the sun rise and set on the blue horizon. If he believed in reincarnation, he would have imagined himself to be a lionfish or dolphin in his past life, living in an underwater world, free from tyranny and oppression. He loved the ocean.

But that love was incomparable to what he felt for you. So, when he dove into the rocky waters to save you and felt the currents fighting against him, he determined there was nothing he hated more than the ocean. Not as he watched its strong grip drag your motionless body further down below him.

Your back had just touched the soft seabed when he swam far enough down to envelope you in his embrace. He should have swum you back to the surface immediately, but in his distressed state, he couldn't help but foolishly stare at your lifeless appearance. Your skin was blue. It's just the water's colour, he told himself. Your eyes were closed. She's just asleep. Your neck didn't pulse under his touch. She's... She's...

He had no justification for that. Feet planted firmly on the sandy floor, he propelled both himself and you back up to the surface. As Finnick paddled back to the Cornucopia, the others reached down and helped lift your limp body onto the rocks.

"Is she...?"

"Peeta," Katniss quietly reprimanded him.

Finnick paid them no attention. He said nothing but trauma screamed in his eyes. His breathing was ragged and his hands were trembling as he frantically checked your pulse again—in both your wrists and your neck; he even pressed his ear to your chest. All he heard was the waves lapping against the rocks.

"No," he whispered again.

It seemed to be all he could say anymore. No. No, this couldn't be happening. You were just standing beside him a few minutes ago; your eyes were just looking into his. However much he tried to deny reality, it didn't seem to make it any less true. You were gone.

He choked out a rough determined breath, interlocked his hands over your chest, and began pressing repeatedly over your heart. Wet strands of tangled hair were strewn across the rocks like dead seaweed. The usual soft pink accompanying your cheeks was nowhere to be seen, devoid of any life.

"Come on, sweetheart," he muttered before pulling down your chin to blow air into your lungs. The kiss of life. And when nothing happened as he pulled away, he restarted the chest compressions. "Oh, don't do this to me," he begged, voice breaking. "Don't do this. Breathe."

Any moment now. Any moment, your eyes would flutter open, the colour would return to your glowing skin, and your heart would beat with life beneath his hands. Your lips would whisper his name and he would pull you into his arms, where he would keep you safe until the end of time.

"Breathe."

Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Nothing. He did it again. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Silence. Maybe he should've just ripped his heart out and replaced yours with his own. Death would come for him within seconds but hearing something beating inside your chest would've made the sacrifice worth it.

Life would flash before his eyes and your beaming smile would be the last thing he'd get to see. His last thought would be of relief that you were alive.

Johanna rested a tentative hand on Finnick's shoulder. "Finnick, she's—"

"No, she's not!" he exclaimed, continuing his movements. "She's fine. Aren't you, baby? You're fine." He cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your soft skin before he pressed his lips to yours and blew twice. "You're fine."

The golden bangle around his wrist glimmered in the sunshine as he pressed on your ribcage. All he had to do was keep you alive until Plutarch rescued everyone. One simple task and he failed.

"Finnick, we have to go," someone said. Who? He didn't know nor care.

Leave me, he wanted to say. Leave me here to die. Let the Careers mutilate my body, take my life, my last breath, but let it be by her side.

Something cracked beneath his palms and he knew one of your ribs had fractured. His arms stilled, half-expecting you to cry out in pain but then he remembered. And with that sickening crack came a devastating realisation—you really were gone.

A sob erupted from his throat and his head fell to your chest, drenching your already-soaked wetsuit with hot tears. Everything else seemed to disappear. The arena, the Careers who could attack again at any moment, the spectators who were avidly watching. Everything.

It was just him and you. He didn't care that his screams and deafening sobs could bring unwanted attention or jeopardise the group's safety. Any tribute with half a mind would know crossing him in such a state would be a fatal flaw. Even if they did, it wouldn't matter. Nothing mattered. Life no longer had meaning.

Finnick pulled your lifeless body onto his lap and cradled you protectively in his arms, lightly rocking back and forth. His forehead rested against your own, cold and damp. You always were the cold one, needing his touch to light a fire beneath your skin. He loved having you rely on him for warmth, but not like this.

"Come back to me, baby, please," he begged almost inaudibly. Tears were running down his cheeks as he brushed pieces of hair away from your face. His lips were on yours once more, heartbroken and painfully delicate; not to fill your lungs with air, but to fill your heart with his love in the hopes it would be enough to bring it back to life. "Don't leave me."

Pleas, prayers, begs, and wishes flew past his lips, over and over. And then they stopped and Finnick simply stared. Silence fell across the entire arena. The birds didn't chirp, the other tributes remained quiet, and the trees stood still. Even the water had calmed, resembling a perfectly flat mirror.

Finnick only had three words left on his tongue. Three final words to give you, wherever it was that you were. He slowly leaned down, squeezed his stinging eyes shut, and pressed a long farewell kiss to your forehead. His eyes remained closed as he parted from your skin, unable to take another look as he whispered his final goodbye.

"I love you."

And then, for the first time since he had rescued you from the blue depths, he felt his heart beating again. Just like yours was.

**********

There was a voice, distant yet reassuring—a lifeline to consciousness. Black was all there was. Coldness was all that was felt. It was desolate. But that voice... that voice was so anguished yet so familiar and encouraging that it lit a fire inside your chest, warming you from the inside out.

In the distance of the dark void was a figure, their body made entirely out of a pulsating golden light. Each word the voice spoke enhanced the light's brightness. "Come... me, please..." Brighter. "Don't leave..." And brighter.

The light was warm and comforting, just like the voice attached to it. Whoever's voice it was that brought the light resonated deep in your mind, tugging at the strings within your heart.

Your heart.

The thumping in your chest was weak, almost non-existent, but it was still there. Though it seemed time was running out. Pitch-black darkness outweighed the golden light ten-to-one; you could feel its cold breath creeping onto your back. So, you started running towards the figure. Sprinting. Until all that surrounded you was golden.

"I love you."

Water. At first, it came trickling out in two fluid streams from the sides of your mouth. Then suddenly, it was spraying into the air as choked coughs forced the liquid from your burning lungs. Light flooded your vision—not golden and inviting, but vivid and overwhelming.

There was something warm beneath your legs, against your arm, rubbing at your back, holding you in an upright position. While you heaved, dry-retched, and gasped, that soothing warmth remained.

As your airways began to clear and the expulsion of water ceased, your half-lidded eyes rolled around the area. Still dazed and disoriented, you struggled to make out what surrounded you. There was immense rippling blue, vibrant hues of green in the distance, dark rough grey beneath you, and elongated blobs of colour that stood a few feet away.

"Just–just keep breathing, sweetheart." That voice. The one belonging to the figure of light that brought you back. It was madly repeating the same words over and over. "You're okay", "Deep breaths", and "You're alive."

Shaky fingers brushed the stray wet strands of hair from your face. So warm. With the little energy you had, your head turned to seek out the golden light again. And you found it.

The blinding sun shining down reflected off his bronze hair, turning it a divine golden hue. His brows were raised and scrunched together as though he couldn't possibly believe what he was seeing. Deep lines were etched into his tear-streaked skin, evidence of his previous turmoil. Those sea-green eyes stared at you, afraid that if he so much as blinked, you would fall lifeless in his arms once more.

"You're here," he whispered.

Finnick. YourFinnick. Your light.

When your eyes met, a splitting grin lit up his face, made up of an inconceivable amount of raw emotion. You weren't sure what to do—smile, laugh, cry, kiss him? Your mind was scrambled, overwhelmed with love for the beautiful golden-haired man in front of you.

Without warning, your face scrunched up and the tears began flowing. You weren't sure why you were crying. Maybe it was because you had just been brought back from the brink of death; maybe it was because you couldn't believe someone actually cared so deeply about you.

Finnick cradled your face in his hand. "It's okay," his voice trembled, tears now cascading down his cheeks. His smile, however, never disappeared. "You're okay. You're safe now. I'm not letting you go."

He took your face into two large hands, brought you to his lips, and pressed a tender kiss to each tear that rolled over your skin. One of your hands rested over his; the other was placed against his chest, feeling it rise and fall so you could synchronise your breaths.

His arms moved to pull you tightly against him, almost like he was trying to merge your body with his. Or perhaps, it was your soul. You didn't care about the pain aching in one of your ribs. You wanted to tell him that his soul was already intertwined with your own, but words couldn't describe the sentiment as profoundly as you felt it.

In the simplest of terms your water-logged brain could muster, you whispered, "You're my light, Finnick."

Brows scrunched together, he looked down at you, fighting back the urge to start sobbing in your arms. If he had been anywhere else, if there wasn't an entire country watching, he would've gone on for hours, explaining how stupidly, selfishly, and incredibly in love with you he was.

But he couldn't do that. Not now. So, he placed his hand over the one you had resting on his chest and readjusted its position. He could feel the thumping, even through your palm.

Your eyes were full of emotion as you stared up into his. You already knew what his next words were going to be and for the first time since you were thrown into the water from the Cornucopia, you smiled.

Rhythmically, your hand and his pulsed together. Finnick's gaze flickered across your face and he grinned. "You're my heart."

[rhaeheartzsquirrelz]

Nighty-Night!

Ellie Williams x Reader (Modern AU)

Summary: What sleeping and waking up next to Ellie would look like. (Fluff)

Warning: Mentions of sex like one time?

A/N: Enjoy, I wrote this in class! It’s short and rushed 🙁

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ ⋯⋅๑┈•✦

Soft breaths played in the background as you and your girlfriend huddled together into the sheets. It was early winter and late at night, specifically midnight. The weather was perfect. Blue light beeming in from the open window of your girlfriend’s window, it shed light to the dimly lit room. Being the only thing that was on was her mini lamp. Which provided little.

Ellie laid beside you, one leg inbetween yours as she nuzzled into your arms. Facing each other, you wrapped your arms around her and pulled the blanket to her shoulder. She looked like a baby, sleeping like it was her first time.

Your girlfriend had joined you a few minutes ago, why? Because she needed to finish one last round of her game. She was never one for sleeping early, she had rounds to finish. After a stressful match, she quickly turned off her console and came to nestle up beside you— even though she was practically laid ontop of you.

With her body going completely still and relaxed in your arms, she laid happily. Content with having you with her, playing with her hair and occasionally pecking her freckled face. Ellie loved these moments, when you both knew you loved and cared for each other without needing to utter a word. It was sweet.

Your girlfriend was on the verge of sleep, holding onto a thread— more so you— to keep herself awake. She needed to feel you, to not miss another second without you. Her arms tightened around you, causing you to shift closer ‘til the two of you were fully flushed against each other. Ellie’s warm forehead rested on your shoulder as you brushed through her hair. The woody scent of her shampoo fluttered into your nose and you graciously took it all in.

Slowly but surely, Ellie had given up on staying awake. And you couldn’t keep yourself from spoiling her adorable little face with a few extra kisses here and there. On her nose, cheek, forehead, and lips. On the last one, she reciprocated, kissing you back with the little energy she had. A small smile then appeared on her lips before she gave you one last peck.

You’d always had a thing for the way she showed affection, showed that she cared. Even though most of the times she was a sassy little brat, Ellie had these moments where she’d completely melt into you. Showing you her vulnerable and loving side.

“Nighty-night, Babe..” Breaking the silence, she whispered into you with softness in her tone and raspiness in her voice. “Goodnight..” And there it was, that completely relaxed and peaceful look on her, usually tense, face. (Even tenser when she was playing on the console.)

The birds outside chirped with the rising sun. That was you and Ellie’s natural alarm clock. Groggily opening your heavy eyelids, you meet the sight of Ellie asleep and ontop of you. She looked adorable and you couldn’t help but squeeze her squishy cheeks. You could lay there and watch her sleep forever and ever, and ever.

“Morning, sleepyhead..” You whispered out, fingers tangled into your girlfriend’s hair as you tried your best to brush our her disheveled tangles. Knowing Ellie, even facing your back towards her could get you in trouble. Whining would fill the room and she’d complain your ears off. She was needy as a ‘fucker in the mornings, needing to be in your bubble, in your personal space— which she claimed shouldn’t exist in the relationship.

After a few minutes of contently watching your girlfriend, she began to stirr and grumbled to herself. Green eyes landed on your face, admiring you for a second too long before she shifted to nuzzle into your neck. “Hey..” The raspiness in her voice was endearingly attractive, but you kept your focus on her and watched as she pulled the blanket over her exposed shoulder.

“How’d ya’ sleep?” Was the first question you asked her, “Awsome sause, you?..” She shot back, mainly in affection and confirmation.

The only reason Ellie had been sleeping early was because of you. Having someone to depend on was a first for your girlfriend, so letting you wash the stress off her body was appreciated. So much. And ever since you’d moved in with her, she’d forgotten about her console. Rarely on it, she claimed she’d rather annoy you. “What’s that?” She’d ask, peaking from behind you to see what you were cooking up for her. Even reading had become difficult— “So, I’m guessing that book’s more important than your baby?” She’d frown, feigning loneliness so you’d baby her. Speaking of babying, her favourite nickname that you’d given her was that. Baby.

Ellie knew she could be the clingiest person on earth whenever she wanted to be, laying ontop of you and cutting off circulation from your arms. You found it painfully adorable. “Just as awesome as you, Babe..” That was ninety-nine point ninty-nine percent false.

“Mm-hm.. this bed isn’t the best for two people. Surprised you slept good..” She was right, the mattress was definitely loved. A little too much.— Having sex on it multiple times probably wasn’t the best go. “Maybe you need a new one.” You murmured, playing with Ellie’s auburn locks. She let out a soft chuckle and shifted closer. “I’ll look online, pretty..”

Oh, and she definitely would. When it came to you, she didn’t fuck around. As they say, “If she wanted to, she would” Damn right. Ellie gave you everything you could ever want, even though it wasn’t anything too much. Logically, both of you had no business buying expensive watches and purses, especially as young adults. That didn’t stop her from buying you flowers almost every week from her drive home from work. She’d buy you the world if she could.

With a soft huff she raised her head, exposing her groggy expression and messed-up hair. You didn’t tease her, just stared deeply into her eyes, just as she was you. No words were needed in the moment, just comforting silence and warmth. Ellie reached out to gently run her knuckles over your cheeks and stopped by your ear, then her thumb ran down the side of your neck and stopped by your collarbone. Leaving your skin to tingle and your eyes to flutter.

Being stubborn and needy, Ellie had her ways of being affectionate and gentle. Especially in the morning, it was like she had this switch. One moment she was whining and desperately trying to keep you in bed, then, the next moment, she was quietly admiring you. Maybe that was a less.. obnoxious way of her keeping you next to her. It worked everytime, so you really couldn’t complain.

I LITERALLY CANNOT STOP WRITING ANOUT ELLIE, LIKE ITS SO BAD ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT IS HER!!?!??!? AND NOW IM GOING ON PINTEREST TO FIND WAYS TO BETTER MY FANFICS!!!!! Anyways someone save me from this curse.

[ssa-dado]

Annoyingly Yours - SOS

Aaron Hotchner x fem!bau!reader Genre: fluff, angst though it's more like ♫ LOATHING, UNADULTERATED LOATHING ♫ Summary: At 33, Aaron Hotchner prides himself on discipline and control... until you become his deskmate. With quirks that seem to clash against his precision, you’re nothing short of maddening. Even your breathing seems to provoke a visceral reaction in him... surely out of frustration, right? Not out of... attraction?! Warnings: None, just wanted to clarify the story is set in 1998, before Hotch became Unit Chief (Gideon and Rossi were charge instead). Word Count: 4.4k Dado's Corner: Based on this ask sent by the loml @c-losur3. Made a few tweaks because I can. And because I’m evil. Enter Aaron “convinces himself he hates you while secretly nursing a big fat crush” Hotchner. A timeless classic. Hope you like it.

masterlist

“People demand freedom of speech as a compensation for the freedom of thought which they seldom use.” - Søren Kierkegaard

Written in blue gel ink on a neon pink sticky note, it sat smugly atop the pristine case file Hotch had spent hours perfecting the night before.

No signature, no admission of guilt.

Just a bright, audacious square of defiance left to mock him.

In all his years as a profiler, he’d never encountered a case this easy to solve. Hell, he wished his active investigations were even half as simple as this. Because only after approximately half a second of analysis, the profile of the Unsub was crystal clear:

Female. Early 20s. A twisted sense of humor. A fascination with philosophy, particularly the existential, though occasionally dabbling in absurdism. Works in law enforcement - specifically, the BAU. Only writes in blue ink because she needs her words to stand out as much as her personality does. Likely has a compulsive habit of arriving to work early but never early enough to beat him to the office.

And there she was, the Unsub, strolling through the entrance just as the clock struck 6:01.

“Good morning, Hotch,” you said without even glancing in his direction, as if you somehow sensed his irritation wafting across the bullpen.

You were the Unsub.

His polyglot, sarcastic, sticky-note-vandalizing deskmate.

Case closed.

“Why did you leave me this?” he scoffed as his fingers carefully peeled back the neon pink square from the folder.

The glue resisted just enough to be infuriating, threatening to leave a smear on what he privately considered his masterpiece - a report so cleanly written that it might one day serve as the gold standard for FBI rookies.

And now, his file, had been vandalized.

It bore your mark.

“Educational purposes,” you said airily, as you dropped into your chair facing his own, a complete lack of regard for the disruption you caused just by existing in his vicinity.

He despised it.

That your desk had to face his, ensuring that every time he so much as lifted his gaze, he was met with the perpetual source of his unease, was nothing short of torture.

Why couldn’t you be like his last deskmate? That moron at least had the decency to leave him alone unless absolutely necessary.

The most small talk he’d ever inflicted was the occasional, self-congratulatory monologue about whatever barely-legal college girl he’d managed to con into bed last Friday night with the oh-so-irresistible revelation that he was FBI.

At least after spewing his bullshit, the guy would shut up and return to his self-inflicted misery, no doubt haunted by the limitations of his pitifully small brain.

You, instead, were far too smart - too sharp for your own good, really - but still your humor was as broken as his own. You had the same, if not more, level of drive. And for some inexplicable reason, you shared his obsession with arriving early.

It was maddening.

It was his thing - his small act of rebellion against a world that had always expected more from him than he could give.

His hours of solitude before the office filled with noise, before the madness and the demands of others hijacked his peace. Those few precious hours were his escape, his refuge, where he could think, where he could breathe.

But no, you had to show up too. Every damn morning.

“Educational purposes?” He echoed flatly, regretting, for the hundredth time, that he ever encouraged you to speak before his second cup of coffee.

“Yes, Hotch. I’ve never seen you use a sticky note,” you retorted, as if your reasoning were completely rational and not mildly absurd. “So, naturally, I assumed you didn’t know they existed. Thought I’d be kind of me to introduce you to the concept.”

“You’re hilarious,” he deadpanned, the sarcasm sliding off his tongue with a sharpness that matched the ache now forming at his temples. “I know what sticky notes are. I don’t use them because they’re impractical. They always leave glue residue, it’s annoying.”

Since for some reasons he felt the need to emphasize his point, he held up his sacred notebook - a worn, leather-bound treasure he treated like an extension of himself. “That’s why we have these. To take proper notes. Like agents. Not middle schoolers.”

But you didn’t even flinch.

Instead, you leaned back in your chair, the movement slow and casual, yet just enough to make him irrationally nervous that you might tip over. “They don’t leave residue if you close the case fast enough. The glue won’t have time to dry. But I guess if it takes you ages to solve something, that’s not really the sticky note’s fault, is it? Sounds more like a problem with the agent.”

His jaw locked so tightly it was a wonder his teeth didn’t crack.

The nerve of you.

He hated how his body betrayed him like this, the faintest tingle at the back of his neck, the way his pulse faltered and then stuttered, because his decision to remain silent didn’t let his voice do the stammering instead.

Oh, he wanted to argue.

Desperately.

To lay out an irrefutable case demonstrating, that the fault lay not in the man who would undoubtedly climb the FBI ranks faster than anyone dared imagine but in the cheap adhesive some factory somewhere had slapped onto your stupid pack of hot pink sticky notes.

And all he wanted, absurdly, was to prove you wrong.

Not just wrong. Spectacularly wrong.

But instead of offering a retort worthy of his reputation, he exhaled sharply, forcing his jaw to unclench.

He leaned forward slightly, his dark eyes locking onto yours, narrowing into the kind of look that could silence seasoned agents, suspects, and even Gideon when necessary.

Yet somehow, it had no discernible effect on the 21-year-old profiler sitting across from him - the one who’d been in the BAU for barely three weeks and already seemed impervious to his most withering glares.

As if in response to his futile attempt at dominance, your smirk widened, as though you could hear the unspoken debate raging in his head. Worse, it looked like you were enjoying the fact that you’d managed to rattle him.

And God help him, he felt rattled.

“How many of those sticky notes do you have?” he finally asked.

Your response was almost immediate.

“As many as you need,” you said as you pulled open your top-right drawer – the drawer that had come to symbolize everything he couldn’t categorize about you.

It housed your so-called “essentials”: pencils, a collection of elastic bands you had an infuriating habit of launching at him when the mood struck, and the same six markers in various states of decay - probably relics from your high school days. There was a stapler in there too - one he had to admit, with no small amount of shame, he borrowed from time to time.

But then there were the other items. The ones his categorically organized brain couldn’t quite justify sharing space with stationary essentials.

A box of tea - the kind of black tea with a scent so strong it practically sucker-punched him from across the desk every time you brewed it, chocolate bars that mysteriously appeared and vanished like contraband…

…and, as it turned out, the dreaded sticky notes.

They were hidden beneath the tea box, of course - because why not force him to think about the assault on his nostrils that would begin precisely three hours and twenty-seven minutes from now?

You lifted the box, revealing the fluorescent pink squares of doom, a shade so bright it only made the pain going on in his head since the first moment you opened your mouth today even worse.

“I only have hot pink, though,” you announced, holding the sticky notes up.

“…And?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. “Am I not allowed to use hot pink? Do you have a problem with that?”

“On the contrary,” you said, your lips curling into that infuriating smirk again. “I’m impressed. I thought you’d whine about a color demasculating your sacred reports.”

He felt his pulse thrum in his ears at that.

He almost - almost - wanted to tell you that you were looking at a man currently wearing pink socks under his neatly pressed slacks. A pair that had, unfortunately, turned pink during his first solo attempt at laundry in college and had somehow managed to stay in his rotation all these years, as a reminder that even the best could make mistakes.

But he didn’t.

Not because he was embarrassed - he wasn’t - but because he knew you’d twist it into something else entirely, another jab, another laugh at his expense.

And the last thing he needed right now was more of this.

Whatever this was.

Instead, he picked up the hot pink sticky notes, tapping them against his palm. “I’ll take them, we’ll see if it’s really the agent’s fault."

By mid-morning, to his reluctant surprise, the sticky notes had become one of his favorite tools - not just for their undeniable practicality but because they gave him the perfect weapon to deliver a dose of your own medicine.

And you deserved it. Absolutely, unequivocally deserved it.

After all, it wasn’t him launching elastic bands at his deskmate with sniper-like precision at ungodly hours, the faint thwack cutting through the quiet bullpen as the band landed squarely in his lap, while he was clearly trying to work. This, from the same person who’d managed to fail their firearm certification twice

It wasn’t him leaning subtly - though not subtly enough - to sneak a peek at his case files because your own workload wasn’t challenging enough to hold your attention. Still too new to the team, you’d only been sent into the field once, a prisoner of the bullpen and endless paperwork. Yet, despite the monotony, you remained undeterred, tirelessly determined to prove your worth at every possible turn.

And it certainly wasn’t him disrupting the flow of the day by asking if his coffee needed refilling when he was clearly already immersed in work, only to return moments later with an extra steaming cup - and a piece of chocolate from that drawer - placing it without a word on his desk like it wasn’t an unnecessary intrusion. Because you were just kind like that.

It wasn’t him rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, the fabric bunching unevenly around his elbows - a motion so predictable it had practically become your tell when you were wrestling with a puzzle more stubborn than the agent that solving it.

Nor was it how your forearms inevitably transformed into impressionist paintings of smudged blue ink, the accidental artwork often bleeding onto the cuffs of your shirt, leaving the unfortunate soul seated across from you utterly derailed from whatever he’d been about to jot down, unable to look away.

It wasn’t him who dressed like that.

Had a brain like that.

A voice like that.

A face like that.

No.

It wasn’t him. It was you. And that was the problem.

Because for all his irritation, for all his carefully constructed disdain, he couldn’t stop noticing. Couldn't stop looking. Couldn't stop… what exactly?

…Right.

Couldn’t stop scribbling down his meticulously crafted revenge, which he would plant squarely on your desk the moment you wandered off to refill your coffee.

“We are all born ignorant, but one must work hard to remain stupid.” – Benjamin Franklin

Thought you might enjoy something to ponder while you’re busy ignoring the typo you made on page 7, line 15 of your report.– A.H.

He placed the sticky note precisely in the center of your desk, ensuring it was impossible to miss. Satisfied, he returned to his seat, feigning an air of indifference as he watched you from the corner of his eye.

It didn’t take long.

He didn’t look up when you arrived, but he heard it - the subtle shift in your breathing, the gasp as your eyes widened. The pages of your report rustled as you flipped through them, and the sharp exhale that followed told him you’d found it.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, more to yourself than him.

Never had a sound been so soothing to his ears.

And yet - he should have known better.

He barely had time to blink before the loud thud of your hand slamming onto his desk jolted him upright. He looked up to find you standing over him, your eyes gleaming with a smugness so infuriating it made him want to wipe it off your face.

His gaze darted down to the sticky note you’d slapped in front of him, and -

Oh.

Hotch stared at it. Then stared some more.

There, in all its crude glory, was what could only be described as a "creative interpretation" of a very specific part of the male anatomy, staring back at him from the bright pink square.

“The proportions are all wrong.” He deadpanned.

And then you, with all your infuriating composure, leaned on his desk.

Close. Too close.

"Oh, I’m sorry, Agent Hotchner," you said, raising a brow. "If you want it anatomically correct, maybe next time you should hand me a reference photo."

His brain short-circuited.

For a horrifying moment, he couldn’t think of a single word, but only at the implication of what you said… you couldn’t mean that… right?!

“Not yours!” you blurted out, your hands flailing in a frantic attempt to erase the moment. “I didn’t mean- I wasn’t asking for- I just-”

"And I certainly wouldn’t-" he cut in, his own voice breaking due to the sudden clumsiness of his own tongue.

But the damage was done.

Your cheeks turned the same vivid shade as the neon pink sticky note still plastered defiantly on his desk. He felt his own face burning, and the back of his neck prickled uncomfortably, like his own body was actively rebelling against him.

Both of you were way too stunned to say anything that wouldn’t somehow make it worse.

Hotch’s mind raced for a way to defuse the situation, but every possible response felt like it would either escalate the embarrassment or reveal… something he wasn’t ready to confront.

And then, mercifully - or perhaps not - your survival instincts kicked in.

“I’ll just… uh… get more coffee,” you muttered, backing away from his desk like it might physically combust if you stayed a moment longer. You turned on your heel, clearly aiming to escape the bullpen as fast as humanly possible. “Do you want some?”

He blinked, thrown off by the question. “Yes, thanks. Black,” he replied automatically, his voice still a little stiff.

As soon as you were out of sight, he allowed himself to crumble. His left hand dragged across his face, fingers pressing against his temples as if they could massage the ridiculousness of it all out of his brain.

Stupid. The whole thing was so stupid.

A slip of the tongue, a misstep, blown completely out of proportion.

And yet, here he was, sitting at his desk, undone by a pink sticky note and a fleeting moment of awkwardness.

With a low, frustrated groan, he let his hand drop, hitting his forehead against the heel of his palm in a futile attempt to snap himself out of it.

Focus. He needed to focus.

He stared down at the open case file in front of him, its neatly typed words mocking him with their clarity.

He knew they were legible - he’d written them himself.

But right now, the letters blurred into meaningless smudges on the page, overridden by a far more vivid image - your face.

Flushed. Wide-eyed. Flustered.

This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

Just a joke, he reminded himself. Just a stupid, ill-timed joke.

And yet his chest still felt tight, his pulse erratic, like he’d run up the stairs two steps at a time.

His gaze flicked to the sticky note still sitting on the edge of his desk, as bright and offensive as the moment it had first been slapped down in front of him. Without thinking, he grabbed it, crumpling it in his fist.

There. Problem solved. Gone. Out of sight, out of mind.

He could move on.

But then his hand stilled, his grip loosening as he stared at the crumpled ball of paper.

His pulse still raced, his mind still spiraled, and all because of… this.

A rational man would throw it away. Rip it into pieces, toss it into the trash, and let it become a fleeting, forgotten memory.

He should throw it away. He would throw it away. Any second now.

But his hand didn’t move.

Instead, and against every shred of common sense he prided himself on, Hotch smoothed the crumpled edges as best he could and opened his desk drawer, tucking it far into the back, behind a few other things he pretended not to care about but couldn’t quite get rid of.

Hidden away, out of sight.

Safe.

From what? From you? From himself? He didn’t have the answer, and he didn’t dare linger on the questions.

Instead, he closed the drawer with more force than necessary, ignoring the faint tremor in his hand - but even as he turned his attention to the files in front of him, the pink still lingered in his periphery, an afterimage burned into his mind.

Of your flustered face.

Adorable.

So adorable that, over time, that sticky note became far from the only item inhabiting that drawer.

Aaron Hotchner - the very man who had once scoffed at your so-called “miscellaneous essentials” drawer - now secretly had one of his own.

A collection of odd, seemingly random things: items you had given him, thrown at him in moments of boredom, or those ridiculous little tokens you’d started exchanging lately that blurred the line between teasing and genuine thoughtfulness.

Because that’s what deskmates did, right?

They shared. They joked. They exchanged these odd little tokens of camaraderie that somehow made the job less crushing.

Except this felt like something more.

Maybe you were more than deskmates. Maybe even… friends?

And he wasn’t the only one who noticed.

Gideon, had been starting to observe the two of you like he was profiling a particularly complex unsub, his sharp, knowing glances making Hotch feel like a bug under a magnifying glass.

Then there was Rossi, who took an almost perverse delight in making his observations less subtle. "Synergy," he'd say with a pointed smirk, the kind that made Hotch’s jaw tighten. "It’s a rare thing, you know, finding compatibility like this. Magic, really."

They saw something. Something neither of you was ready to admit.

And ominously - no, deliberately - they decided to exploit it.

Because that’s what bosses did.

The BAU was chronically understaffed, perpetually fighting against the outdated perception that profiling was glorified guesswork. The pay wasn’t anything to write home about, either. Most cases were worked from behind desks, saving the budget for the bigger field assignments.

But what the BAU lacked in glamour, it tried to make up for in partnerships - teams so seamlessly synchronized they became the backbone of the unit.

Apparently, you and Hotch had become one of those teams.

What had started as two distinct desks - two well-defined territories with clear boundaries - had slowly morphed into one chaotic shared space.

A 5’x5’ no-man’s-land where it was impossible to tell where your workspace ended, and his began.

Like now.

The oversized map of your current case sprawled across the desk, forcing you both into closer proximity than either of you would normally allow.

You were perched on his side of the desk, tracing potential paths and patterns, completely absorbed in piecing together the unsub’s geographical profile.

He told himself he was focused. Jotting down victim locations. Marking points on the map with  little red magnets.

Totally immersed in the task at hand.

Except he wasn’t.

Because the occasional brush of your arm against his felt electrifying in a way it had no right to be.

Because your voice, low and steady as you murmured your observations, felt less like background noise and more like the only sound in the room.

And yet, this closeness, this seamless partnership, felt natural.

Effortless.

Distracting as hell.

So distracting that by the time he placed the last magnet, he realized he’d miscounted. One victim left, and no magnet to place them.

“Hotch,” you said softly, your eyes scanning the map, “It looks like we might’ve missed a pin for Daniel Hardman.”

How diplomatic of you.

How unnecessarily kind, considering it was entirely his fault.

He’d miscounted the magnets - a mistake caused by a momentary lapse in focus when, mid-count, you casually asked him if he wanted to go watch the first Star Wars prequel with you next year.

It wasn’t just the advance planning that sent his mind reeling - though the thought of you penciling him into your future like that was disarming enough - it was the fact that you remembered he liked Star Wars.

A detail you had no business remembering, and yet, somehow, you did.

“Yes, sorry. There are more in my drawer,” he said, standing quickly to fetch them himself. But before he could stop you, you were already at the drawer, pulling it open.

“It’s the second one-” The words barely left his mouth before he heard the gasp.

“…from the top,” he finished weakly, already knowing what you’d seen.

There they were. Your tokens. In his drawer. Staring right at you.

The gun casing from the bullet you’d proudly handed him after finally earning your firearm certification on your third attempt. You’d declared, almost giddy, that you’d never be a burden to him again, and maybe it was his lessons, you’d added shyly, that had helped you finally overcome it. He wasn’t sure what had struck him more: the pride in your voice or the fact that you’d thought of him at all.

A framed solo photograph of the two of you from that year’s Thanksgiving spent stuck in the bullpen, drowning in case files while Rossi and Gideon insisted on a makeshift dinner with takeout. You hadn’t hesitated for a second, throwing an arm around him for the picture and leaning into him like it was the most natural thing in the world. For you, maybe it had been. For him, it had been anything but.

Every single elastic band you’d launched at him -143, though he’d never admit to counting.

A single stray hair tie - the one you’d used to tie his hair into a ridiculous fountain one day when his fringe had gotten so long it kept falling into his face. He’d left it like that the rest of the day, silently cursing himself for how much he didn’t hate it.

An unopened pack of hot pink sticky notes, the only color he now allowed himself to buy, though he’d never admit why.

And, of course, every sticky note you’d ever left him, arranged in chronological order - except for one.

The “caricature,” the crude drawing that had started his ridiculous collection. That particular sticky note hadn’t stayed long in the drawer. Somehow, it had made its way home with him, “inexplicably” framed and placed on his bedside table.

It now sat next to his alarm clock, the two most irritating objects in his life.

Both constant reminders of things he couldn’t seem to escape - one for its relentless insistence on dragging him out of bed every morning, and the other for how it made him feel every time he looked at it.

And now here you were, looking up from the drawer, eyes wide. “Hotch…”

He tensed, his pulse quickening with each step you took toward him… what were you doing?

Without a word, you opened your drawer—the infamous "essentials" drawer he thought he knew like the back of his hand.

Except this time, its contents had changed.

Because right on top, perched like a cherished keepsake, was a photo he hadn’t known existed.

Another one from that Thanksgiving night.

The one photo taken moments later, when you’d decided, in your infinite ability to wreak havoc, to joke about “capturing a moment” and had wrapped your arms around his head, holding him still as you planted a kiss on his cheek.

His expression in the photo was pure indignation, eyebrows furrowed in protest - though it also captured the deep rouge spreading across his cheeks.

“This one is my favorite,” you said, laughing as you held it up for him to see. “You’re so red in it, it’s hilarious.”

He stared at the photo, feeling the telltale warmth creeping up his neck, threatening to betray him all over again. His ears burned as he managed to mutter, “Never been kissed by a woman before.”

The words hung in the air for a beat too long.

You blinked, your laughter abruptly halting as your mouth fell open in shock. “Wait, seriously? Are you-?”

He sighed, cutting you off before your pity or disbelief could spiral out of control. “I was joking,” he said, voice flat and utterly deadpan. “I’ve been kissed by women. Multiple.”

You burst into laughter again, this time doubling over. “Oh my God! Why did you say it like that? Multiple! Hotch,” you said, gasping for air between giggles, “you’re killing me.”

“No,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head as he turned back to the map in front of him. “You’re killing me.”

You didn’t hear him, thank God - or if you did, you gave no sign. He wasn’t sure which would have been worse.

A moment later, you were back at his side of the desk, the missing red magnet in your hand. You held it out to him, your smile still warm, still lingering. “For the record,” you said, your voice softer now, “I think it’s kind of sweet. That you framed it, I mean.”

His hand hesitated as he reached for the magnet, his fingers hovering just over yours. Something so simple suddenly felt unbearably complicated.

Delicate.

He couldn’t seem to figure out how to take the magnet without brushing against your skin - not that he didn’t want to.

He just wasn’t sure if he should.

“It’s a good photo,” he said at last, his voice quieter than usual, his eyes flickering up to meet yours briefly before darting back to the map.

Safe. Neutral.

But you didn’t retreat.

If anything, your smile only grew.

“Yes,” you said, voice just as quiet. “It is.”

---

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 06. TIME CAN NEVER MEND

a/n: so before you dive into this i'm gonna warn you that it's not happy. we have reached the level of angst needed to start this story on it's final arc. the one that changes basically everything. i've put a lot of angst into this, because that's what it called for and well...if you've been here for awhile you know i love my angst. i'm sorry beforehand and can promise a happy ending. but these two have to suffer first.

summary: logan howlett is happy. he's content. by all definitions...he's found the reason for why he's still alive and it all leads down to you. yet time is a fickle and cruel being and she's decided his time for peace must come to an end.

word count: 7k+

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, angst, a heaping of angst so bitter you will yell at me, oral (f receiving), face riding, overstimulation, wade wilson, mutant powers, violence, tw: blood, tw: gore, trauma resurfacing, ptsd, insanity, tw: torture, cliffhanger, BE WARNED PLEASE DON'T SKIP OVER THESE.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | SERIES MASTERLIST

Silence filled his mind, darkness an endless expanse behind his shut eyes. He couldn't remember the last time the world fell quiet. Piercing through him with a serenity he fought his entire life to acquire. Nightmares were an expected routine that came to him constantly with a bitter echo of things he couldn't change; people he never saved.

He couldn't recall sleeping without them. Not since he was a sickly child in his father's house—fighting fevers that were caused by a mutation he didn't know existed.

Eventually the world would rip a part his bubble of safety—expose him to horrors he never thought imaginable. He'd struggle against it. Bite, snarl, fight his way through the pain like an animal who'd been caged for far too long. There would be no light at the end of his tunnel. No peace for the man plagued by promises he longed to break—a vow he didn't intend to make.

Only to be found by the one person he thought was lost to his world.

A love that lingered in the shadows of his heart. Bringing back the flame of a torch that blew out the night he lost everything.

He awoke to the warmth of your body tangled with his. His heart didn't race with the anticipation of a battle that didn't exist. His claws were safely stored away in the depths of his arms, and for the first time...his soul didn't scream in agony for help that would never arrive. You shifted with a puff of air, a grumble building in your throat at the morning chill. He watched in rapture—his fingers trailing down your spine.

The clock read eight in the morning. Plenty of time for you to sleep in given it was your last day off. So Logan remained still in order to not disturb your peace. He sucked in slow breaths as you pressed your cheek to his chest—arm wrapped around his waist and legs tangled with his. Each small shift of your face, the furrow of your brows and quickening of your heart, let him know you were trapped in a dream.

Good or bad he couldn't tell.

What did you dream about? What ran through your mind when sleep washed over your body?

He made a mental note to ask when your eyes finally cracked open. The spell of sleep lost, retreating to the depths of your mind till later. But for now he admired the shape of your face, the lilt in your eyes and curve of your lips. You were a painting come to life. An art piece stolen right off the walls of The Met.

How he managed to wind up here, waking up beside you, continued to baffle him the longer he thought about it.

Surely he committed too many atrocities to deserve this. Too many lives lost by his claws, too much pain wrought by his own actions. He shouldn't be allowed to lay here, holding you close with a reverence that he thought was lost to the tragedies of his past. He once counted the days until his death. Marked them off with a tally that seemed to only grow the longer he went.

Now he thanked whatever higher being existed for giving him this.

For gifting him you.

Another soft grunt left your parted lips, nose scrunching in distaste as you were roused from your sleep. He smiled at the sight of your eyes fluttering open, confusion flickering across your features for mere seconds before it all came rushing back. The time spent with Logan ravishing your body in this very bed, in the shower you shared. The sweetening ache between your thighs that practically called his name.

You sighed, glancing up at him with drowsy glazed eyes and a crooked smile. "Morning," you rasped, voice thick with sleep.

His heart twisted in his chest. A feeling he could only describe as love began to filter through his veins like an IV. Filling him with the fear that usually came with that four letter word—the terror of possibly losing this. He swallowed it down painfully, his hand moving to press at the base of your spine to pull you closer.

"Sleep well?" he rumbled, dipping down to catch your lips in a kiss.

The shower last night left your skin warm to the touch. Logan found he couldn't get enough of it. He curled himself around you, drawing your leg up to hook around his waist as a way to keep your skin against his. You hummed in appreciation, pushing your face up to meet his movements in kind.

Sunlight spilled into the bedroom with a familiar warmth. The window was shut and locked after yesterday's phone call. Yet the muffled echo of the world managed to slip through the cracks in the wood, echoing in your small bubble of serenity he longed to stay in. This felt like a hazy dream. One that clung to the edges of his mind, dripping small slivers of joy into his heart.

Logan longed to remain here. Buried in the bed with you wrapped tightly around him.

Eventually you parted with a soft gasp, your hips shifting subtly to relieve the ache that began to bloom and unfurl in your body. Even though you had more than your fill of him yesterday, you remained insatiable.

He couldn't say he was any better—his cock already twitching in interest. If he had his way neither of you would find the need to leave this bed; far more interested in how many more orgasms he could wring from your still spent body.

"I like this," you murmured against his cheek, fingers delving into his messy hair. "Waking up with you."

"Me too honey." He grinned when you kissed his chin, thumb running along the edge of his jaw.

A soft breath washed along his skin, sending chills down his spine. "How did you sleep?"

"No nightmares."

He felt you smile. "Are you lying to me Howlett?"

Fuck if you weren't the last thing he wanted to see at night and the first thing he was welcomed to in the morning. Something sharp pricked his chest, bleeding him of the doubt that might still remain. Lingering beneath the surface of too many broken promises and shattered versions of I love you.

This happened before. A love so deep he felt it solidify into his very mutant DNA. Back then he thought it would one day come to an end; finalize when he fucked up too many times for you to forgive.

Now he knew there was no end to this road that wound up with him alone. No version of the story where he sat at a bar somewhere in the back roads of nowhere, lamenting about a woman he once wanted to spend forever with. Whether he stayed young and you grew too old; there wouldn’t be a final page without him in your life.

What transpired here would knot the strands of fate together. So if one was sliced for the final vow of death. They both went together.

"I'm not lying," he confessed. "I didn't really dream of anythin' this time around."

You hummed, eyes opening to see the contented shine in his hazel eyes. "Don't tell me. It was because of me."

"I think it might be bub." His teeth nipped at your bottom lip, hand curving to cup your ass. "Guess you're my cure. Been lookin' for awhile."

"My bad Mr. Howlett," you breathed through a soft laugh that clenched around his chest. "I didn't mean to take so long, but you were kind of in a different universe."

"Technicalities."

"Yeah right! Technicalities my ass."

He dragged you across his lap with a muffled groan he pressed to your chest. "Could’ve found me all on your own honey. You just weren't looking properly."

The high gasp that filled the air left him with a gratification worse than his satiated hunger. He longed to devour you with a need that felt primal. As if the animalistic side of his body craved the taste of you spread along his tongue. You were the answer to every fuckin' prayer he sent out. The embodiment of what his heart had been missing.

"You're right." Your words were shaky, eyes growing dark with lust when you felt his cock press against your slick folds. "I'll do better next time."

He growled, low and desperate; his hands now clamping down on your hips until pain flickered beneath the surface of your already tender skin. "There'll be no fuckin' next time."

"No?" The grin on your lips made him leak against your thigh. "I'm sure there's more than one James Howlett in the infinite number of universes. And who knows, you might not be enough to satisfy my insatiable needs."

Rolling to his back, he took you with him, even as you yelped in an attempt to pull away. You were trapped against his body with no chance of escape, yet running from him was never a choice. This was your safe place. Against his body that offered warmth and solace—a promise of more wrapped in a gentle touch and heated kiss.

He tugged you up his body, smacking your ass as you climbed to sit on his chest with a breathless smile. The sight alone made Logan's heart stutter. His eyes wide with awe—a semblance of adoration that existed solely for you.

"Insatiable huh," he mumbled against your thigh. "Alright honey. C'mere then."

"For what?"

His thumbs indented the skin of your hip, a smile curving over his lips. "I haven't had my breakfast yet."

The realization dawned on you slowly. Your eyes widened, scent growing heavy in the air, and Logan longed to stay here for the rest of his life. Beneath the weight of your body on his—the comfort of your hands cupping his face. Your slick pooled on his chest; a sign that you were in fact interested.

"A-Are you sure?" you breathed.

His teeth sunk into your wrist gently, causing you to jolt. "Fair's fair baby."

Your own words caused heat to spill beneath your skin; you shifted—eyes wanton for what was about to come. "Touché."

Shifting up higher with a hesitancy that turned his mind feral, you situated yourself close to his mouth—barely hovering over his face. With a growl, he looped his arms around your thighs and yanked you down. His mouth sealing over your dripping cunt with a moan of satisfaction. The cry that fell from your lips made his cock twitch against his stomach; the heady tang of you exactly what he longed for.

He was messy with it. Devouring you with abandon, tongue slipping through your folds with little grunts that sent sparks down your spine. When he sucked your clit into his mouth you were done for.

"Oh fuck Logan-" The breath caught in your throat, head tipping back with each swipe of his tongue along the pulsating nerve.

Without realizing it, your hips began to drag along his mouth, chasing the quick building release that threatened to drag you under. He growled—fingers a bruising grip on your skin—with each swivel of your hips. High pitched moans echoed in the room loud enough to resonate through the whole of your apartment.

"Please-" Logan watched—eyes drooped and a red flush across his cheeks—as your body curved towards him, your hand gripping the top of your headboard. "'M gonna. Fuck, fuck, fuck-"

His tongue plunged into you, thumb snaking around to rub harshly against your clit. The long drawn out moan he mumbled into your cunt is what finally broke you. Ripping the release from the base of your spine as you cried out—your hips nearly suffocating him with how you pressed down on his tongue.

Aching for whatever he had left to give you.

Logan drank you down with stunted moan, his cock leaking into the trail of hair on his stomach. But he couldn't fucking care about that. Not when you were gifting him with a nectar that would put the gods ichor to shame.

"Oh...baby," you murmured, eyes staring at the way his cock jumped each time his tongue slid against you.

Before he could turn you away—explain that he was okay and push it off as a natural reaction to you—your hand was wrapping around him. The wet slide of his precum now enough to fuck into your fist with ease. He'd allow you to touch him for a few minutes before deterring you the kitchen. Give you a fill of what need still remained.

He was perfectly okay with finishing himself off.

What he didn't expect was your thumb to settle between his balls, rubbing at a spot that made him see white. A broken feral sound echoed against your inner thigh—his teeth clamping into the skin—as he came across your hand. Spilling down onto his stomach and hitting his chest with a withered shout.

You rolled off him, panting and covered in a sheen of sweat. Logan could barely feel his fucking legs.

"The fuck was that?" he rasped, eyes cracking open to blearily see your prideful smile—teeth digging into your bottom lip while you eyed the mess on his torso.

"How'd it feel?"

"Like my fuckin' body isn't workin'."

You giggled, soft and sweet. A stark contrast to the way you made him cum fast enough to put a hole in his heart. He'd never gotten off so quickly. Yet there you sat, leaning against your pillows, and staring at him as if he'd hung all the stars in your night sky.

He very well would have if you asked.

"I can cook this morning," you offered, snuggling back against his side with a contented sigh.

"Just give me a minute honey and I'll get us food."

"You don't have to cook."

He silenced you with a kiss, your body melting into the mattress at the taste of you on his tongue. "Rosemary's. They still sell breakfast?" When you nodded he planted a kiss on your forehead. "Alright. Soon as the feeling in my legs returns I'll get us some food."

"Okay," you laughed with a kiss to his shoulder. "I like the sound of that."

The television blared loud enough to bounce off the neighbors walls. A loud and rather obnoxious theme song for a reality show. A steady stream of muttered cuss words overlapped the music as another piece of wood clattered to the floor. The screws with it scattered on the shitty coffee table found in the back alley of the building.

"Ugh. Don't hand over the rose!" Wade shouted, throwing a handful of popcorn at the screen. "Clearly they don't belong together. For fucks sake. I swear the bachelorette always settles."

Althea sighed, fingers sliding along the wood in search of a single screw that might be near. "I thought you said you wanted to help me with this."

"I am!" he mumbled through a mouthful of popcorn. "Moral support. You're doing great, just a little more to the left. Almooooost got it-"

She grumbled snatching up the silver piece, locating the wood by her feet. "Next time I'm evicting your ass so you can find someone else to annoy."

"Hurtful. Who else would provide you quality entertainment better than moi?"

"A rock."

"Wrong." He shoveled another handful in his mouth. "I've worked with the man. Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson is not as funny as he might appear. And starring in Fast Five doesn't count." His eyes flicker to the side, smile forming around his swollen cheeks. "To be honest I couldn't tell who was who between three bald men. Clearly that franchise has a type."

"Clearly I need a better system."

"Well of course you do. The shelf is upside down. No, the other way. No. The other way-"

A blinding flash of blue light burned through the living room, searing a hole in the hardwood floor. Wade clambered to his feet, gripping the ceramic bowl with white knuckles. His heart hammered in his chest, mouth dry as he scanned the room for some form of defense.

The closest weapon remained his katanas, propped against the door frame leading to his bedroom. He glanced at them—calculating whether to leap now or wait.

A whip ignited in blue sparks flew from the gaping hole in the air, striking his body and forcing him into the air. He hit the wall with a grunt; the bowl now severed in two on the floor.

"What the fuck!" he groaned, stumbling to his feet. "Al! You okay?"

"Who did you piss off this time?" Althea called, gripping her cane as he staggered towards her, leading her to the bedroom.

"Some fucking Asgardian apparently." A quick glance back revealed someone stepping through—their body encased in ripples of sapphire. "God where's Thor when you need him?"

The bedroom door slammed shut, Althea locking herself in as Wade yanked the katanas from their sheaths. He half expected to see the face of a pissed god coming to enact revenge. He felt his body tense as he prepared for a fight. Only for a hood of blue and gold to be pulled back; your face staring directly at him with milky eyes of white.

"You're not Asgardian."

A sneer crossed other you's face as the whip snapped against the floor, rippling in the space around him. He felt it tug along his body, aging his face with spots that wouldn't show up for decades to come. They healed as you pulled the weapong back; the blue wrapping its way up your arm.

"Where is he?" Your voice bled with a bitterness that punched his stomach. An anger he once felt before.

Whoever stood before him now was not the sweet angel he knew. The scarred skin along your body explained enough of what he needed to know. This was a sign of who you once belonged to. Who the humans hunted. The embodiment of time had become their prey, their plaything. You were the lamb given up for slaughter; the lover scorned and tossed to the side by a man who ran to a different universe.

"Mind giving me a name?" Wade knew who you were asking for. But he also knew Logan lay across the street wrapped in the arms of a you who couldn't protect him.

Your eyes narrowed, the flicker of blue flashing in what used to be the iris of your pupil. "I believe you know him as Wolverine. However...I knew him as Logan."

"Right." He gripped the handle of his swords with cold palms—his eyes flicking to the side where his window was pulled wide open. "Have you tried the yellow pages?"

A scream tore from your throat as you charged—whip sliding across the floor to wrap around Wade's legs. He rolled to the side, katana cracking through the floor to steady his movements. He cursed under his breath at the sight of the burn marks that now spread all the way up to his ceiling—the flicker of your whip lifting in air again.

"Listen you Wonder Woman wannabe. I'm sure we can talk this out rather than fucking me in the ass with the deposit of my apartment!"

Your lips curled into a grin—teeth flashing white. Wade could practically feel them dig into his jugular; all too prepared to rip it from his neck if given the chance. This wasn't a battle to see who could make it out alive. This was a warriors death.

This was you being merciful.

"We had a Deadpool like you on my Earth." He tried to dodge the slice of your whip, but felt it clamp down on his arms, yanking them forward as your hand cupped his chin—nails plunging into his cheeks until blood sprouted to the surface. "Annoying. Less than average IQ. I had such fun sending him to the Void."

The dull throb of pain bit at his face the harder you clutched him. Eyes still a flash of sapphire on an otherwise empty pale eyeball. In the picture Logan showed him, this wasn't how you looked.

The scar that ran from your forehead to chin seemed new—barely healed over. You were nothing like how Logan described you. No light in your smile, no hint of hope or joy.

Whatever happened left you buried so deep in grief and pain there was no chance of digging you out.

"On behalf of my people...fair. We aren't intelligent collectively as a group. Individually we're probably...not better. But as Deadpool Prime-"

"Fuck you're even more annoying than your variants," you growled.

The whip looped around his body, growing with heat as blue flickered in his vision—pulling tight each time you wrapped it around your wrist. His wince of pain brought the malevolent smile back to your lips. Your milky white eyes flashing as you watched him intently. Waiting for a sliver of anguish to cross his scarred face.

Instead his body twitched, a groan ripping from his throat. "Is this the lasso of truth?"

You sneered. "It's a slice of time."

"Because yes, I did steal Captain American themed condoms from the gift shop at the Smithsonian. I thought they would make me fuck like Steve Rogers. But instead they just gave me a rash-" His words devolved into a piercing scream—the once bright hue of his eyes now fading the more his body aged.

The katanas clattered to the floor as you drew him closer, wrapping the whip around his arms tight enough to slice off his blood flow. He struggled—face red and teeth bared—to rip himself free. To stop the aging of his body before it was too late.

He'd endured pain before. The travesty of each wound his body would heal over still burned bright in his mind. But this felt as if he was being crushed under the weight of the universe. The strangled scream you pulled from his chest left him sagging against the hold your whip had on his limbs. Eyes bleary with tears as you stepped back and pulled.

Limbs tore from his body, blood pooling on the floor, as his arms were flung across the room. Blue fizzled in his vision, body struggling to stand upright. And you turned with a flourish—the flutter of energy pouring out into the room around you.

"I'm not going to ask again Wade Wilson."

He weakly laughed. "Look Doc Brown I can't help you with your revenge plan."

The tilt of your head shouldn't have looked so innocent. But all he could see—all that ran through his mind—was a version of you that remained loving. Hopeful. The variant who gave Logan a reason to live. Wade wasn't about to let that slip through either of their fingers; you were too vital to give up.

Even if it meant he might never heal from the one wound that threatened to shove him directly into Death's hands.

Time.

It remained his greatest enemy. Yet there he stood, facing it with a smile.

"Pity." You snapped the whip on the floor, advancing on his broken form with a grin. "Send my regards to your fallen variants."

"If I find a way to come back from this. Expect me to fuck your ass up." He sighed, shutting his eyes. "That sounded wrong. Do I get a do-over on last words?"

He stiffened, waiting for the blow that would be delivered without mercy. But you stopped. Froze in place as you looked out the window—body stiff and breath caught in your chest at the sight. Wade's heart dropped when he turned, staring directly at the you he knew. The lovely angel who stood near the window wearing Logan's flannel, a mug of steaming coffee in your hand and a smile on her face.

"Fuck," he spit, moving to step in and block your view.

No words were spoken, but Wade could feel the anger fall from your body in waves. A rage that made him sick to his stomach. Not only did you arrive in search of your lost lover. But a mirror image of a healthier—a happier—version of yourself stood in an apartment across the street.

"Wait. She didn't do anything wrong. She doesn't know anything-"

Your hand flew up, a flash of azure blinded him—filling the room—and Wade felt time stop. He could hear the silence, the step of your feet, yet couldn't move his body as you lifted off the floor. Floating towards the window, you felt the particles of time slip through your fingers. Forming a bubble around your form as you broke the wall of the apartment with a slice of your whip.

The agony wasn't unknown to you as time froze; the people of New York stuck in their spots while you remained in the realm you knew well. Yet this pain—this never ending grief—formed like a pit in your stomach, growing the longer you stared at the person who stole your life. The false version that wore your face, loved the man you once claimed as your own.

You were plunged back into the frozen depths of that night. When your family was torn from your life and Logan left you in shambles.

The window shattered, glass stuck in place until you pushed past it, your feet setting down on the floor of an apartment that smelled eerily like cigar smoke. Logan's flannel hung off your variant's body with such ease. Memories of mornings spent like this, indulging in coffee he made as he went off to teach, left a bitter taste on the back of your tongue.

How dare he discard you to the side.

How dare he love you in another universe when you still lived.

How dare he replace you with a new version, not yet broken by his mistakes.

The tears flowed down your cheeks, hot and unforgiving. Yet you could do nothing but watch as the smile on your variant's face burned bright in the room. He made this version of you happy. Yet couldn't be bothered to remember the mutant you. The one who longed for his touch, for his love.

For his forgiveness.

"He loves you," you murmured, gently touching your variant's cheek. "He loved me once."

Time flickered, a mere second being allowed to pass. But that remained enough. Your variant's eyes flicked up, shock forming in the iris at the sight of a battered and destroyed mirror image stand before you. If the iris of your eyes could be shown, the sorrow would bring the both of you to your knees. The anger that dripped into your heart with a vengeance.

Death didn't seem a kind enough gesture for the version of you that got to live her happily ever after.

You wanted Logan to keep her. To try and save her from the depths of your soon to be shared darkness.

The mark on your neck burned as you stared at the spotless skin. Free from the horrors. Free from a past you'd never endure.

You were perfect.

It made bile crawl up the back of your throat. The fear in your variant's eyes filled your stomach with a satisfaction that you clung to. The first glimpse of dopamine after years of fighting the darkness in your own mind.

Your nails scratched along the skin of your variant's cheeks. Digging into the flesh with a smile.

"Don't worry," you murmured, allowing the shackles you held on time to fall away. The gasp ripped from your variant's mouth as you gripped her. It swirled with joy in your heart. "We'll both make him regret his choice."

The apartment greeted him with a sickening echo of silence. He dropped your key into the bowl by your door, the bag of food still clutched tightly in his hand, as he allowed his claws to slide free on the other. His breath stuck to his chest, the hair on the back of his neck rose with each step he took. Something was wrong. Yet for the life of him...he couldn't find an explanation.

Your scent was stale. An hour old.

Where he expected to find the sweet echo of your heartbeat somewhere in the apartment; he was met with the chilling realization that you weren't here.

"Honey," he called, his voice lower than intended. "You here baby?"

Logan's heart ached when he was met with a response of nothing. Merely air that didn't carry the sound of your voice, nor the scent he'd grown accustomed to. What was he supposed to do when the emptiness was all the world offered? When the echo of his nightmares suddenly bled into reality.

He set the food on your kitchen table, yanking his phone out of his jacket pocket he slammed his finger on your number. The only one programmed into the damn thing. The incessant ring suddenly never sounded so threatening. So malevolent as he waited with baited breath for your voice to filter through the other line. Loud and clear without a single thing to fear.

When the shrill buzz of your own phone came from the bedroom, Logan felt the familiar cold drip of fear begin to slip down his spine. He struggled to maintain his breathing as he walked towards the room. His claws out—ready to attack at whatever came near him.

The empty bedroom—sheets in a laundry basket and comforter a tangle on the bed from this morning—felt like an icy pick in his chest. You weren't here. And Logan knew there had to be a logical explanation as to why this was.

You left for a reason.

You wouldn't simply offer up silence on a silver platter and expect him to take it with a smile.

You weren't that type of person.

Yet no matter how long he wracked his brain, he couldn't come up with a valid reason as to where you might be. Expecting to see you through the window at Wade's place, Logan rushed to the frame. Only to feel the crunch of glass beneath his feet—the panes shattered and crushed on the floor. Your favorite coffee mug severed in pieces beside it.

"No," he breathed, eyes wide and hand plagued with a tremor of fear as he knelt to grip the porcelain shards.

The terror he fought against for so long slammed into his body with a roar. It forced him to look. To see the truth that he could no longer deny. You didn't leave. You weren't gone of your own volition.

You...weren't safe.

"Fuck," he spit, shutting his eyes as the sting of tears began to prick behind his eyelids. "No. No. No."

"How touching."

The sound of your voice made him whip around, eyes wide and heart racing as he prepared himself to apologize for whatever made you leave. But the face that came into his sight wasn't the you of this universe. Pain sliced his gut as the version of you he couldn't save—the woman he would once die for—smiled at him.

"Fortuna," he said in a breath, eyes trailing down your figure encased in ripples of blue. Your eyes were white—devoid of any emotion. Yet he could feel your bitterness; the hatred that still existed from that night.

Your lips formed a pout, boots echoing against the hardwood floor like bullets firing from a gun. "What? No more honey?"

He flinched when your hand came up to cup his cheek. "What are you-"

"Doing here?" You smiled, blue flashing in the iris of your eyes. Logan felt his body sway with grief—the emotions he swallowed for years now hitting him with a force he never thought possible. "Why...I'm here for you baby."

"Fortuna-"

"Don't call me that." You gripped his chin, dragging him down to face you. "That name never used to leave your lips before. Why now?"

"Where is she?" he bit out, claws begging to take a slice out of your body.

Your voice was filled with mirth. Logan had never heard you this way.

So...deranged. Unhinged.

Whatever happened after you left had pushed you past the edge of what sanity still remained. The brink you toed even when you were together. He could see it in the scars that littered your arms, the long mark along your face. You weren't the woman he once loved. You weren't even the same fucking person.

His eyes trailed further, down to the collar of your suit, until he latched onto the scar that nearly had him staggering away to vomit. Burned onto your skin was a mark to represent who you'd been at one point. Who you would forever remain. The X, a stitched over wound that didn't have the proper time to heal.

The humans broke you. They destroyed the woman he once knew.

Logan felt anger burn in his heart at the realization.

"You mean my replacement?" you spit, shoving him away. "And here I thought you were still nursing your wounds in some fucking bar Logan." The whip twined around your waist sparked to life. "Forgive me for believing you cared."

"You're insane." He stumbled back at the first lick of your power stretching to touch him. "Charles warned you about what your powers would evolve into. He begged you not to go down this path."

Laughter pierced his eardrums—the fury biting at his heart as you cupped his cheeks and shoved your face into his. "Do you know who else begged Logan? Jean. Storm, Scott, Rogue, Bobby-"

He ripped himself away. "Shut the fuck up!"

"They screamed for you Logan!" Time began to slow, slip through his body and tear at the flesh that never aged. "They begged me to help them, to stop their attackers. And what could I do? When I was stuck in the future! But you. You could have saved them. You fucking worthless bastard!"

Blue filled his vision, his body sagging against your hold, as you ripped at his mutant gene with a ferocity that left him beyond saving. This was your last play. The final card you never intended to show him.

"Please-" he gasped, refusing to fight back.

How could he? When his heart still called your name, no matter the universe.

You were his. The person who held every piece of his heart to kill on a whim if you so wished it. The woman who he'd die beside.

He just never thought it would be your mutant variant. He never expected you would be the one to deliver that final blow.

Air filled his lungs when you pulled away. His body healing instantly—the spots of age now fading along his paled skin. Whatever you had planned, it wasn't going to start with his death. Logan knew you better than you knew yourself; a fact you seemed to have forgotten.

You may have been kind—loving once. But final grand shows of vengeance were your ploy. No matter the situation...you wouldn't give away the ending even if he begged.

He fell to his knees, gasping for breath. "Where is she? I-I'll...do anything-"

"You love her," you murmured, regarding him with an expression of pity.

"Yes."

"What a shame."

His head rose, eyes wide as time began to slow. "Fortuna-"

"I'll give her your regards Logan." Your lips pressed to his cheek, breath a familiar warm caress against his skin. He felt his heart shatter.

"Fortuna!"

Staggering to his feet—his heart trapped in his throat—he felt time stop. And any hope he held in his heart...ceased to exist.

The crack of wood jolted you from the darkness you were trapped in. Fear trailed up your spine, wrapping around your heart tight enough to blister in searing pain. Your wrists and ankles were bound, body attached to a chair, and you blinked through the haze to see an empty abandoned room. The cold air stung the bare skin of your thighs as you sat there encased in only Logan's flannel—your skin raw from the rope.

Broken furniture was scattered through the room. A couch stripped of its fabric, walls with torn wallpaper, and you leaning against the wall your head cocked with intrigue.

"W-Who are you?" you stumbled over your words, shivering from the cold.

The echo of boots made the hair rise on the back of your neck, your eyes going wide at the sight of blue spilling off this person's frame. There was no need for her to answer. No response to give, because you knew who stood before you. She wore your face. Spoke in your voice and emanated a power you'd only seen once before.

"Logan once called me honey once," she murmured, milky eyes flashing blue. "He calls you that doesn't he?"

You nodded, shuddering as she dropped to squat in front of you, hands braced on the arms of the air. She didn't regard you with anger like before. Though it still lingered beneath the surface, she watched you as if you were someone to learn from. Someone to figure out.

"Why am I here?" you whispered, voice hoarse.

"Pathetic he would choose to love your kind. After what they did.” Fear struck your chest at the malice in her words, the wrath that now faced you head on. “You can call me Fortuna," she murmured, finger stroking down the side of your face. The place where no scar rested—no mark of torture that echoed from a past she couldn't escape.

"Please." The sting of hot tears burned your eyes. "I don't know what I did-"

A bark of laughter ripped from her throat. "Oh sweetie. You didn't do anything." She stood, loosening the whip from her body. "You're merely collateral damage. No need to take it so personal."

"Collateral-" You gasped as the whip flicked forward, wrapping around your waist. "Wait! Y-You're the woman Logan loved. He told me about you."

The smile that curved her lips forced nausea to the surface of your stomach. "Yes I suppose he would. So guilt ridden by what he couldn't do."

"It's not his fault."

Another laugh had tears slipping down your cheeks. "Did he tell you that?"

"He didn't have to. The humans were the ones to kill your family. Not him."

The whip tightened around your body, pain slicing at your skin. "Oh I'm very well aware of what the humans are capable of."

Scars littered her skin, some larger than others, and suddenly you understood what happened. What she meant by it all. Logan couldn't save her. He wasn't able to keep her from the human's harm. Because he decided to wallow in his own grief than share in hers.

Fortuna had become Logan's worst nightmare. His walking shame that continued to haunt him even in this universe. No wonder he felt so afraid of what might happen the longer he remained with you.

"Do you know this place?" She glanced at the room—the staircase that was tucked away in the corner that led to a second story. "An old farmhouse near the mansion. Abandoned here, but not where I'm from."

"It's..."

"Ours."

Your heart dropped, tears spilling over faster than you could stop them. "Oh..."

"He didn't mention that part did he human?" She stepped closer, leaning over your cowering form with a smile that you felt tear at your heart. "We were going to live here together. You see...I have the one thing you will never be able to give him." Her hand cupped your cheek, wiping at the tears with rough strokes. "I will never die."

You shook your head. "He doesn't-"

"Care?" She clicked her tongue, disappointment flooding her features. "He'll say that now human. But what happens when you're sixty? Seventy? What happens when you outlive the Wolverine? What will he do then?"

"The Logan I know wouldn't leave me because of time."

"I am time," she snapped, gripping your chin. "I have lived as long as he has. I will continue to live even longer. Time means nothing when you are the physical embodiment of it."

"No-"

Wrapping the whip around her clenched fist, she pulled until the power began to split through your nerves. A sob broke past your cracked lips, pain burning through your body, lighting you with a fire only she could put out. She watched with a smile, her power flickering to life as the years began to seep from your body.

Second by second.

Minute by minute.

She stole what little time you could have held with Logan. What might have existed now began to bleed into the air as her whip cut into your skin. The crimson stain of blood seeped into Logan's brown flannel shirt, staining the fabric permanently. A scream tore from your throat—eyes squeezing shut as you tried to block out the sensation that intended to ingrain itself in your mind.

"You are nothing but a replacement." She yanked another inch of the whip closer to her chest—blood pooling beneath the chair and seeping into the wood.

"PLEASE!" you screamed, body wracked with tremors that weren't there before. White began to seep into your hair, streaking down to the base in a long strip—staining you with an age you might never reach. "Please! I-I'll do anything."

She tutted under her breath, her face now at your eye level. "That's where you're wrong. You can't do anything that hasn't already been done honey."

Tears blurred your vision. "W-What?"

"He wouldn't save me." Silence echoed in the still air of the room. The pain slowed to a dull ache as you slumped forward. "So I'm going to make sure he can't save you."

"N-No-"

"Like I said...collateral damage."

Your scream pierced the air like a knife, shattering what peace might have remained, as time began to form around Fortuna. Permanently altering the future that once shone with a light by plunging it into a darkness with no escape. And you were trapped in the center. Unable to claw your way free, to break from the one thing no one could run from.

A hell of time’s own making.

note: i am sorry. we will have a happy ending. just not yet.

[rose-lunaire]

Hi!! How you think Hannibal and Will (separate) in a situation where the reader is a nurse and for some reason she finds with them and both falls madly in love with her? Like they follow her, admired her and simply adore her??

brace yourselves, ‘cause it’s gonna be a long one! thank you so much for this idea, i had a great time writing this, enjoy <3

pairing: wiill graham x reader, hannibal lecter x reader

warnings: stalking themes, a lot of blood and inaccurate medical descriptions

(Y/B/T - your blood type)

hannibal lecter

it was a really nasty case, bodies carelessly abandoned in a forest, like a beast haven’t finished feasting on them

by the time hannibal and will arrived, it had already turned into a bloodbath

the culprit, ambushed in his agony, shot at the fbis weakest link: the two consultants

the older man suffered a concussion and wills leg was repeatedly pierced by bullets

it was jack who rushed the to the hospital, knowing damn well it would take hours for any ambulance to arrive

hannibal kept insisting he’s fine, but the policeman was having none of it

he collapsed on the hospital floor

the man woke up to the rhythmic sounds of the operational room: monotone beeping, a clock idly signaling its presence

“you gave us quite the scare, doctor lecter”

a soft timbre brought his closer to consciousness, but an excruciating headache soon followed

torn between slumber and awareness, he groaned quietly

“doctor lecter? can you hear me, doctor lecter?”

the voice soothed his aching body, poured life and yearning into his soul

he squinted his eyes, as from a blur of white light came to life an angel

hair of raphael’s venus, rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes worthy of rubens’s paintbrush, steady and powerful pose of velasquez’s infants

they were perfect like doryphoros or artemis of versailles, sculpted by apollonius himself

the stoic warmth radiating from their eyes couldn’t compare to debussy’s finest works

hannibal felt the sudden urge to take this light with him and never let go

to protect and worship it like gods of ancient times

his killings are not in vain, they are a token of adoration, a promise for a better world

for them

for so the angel wouldn’t have to suffer existing in between such impure souls

he’s always on the lookout for any people in their environment who might have foul intentions

he’s eternally great full to have met them and shows his feelings in subtle ways, like leaving home-cooked meals for them, a note full of gratitude always attached to the gift

he once used his connections to move them to a different department, so that they wouldn’t have to work so hard

they’re his muse, his god(ddes) and he’s just a lowly apostle

he wouldn’t dare bring them into his world, it was too cruel, too dangerous for such a radiant creature

but believe me, he’s always there, a loyal knight guarding their safety and happiness

will graham

he was losing a lot of blood

one of the bullets came through his leg, cutting through his aorta and no amount of pressure could stop the bleeding

his mind was getting fuzzy, but still stuck in painful awareness

he remembered having been sat on a bed, the sting of a needle and helplessness in the voice of a surgeon

“we don’t have enough type y/b/t blood for the operation”

as the anesthesia was wearing out, will felt an unfamiliar presence next to him

calm and unsuspecting, a nurse was sleeping in the corner of the operation room

he finds himself attached to a blood transfusion set

will rested his head in his hands, tired and almost ashamed

the nurse had their sleeve harshly tugged on the forearm with a welt straining their delicate skin

he perceives himself as repulsive and unworthy, yet they gave up their own blood without any hesitation

he’s deeply moved by their dedication

he can’t seem to draw his eyes away

“i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to stare” - he panicked

“don’t worry about it”

they were graceful even in exhaustion, it send chills down wills spine

maybe it was a crease they a smile painted on their face or the eyes scrunched in kindness and warmth, he didn’t know but in that moment he fell in love

he would ask a million questions about the equipment and the surgery, then their daily life and work

it brought him peace and reassurance and the conversation seemed to flow naturally for hours

after he left the hospital, he often called them

a confusing wound? he calls. a drug found on the scene? he calls. hannibal is hosting a dinner party? he calls every time

his heart is desperate for closure and they provided it, never asking questions, just being there for him

there was one time when a dog got severe diarrhea and vomited a lot, and will was scared it may be parvo or other dangerous dog disease

he called almost immediately, for help and comfort of his favorite person

after this incident he became paranoid when they weren’t around, so he does everything in his power to keep them at arms length

will means no harm, but he simply can’t imagine his life without them

[kmgkmg]

HELLO MERRY CHRISTMAS - LEE SEOKMIN

word count: 2.1k…

pairing: seokmin x gn!reader

synopsis: a situationship with seokmin turned in to something more with the help of some mistletoe...

genre/s: fluff, non-idol!au, friends-to-lovers

warnings: suggestive and flirty but nothing actually happens.

rating: pg

a/n: long time since i wrote so i might be a bit rusty! this has been a v loose idea for the past year or so but inspiration hit so i wrote it tonight! the title is based off of hello merry christmas by gsoul! happy holidays :D

“I’m telling you, it needs more flour,” Seokmin whispers at a volume loud enough for you to hear. Despite the objections, his hands held the bowl in place sturdily while you fervently mixed the cookie batter.

You frown and momentarily stop mixing. “And I’m telling you, we’ve already added nearly twice the amount of flour than the recipe called for.”

Seokmin stops nagging, realizing he was probably the cause of your failed batch of cookies. Joshua’s birthday party is less than a day away and while you got your present for Joshua weeks ago, Seokmin’s present was as good as non-existent due to delayed shipping. So here the two of you were, baking sweets for your friend’s birthday as it snowed outside. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

You stop whisking, finally breaking your focus on the bowl. As you think of an answer for him, you can’t help looking at the sad creation in the bowl in front of you. “We should just scrap this Min…” 

He resists the urge to squeeze your shoulder. Well, if he had the choice he would hug you tight, telling you that your attempt to help was enough and never let go. Especially after seeing how cute you became every time you focused on something. But, he wanted to encourage you, not scare you off. Silence fills the room. Minus the occasional meows from your cat. Seokmin frowns as guilt creeps up since he knew you worked a full-day before offering to help him. You look up to him, curious of his unusual quietness.  

He snaps out of it, trying his best to not act like a complete fool from your sudden eye contact. “But you were so passionate about this recipe, Y/N!”

You nod, agreeing and suspecting nothing. It is true you wanted to try this recipe out. Your eyes drift to the clock: 6:47. “Can you go to the store and get some more chocolate chips? They say the third time’s a charm, right?”

Seokmin flashes a big smile your way before ruffling his hands in your hair. “Exactly! I will be right back.” 

Without even getting a chance to thank him, he’s put on his shoes and coat and ran out the door. You smile to yourself while throwing away the disastrous cookie dough. Despite practically being on death’s door when you came home, seeing him enter your apartment instantly made your fatigue fade. Determined to keep the first batch, you turn from the counter to look into the oven. 

After confirming their status, you double check the timer on your phone. Seeing the remaining time, you plop down on the couch. For the first time since eight this morning you were able to relax, not before noticing Seokmin’s scarf. You text him, worried about him turning cold. 

You have to get better at dressing warmly! Min, the easiest way to catch a cold is not dressing warm enough :(

Within seconds your text is read and he replies: The chocolate chips are in possession, checking out now. It’s crazy busy because of Christmas though.

That is not the main point, Lee Seokmin! 

Okay, how’s this: If I get sick, then you’ll just have to nurse me back to health  ;) 

You close the messages app, still processing his text. For safe measures,  you toss your phone to the opposite side of the sofa. You were still unable to deal with his flirting. No matter how many times you hang out, he somehow manages to leave you flustered. You reasoned that it was his personality and that he acted that way with everyone, but seeing him with your other friends made you doubt that conclusion. Sure, he is playful and lovable regardless of who he interacts with. But the flirty vibes that you picked up from him seemed to be exclusively directed at you. Then again, all your friends knew you were prone to getting ahead of yourself. You brushed off your thoughts, vowing to overthink less in the new year. 

Maybe calling Joshua to see his favorite cookie flavors would be productive. The phone rings a few times before you hear a familiar voice. “Joshua, hey, um, if you were to receive any food what would you want?”

Joshua chuckles, knowing your motive behind the question. “To be honest, I don’t like being gifted food. I can’t really mask if I hate the taste of something and I know how much effort goes into cooking, you know?”

You’re speechless, wanting to deny reality. All you can think about is the past almost two hours that you and Seokmin spent baking. “Yeah, totally!” You squeak out. 

“Didn’t you brag you got my gift like a month ago, though? What’s up with this last minute plan?” Joshua asks, his amusement evident in his voice. 

“Hey, my gift is killer, don't worry. Seokm-” Your hand flies to cover your mouth, shocked by your carelessness. 

“Seokmin? I didn’t realize the two of you talk like that.”

“I mean we hang out more these days…but he hangs out at your place all the time too, right?” 

“Hold on. Seokmin has turned down hanging out the last couple of times me, Seungkwan, and Mingyu have tried to get him to come out. We figured he wanted some time alone…so you’re telling me he’s at your place now?” 

You cover your mouth, realizing you shared something you shouldn’t have again. “He probably had reasons he canceled on you guys. He’s always talking about that time you all went to LA and stayed at your family’s house. You know, I um-I think my timer’s going to go off in a minute for this thing I’m waiting on and uh-”

“My bad, Y/N. I didn’t mean for this to turn into an interrogation. Seokmin usually doesn’t hide things so I guess I just wasn’t expecting the two of you to be so close.” 

“No no, you don’t need to apologize! After all, your birthday party is tomorrow. I wasn’t lying about my timer though, it has about three minutes left…”

“Uh huh. I know you said you got me a present, but you wanna know a better gift you can give me?”

You’re skeptical of where this was leading to. “What’s that?”

“The details of whatever the two of you have going on.” 

“Prepare to be disappointed. I mean there’s nothing going on besides me being delusional about everything he does and says.” 

Joshua laughs whole-heartedly. “I doubt that’s the case. See you tomorrow, Y/N.” 

You mutter a small ‘mhm’, before hanging up. 

“Time to check the cookies…” You trail off, talking to yourself.

Seokmin waits in line, tapping his foot anxiously as more time passes and you don’t reply to his text. Putting his phone away in his coat pocket, he decided to hum along to the music playing on the market’s overhead speakers. Spending Christmas night with each other means nothing. That’s what situationships do, right? As cheesy as it sounds, he liked you ever since you were in college together. The two of you took a literature course together and ever since, he was unable to get you out of his head. Your circles didn’t overlap much until Joshua befriended him in senior year and you showed up to a party that his house threw. He knew he was being foolish acting this way, when you never reciprocate his feelings. Anytime he mustered up the courage to flirt, you would change the subject. Shaking away his thoughts, he placed his item on the conveyor belt. 

Seokmin headed towards the store’s exit, already preparing to venture out into the snow once again. As he exited the store, an employee stood at the entrance. 

“Happy Holidays! We’re currently giving flowers to people who donate for the local animal shelter, would you be interested in donating today?”

His eyes scan the flowers, locking in on the roses sprinkled with glitter. As if hypnotized, he grabs money from his wallet before handing it to the employee. “The glitter roses, please.” Roses might be cliche, but they are classic for a reason. And being non-toxic to cats is a plus. 

He hypes himself up walking back, holding the flowers in one hand and the chocolate chips in the other. The store was not even a ten minute walk from your place. As he enters your apartment building, he takes deep breaths on the elevator. Finally, he opens your door. “Look what I found outside your door!” 

You crank your neck from your fixated gaze on the oven to try your best and see what Seokmin had in his hands. He scurried inside in a hurry and managed to be by your side in no time. He was towering over you, with his shoes and coat still on. The only thing that changed from the time he left is that now he’s completely covered in snow. Well that, and his cheeks and nose were cutely rosy red from being outside for so long. Before even getting to see what was in his hand, concern overcame you. 

“Wait, I didn’t realize it was a snowstorm outside! Oh my god. Hurry and take off your clothes, I’ll warm up some hot tea for you to drink!” You run to your tea collection and fill your electric kettle with water before hitting the start button. 

Seokmin breaks out into the largest smile humanly possible, making his cheeks hurt from it. He attempts to get your attention. “Y/N.”

You take the cookies out of the oven, placing them on the stovetop. Although Joshua would not be getting them, they were cooked to absolute perfection. Your attention shifts to the kettle which is now boiling. Opening the kitchen cabinet door next to the oven, you grab a mug for Seokmin. 

“Y/N?”

“You like goji tea, right? I remember you getting it when we went to that boba place a couple weeks back. Goji tea is full of vitamin C too, so it’ll help boost your immunity!”

Seokmin turns away and fakes a cough, trying to conceal his blushing face from you. Faking a cough was not a smart move though as you worry about him even more. 

You put the mug down next to the kettle and turn to him. Your hand moves on its own as you lightly turn his head to look at you. With your free hand, you place the back of your hand to his cheek, then to his forehead checking for a fever. 

He’s burning up, but it’s not the harsh weather outside to blame. 

“You’re so warm! Can you pour the water into the cup? The goji berries are already in there. You can add ginger for your throat too, let me go see if I have a hoodie for you-”

Seokmin puts the chocolate chips on the counter. He softly takes your hand away from his face and holds it. “Y/N.”

He shows you the roses, having your worry dissipate and turn into confusion. You tilt your head and finally look at him, breaking away from your auto mode. “What-? I mean, why?”

“Sorry to scare you. But I’m not sick, I just turn into a complete mess whenever I’m around you,” he confesses. 

He shyly hands you the flowers and you – still confused – look for a vase to put them into. As you take the flowers out of their wrapping, a familiar plant with white berries falls out. Mistletoe? You decide to be as bold as him, having the past couple of weeks play in your mind you realized you weren’t being delusional. This person in front of you liked you. He was practically screaming it.

You look back at him as he’s leaning his weight against the counter. You clear your throat before saying, “I’m glad I’m not the only one that can’t function properly…” 

Seokmin’s eyes dart up at yours, expecting you to be by the flowers. To his surprise you are awfully close to him, holding the mistletoe in between your heads. You lean in and kiss him to which he does the same, instantly warming up from your touch. He wraps one arm around your waist and cups your face with his other hand. The two of you enjoy the moment for a while more.

Separating from each other, he scratches the back of his head and asks, “Well, would you be okay with being the person I kiss under the mistletoe next year too?”

“What about the years after that?”

“We’ll see,” he shrugs, smiling and kissing you another time.

also here is the overall playlist for this fic! i feel it is very fitting for the szn and wanted to share it for those that would like to listen! happy holidays!

[pedrospatch]

bailé con mi ex l (javier peña x female reader)

summary: After a night out at the club with your friends, you confess to Javier that you danced with your ex-boyfriend and he doesn’t take the news too well.

pairing: Javier Peña x Female Reader

warnings: 18+ only, minors dni. Protective, jealous and slightly possessive Javi, he is a lil toxic, but just a smidge I promise; innocent-ish reader; angst, bits of fluff sprinkled in here and there. Not proofread for spelling, sorry!

word count 2.2k

a/n 📝 wooo, Vee finally popped her Javi cherry. testing the waters with this one, I also have a couple prompts from a while back to still write. it is based on a Becky G song, yes I know she and this song did not exist back in the day (I think? Idk what year she was born tbh) but ANYWAY I just really like the lyrics and plus it’s fiction so who cares lmao. Translations at the end ✨

Tú no me creer��s, pensarás que hay algo más

es difícil de entenderlo, pero no sería capaz de enganãrte

y si te lo cuento

es porque tengo muy claro lo que siento

It was half past one o’ clock in the morning—you had told Javier you’d be home by midnight at the very latest. But a night out at one of the more popular clubs in Bogotá celebrating a close friend’s birthday meant that none of the girls were going to allow you to leave that early without giving you some kind of shit about it, so you had stayed just a little while longer and tossed back another drink or two before finally calling it a night. Your friends still gave you grief about it, but knowing Javier, he would be worried, especially since cartel violence in the region had begun to escalate over the last several months, worsening to the point where Javi didn’t even like you going out to the produce market all by yourself in broad daylight.

You tried to be as quiet as possible as you pulled your keys out from your purse, fumbling around with them in the dark until you’d finally found the right one to unlock the front door of yours and Javier’s shared apartment. You slipped inside and the moment that you did, the lights flipped on, causing you to whirl around and let out a startled little yelp. 

You turned to see Javier standing there, fully dressed in his jeans and a tight red button up shirt with his set of car keys clutched in hand. “Javi,” You breathed out his name as your hand flew to your chest. You shot him a glare. “Jesus Christ, you scared the hell out of me! What in the world are you doing? Why are you dressed—do you have any idea what time it is right now?”

“Do you have any idea what time it is right now?” Javier retorted, raising an eyebrow at you. Part of him seemed to be upset, but the other part of him seemed more relieved than anything. He tossed his keys down onto the small, hallway table and walked over to you, taking your face between his large hands as he kissed your forehead. He let his lips linger on your skin as he reminded you, “You told me you would be home by midnight, amor. You can’t tell me that and then come home almost two hours later. You know how bad things are out there right now. You could have at least called me to let me know you’d be late.”

“I’m sorry, I know. It’s just that the girls were shoving shot glass after shot glass right into my hands and time just got away from me,” You said, placing both of your hands right over his. Your eyes met his dark brown ones and you flashed him a sincere, apologetic look. “I’m really sorry I didn’t call. I didn’t mean to make you worry, Javi.”

He sighed. “Well, you’re home safe now. That’s all that matters to me.” Javier dropped his hands from your face and led you into the living room. “Can I get you anything, baby? Are you thirsty?”

“Actually, I’d love a glass of water,” You admitted, kicking off your black, high heeled shoes before dropping down onto the supple, brown leather couch. You watched him as he padded over into the kitchen. “I didn’t get as drunk as I thought I would, you know.” You added jokingly, “I think my tolerance for tequila is through the roof now.”

Javi laughed as he pulled a glass from one of the kitchen cabinets; he then filled it with water from the jug he’d pulled out of the refrigerator. “But you still had fun, right?”

“God, I had so much fun,” You told him with a grin. “I danced all night, Javi.”

“With who?” He’d asked the question casually, but you could detect the seriousness behind it. 

Your smile faded slightly.

At first, you hadn’t planned to tell him. But Javier was the love of your life, and you would never dare to keep any kind of secret from him.

Still, you knew he wouldn’t be all too happy with what you were about to confess.

Javier walked back over to you, handing you the glass of water. He frowned, noticing the hesitant expression on your face. “What is it?” He placed his hands on his hips, peering at you curiously. “You didn’t dance with any guys, did you?”

“Just one,” You admitted, softly. 

Javier froze a moment, his shoulders going rigid. 

“What?” Through gritted teeth, he demanded to know, “Who?”

The moment your ex boyfriend’s name fell from your lips, the color drained from Javier’s face. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

Setting the glass down on the table beside the couch, you quickly jumped up and held up your hands in defense. “Wait a minute, before you get mad about it, just let me explain—”

“What the hell is there to explain?” Javier nearly growled at you. “That you went to some nightclub and danced with another man? One who happens to be your fucking ex-boyfriend? Es en serio?”

You went up to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Javi, please. Just wait one second—”

He snatched his arm away. “Don’t touch me!”

Your heart sank and you backed away. “Really? You’re not even going to let me explain myself?”

“There’s nothing to explain,” Javier replied coolly. His eyes flickered up and down, giving you a quick once over from head to toe. “I would have never thought that you would be such a—”

Javier stopped himself, knowing all too damn well that he was far too angry to think clearly before letting anything come out of his mouth.

But it was too late.

He could see the hurt that flashed in your eyes. 

“Such a what?” You crossed your arms over your chest, the blood in your veins running frigid. You then raised a knowing eyebrow at him. “Such a whore?”

“I didn’t say fucking that,” he muttered, averting your gaze.

Blinking back the tears that burned your eyes, you roughly shoved past him and went straight into the bathroom. Trembling, you began looking for a clean washcloth so that you could start taking off your makeup.

The sound of the front door slamming violently just a minute or two later caused you to wince.

Certain that Javier was gone, you sank down onto the cold white tile and began to sob.

A couple of hours later into the early morning, you were sitting on your bed in nothing but one of Javier’s shirts. 

You had cried and cried, releasing your emotions until your eyes had gone dry.

You’d hoped Javier would come right back home and talk things out with you, but by the time four o’ clock rolled around, you had given up on that hope. Letting out an exhausted sigh, you were just about to reach out and switch off the lamp on the nightstand next to the bed when you heard the sound of the front door opening and then closing. 

You swallowed harshly as the sound of his footsteps approaching drew closer and closer.

Javier walked into the bedroom, looking surprised to see you sitting there, still awake at this hour. He spoke in a cold tone that let you know he was still upset with you. “I thought you would be asleep by now.”

Even from where he stood, you could smell the heavy stench of cigarettes and scotch all over him.

“I was waiting up for you,” You murmured, quietly.

Javier kicked the bedroom door closed behind him and let out a long sigh. He said nothing else to you as he kicked off his tan boots and began shrugging out of his shirt, tossing it aside.

“Where were you?” You asked him, your small voice breaking through the silence. 

“I needed a drink,” he responded curtly with his back to you.

“We have drinks here, you know.”

“Yeah, well I needed something a lot stronger than what we’ve got.”

Finally, Javier had no choice but to turn around and face you.

The second he did, a fresh tear slipped down the side of your face.

Javier’s stomach sank deeply and the expression on his face immediately softened.

“Bebe—”

You lifted both your hands to your mouth, muffling a broken sob.

“Hell, I’m sorry,” he apologized as he walked over, taking a seat beside you on the bed. He reached for your wrists, gently tugging them away from your face. “Baby, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to get so upset at you, alright?”

“Do you really think that of me? Do you think that I’m a—?” You’d said the word once, but couldn’t find it in yourself to utter it again.

“Of course I don’t, mi vida. I was just angry, I wasn’t even thinking.” He paused, noticing the way you were trembling and reached up to cradle the side of your face in his palm. “Put yourself in my shoes for a second. Wouldn’t you be angry at me if I came home from a late night at the club and told you I had danced with one of my exes?”

“Probably,” You admitted, feeling the envy boil in your lower belly as you thought about him holding another woman in his arms. “But I would have at least given you the chance to explain yourself. I mean, have I ever given you a reason not to trust me, Javi?”

Javier opened his mouth to speak, then clamped it shut.

He’d fucked up.

“Well?” You prompted him. “Answer me, Javier. Have I ever done anything to make you think that you can’t trust me?”

“No.” His hand dropped from your face. He spoke again, guilt lacing his tone. “You’ve never given me one single reason not to trust you.”

You let out a small, shaky sigh and brought your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. “He was at the club with his friends tonight,” You began to explain to him. You noticed the way Javier stiffened slightly; although you knew he didn’t want to hear about how you had danced with your ex-boyfriend, you decided to continue on anyway. He needed to know. “He came up to me and he said hello. We had a drink together and then he asked me to dance with him.” Unable to help yourself, you let out a small breathy chuckle. “We danced to quite a few songs, actually. It was just like old times.”

Javier’s jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists.

Before he could say anything, you lifted one of your own hands to stop him. “He was a great guy, Javier. We had a good relationship, but it just didn’t work out. It wasn’t meant to be. When we broke up, it was amicable and we wished each other best and now, a couple years later, we both have the best. He’s with someone he loves and I’m with someone that I love too.” You offered him a tiny, watery smile. “I don’t have eyes or space in my heart for anyone else but you, Javier. Seeing him again and dancing with him tonight made me realize that I would never even dare to think about jeopardizing our relationship. I love you more than anything, and I would never do anything to betray you.” 

He stared at you, mouth agape.

Oh, he’d definitely fucked up.

Before meeting you, Javier had never been the kind of man to do relationships—because he’d never known how to do relationships. 

Before you’d walked into his life, all Javier knew was meaningless sex with escorts and informants, one night stands with coworkers—regardless of who he fucked, he had always been able to walk away the following morning without any sort of attachment. It’s what he wanted, or at least, it’s what he’d thought he wanted. 

And then Javier met you. 

You weren’t the type of woman who he’d normally set his sights on. You didn’t walk around almost naked like half the women in Colombia, you didn’t smoke, you rarely ever even cursed and only drank when your friends pressured you into it—you had this kind of sweet innocence written all over you, and normally Javier would never look twice at a woman like you because a woman like you looked for a boyfriend; not a fuck buddy and certainly not a one night stand.

Javier Peña had never been boyfriend material. 

He didn’t know how to be in a relationship.

At least not a healthy one. 

Even now, he struggled to be the partner that you deserved. He met your physical needs without a single problem, but your emotional needs were something of a challenge for him. Still, Javi loved you with every fiber of his entire being and he was more than willing to keep on trying to be the man you needed him to be in every way possible. 

“I’m sorry,” Javier murmured again after a while. He reached out, placing his hand on your bare thigh. “I am so sorry, baby. Perdoname, preciosa. Please.”

You placed your hand on top of his, giving him another little smile. “Of course I forgive you, Javi.”

Relieved, he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours. As he began to deepen the kiss, his hands reached out, tugging at the hem of his shirt were wearing.

“Javi, it’s four in the morning,” You giggled against his lips.

Javier chuckled. He pushed you back against the pillows and swung his leg over to climb on top of you. “When has that ever stopped us before?”

“True,” You grinned up at him before pulling him down towards you for another kiss.

;Translations

lyrics:

You might not believe me, you’ll think there’s something more

it’s difficult to understand, but I could never betray you

if I’m telling you this, it’s because I know exactly how I feel

fic:

amor - love

es en serio? - are you serious?

bebe - baby

mi vida - my life

perdoname, preciosa - forgive me, precious girl

[lucky-bucky-boy]

Restless Night

Pairing: MCU!Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: An impulsive phone call leads to a happy ending

Word Count: 1307

Warnings: Slight angst, smut, pet names, little to no (y/n), mentions of missions, lemme know if i missed anything  

A/N: MCU!Peter - I do plan to write something for TASM!Peter in the future but this was just easier for my brain to set up the scene. I wanted to do something different and challenged myself to write something that was more dialogue-heavy than I’ve written in a while. Not my best work, but a little smutty smut bc why not

I do not own these characters. Do NOT repost my writing and/or fics anywhere without my written permission. Reblogs are welcomed and highly appreciated!

The soft sound of the television playing a forgotten movie almost drowned out the sound of the phone ringing, tucked under a pillow and muffled. The sweet cusp of sleep was only moments away, being dragged out by the vibrating as the first call ended and a second came through. 

The near unconsciousness caused forethought to be left behind, grabbing the phone, answering the call, and putting it to your ear. A soft "hello?" was all you could muster. 

"Hey, baby."

A tsunami of emotions flooded through your body, suddenly wide awake and hyper aware of everything that was going on; The television was nearing the end of the movie you had put on, your clock reading 1:32, the lights from the cars passing by casting various dancing shadows around your room.  

"I've missed you, baby." 

His voice was sweet, almost addictive and something you hadn't realized was a need buried deep inside you. You shuffled, forcing yourself up and sitting against the squishmallow he'd won for you on your first time, something you hadn't been able to get rid of. 

"Hi, Peter," you voice was quiet, sleep still etched between the syllables. There was a beat of silence between the two of you, "Peter, why'd you call? It's been 10 months."

Peter let out a soft sigh, you could hear him shuffling around. "Missing you really bad tonight, love. M' on a mission," there was another sigh, "I almost got hurt, like really hurt. Thankfully Bucky was there. All I could think about was you."

"Peter!" You voice was now much louder, instantly filled with worry, "Don't go and get yourself ki-"

He cut you off, "I wasn't tryna get hurt, baby. We got ambushed. We had just went in there for me to copy some information onto a drive. Ended up being some rogue Hydra agents, a leg of them we didn't even know existed." Peter was rambling and he knew it, he was starting to think the reason he called was a bad one. 

You sighed, body riddled with a million different emotions, "Pete, why'd you call me?"

"I miss you," his words had a slight whine to them, "I wanna touch you so badly, wanna hold you and kiss you."

If he was there you would have undoubtedly melted into him. The breakup was mutual, but difficult nonetheless. Between trying to focus on your career and all of the responsibilities Peter had, it was near impossible to maintain a relationship - there was no time for date nights or dinner, no time to sit and reminisce and talk about the future. For months, the only time spent together was sleeping in the same bed, which was almost always disrupted by some responsibility. 

You two loved each other, loved each other more than yourselves most days. But it had become too taxing and tiring, the constant worrying, near lack of support because attention was needed elsewhere. So, after a long, tearful date night gone wrong, the two of you agreed to break up, maybe try again when there were less things counting on you both. 

Peter regretted it immediately, but he had wanted to give you space, give you time to flourish and not worry about him. He'd asked M.J. and Ned all the time what you had been up to, he would check your Instagram and Snapchat to see the things you were posting and proud of. He did whatever he could to support you from afar. 

But tonight, tonight he dared to be selfish, he needed to be selfish. Deep down he knew it was wrong, calling you up in the middle of the night because the adrenaline was still pumping through his veins and all he wanted was to be with you. 

"I miss you too, Pete." Your voice was soft again, it always was in moments like this. Where the intimacy lay just behind every fiber in your body. 

He hummed, starting to get antsy as he continued to try to figure out how to say what he wanted. "Baby, can you do me a favor?"

"What is it, Pete?" You almost hated how quickly you answered, how eager you were. 

"Touch yourself, sweetheart. I wanna hear you touch yourself."

The gasp that left you was audible. Peter was never incredibly bold, never the type to initiate unless you two were definitely alone. Even in those moments, it was always sweet and loving. But this, Peter calling in the middle of the night, a desperate whine to his words and an insane neediness that make his tone demanding. 

“Baby, if you don’t want to, you can just hang up. I won’t be upset with you.” You could hear some ruffling and the sound of metal hitting the floor. “I just miss the pretty sounds you make, miss the way your face scrunches up, miss the feeling of your skin against mine.”

This wasn’t a command you were going to disobey. He was still rambling, your mind only half paying attention to the honey-like words he was saying. “Do you want me to use my hand or one of my toys?”

He paused for a moment and you could practically hear the smile spread across his lips. “Use your hand, sweetheart. Run you hands across your body like I would.”

You could hear the moment Peter wrapped his hand around himself, a small groan leaving his lips. You listened to him, it being nearly impossible not to. "Wish you were here, Petey," the words slipped out of you as your fingers danced across your skin, sending goosebumps in their wake. 

Your eyes were pinched shut, listening to every whimper and sigh the came through your phone, doing your best to pretend your own touch was his. "Me too, God, me too. Miss kissing your skin, hearing your little gasps when I nip."

"Peter," you couldn't help but whimper, forgoing anymore teasing and quickly giving your clit the much needed attention. It never took long with Peter for you to become needy and impatient, let alone when it had been almost a year since you heard the noises he was making, "I'm not gonna last long, want you so badly," your words were gasped out between soft moans, instant pleasure radiating from your core already making your body warm.

"Me neither, baby," there was a low groan that slipped from him, strangled as he attempted to hold himself together. With every sound you made, he nearly felt like he was in a dream. But he knew this was real, his subconscious hyper aware of the thin walls in the shitty hotel he was holed up in for the night and the super soldier who undoubtedly could hear him. 

A endless stream of "fuck"s, gasps, moans, and whimpers flooded through each phone. It only took a few more minutes before the coil burst and the warmth of your high shook through your body, thighs quaking and chest heaving. Peter followed suit, a breathy moan of your name as he spilled into his hand and all over his abdomen. 

There was a lingering silence as the  other of you recovered, both taking in what has just happened while relishing in the aftermath. Peter broke the silence first, "Need to get m'self cleaned up," he mumbled. There was another beat of silence from him, "I do really miss you."

You hummed your agreement, shifting yourself into a more comfortable position. "I do really wish you were here." 

He huffed out a small laugh, a sound that was laced with relief and contentedness. "I'll be home tomorrow at 4. I still got my key, I'll bring dinner, and we can talk. How does that sound?"

Now it was your turn to laugh, excitement filling every nerve in your body. "It sounds like a date."

[bensonoliviasstuff]

“Turning Page”

Chapter five! “May these memories break our fall”

Masterlist for Turning Page

Bucky Barnes x fem! Reader

Summary: Once Bucky regained consciousness and was no longer the Winter Soldier, all he missed from the 40s was his wife. But maybe she's closer than he thought.

Warnings: English is NOT my first language, so I'm sorry if there are too many errors. A little bit of angst, memory loss, betrayal, trauma, Insecurities. And the best part: Thanos doesn't exist here

Taglist: @capswife @mostlymarvelgirl @scott-loki-barnes @bxckybxrnes24 @alliw27

Beep, beep, beep, beep.

That was what woke you up, an irritating noise that reminded you of a hospital.

For a moment you thought it was the alarm clock, only then did you realize it was your heart rate monitor.

You opened your eyes, Taking a while to process the light that hurt his eyes, the first question that crossed his mind was “what happened?”

Soon flashbacks of the mess you caused after seeing the photo in Bucky's wallet began to appear in your mind, God, you were a mess when you started taking it all in.

You tried to lift your torso just to feel that you were a little unable to move.

You looked down, trying to understand what was stopping you from getting up, and then you saw Bucky.

He was sitting in a chair on the side of the bed, but his metal hand held yours as he slept with his head resting on your thigh.

You smiled, as soon as you laid eyes on him the understanding came to you.

He was alive, he was alive and sleeping in front of you.

You used your unoccupied hand to stroke his hair, letting out a sob as it all hit you.

He woke up with your body shaking because of the sobs, a little disoriented he quickly got up, approaching you.

"Why are you crying? Does your head still hurt? Are you well?" He peppered you with questions and you started laughing through sobs.

“I'm crying because I missed you, idiot” you said, his heart stopped (and he couldn't say if it would start again)

He placed his hands on your face, laughing along with you, you both looked like a mess of tears.

He looked at you without knowing exactly what to say, it still seemed unreal that you remembered him.

He didn't know any word to describe his happiness that wasn't simply an euphemism, you were here, you were his, and he was yours, it had always been this way, and now you knew it was.

“I'm sorry for making you miss me, doll” He asked for forgiveness, feeling that now that you remembered the guilt would consume him once and for all, “Please forgive me, I didn't keep my promise, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry”

He started to stammer out apologies, Would you blame him for not listening to you? Would you feel angry at him for leaving you?

You couldn't control yourself anymore, you've wanted to do this for about... eighty years? seventy?

You placed your hands on his face and pulled him towards you, crashing your lips together and automatically feeling all the happiness in the world, it was immeasurable how much you missed those lips against yours.

He seemed surprised by your sudden attitude, he thought it would take longer for you to reach this stage, but didn't hesitate even half a millisecond before kissing you back.

He pulled you closer to him, you both could merge and it wouldn't be close enough to make up for the time you were apart.

He placed one hand on your waist, squeezing that portion of skin, with the other hand he reached your scalp, moving your head so that the kiss seemed like a choreographed dance that only you two knew the right steps.

He slid his tongue into your mouth, you smiled into the kiss, for someone who had never kissed anyone since 1945 Bucky realized he still knew how to get to your favorite spots.

You only separated when you ran out of air, both of you panting after the most passionate kiss you've ever shared, Bucky pressed his forehead to yours with his eyes closed, you took a look at him, with his red and swollen lips, he hasn't changed anything, you remembered him exactly as he is now.

It made you emotional, the tender feeling of your husband so close to you.

You broke the contact only to hug him, burying your forehead in his neck and being surrounded by his arms like a newborn baby.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault Barnes” you whispered, God! how long has it been since you called him Barnes. “You found me, that’s what matters.”

“Did you ever doubt i would?” He teased, Drawing with his fingers in your upper thigh.

You smiled against his neck, giving him goosebumps a little “I think I have to admit that your funeral made me doubt it a little.” You joked, the worst day of your life was when you and Steve had a funeral without any body

“I will always find you as long as I live, that’s the concept of ‘till death do us part’” He stated confidently.

You sighed, enjoying the smell of your husband, you thought you would never have that contact again. “Bucky... I...”

You couldn’t finish your sentence as a loud noise made you startle and Bucky pressed you tighter against his chest.

"What was this?" Bucky said stiffly, holding you tighter.

You closed your eyes tightly, the possibility entering your head.

Unfortunately you were right.

Bucky held your hand trying to take you to a safe place when the infirmary was invaded, you recognized each of the Hydra agents and wanted to run away.

Your eyes widened as you saw Bucky fighting each of the agents, whatever Hydra did to him all these years, it was bad.

It was obvious that he wouldn't be able to handle them all, but you were also trained, he didn't count on you taking down several of the agents that came at you.

In the time you were here, Bucky only had access to the quiet and observant version of you, it was the first time he saw you in action and it made him lose his breath, you looked even more beautiful as you dropped dozens of men at your feet.

But those agents were already adapted to you trying to turn against them, they knew your every move while you fought, because they were the ones who had trained you all these years, you would eventually always end up rebelling in your time trapped in Hydra.

It took a while, but one of them knocked you down with a blow to the head. “Y/n!” You heard Bucky scream.

You looked at your right and saw him trying to free himself from some agents holding him, there were many.

Bucky was going into despair, but the thought of losing you again did what no amount of adrenaline ever did.

He swung his metal arm, getting rid and punching a son of a bitch who was holding him before.

He was seeing red, not being able to see how many people he knocked out until he realized they were all on the ground.

He turned to you who was curled up on the floor with a bad headache from the blow.

“Calm down doll, we’re going to be fine” he picked you up, taking you to his room via the safest route.

As soon as he arrived in the room, his phone started ringing and Natasha's voice was heard. “come here, now!”

He reluctantly sat you down on the bed “I'll be right back, don't you dare leave here until the compound is safe” he turned to leave but you held his hand.

“Bucky, I have to tell you something…” He stopped to listen, but before you could say anything a loud bang was heard outside.

“I need to go, doll, you tell me later, we will have plenty of time, i love you” He ran to the door.

“But...” he was already far away, shouting for FRIDAY to lock the room, “it’s important...”

You sighed, this was all your fault, Bucky would never forgive you, would he?

You started walking around the room, you had never been in his room.

You looked around, noticing that there was no decoration other than several picture frames on the nightstand.

They were all photos of the two of you or just you, now you remembered all those moments.

Remembering everything now felt like a death by a thousand cuts, all of Bucky's efforts and you still didn't remember him, you would have avoided so much suffering if you had remembered earlier.

You reached his wardrobe, taking one of the blouses and pressing it to your face, You missed him so much, that smell, it seemed like the penny hadn't sunk in for you until that moment, you finally had Bucky back.

The thought was interrupted by someone knocking down the door, you only managed to see a very familiar face before it blacked out.

He would forgive you? that’s what you hoped.

Bucky knocked down another one of the agents, ready to punch someone else when he saw them all backing up and walking away.

He couldn't understand why they were giving up so suddenly, it was as if they had completed the objective.

His eyes widened: you.

He ran faster than he remembered ever running, reaching his room only to scream in frustration when he saw the high-security door kicked open.

He threw a punch at the wall feeling tears welling up in his eyes, it was now that he would kill all those bastards.

He ran downstairs, skipping a few steps as he passed the staircase, his head was clouded with the possibility of losing you again when he didn't even have enough time to processing that you both were together again. Had hurt enough when you were apart, but now that he had tasted your kiss, your touch, your smell... He couldn't lose you after feeling all of this again.

He ran to the exit but Steve stopped him before he reached the door.

“They took her!” Bucky shouted, struggling to get past, but Tony joined Steve in holding him back.

“And what’s your genius idea? Go there alone and without any kind of plan?” Steve said, insisting on keeping Bucky away from the door “Bucky, I’m serious! You know I won't spare any effort to bring her back, but you need to use your head.”

“Oh, I'm using my head perfectly now, enough to know that I'm NOT going to lose her again!” He shouted, letting go of Steve and taking two steps back. “I won't make the same mistakes, I won't lose her again, I won't leave her alone again!” He approached Steve "Last time it was my fault, I left her alone to go to that stupid war and lost everything, I just got her back Steve, so don't tell me what to do!"

This time Steve didn't try to fight, so Bucky walked past him, grabbing the keys to some random bike, he wouldn't let his girl go again, you just remembered him, what if they erased your memory before he arrived? Or worse, what if they killed you?”

That wouldn't be happening, not while he was alive.

[jennaispunk]

A Symptom of Being Human

Summary: An unlikely connection forms between Joel and a new resident of Jackson. (sorry I suck at summaries)

Word Count: 2.6k

Rating: T

Pairing: Joel Miller x OFC (Maggie)

Warnings: fluff, slight age gap (Joel is 50ish, OFC is 40ish), grief, loss of spouse, loss of child, panic attacks, mild violence, allusions to SA but no specific details, possible friends to something more, soft!Joel, please let me know if I forgot anything.

Notes: This fic was inspired by 'A Symptom of Being Human' by Shinedown. When I first heard this song, the idea for this story immediately popped into my head. This could become a series if it doesn't flop.

Thank you @fallingforthearch for being my #1 fan and my biggest supporter. I would have never had the courage to put my writing out there without you.

dividers and banners by @saradika-graphics

This wasn’t supposed to happen. Brian promised they’d be safe. They were traveling in a group, not going far. Maggie begged him to stay at the settlement, but the promise of something better for Aiden had made her relent.

The sounds of Brian’s screams still rang in her ears. The ground scattered with the lifeless bodies of their traveling companions; husbands, wives, and children, all just wanting something a little better from this existence.

Her furious struggles elicited laughs from her captors.

“She’s a feisty one, Ty. Gonna be a lot of fun breakin’ ‘er down.”

The smell of his rotten breath filled her nostrils, and she choked back the bile in her throat. His grimy hand slid up her side, roughly groping her breast.

The one called Ty looked over at her as he stood over the limp body of her husband. His steely blue eyes pierced through her, and she froze, her blood running cold.

“Please,” she sobbed. “I’ll do whatever you want; just give me back my son.”

Ty slowly sauntered over to her, tilting her chin so she had to meet his gaze. The cruelty in his eyes betrayed the tenderness of his touch.

“Shhh…” His dirty thumb wiped the tears from her cheek, leaving a streak of dirt in its wake. “You’ll do whatever I want, anyway. You don’t got a choice, darlin’.”

Aiden screamed, struggling in vain against the arms that held him. Her heart shattered at the sight of his tear stained face.

“Please, he’s just a boy.” She begged. “He won’t be any trouble for you, I swear.”

Ty clicked his tongue, shaking his head slowly.

“That boy’s got fight in him, like his daddy.” He drawled. “Only a matter a time ‘fore he tries somethin’ ta save his pretty little mama. Can’t have that.”

A wicked smile formed on his thin lips. “B’sides…he’d be just another mouth ta feed.”

Ty nodded to his companion restraining Aiden.

“No!” She knew what that meant. She kicked and screamed wildly, her shoulder joints aching as she struggled to get to the only thing that mattered. She couldn’t let them harm him. She had to protect him at all costs; it was her job. A sharp backhand to her face caused her head to spin.

She watched helplessly through blurry eyes as a shot rang out, and her son…her baby, crumpled to the ground. Her screams filled the air as she thrashed and spit at her captors. Her entire world was lying on the ground in front of her. She wanted them to kill her, too; she had nothing left.

The last thing she remembered was the blinding pain as the butt of a handgun connected with her temple.

Maggie’s eyes shot open, shooting upright in her bed. Her chest heaved, the sound of that gunshot still rang in her head as if it had just happened moments ago and not over a year ago. Her eyes darted to the small clock on the bedside stand… 5:06 AM. She squeezed her eyes closed; the chance of going back to sleep was lost.

Six hours of uninterrupted sleep- that had to be a record. It had been ages since she slept that long without waking. She rolled herself out of bed, peeling her sweat soaked t-shirt from her body as she padded toward the bathroom. The worn hardwood floor creaked, announcing to the empty house that she was awake.

She turned the faucet to the hottest setting and stepped under the water. Closing her eyes, she let the scorching water beat down upon her. She hoped it would wash away her memories, but she knew better.

The sun was just coming over the horizon as she approached the dining hall doors. She made this trip every day for the last three months, and it hadn’t gotten easier. She took a few deep breaths in front of the faded double doors, her mask firmly in place, a friendly smile that told the world she was okay. Some of her neighbors knew her story…at least the parts she shared with Tommy and Eugene when they found her in the woods, but she never shared the full story with anyone. Speaking the words aloud would make it all too real, and she didn’t want any pity.

The clanking of dishes and silverware filled the dining hall, along with the low hum of conversation. Smiling at her neighbors, she made her way through the hall to grab some food and some much needed coffee. She always sat alone, needing the time to collect her thoughts and prepare for the day. A familiar figure appeared in her periphery; he sat alone, too….always alone. He had a story, too. Tommy had said as much when she first arrived in Jackson, but he didn’t elaborate. She noticed the way he glanced at her from time to time, but he never spoke. Her step faltered slightly as if she was going to break the ice, but she kept moving past him.

Joel watched her as she walked past, taking the same seat by the window every morning. He saw how she smiled at everyone and pretended to be okay, but he knew she wasn’t. He knew that look in her eye…. he’d seen it in his own so many times. The look of loss…of heartbreak and misery. She’d lost something, too. She may think no one noticed…but he did. He wanted to say something to her….anything to let her know he understood, but the words stuck in his throat. He’d never been good at letting people in.

The air in the barn was surprisingly stuffy for this time of year, and the earthy smell of dirt and hay surrounded her. Despite the stuffiness, she found solace in the scents and sounds of the barn. It brought her peace; she could focus here. She didn’t have to be anything… didn’t have to be happy or smile. The animals understood.

Willow, the chestnut mare, blustered and pranced restlessly around her stall. Maggie brushed a stray lock of her long hair off her damp forehead and reached out to pat Willow’s shoulder over the stall door.

“I know, mama.” She cooed. “The last few days are the hardest, but once you see that little baby you made, it’ll all be worth it.”

She remembered how it felt when she was pregnant with Aiden. How those last few days were uncomfortable, and she struggled to sleep. The mare nudged her hand in silent commiseration. Maggie smiled at her and rubbed Willow’s nose.

“I’ll be here with you when it’s time…make sure you and the baby are alright.”

Joel watched silently as she spoke to the mare. She was so different here…much different than when she was in the dining hall or slinging drinks at the Tipsy Bison. He wondered if she ever slept. It seemed like she had her hands in everything here in Jackson…tending the garden and the animals and bartending at night. He understood the need to keep busy, to drown out the pain and the failure.

The longer he watched, the more guilty he felt. He shouldn’t be intruding like this, watching her like some creep. He backed away slowly, not wanting to interrupt her private moment. The heel of his work boot connected with a bucket, and the clank reverberated through the barn.

Her eyes snapped up, focusing on Joel. How long had he been there? What had he heard?

His cheeks flushed with embarrassment at being caught eavesdropping.

“Sorry…I…didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s okay. I’m usually not this jumpy.”

She was lying through her teeth, hoping he couldn’t tell. Her heart pounded so loudly she could hardly hear him speak.

Joel smiled sheepishly. He knew how badly he scared her and felt terrible for it. He cleared his throat and took a small step forward. Maybe this was his chance to connect with someone again.

“It’s Maggie, right?” He asked. “I’m-“

“I know who you are.” She winced at the sharpness of her tone.

“Right.” He sighed a little too loudly and dragged a hand through his peppered hair. He cursed himself for being so stupid; of course she knew he was. His brother was just about the only person she had a conversation with that lasted more than a few minutes.

“Is everything alright with the mare?”

He was desperate to change the subject, to get the conversation back on track.

“Willow? No, she’s fine. I was just checking in on her.” Her hand dropped to her lower abdomen, instinctively covering her womb, her eyes tender. “The last few days before giving birth can be pretty uncomfortable.”

Joel’s eyebrow twitched. She’d lost a child, too. He knew that agony all too well. The unbelievable pain and darkness that engulfs you, pulling you down into a pit of emptiness that leaves you with nothing but a gaping hole where your heart should be.

Her face went slack. She’d always been so careful about keeping details of her past close to her vest. She didn’t want pity; she just wanted to feel normal.  

Joel’s eyes softened as they stared at each other, an unspoken conversation between two people with the worst thing in common.

Even twenty-plus years later, it still hurt. It hurt to think about what Sarah would have grown up to be if she’d had the chance, if it hadn’t been stolen from her…if he wouldn’t have failed her. Those moments that she would never have played in his mind… her first day of college… her wedding day… the birth of her first child, his grandchild—his hands clenched into fists as his eyes misted.

He’d never had anyone to share that pain with, not even Tommy. Maria had lost a child, too, but there was no chance of the two of them talking about it; she wasn’t exactly his biggest fan, even after all this time.

He opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. The fear of taking that first step kept them from escaping. 

“Come on, Joel. We gotta go, Eugene’s waitin’ on us.”

Tommy’s voice echoed through the barn. Joel and Maggie averted their gazes from each other. His hand flew to the back of his neck, while she fidgeted with the hem of her shirt.

Tommy’s eyebrows raised and he chuckled under his breath.

“Hey, Sparky.” He drawled, his Texas accent more pronounced than usual. “You’re comin’ to the Spring Fling picnic, right?”

Maggie cleared her throat, forcing herself to smile as her heart hammered in her chest. They had been so close to something… something she’d wanted for so long but had been afraid to let herself wish for… understanding. Had she found a kindred spirit in Joel? She saw it in his eyes; he understood. He knew her pain because he felt it, too.

“Yeah, wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good. I know Maria’ll be real happy to have ya there.” Tommy smiled and clapped Joel on the shoulder before turning and heading out of the barn.

Joel shoved his hands in his pockets. The toe of his boot scuffed the ground before he looked up at her once more. He desperately wanted to say something… anything, but his words evaded him—a grown-ass man, tongue-tied like some goddamn teenage boy. The corner of his mouth twitched into a sheepish smile. He turned on his heel and walked away without looking back.

The chaos of the picnic made things seem almost normal: the sounds of children laughing and playing, the smell of burgers on the grill, and the warmth of the sun on her skin. It all made it easier to pretend that she was okay.

Joel sat silently across from her on the picnic table while Maria, bouncing her toddler on her lap, chatted about the upcoming improvements the council was making to the town.

A blood-curdling scream broke through the din, and everyone scrambled to their feet. She didn’t think; she instinctively ran with the group. She covered her mouth as she saw a little boy lying on the ground, bloodied, and screaming for his mother.

Maggie’s chest heaved, struggling to get air into her lungs. Her heart pounded like it was going to explode out of her chest. The edges of her vision went black as she was immediately pulled back in time. That little boy's voice was Aiden’s… the blood was Aiden’s. She was back in that field, seeing her little boy on the ground dying before her eyes, and she was powerless to stop it once again. She squeezed her eyes closed, clutching her chest as she leaned back against the brick wall.

Joel caught her movements out of the corner of his eye as the chaos swirled around them. He knew what was happening and was at her side in moments.

“Hey.” He gently took her by the elbow. “Just breathe, okay? In through your nose and out through your mouth.”

He’d been through this himself; he knew exactly what she felt.

Each breath felt like lava had been poured down her throat. A burning concoction seeping into her lungs making each breath more difficult than the last. Tears slowly trickled down her cheeks as her muscles clenched keeping her frozen in this hell, not that she could escape it if she tried.

“That’s it, sweetheart…just like that.” His voice was calm and soothing. He could feel her spiraling, and he grabbed her cheeks. “You’re alright. Just focus on me. Look at me.”

She forced her eyes to open to see his soft and tender chocolate brown eyes in front of her, a warm, reassuring smile on his face. His words echoed in her ears. ‘Focus on me. Look at me.’ Her eyes traced the lines of his face. The scent of pine and canvas filled her nostrils, a scent she would forever associate with him.

“I’ve got you. You’re in Jackson…you’re safe.”

Reality slowly settled in. Her chest began to loosen, each breath a little less torturous than the last. The images in her mind slowly dissolved to reveal the tangible world, the feel of his hands on her face, the gentle breeze fluttering the streamers on the picnic tables.

“Good girl…just keep breathin’.”

His large hands cupped her cheeks as his calloused thumb brushed her soft cheek absentmindedly.

“Feeling better?”

Maggie nodded slowly, letting out a shaky breath. She’d never had a panic attack so intense before. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment and then opened again.

“Thanks.” A bashful smile teased at her lips. “How?...”

“Happened to me before, too.” He chuckled softly, scratching at the salt and pepper scruff on his cheek. “But that’s a story for another time.”

He knew he could share that story with her one day; she would understand. There was a long-forgotten feeling in his chest. He wanted to connect with someone for the first time in a very long time.  

Her body went slack against the brick wall; her muscles tingled from the exertion. The nervous and excited chatter of everyone around her filled her ears.

“I think you’ve had enough excitement for one day. Would it be alright if I walked you home?”

“Sure, I’d like that.”

He wrapped a protective arm around her, guiding her away from the picnic. She sank into his warmth, her head cradled perfectly into his shoulder. She never thought Joel Miller would be the one she connected with. This might be an unlikely friendship, born of mutual hurt and pain, but it felt right. She wouldn’t ask him for his story now; she would be patient. For now, she would be content with this.

[otherone12]

We Were Meant To Be, Supposed To Be

( Avril reference lol)

Frank Iero × Reader

-> Masterlist

A/N: Hey!! I took too long to write this, because I wasn't at home, so couldn't finish it. Also, i've changed the whole plot of this fic like three times, and I still thinking that's not good as I wanted. Anyways, i hope you enjoy :D

A/N 2: You guys want a Vampire x Reader fic? And with wich member?

Summary - You and Frank dated for a while before he joined MCR, but when you two decided to go separate ways, the different worlds didn’t work well together and you broke up. Years later, your lives collide again, but this time you’re not that young anymore. (This supposed to be a DD era Frank, but if you wanted to change it, be your guest).

- Word Count: 1.530

- Warnings: none

- Ps: I'll not use y/n…

- Ps2: I'm brazilian, so english is not my first language ... sorry if i wrote something wrong.

___________________________________________

1st person POV

  I was walking down streets on my way to my work, like I do every single day. The large amount of people on the street got me a bit nervous, but I learned to pretend that they didn't exist. 

    The huge building where I work seems small when I enter through the automatic door and go to my even smaller office. I took my earphones and turned the radio on in my city’s broadcasting station. “.... and we're gonna rock this town, like we always do.” The voice that I heard sounded a bit familiar, but I couldn't tell who it was, 'cause of the noise from poor radio contact.   

    I tried harder to listen to what he’ll say, but he had already  finished the interview and the announcer said “Guys, that was Frank Iero telling us what we can expect from the My Chemical Romance concert next week. Thank you, Frank!”

    I got shocked. Why wasn't I able to recognize Frank's voice? It's been that long?

   Frank and I met at high school in our freshman year. We became best friends in about three months. Earlier than we expected, we were hanging out and holding hands. He was the best part of my highschool, probably because I was the most introverted person in the world, he is the opposite. Frank encouraged me to go to parties with him, to be less insecure, to be myself… I owe him all the chances I haven't let go since.

So, like all good things, we were over. He is a famous guitarist, touring through the whole world with his band, and I'm here. I went to college and became exactly what I wanted since I was a kid. 

    We were immature and broke up at the first trouble we had, we’ve been together for six years, and knew each other enough to know that we couldn’t handle a long distance relationship. Without any fight or discussion, we decided that was the end, and just didn’t talked anymore to not turn things harder than they almost were.

Moving on took me a few years, but no one of the people that I dated after Frank made me feel the way he did. Maybe we’re some kind of "meant to be'', and we threw our chance away, giving up that easy.

    The idea of Frank being here gave me the sensation of butterflies in my stomach, should i talk to him? No. I mean, I would like to see him, ask him if he thinks of me like I think of him. Maybe he's still trying to forget about us but incapable to do it, just like me. 

    I gave a brief look to the clock on the wall and noticed that I spent an hour just thinking of Frank, remembering our best moments. And just when I thought I reached the bottom, I felt a tear dripping down my face. 

    With my sleeve, I wiped that single tear in my cheek and keeped working. 

    The rest of the day was gray, the color of the clouds coincidently matched with my feelings. At home, I dropped myself in my bed and turned the tv on, with a desperate yearn to keep my mind out of my old memories. In a few minutes I fell asleep. 

*** time skip ***

  Next day, I decided that I would enjoy myself in some cool place. So at 9pm I put on my best clothes and went to my favorite bar. The place still the same since the last time i went there

   The low lights inside the bar almost made me stumble but I held on to the door before falling.

Like always, the place was crowded and the mix of people talking and the small band who were playing reminded me why I definitely prefer to stay at home instead of going out. Don’t get me wrong, the band was good, I only hate this amount of noise. 

    I took a seat by the side of a group of four men, but it was too dark to see their faces. I avoided looking at any of them for a long time, so it wouldn't look like I was flirting or something.

    - Hey! It's been a long time since the last time you’ve been here. - I used to come here so often that I became friends with the bartender - How’s it going?

   - Great i think, just a bit down this week. - I tell him, with a heavy sight - But I'm here to relax, so, gimme the same as always.

   - Right away, dear! 

   The bartender called my name after some minutes to give me my drink, and I felt the back of my neck burn, like I was being watched. Slowly, I turned around and the four guys were looking at me. My eyes, now accustomed with the dim place, could recognize their faces. I forgot how to breathe when I realized who they were.  

  - Holy shit! I thought I heard your voice, but then I thought that I was getting insane - The man closer to me said, and a silly smile appeared on my face. - You remember me, right, darling?

    - How could I forget you, Frank? - I took a sip of my drink, still smiling. - And, believe me, I tried so fucking hard to.

    - So do I… 

    He took a deep breath and his gaze showed that he missed me as much as I missed him. 

    - When he knew that we’ll be doing some concerts here, he started to talk about you and didn’t stop - Ray said, giggling, while Frank gave him a deathly look. - Well, good to see you again, by the way!

    - Same, guys! - I looked at all of them and nodded, drinking again. - Eight years is too long, but at the same time it seems like it was just a week ago. 

    - Ain’t that the truth? Damn! - Frank didn’t stop to look at me as of the beginning of the conversation. If he keeps doing this, I'll end up kissing him. - You’re pretty as always. ya know?

    My world just tumbled down with his sentence. He used to say this daily to me, in the same way. I gasped and, just like a movie, I saw him, a sixteen boy sitting by my side at the school’s refectory saying this to me for the first time. 

    Ray, Gerard and Mikey walked away to the other side of the bar and Frank stood up when I didn’t respond. Unable to say anything, I just looked at his hazel eyes and felt him getting closer. The feeling of panic washed my body with the sensation of his lips on mine. His hands runned through my body and his tongue entwined in mine. 

    All this eight fucking years trying to get over him, and he made all of this be in vain. I missed his touch more than I could even imagine. 

    I lost my fingers in his hair and when we both were breathless, we pulled up and just looked at each other.

    - Shit, how I missed you! - Frank said, holding my waist. - Wanna take a walk outside?

    - Sure. 

    We walked at the door, letting all the noise behind. The cold air of the night reached my face and I shivered, my mind was so confused that I barely noticed that Frank was holding my hand. 

    - So… I don't even know how to start to say how much I regret leaving you.   

    He was looking down, and I've never heard him so serious before.

    - You didn’t leave me. It was consensual. 

    - Yeah, but.. but I blame myself every day for not insisting on continuing with you. - He whined with an evident remorse in his voice. The regretful tone of his sigh was painful for me to hear.

    - Wasn’t your fault, Frank. We were both immature. - I let go of his hand and put my arm around his neck, in an attempt to comfort him. I wish someone had told me the same thing I said to Frank. After he’s gone I felt as guilty as him, and it lasted all these years. - Altrought we can try again, ‘cause we made it clear to each other that we still have mutual feelings.

    - You’re right, but how is this gonna work? - We stopped walking and Frank looked at me. His confused gaze turned sad and worried as the next words left his mouth.  - You have your life here, and my music is my life so… 

   - Maybe we can try that long distance thing… - A little unsure of what he would think of the idea, I tried to accept the only possible option for our situation. - Seeing each other when you were not on a tour, spending holidays together, calling and texting each other every day...

    - Sounds like an idea to me.

    He smiled and pulled me closer to a kiss, this time i wasn’t worried about all that shit. I let the moment ride me and a hopeful sensation warmed my body even more than Frank’s hands on my face and hips. I felt on fire when the kiss turned deeper. 

    - Are you sure that you wanna try to do this? - I broke the kiss for an instant. 

    - I’m on there, baby! 

___________________________________________

~So... that's it. lemme know if you enjoyed ;)

[galaxymagitech]

Whumptober 2024 Masterlist

1. 5:30 AM - Tim is captured by a former Joker goon who is desperate to prove a point. He’s rescued, but something still seems…off. And time is swiftly running out. - RACE AGAINST THE CLOCK, Search Party

2. Rollercoaster - The Bats all think it’s about Jason’s death, and, well, it’s not not about his death. But it’s about a whole lot more than that. (The children of Crime Alley all want to be Robin.) - TRUST ISSUES, Amusement Park, "You got away with the crime while the knife's in my back."

3. Undone - When he says, “I’m not Jason Todd,” he means it. His family does not know what it is to be undone. - Fingerprints

4. Bedeviled - Robin had thought it was over, but with Slade, it never is. When the spores’ effects resurface, Robin becomes trapped in a waking nightmare. - HALLUCINATIONS, "You're still alive in my head."

5. Sunburn - It’s an offhand comment someone at UNIT makes. “Spend too long in the Doctor’s presence, and you get sunburn. Yaz scoffs, at the time. The Doctor is no sun. - SUNBURN

6. I'm Fine (I'm Bleeding Out) - Batman and Robin respond to an intense hostage situation. Robin tries to save the civilians, only to find that there’s just one left alive—and she’s quickly slipping away. - NOT REALIZING THEY'RE INJURED, "It's not my blood."

7. The Weight of the World - Damian, according to the phone call Dick received twenty-three minutes ago, stabbed a lunch aide with a plastic spoon. - Unconventional Weapon

8. Warning, Unheeded - Bruce sets up a schedule of sleep deprivation and meditation to train Dick's circadian rhythms into the proper routine for a nighttime vigilante. Alfred, however, has concerns—not just about this training, but Robin as a whole. - SLEEP DEPRIVATION, Forced to Stay Awake, "Leave the light on."

9. A Cry for Help - Tim tells himself that, because it’s dark out and he doesn’t intend to be spotted, no one will see the bruises. He daydreams, sometimes, that he’s wrong. - Bruises

10. The Family Wing - Tim gets a concussion at patrol. That's routine; expected. What he can't figure out is why Bruce seems to...care. - BLOW TO THE HEAD, Slurred Words

11. Vestigial - Sometimes—most of the time—all the time, Tim gets the sense that he’s not real. (It takes less than an hour for Tim to cleanse the brownstone of all traces of his presence.) - Loneliness, "Leave no trace behind, like you don't even exist."

12. Holy Doppelgänger, Batman - ASBaR Dick Grayson is transported into another universe...one where Bruce Wayne hugs his ward and Robin lives happily in the Wayne Manor. - STARVATION, Underground Caverns

13. Cause of Death - Jason’s legs dangle over the edge of the fire escape as the acrid smoke burns his nostrils. It’s been a while. Long enough that he coughed when he first lit the cigarette between his lips, like a ten-year-old sitting cross-legged in an alleyway, wanting to feel old. - Familial Curse

14. How to Be a Ghost - Tim's parents refuse to pay his ransom or even notify the police of his kidnapping. So, of course, Tim gets his revenge. Who better to be a ghost than the forgotten child? - LEFT FOR DEAD, "Because I want you to know what it feels like to be haunted."

15. Petrify Me - Bruce never moves on from his parents' deaths. But Dick was never meant to be chained down by grief. - CHILDHOOD TRAUMA, Moment of Clarity

16. Be Your Own Hero - 5 times Steph helps herself + 1 time she doesn't need to - Wound Cleaning

17. A Hollow Heart - They were supposed to be forever. Batman and Robin. Bruce and Dick. Shadow and sun. Partners. Instead, they’re this: eyes flickering away without ever meeting, fists clenched without any fight, and a terrible, terrible silence. - "We had a good run."

18. Trigger Finger - Jason plants a bomb underneath the Batmobile. In most universes, he decides at the last minute that his revenge will take a different, more circuitous path. In this universe, he triggers the explosion...and immediately regrets it. - REVENGE, Unreliable Narrator

19. The Only Way Out - Leslie Thompkins’ hands do not shake. But as the years pass, she struggles to remain unflappable in the face of the Bats' suffering. - One Way Out

20. Gravedigging Tales - Jason parks himself in Dick’s apartment and tells him that he’s not going back until the Justice League has returned from space. Dick doesn’t respond to ultimatums, demand avoidance cultivated by years of fighting—arguing, Jason, not actually fighting, calm down—with Bruce, so he goes back anyway. - EMOTIONAL ANGST, Shoulder to Cry On

21. Post-Mortem - Jason wakes up in the middle of his own autopsy. - BODY HORROR

22. A Ticking Clock (No Compromise) - A snippet from Tim's time in the League of Assassins - BLEEDING THROUGH BANDAGES, Reopening Wounds

23. Broken Pedestal - Tim warned himself that Bruce wouldn’t be everything Tim built him up to be—the perfect superhero, the perfect mentor, the perfect father. So, it’s okay that reality doesn’t match up perfectly with his dreams. But then, Tim sees something that he isn't supposed to see. - FORCED CHOICE, Broken Pedestal, "I'm doing this for you."

24. A November Night - Damian isn't used to the cold. He's freezing, but he doesn't want to look weak in front of his father. - Substitute Prompt: Shivering

25. Stitches - Damian needs to get stitches, but was raised to believe that using anesthetic would make him weak. Dick doesn’t know what to do. - Stitches

26. Apocalypse - Cassandra still has nightmares about killing. - Nightmares

27. Voiceless - 5 times the Batkids lost their voices to Bruce + 1 time Cass found hers. VOICELESS

28. If You'd Like - Jason knows that Bruce signed up to adopt a normal twelve-year-old child, not one who can stare at horrific cases for hours without being disturbed or learning anything new. If Bruce wants, though, Jason can pretend for him. - DENIAL, Exposure

29. Unprofessional Behavior - Tim, straining under the long hours of patrol and training and his parents' expectations for his schoolwork, struggles to complete his report. Exhausted, he finds himself making the "mistake" of falling asleep while leaning against his mentor's side. - FATIGUE

30. Miracle Number Four - It takes a miracle to bring the dead back to life. It takes a second miracle for a nurse to recognize a badly-injured boy in a coma as the dead son of a celebrity. - RECOVERY, Hospital Bed

31. Nightlight - When Dick was nine, Bruce tried to send Dick to therapy. It didn't go so well, and most of that was Bruce’s fault. - ASKING FOR HELP, Therapy

[noparadiseinthis]

English is not my first language. Bear with me, Grammarly helps, but it doesn't work miracles

When I realize I'm still human

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick/fem!Reader

Warnings: Gaz vaguely mentions the kind of violence in his work. Apart from that, just pure cuteness and fluff.

Summary: Gaz comes home at dawn after a mission and finds you asleep on the sofa. The reason surprises him.

"Thanks for the ride, Johnny," Gaz said as he closed the car door, putting one of the backpack straps on his shoulder. "Drive carefully."

Inside the car, Soap rolled his eyes at the show of concern, but with an affectionate smile. "I'm the careful one, kid." And with that, he pulled the car away with one last wink before driving off, causing Gaz to snort in disbelief before entering the building.

The clock on the desk of the doorman who greeted him gave away how late it was, crushing all his hopes of kissing you and eating with you before going to bed. A hot bath would have to suffice, at least he had someone in his bed waiting for him.

It was his first mission since you decided to move in together, and as long as he could see your face and hold your warm body against his to remind him of all the good things that existed beyond the evil he saw and did at work, he could fall asleep with a certain peace.

He climbed the stairs quickly and quietly, always a little tense about using the elevator after returning home. Images of all the chaos, destruction, and violence he had seen kept flashing through his mind, and he swore he would leave it all behind as soon as he walked through that door - or when he turned off the shower - just as he swore he would never let any of it influence his relationship. Outside, he was Sergeant Garrick. For you, he would always be Ky. And Ky wouldn't wake up in the middle of the night with nightmares that disturbed your sleep.

He smiled when he noticed that the door was locked, even though there was a 24-hour concierge at the residential building. My clever girl, he thought, pulling the keys out of his pocket with a sigh as he prepared to enter the house for the first time in weeks.

What he saw inside, however, was not at all what Kyle had expected. The lights were all off, but seeing in the dark was second nature, and he could make out a silhouette lying on the sofa in the living room. He frowned, his hand instinctively going to his hip, where his holster was until he realized that he knew that form curled up under so many blankets. He sighed in surprise, locking the door again behind him and approaching silently.

His assumption was confirmed when he saw your face peeking out from under the mountain of blankets you always slept under, which brought a smile to his face when he noticed how familiar it looked. He couldn't resist crouching down and raising his hand to gently caress your face. Why on earth were you sleeping there? On that old sofa that was begging to be replaced, where your back would surely ache, and not in the bedroom, in the very comfortable king bed you helped choose? He barely noticed when your touch woke her up.

"Ky?" you asked, rubbing your eyes and wondering if it was another one of your sleep delusions.

"Hi, pretty girl," he said, with a huge smile opening up, his thumb tracing your cheek "What are you doing sleeping here?"

You gave a shy smile, leaning closer to his touch and trying to smell him. If you had been more awake, you would have jumped into his lap and showered him with kisses, but there, at that moment, that sleepy comfort was all the reassurance you needed.

"It didn't feel right," you whispered, "sleeping in bed without you. I couldn't relax without you by my side. So I came here."

Kyle's eyes widened a little, his heart swelling inside his chest. Although he felt guilty knowing that you were hurting yourself because of him, he couldn't help the warmth that took over his body. The one that said he had a home, someone who loved him and was worth fighting for, doing all the things he did.

"God, I love you."

You laughed softly, holding his cold hand against your cheek and leaving a small kiss on his wrist. "I love you too, brave boy."

"But now, it's time for you to sleep in the proper place, young lady." Kyle said as he stood up and put his arms around you, lifting you with covers and all. Instead of the natural instinct to run away, you clung to him and buried your face in his neck, wanting more of your boyfriend's warmth that you'd been denied for the past few weeks.

"Hmm, Ky..." you moaned appreciatively as he carried you effortlessly. "I've missed you.

"I thought about you all the time," he whispered as if it were a secret.

The walk to the bedroom was short, and when he set your body down carefully on the bed, you stubbornly wrapped your arms around his neck and chest as he tried to get up.

"Doll, I'm dirty; I have to shower."

"No, later." you moaned, almost like a petulant child, reinforcing his grip from which he could escape if he wanted to "Stay with me, Kyle.". But he could never deny you anything.

Gaz let his body relax on the bed next to yours, pulling you against him as he had dreamed of for so many lonely nights, and in his sleepy state, you pulled the blankets up to cover him, too, his body much colder than yours.

"Always, but I don't want you sleeping on that sofa anymore, baby. I'll give you a massage in the morning." He whispered against your skin, stroking your back.

"Anything you want, Ky, but I'm the one who's going to give you a massage."

"No, baby, whatever you want. Now go to sleep, I'm going to stay here".

With soft kisses being planted on your face, you fell fast asleep. And with your loving body pressed against his, Kyle soon followed you into the dream world, happy to have remembered how good it was to be human.

(A/n): I love my boy Kyle and he doesn't get enough love. This was my first time writing for COD

[bella-goths-wife]

What am I without her? (James version)

James x lost boys daughter

Content: how has readers absence affected the blonde rebel whose heart she took with her?

Warnings: guilt, suicidal thoughts, thoughts of murder, yearning, max’s tough love

It had been two months since you left

It had been eight weeks since you left

It had been fifty six days since you left

It had been 1344 hours since you left

Since you escaped

James knew this, he knew this because he incessantly watched his watch tick by and every hour that went by he would add to his mental clock of how long he had been without you.

At first, he denied that you were gone. He was sure that David would catch you before you could even reach Michaels car.

But when he saw the beams of sunlight enter the entrance of the cave behind David’s crouched body, he knew you were gone.

Then came the overwhelming rage that consumed his every thought. He had so much built up anger which he blamed on many things, you for running away, David not catching you, faith for not telling your fathers fast enough, faith for telling your fathers, himself for not holding onto you tighter and himself for holding onto you at all.

This rage caused him to act out at every possible opportunity, he couldn’t work at the video store for weeks because his overwhelming desire to hurt himself or others around him was to strong to resist and every passer-by were just extensions of his anger.

Then came bargaining. He convinced himself that if he somehow cleaned up his act that you’d come back. He stopped smoking, he combed back his hair, he wore less of his leather clothes and dressed more like micheal did. For days on end he acted like he was better, like he was the best possible option for you in the hopes that you’d come back and fall into his arms again.

When this didn’t work, he pleaded with max to make him use his vampiric powers to put James in your dreams like he had done before. He just wanted to see you again, just to know you were safe and that there was no one around you that could love harm you. Max put his foot down and refused, he was already mourning the absence of the only person in his family that he loved and he didn’t have the mental energy to entertain James’s plans to only mentally torture you further.

After that plan failed, James fell into a depression. He wouldn’t leave your bedroom in maxs house, he barely even left your old bed as he pressed your shirts to his nose to make it so he could memorise your already fading scent.

It reminded him of you still, he finally understood the feelings you felt when you would go into one of your depressive episodes and he would lay next to you in the hopes that his mere existence would make you happy again. But now he understands, he understands the pain that you felt and he understands the overwhelming feelings that you admitted to him and the thoughts of just ending it all by simply taking some pills and going for a long sleep.

His thoughts were split into a raging war inside his own mind. Parts of him tried to reassure himself that trying to keep you home was the right thing to do and that he just wanted to make sure you could be safe in his eyesight, but he knows that’s a lie.

He knows he tried to keep you for his selfish wishes, the same way that a pet owner will trap exotic birds in golden cages and use the excuse of luxury as an exception for the cruelty of the confinement. And you were his sweet song bird.

Max knew of James’s selfish actions on that day, and while understood the extent of James’s love, it was unacceptable in max’s eyes.

Their once close relationship had grown rough and tense as the days passed. Until it came to a head on day.

James had stood in front of max with a new sense of purpose as he asked for a simple answer to his problems

“Turn me into a vampire” he had asked with desperation in his tone “turn me into a vampire, and I can find her and bring her home”

Max refused, his head practically burst as the rage he had felt build up since your absence found its release.

He saw James request as entirely selfish and ignorant to the cost. Max knew at that moment that he was talking with a naive child, and not the man he had kept under his roof for half a year now.

He threw James out with a simple look of shame and disappointment at another failed attempt to create the perfect family. James pleaded for a second chance but he was only rewarded with a pointed answer.

“Your love has grown poisonous, it infects and destroys everything you care about and I won’t let my granddaughter be another thing you kill in the process of finding your selfish happiness” max had said firmly “she is worth more than to be a kept pet, that girl could have the world at her feet if she so much as thought about making it her goal and I will not allow her potential to be wasted on an obsessive love that can only lead in her being kept like a toy who you choose to play with”

James saw max as a father figure in his life, he would never admit it but he does. But even that admiration didn’t stop James from envisioning himself staking max in the heart and enjoying watching the life fade from his eyes.

James resisted the urges to hurt the once significant mentor as he turned away and decided on a new plan.

This plan felt more like insanity with James every movement down to the cave, but he’d never felt more desperate for a solution to his yearning.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He heard David’s voice call out in a mixture of anger and confusion before he felt his back slam against the cave walls and he felt David’s hands grip the front of his jacket “you have a lot of fucking nerve”

James gazed at David’s face and almost flinched in shock at the state of him. The once king of Santa Carla had been reduced to a lowly shadow of his once proud self. His presence that had once oozed power and danger, now seemed to bring forward an aura of anger and desperation.

The once proud king of Santa Carla had lost his heir, and has now fallen from his paradise.

James looked once more at David’s snarling face before sighing and looking at him with a firm sense of purpose.

“Turn me” James commanded desperately “turn me and I’ll bring our girl back home”

[thatwritterbeach]

So About That Alley .2

Jason Todd x fmc Alex

DC masterlist ALL OTHER PARTS FOUND HERE

Unedited***Also I swear Tumblr is messing up my spelling on purpose cuz everytime I re-read something I know I fixed it's wrong again

Alex: short, curvy, red hair, green eyes, redheads go through pain meds way faster than normal people to the point I personally don't even take them, it's a joke, they last 30 min at best

Summary: Alex finds out her bf is red hood, after she spills some not so great secrets to the masked man while stitching him up.

Warnings: Vaginismus* angst, sexual assault, self-harm, depression, drug use by Alex, violence, cursing, NSFW, smut, thigh riding, vaginal fingering, guided masturbation?, p in v (not overly described), pain during s*x, hiding said pain, hickeys?, self-hate, insecurities, eating disorder, weight loss

A/N: I do not own dc boohoo

Part One

not my gif, I also love that when you search Jason Todd gifs Jensen Ackles is like half of them cuz he voiced him one time.

Fuck everything still hurt she thought miserably as she rocked her hips against his thigh. The pain was a dull ache but she knew from experience she needed to wait longer for the drugs to kick in before she could even think about anything going inside her.

"So pretty, princess," Jason mumbled into her throat while he placed nips and kissed on the exposed skin. She was too busy focusing on her breathing to utter a reply but he didn't expect one.

After several minutes the pain started to fade away to pleasure and she was able to pick up the pace but it wasn't getting her where she needed to go before the drugs wore off. She stilled her movements and grabbed his hand to slide his fingers into her panties she directed them to her clit and made soft slow circles, as if he needed instructions. But he made no move to shake her off or tell her he knew what he was doing, if she wanted to guide his hands the rest of the night he was happy to oblige.

"So wet for me," he cooed into her ear sinking a digit into her heat.

"More," she begged in a sultry voice. Of course, that was the opposite of what she wanted but the clock was ticking on those meds.

"What do you want, pretty?"

"Need you inside me," she pleaded, rocking her hips softly against his finger. Fuck that hurts. When he removed his hands so she could move she was quick to crawl onto the bed on all fours, then slid her panties to her knees leaving her shirt on. This way he can't see my face as I flinch in pain. Yeah, 'cause that's a normal thought, that normal people have. Unaware of her inner turmoil he groaned at the sight and stripped his clothes in record time.

"My tubes are tied," she said into the bedding.

"What?"

"My tubes are tied, remember, I can't get pregnant, so if your clean..."She trailed off awkwardly.

"I'm clean."

He spent a little time stretching her some more with his fingers but all the stretching in the world wouldn't help her without pain pills, and strong ones so when he finally slid into her she sucked in a pained breath and a single tear sped out before she could help it. And this is why she was face down, ass up, and not facing him.

"Shit you're tight, you gotta relax baby, don't wanna hurt you," he soothed, un-moving behind her while he ran his hands over her hips, totally not searching for scars. He felt what had to be stretch marks under his fingers since there wasn't any discoloration to them. Of course, he forgot makeup existed and she had loads of it piled on her entire body. He was also feeling up the wrong spots for fresh ones.

"I'm good," she managed to say in a needy whine, though it wasn't need for him to move, more get the fuck out and never touch her again. He leaned over to kiss her shoulder and she began to wonder how much longer she had and if he was ever gonna get with the program but when he slid out and back in slower than she knew possible she wished she hadn't thought of this stupid plan to begin with. It felt like she was, well, it's hard to describe if you've never felt it but it's a sharp but wide spread ache (even that's too soft a word, ache is an annoyance this is straight pain) that could be felt to her lungs, which were getting harder to move by the second. Blessedly she could tell he was speeding towards his release so she worked up the courage to fake her own, knowing he would 'hold off for her'. When he slid out she collapsed to the bed sure to grab him and take him down with her so he wouldn't get a chance to see what was probably blood on the both of them mixed with other things. He 'hmmphd' when he made contact with her back quick to move off of her but she insured he stayed on his stomach fingers crossed it was only a little and would come of on her black blanket, eww I know. With him boneless next to her she was able to escape to the bathroom without conflict and thanked all the gods her shirt was long and dark colored. It took half a minute to rinse her self off trying to be quick and get back out there before he got suspicious. She soaked a washcloth is warm water and carried it out with her to clean him up, much to his weak protests, he didn't even open his eyes.

"Sorry, did my cleaning interrupt your post-nut clarity," she teased slipping her panties back on and tossing the rag away.

"How can you move so fast?"

"Guess I have better stamina, maybe I should be out fighting crime," she tisked at him laying down on her stomach beside him again.

"No fair, I demand a rematch, I was just so overwhelmed by your beauty I couldn't hold back any longer, now that the initial surprise is out of the way, I will rock your world till you can't walk," he promised, though it felt empty with his closed eyes and heavy breathing. She patted him on the chest in a 'sure, sure' manner and waited impatiently for him to get up and back to their breakfast. The drugs had fully worn off and the ache between her legs was enough to make a grown man cry but she kept a soft smile on her face. the acting skills a woman used to hellish periods.

_____line break, brought to you by the bat-mobile______

And so it began, she unintentionally let open the flood gates to the point she knows had to start and end her day with a hit. Jason was like a damn rabbit now that she had tapped his ass once. She was having to get up early, shoot up, and sneak back into bed feigning a bathroom stop before they got frisky, every damn morning. Then when she got home from work, if he was there. And again before/after he dealt with patrol. He was insatiable and on week three she was out of morphine and so sore she could barley sit down. She'd lost a good ten pounds, unable to eat. Her mind telling her the only reason Jay was still with her was for sex. Which was ridiculous since they hadn't started until 4ish months into the relationship, a record for him she was sure. Having to fake a headache to get out of activities tonight she was mentally shoving him out the window to patrol. She needed to meet her supplier. It had started out her using it for migraines, those of you that get them know sometimes death is favorable so it was the only thing she found that even touched them. Finally, finally he slipped out and uttered a quick I love you which she returned. She waited about 20 minutes to be sure he was far enough away before taking the door and stairs like a civilized person. A wad of cash tucked in her bra, and her Glock in its rib holster.

_______

"Sugar, I've missed ya," a skeevy voice said from the alley she'd just stepped into.

"I've missed your product," she replied easily. He was a pig, but he was a greedy pig and as long as she paid he didn't come within a yard of her.

"Always the sweet talker."

"Hard not to be in such amazing company." With a chain-smoker chuckle he tossed her a box, and she caught it with ease, not even bothering to check it's contents before she passed him a pre-counted stack. The transaction complete she gave him a thank you nod and turned to leave when a shadow landed in front of her. And fuck it was batman.

"Hey, batsy, I got this one," she said with false confidence but held her ground blocking his path to her favorite supplier.

"Who are you?"

"A friend of Dickie's and like I said I got this one," she said again, nodding to the man behind her.

"Dickie's," he asked in the same tone he does everything.

"Our boy in blue," she said with a smile. Please take a hint and fuck off old man.

"Go," he commanded the dealer who didn't need to be told twice, taking off at a run far away from them.

"How do you know him?"

"Relax, BW, I'm just doing my part to clean the streets for the youth of out future," she all but gagged at the line. He grabbed her arm and yanked her off her feet dangling her in the air before him with a deep scowl. Saved by the bell a shrill scream cut through the night and he dropped her like a sack of potatoes to head towards the sound.

"I'm fine, thanks for asking," she yelled after his retreating form. a bruise blooming on her ankle.

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