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kaznejis · 6 months

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Make it Fun, don't trust anyone- Erik Lehnsherr x Reader

“I can feel it.” He spoke, refusing to meet your eyes as he visibly failed to prevent his thoughts from spilling, “I could sense the metal as soon as we left the building; I could sense your necklace, the rims of your sunglasses, the iron in your blood, and that ring.” His words turned to venom at the procurement of the final item, you watched as he grit his teeth; smoothing a hand over his head as his jaw clenched. Anger bloomed at the pits of your stomach in response, anger at his audacity to attempt to stake such ownership over you, “You were gone, Erik.” You spat, turning to him, anger blazing in your eyes; as reflected by the shock upon his face, “What? Did you expect me to wait around like a child? Wait for you to come back on the slim chance that it would happen?”

A/N: Hello! If anyone sees this, I hope you enjoy! If not, this is entirely self sufficing and I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. Just to note, sorry if the scenes taken from the movie seem a little..rushed? If there's one thing I do not enjoy it's working out how to incorporate existing scenes into canon compliant fanfiction. The struggle.

Word Count: 6,692 / Read it on AO3!

If you'd like to see more from me about Erik- please feel free to send in any requests! :)

The Cuban sunlight had acted as the perfect antithesis to your situation; the gaping hole that had formed and taken a residual spot within your ribcage as you knelt beside Charles, screaming and crying at the lack of feeling in his legs.

But your eyes had not been upon him.

You had stared up at Erik, stomach collapsing at his stoic gaze; only remnants of his grief were prevalent to yourself, the person that had known him most in the world. That wretched helmet had sat upon his head, his eyes empty with the melancholy of his own steadfast determination.

“Join me.” He had whispered, his lower lip trembling as his eyes finally landed upon you; the first time since you had boarded the plane to Cuba. He had reached out then, his palm splayed towards you; hope swimming in his eyes as he beckoned you forward.

You had simply shaken your head, lips tight and breaths heaving as you held his gaze. You watched as his heart broke, as his eyes glistened and bloodied hands trembled. You watched as he nodded and as he turned away from you. Turned away from the love that you had shared, choosing his own foolish endeavours of revenge over you. Allowing grief to swallow you, you had ducked your head; unable to watch as he walked away, unable to face Charles, writhing in the pain of your lovers’ actions.

That had been it- you had returned to the school. Welcoming and accepting prospective students; working as an administrator and overseeing the school’s board. It had been good, amazing- supplying a necessary distraction to the heartbreak you had endured and a chance to improve your powers, learn from the experiences of others. There, in your reluctant state of happiness, you had met Adam.

Adam, the school’s mutant psychology teacher; specialising in mind-based and largely telekinetic powers. Your curiosity regarding Erik’s powers had led you to him, sitting beside his desk; asking question after question. Questions soon turned into conversations and you soon found yourself being courted. All the traditional romances that had never crossed your mind when with Erik had become your reality; constant flowers, gifts, candle-lit dinners as your heels caressed his leg beneath the table.

Your family had loved him, adored him. They had never met Erik, for obvious reasons, and whilst they were more supportive of your mutant gene than the average family; they had hoped that you would still be able to live the average life. Meaning, that you would acquire the average husband. Your family had practically demanded that you married him despite only being a year into the relationship, the pointed remarks about you being ‘unwedded at such an age’ a constant force at each gathering.

So, you had. You had adorned the white dress, the large diamond ring, and Charles had granted his blessings by allowing you to host the wedding on the school’s grounds. Everyone and anyone that could have possibly been there had been in attendance, a day simply to forget about the wrongdoings of the past, the present and the future.

On paper, everything was perfect.

“Do you ever think about him?” Charles had asked, the night before your wedding, the two of you nursing a glass of scotch each within his office.

You had exhaled through your nose, a lodge forming at the base of your throat, “No.” Despite the pronunciation of such a small, singular word; your voice had croaked, your chest trembling pathetically.

Charles had simply nodded, his eyes flickering; his powers catching your obvious lie. “He’s in prison now, you know?”

You nodded, humming affirmatively, your gut twisting at the reminder.

“Are you sure you want to go through with tomorrow?”

“I do.” You smirked, a failed attempt at humour as Charles had only looked back at you with sympathy, “I can’t sit here and say that Erik is never on my mind but… this is for the best.”

Charles had only nodded, his face twisting as hair fell before his eyes, “He will never bother us again, I will make sure of that.”

Whilst you had thanked him, smile wide and eyes crinkling as you both raised a glass; you couldn’t ignore the way your stomach had swooped in disappointment. The way your chest had heaved with unbridled pain, simply at the thought of never seeing Erik again. You would wrestle with it for the years to come- the guilt of constantly thinking of another man as you lay beside your husband.

Your love with Erik had, to simply put it, been enigmatic; fuelled by passion- both by the mission at hand and the way you felt for each other. There had been awful, screaming fights on the worst days and entangled limbs with scratches lining his spine on the best. You had loved him with every ounce of your being, cared for him, yearned for him when he wasn’t there. Whilst you had endured the worst pains of your life with him, you had also been at your happiest.

It had been toxic, ferocious, you had never known what would come next.

You missed it every day.

You passed the feeling off as pure delusion, your mutant gene playing cruel tricks on your mind as the years passed; as you grew bored. Bored of the same mundane life every day, bored of the simple forehead kisses, bored of that house. You and Adam remained within the dark confines of the manor instead of finding a place of your own following the fallout of the war in Vietnam; acting as support for Charles, who had steadfastly begun to dwindle in both his morality and his health. You had used this as an excuse every time Adam had attempted to introduce the necessary conversation of moving on, settling down. Children. You had deflected his attempts every time, claiming that you needed to be there for Charles, that you weren’t ready, that it wasn’t the right time.

You knew for a fact that the reality lay within your inability to let Erik go, your inability to potentially miss the opportunity to catch a taste of his mere presence again. As the breadth of time since he left and the distance with Adam widened, you thought of Erik more and more. His serrating blue eyes and wicked charm haunted every moment, both awake and unconscious. You yearned for him, worried for him, hated him. You hated him for giving you up so easily, your lack of support in that specific moment signifying the end of everything, defining the status of the rest of your life. Sometimes, during the darkest of nights, the ones where you felt so alone, the nights where the wind howled and the trees drew vines and branches upon the walls- you imagined what it would have been like to join him, to have clasped his hand against yours and allowed him to lead you into the darkness.

Secretly, you knew that following Magneto would have led to your early demise, sometimes you pondered on whether that could have been a better end to your time together than your reality.

But then, as Spring turned into Summer; as the grounds of the manour flourished in their unkempt state and the sun cast illuminations through the large windows- Logan arrived at your doorstep. A mission from the future, unbelievable if not for the pure conviction in his eyes. Unbelievable if not for the grief that haunted his strong features.

You had been completely unprepared when Logan had stood from the chair you had offered him, yourself having been perched on the edge of Charles’ crumpled couch; your legs crossed and hands clasped with worry as he had detailed the horrors he had experienced, the horrors that he was there to prevent. He had paced the length of the table, surveying each resident of the room; you hadn’t missed the way his eyes had flickered between you and Adam; his forehead scrunching before his brows raised in amusement.

“Ah…he warned me about this.” He grinned, flicking a finger between the two of you and scratching at the base of his head. “Kinda weird to see actually.”

“Sorry?” You smiled politely, head swarmed with confusion, you looked over at Adam only to see he bore a similar expression, “He?”

“We need to find Magneto,” Logan spoke determinedly, his gaze fierce, his voice taking a tone of finality. He was serious, conviction overtaking the air as the gravity of the situation dawned upon each resident.

You knew that he was right.

In that moment, you had been able to do nothing but stand and promptly leave the room; abandon the sound of Charles’ manic laughter that followed Logan’s words, Hank’s doubt that tended to suffocate a room. But most notably, you were abandoning your so-called husband’s silence.

Somehow, you found yourself curled beneath your bed covers, arms crossed over your knees like a small child; your form shrunken in your fear and heartbreak and doubt, tremors racking your shoulders. As you attempted to steady your breathing, a knock sounded at your bedroom door. Expecting it to be Adam, you promptly rose from your position; scrubbing furiously at your swollen eyelids.

But to your shock, Logan entered the room.

“I’m sorry to barge in like this,” He held his hands out placantingly, slowly approaching you as if you were a timid animal, “I know you don’t know me, but I know you, Y/N, very well and… I wanted to check you were okay.”

You nodded, crossing your arms and biting your lip as you mulled over the words he had spoken since his arrival, “It’s okay… I just- haven’t heard his name outside of my own head in a while.”

“Erik?”

You smiled, your heart blooming at his real name, the name you had known him by, “Yes… I’m assuming you know about us; I wouldn’t be surprised if you’ve witnessed one of our messes for yourself,” He had smiled at that, his teeth glinting as he chuffed in amusement, though you could only stare at Logan, building the courage to ask what you desperately wanted to know, “When, you know, you were sent here… was Erik there?”

“Yes.” Logan nodded.

“Was I?”

Logan nodded once again, though opted to do so silently this time.

“What did he tell you about us?”

Logan laughed properly then, a smile finally breaking across his face, “He told me not to meddle, that your situation is especially… sensitive, at this point.” He scratched a hand across his chin, his expression filled with nothing but pure mirth as he spoke, “Which I can see, seeing as though he’s locked one hundred feet underground and you’re married.” He finished that with a pointed look at your ring finger.

You nodded, that you found yourself unable to match his amusement, unsure of exactly what it was he found funny, “I haven’t seen him in almost ten years.” You shrugged, “When I try to think about it, I don’t even know what he looks like anymore.”

“But you still think about him?”

You sighed, lowering your gaze to pick at the loose threads upon your old bed sheets; you had always been reluctant to get rid of them, the memories that they held with Erik remained too precious. Slowly and timidly, you spoke, “Every day.”

Logan could only nod, an exhale sounding from his nose, “Well, if I can trust anything from my time knowing you; it’s your ability to give that man hell.”

So, the following day; with an overly-energised, overly-excited teenage mutant in tow; Hank, Charles, and Logan had embarked en route for the Pentagon.

“Stay safe.” Adam had spoken as he leaned against the entrance to the house, having opted to stay behind; claiming that the house needed to be watched despite Logan being the first visitor in years. You had simply smiled at him, waving goodbye before turning towards the car; you didn’t miss the way the door had immediately slammed, Adam having chosen to waste no time in ensuring your safe departure. He had been quiet since Logan’s arrival, especially since the mention of Erik’s name and your obvious upset in response.

You feared that despite his promise to protect the house, he would not be there upon your return.

“I can’t believe you even married that guy.” Logan had mumbled, chuckling to himself and shaking his head as he slid into the car’s driver's seat; you could only manage a meager glare- your doubt regarding Adam had been clear even to yourself.

Whilst the others performed the monumental task of attempting to free Erik; you had been tasked with organising the transport from the Pentagon and away, far away. You knew that Charles had orchestrated this purposefully, giving you the chance to see Erik as little as possible if necessary. You had accepted without a fight, you feared that if faced with Erik in a dire situation; you would act impulsively, irrationally. You feared that if faced with Erik, you would be able to do nothing but throw yourself into his arms.

“Not appropriate.” You had mumbled to yourself at the thought, tapping a hand against the car’s wheel; dark aviators high upon your nose as you awaited. Your other hand hung from the drivers-side window, a dwindling cigarette balancing lazily between your fingers; it had been a nasty habit you had picked up in your adulthood, largely to Adam’s chagrin who had banned you from doing so indoors. You began to recognise that the stress of marriage had aged you significantly; the existence of service had overtaken your life in a way you hadn’t predicted.

Just as you had begun to dwell upon your own disappointing life decisions; a loud bustle of noise exploded from the doors exiting the building’s kitchen; you only had a second to rescue your cigarette and balance it between your teeth before the group rushed to the car. Peter immediately sped ahead and claimed the passenger seat, grinning at you cheekily as he slid beside you; though this was quickly diminished when Logan slammed the car door back open, promptly gathering the teenager by the lapels of his jacket and ejecting him from the seat. You could only guffaw as he promptly plucked the cigarette from between your teeth, taking a hasty drag as the rest of the group piled into the back.

You refused to glance at the rear mirror.

“Seriously Y/N?” Charles huffed exasperatedly from what you could assume was the seat directly behind you, the rustling of his jacket prevalent as he attempted to get comfortable in the tight squeeze of seats, “This may be a getaway car but it doesn’t mean you can abuse it to your will with your smoking.”

You gritted your teeth, slamming your foot upon the pedal and pulling out onto the road; en route to the airport. Erik’s presence behind you plagued your mind, causing your fingers to tighten upon the wheel and your toes to curl within your shoes, every hair upon your neck stood ramrock straight as you waited, yearning for him to acknowledge you.

This was what you had dreamed of, every night for years, and now you couldn’t even bring yourself to look at him.

A gleam caught your eyes as you drove, suddenly all too aware of your left hand rested on the steering wheel. Your wedding ring still adorned upon your finger, glistening obnoxiously in the afternoon sun. Risking a glance, you rose your eyes to the rearview mirror- only to immediately flick your eyes back to the road before you.

There, in the middle seat, sat Erik- his cheeks sunken, hollow; the effects of years in confinement were prevalent in his every feature. His skin was pale, almost ghastly; his haircut was shaggy, uncaring. But what shocked you the most, what made you pull your eyes away from the man you loved so suddenly- was the way his eyes, those hauntingly blue eyes, stared straight at you, straight at the ring upon your finger. You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from squeaking in response, the taste of blood plaguing your mouth as you willed yourself to focus on the road, focus on the mission at hand.

You knew that Logan had witnessed every moment of that encounter, his dark eyes sunk into the side of your face as you determinedly stared forward, refusing to acknowledge any of the people around you. Alongside the stench of smoke, the air in the car was thick with tension- the aura of unspoken words choking every passenger. Even Peter, the usual chatterbox and the one who had spoken your ears off the entire way to the Pentagon had opted to stay silent; instead staring out of the window, his lips twisted in his own display of tension.

As you drove in silence, you became all too aware of Erik’s presence; you found yourself pinpointing his specific breaths, the crinkle of his prisoner-assigned uniform, the shuffle of his legs against the side of your seat, the nervous tap of his finger against his knuckles.

It was a miracle you managed to reach the airport.

Upon saying goodbye to Peter, you determinedly pushed past the front-row seats of the private jet, opting to sit at the very rear of the plane alongside Logan, of which had simply raised an eyebrow and sighed as you lowered yourself before him, “You two are more pathetic than I expected.” He exhibited an air of nonchalance as he lit his cigar, despite the plane now very much being in the sky, and propped open a newspaper upon his lap- though it was prevalent that he found delight in watching the entire situation unfold.

You raised your eyebrows, shrugging your shoulders stubbornly and sliding back against the base of the chair, “There’s no ‘us two’,” To which you complimented with the use of air quotes, “I am married, Logan.”

Logan could only laugh at that, shaking his head, a habit he seemed to have picked up in his exasperation at what was unfolding before him, “You do realise I’m from the future right?”

Scowling, you crossed your arms and opted to sulk at the back of the plane; still determinedly refusing to look Erik’s way- who was now engaging in a heated argument with Charles.

“Do I at least age well?”

“Of course,” Logan smirked, holding his cigar up in a toast; though he was quickly interrupted by the creaking of metal as the foundations of the plane shook; Erik. Logan jumped forward and immediately threw the two of you to the ground- acting as a human shield as the plane began to tip sideways; Erik’s passion overtaking all rational thought as plates and glassware shattered beside you.

“You abandoned us all.” He spoke with finality, Charles lay splayed across multiple seats, his hair a tangled mess as he gaped at Erik. You could only pull yourself back into your seat as Charles left for the cockpit, both you and Logan gasping at each other as you attempted to regain your stolen breath.

“So,” Logan grunted, fetching a new cigar and lighting it, “You were always an asshole then.”

You could only scoff as Erik turned, facing you for the first time since boarding the plane; you noted the way his eyes landed upon anything, anywhere but you.

“I bet we’re best buds in the future,” Erik smirked sardonically, his voice rough with the sudden severity of his outburst.

Logan hummed, puffing on his cigar before offering you a puff, to which you politely declined, “Not like me and your old friend Y/N here are.”

At the mention of your name, his hands spasmed at his sides; his fingers convulsing in a bodily reaction at the mere recognition of your existence. You would have felt excitement, love; if it weren’t for the way his eyes told a different story- cold and piercing as they landed upon you, his cheekbones twitching as he allowed himself a second of eye contact before he abruptly turned, returning to his seat across the plane.

“Jesus,” Logan mumbled to himself, reclining in his seat and widening his eyes at you; you could only nod. Jesus.

With Erik and Charles opting to keep to themselves, the rest of the journey went swimmingly- immediately upon landing you wasted no time in departing from the suffocating air of the cabin; luxuriating in the deep breaths of fresh, evening air that greeted you.

“We need to find somewhere to rest.” Charles spoke from behind you, “The drive to the next spot is too long and we’re all exhausted.” He glared pointedly at Erik then, who simply sighed; as you allowed yourself a glance at him, it was prevalent that he too was plagued by fatigue. His cheeks were more sunken than before, his eyes drooping as he visibly struggled to hold himself up. You yearned to reach out, place a hand on his spine and simply hold him, aid him as he wrestled with the weight of the world upon his back. But then, as his eyes turned towards yours, the weight of the wedding ring upon your finger prevailed once again; you could only turn away.

Hank managed to find a group of last minute rooms at a nearby motel, though as he returned to the reception's waiting area, keys in hand, his nerves were ever-prevalent. “I only managed to get three rooms; two have two beds and another has one, I was thinking-”

“I’m taking the solo room,” Logan ordered, snatching the key from Hank’s hand and sauntering down the hallway, though not without sending a wink over his shoulder at you. Bastard.

“Oh-” Hank froze, the other keys dangling from his fingers- you could only watch as he winced, practically praying for you to forgive him with his eyes, “Charles, I doubt it would be safe for you to be with Erik, so I guess…”

You could only sigh, electing every ounce of confidence you could embody before standing, cutting Hank off once again before retrieving a key from his hand, without turning you spoke, “Well, come on then, Erik.”

You felt his presence behind you, each of you electing to say nothing as you unlocked the haggard wooden door; its hinges creaking as you pushed open the door. Before you stood two double beds, an only-just-comfortable distance between the two. Nodding to yourself, you entered the room, your fingers twirling the keys nervously as you surveyed the room; you felt the air thicken as the door slammed behind you- you felt like prey finally being cornered by the predator.

Erik cleared his throat behind you, the sound thick and grating, “I’ll take the bed beside the door; would you like to use the bathroom first?”

You turned towards him, shocked by his kindness; he could only stare back at you, his eyes heavy-lidded and exhaustion tinting his features. “I- Sure.” You could only croak, opting to briskly enter the bathroom; afraid of irrationality taking over your lovesick mind. Reaching behind the shower’s curtain, you turned on the water before stripping off your clothes, the sound of your ring clattering against the sink as you placed it down caused you to flinch, knowing that Erik would be all too aware of your every move from the other side of the door.

You took your time in the shower, breathing in the warm steam and collecting yourself after the events of the day, collecting yourself in preparation for the events of the night that was to come. You could do this, even if it meant a sleepless night whilst Erik lay only feet away; whilst the object of all of your nightmares lay only feet away. It reminded you of a night, a night a long time ago; in a motel room just like the one you were in, his skin against yours; his breath hot against the base of your throat as he had slowly stripped you of your clothes, as he had kissed every inch of you. It reminded you of his pants as he pushed into you, his groans as he buried his sweat-coated forehead into the skin of your shoulder, biting and licking and sucking there as you became one. The way that he had moaned his love for you into the skin there, your responsive moans loud and uncaring as you had clawed at the skin of his back, gripped at the hair upon the base of his head-

Stop; you shut off the hot water, stumbling from the shower as you panted, your cheeks and chest red with warmth as you desperately attempted to remove the memory from your mind. Gripping the porcelain of the sink, you eyed your pathetic reflection; willing, begging, yourself to let this go, let your silly daydreams go. This was reality, your reality. Getting through the night was the only necessity you needed to accomplish, then you could avoid Erik and promptly never see him again.

You could go back to your husband, back to your life.

Undeniably however, you couldn’t ignore the way Erik made you feel, the way his mere presence made you feel. Adam’s influence upon you paled entirely in comparison, your obligation to return to him simply one of duty, one to appease your family, one to live the ‘perfect’ life- be the perfect wife. But you craved more, you craved better; for years you had chased and yearned for the way Erik’s slightest touch had made you feel- the way that his love encompassed every molecule of your being; the way that he had branded you for life, rendered unable to ever feel the way you had felt with him again. Your thoughts of Erik made you all too aware of how long you had spent in the bathroom.

How long you had spent, very obviously, avoiding him.

You emerged from the bathroom in nothing but the oversized shirt you had packed hastily to sleep in; swiping it from the bed due to the short notice you had received in regards to this trip. You felt bare, naked suddenly as you left the bathroom to Erik’s piercing gaze. He sat, fully clothed, lounging against the headrest; allowing a pen to swirl around his fingers, dancing from pointer to thumb as his wrist spun. Entrapped, you could only stand there and stare; stare at the beauty of his powers, at the beauty of him.

“It feels good,” He spoke slowly, carefully, allowing the pen to drop onto the sheets beside him, “To use my powers again; to feel metal.”

You nodded, smiling politely, unsure of exactly what to say in response. You opted to stay silent, allowing yourself to walk past him and into your own bed, the crinkle of the duvet loud in the silent room, loud within the silence that was swelling between you.

“You aren’t wearing it,” Erik spoke suddenly, his voice slicing through the silence; to your shock. Once you recovered, you simply crooked an eyebrow at him, to which he spoke; swallowing his words audibly, “Your ring.”

“Oh,” You shook your head, staring down at your empty finger, remembering that you had placed it on the sink, “I usually-”

“I can feel it.” He spoke, refusing to meet your eyes as he failed to prevent his thoughts from spilling, “I could sense the metal as soon as we left the building; I could sense your necklace, the rims of your sunglasses, the iron in your blood, and that ring.”

His words turned to venom at the procurement of the final item, you watched as he grit his teeth; smoothing a hand over his head as his jaw clenched. Anger bloomed at the pits of your stomach in response, anger at his audacity to attempt to stake such ownership over you, “You were gone, Erik.” You spat, turning to him, anger blazing in your eyes; as reflected by the shock upon his face, “What? Did you expect me to wait around like a child? Wait for you to come back on the slim chance that it would happen?”

Slowly, at the pit of his lungs, he formed a laugh; his head shaking as his fingers trembled once again, “You think so lowly of me, Darling.”

“You left me!” You were yelling now, rising from the tangled bed sheets as your chest heaved with anger, heaved with the heartbreak and sadness that had plagued you for the consequent years following his departure, “You left me.”

“I gave you a choice, Y/N. You chose Charles, you were more than welcome to come with me.”

You shook your head, scoffing, “Well… if I had gone with you; I would be dead by now.” Your tone held a sense of finality, as supported by your return to the bed as you promptly turned your back to him, curling up under the duvet and refusing to face his reaction to your words. His response followed in the slam of the bathroom door as he promptly left the room; leaving behind the stale air of your own regret.

It felt like hours as you waited, wondered; hoped for him to come back. Hoped for the two of you to forget the words that had been said, to sleep comfortably in your separate beds and complete this mission as peacefully as possible; to go your separate ways and live your separate lives once again.

In the depths of these daunting thoughts, you fell asleep; the exhaustion of the day’s tensions taking hold as your eyes slipped closed. You woke, hours later, to the moon’s rays spanning throughout the room; a ghostly glow hanging in the air as you rubbed at your eyes, glancing to your side, Erik was fast asleep; his sharp edges and soft hair illuminated in the scant light- you allowed yourself a moment, just that moment, to take him in. Drink in the features you hadn’t faced in almost a decade, the features you longed to reach out towards; to trail a finger down his jaw or scratch a nail upon his hair. His hair was wavy, a slightly damp smell filtered throughout the room told you that he too had taken the opportunity to shower.

The thought of his broad shoulders and lean back illuminated by the spray of hot water did nothing to help the swarm of doubt swirling within your gut. Shaking your head, you reached into the bag beside your bed; fetching the box of cigarettes stashed within one of the inner pockets.

Then, barefoot and in just a shirt, you shouldered open the room’s door, balancing a cigarette upon your lip as you did so before promptly lighting it, traversing the motel’s corridors silently before reaching the fire escape. Hoisting yourself upwards, you climbed up the ladders before finally reaching the building’s roof. The night was clear, quiet; the only sounds emerging from the distant highway and subsequent traffic- you listened out for any signs of disruption as you lowered yourself to the roof, allowing your legs to dangle from the side of the building.

The silence of the night and the goosebumps prickling at your bare arms allowed the tears to emerge; it allowed them to pour down your cheeks, for snot to bubble at your nose and for your lips to tremble with unkempt sobs. You allowed for your hurt to take hold, for your hurt at Erik’s words and actions and simple presence to take hold. But then you allowed your hurt towards yourself to unfold; for allowing yourself to end up here, in this situation- living this life that you had manufactured for yourself.

You couldn’t go back to that motel room, but most notably you couldn’t go back home. You couldn’t bear it anymore; the stresses of being within that barron manor were becoming too much to bear. If you couldn’t be with Erik, then you would rather be alone; somewhere far away, far away from here. You stewed upon this thought for a long time, as you lit your second, third and fourth cigarettes; it prevailed.

Just as your fourth cigarette began to dwindle, the slam of a door sounded below you before hasty, alert footsteps lined the hallway. You rose, walking back towards the highest entrance of the fire exit before looking down; listening as the hurried steps continued, haggard breaths accompanying it. Opting to investigate, you lowered yourself onto the platform below before descending the stairs; entering the residential hallway of the hotel. There, at the end of the corridor stood Erik, the obvious source of the worried footsteps as his chest heaved; he was turning in place, visibly searching for something as he rushed down the hallway.

“What-” You mumbled, slowly walking towards him as he had not yet spotted you. Finally, you decided to catch his attention; concerned as to whether there was some form of danger, “Erik?” You called, a hand shielding your eyes as you peered down the dark hallway. You watched as he froze at the sound of your words, his head snapping towards you as he drank in your presence, your appearance.

“What the fuck-” He breathed, immediately shaking off his shock and advancing towards you, practically running as he reached you. Entirely unannounced, he swept you up into his arms; shaking as he lowered his head to your shoulder, practically breathing you in as he tightened his hold by the second.

“Erik, what-”

“What is your problem?” He pulled back almost as soon as it had begun, his breathing staggered as a blush covered his cheeks; he wore only the black tank top and sweatpants he had been asleep in, his hair a mess upon his head; as if he had just jumped from his bed, “I woke up and- and you were gone, your bed sheets were practically stale with how long you’ve been gone I-”

“I’m fine.” You assured, catching his hands between your own as an attempt to calm him down; the worry he had been feeling now prevalent within the staggering of his chest and the blush at his cheeks, “I just went to have a smoke I- let’s get you back to the room.”

He nodded, his glassy eyes immediately beginning to droop as he allowed you to use your grasp on his hand to pull him down the hallway. Upon depositing him into his own bed, as you left to enter your own, a tight grip latched upon your wrist; you turned, only to be met with those blue eyes swarming with desperation, “Stay?”

You sighed, nodding reluctantly before crawling in beside him; allowing him to drape an arm over your waist, allowing him to rest his head upon yours. Before your departure, before the decision would be set; you could allow yourself this one thing, this one night of unplagued sleep as his comfort would ward away the nightmares that tended to tinge your nights.

But, before you could fall asleep; Erik’s voice rumbled above you, “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You could only shrug, pressing your nose to his chest as you listened to his heartbeat, “Me too, Erik.”

He moved backwards then, settling so that his face lay directly before yours; the tip of his nose rubbing against yours with each second breath. It seemed that he could only muster a whisper as he continued to speak, “You have nothing to be sorry for.” His eyes grew wet as he spoke, his head shaking slightly as he smiled sadly.

“Erik.” You whispered, your voice soft with contempt as you raised a hand to his cheek; brushing away the tears that had begun to fall there. Feeling him swallow against your wrist, you could only watch as his eyes flickered downwards, just as your tongue darted out to wet your bottom lip. Before you could register, he had moved; his lips pressed to yours as your cheeks grew wet with his steadily falling tears. Your mind allowed nothing else but to kiss back, to shift your leg upwards and to caress his cheek with your thumb. He kissed you earnestly, slowly; as if approaching a terrified fawn, testing the waters as to what you would allow him. You could practically taste the desperation perspiring his tongue, as you assumed he could yours. You would take anything, trade any parts of your wretched souls if it meant that you could feel this forever; feel the warmth of his tongue sliding against yours for every waking moment that remained.

Erik pulled back then, only to lower himself; his mouth hot and needy against your throat, his hands trailing patterns against the skin of your stomach; becoming exposed as your shirt had rode upwards. His ministrations rendered you only able to lay there and pant; to bask in the feeling of being needed, wanted. Truly, ferociously.

As he began to paint a trail of kisses down your stomach, something changed; something shifted in his demeanour. His hands, beginning to pull your thighs upward, were shaking and whilst his lips were forming kisses, they were forming words too. As you raised yourself to rest against your elbows, you finally heard the words forming within his mouth, “Please don’t go back to him.” He was whispering, pairing the almost unspoken words with a gentle kiss to the nearest area of skin; he was crying again, his eyes glistening with fresh, unshed tears as he burrowed his face into your skin. It seemed as if he was afraid to let you go, practically burrowing himself into your being, with the hopes that you would stay.

“Erik, Erik wait-” You spoke urgently, lowering your hand to his chin before pushing him away; he stared up at you through his glassy eyes; his hair ruffled and cheeks rosy. Confusion graced his features at first, though he soon registered the concern in your eyes and realisation visibly dawned upon him.

He removed himself from you then, moving to sit at the end of the bed; the duvet splayed around his waist as he sat with his legs crossed. He seemed to take a moment to compose himself, wiping at his mouth and running a finger over his teary eyes, “I’m sorry Y/N, I- it’s not my place to tell you what to do.”

Instantly, you crawled towards him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and settling yourself into the space between his legs; you felt his cheeks crinkle as you pressed kiss after kiss to his face, but you could still sense his confusion, his doubt. “I knew I would be leaving him the moment Logan mentioned your name, whether you were coming with me or not.” You stroked his hair as you spoke, caressing your fingers through the thin tendrils of oaky brown hair that adorned your lover's head. Erik grinned then; his teeth shining as he practically mooned up at you, he kissed you again then; pulling you in and deeper into his lap.

Before you could push him onto his back, before you could lower yourself upon him and mobilise the groans that would fall from his mouth; he abruptly straightened up, untwining his hand from beneath your shirt and raising it in the air- your wedding ring flew towards the two of you, hanging in the air before Erik made a flicking motion with his fingers; you could only gape as the ring flew through the open window and into the darkness of the night.

“Erik!” You squealed, hitting at his chest as he laughed loudly, unabashedly. Despite being secretly pleased, you couldn’t allow him to know that. “That was expensive!”

“I can find you better,” Erik grumbled against your chest, burrowing his head into your shirt and inhaling unashamedly, “That one wasn’t you anyway, I almost couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw that ghastly thing on your finger.”

The only response you could have mustered in that moment was to shove him back against the bed; silencing him with the warmth of your own mouth.

#this goes out to the 3 magneto fans that exist #magneto x reader #erik lehnsherr #x men #days of future past #michael fassbender #magneto #erik lehnsherr x y/n #erik lehnsherr x you #marvel #writing x men fic is so funny cause these people old af....LOL #erik lehnsherr x reader #erik lensherr x reader #erik lensherr

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wookiesmiles-blog · 2 years

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It’s hard being a pervert and a medical professional (in training!).

I’m supposed to be learning during my externship but all day the only thing I could think of was how to properly throw this ass back on my Cuban doctor in any situation.

Me halfway through the surgery:

“Are you ready for the bone graft, doctor?”

#me #I can tell he’s nasty too 😫#if you call me darling like that one more time I’m going to consider us married #with a child on the way #Cuban doctors

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hotvintagepoll · 5 months

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Propaganda

Lupe Vélez (Cuban Love Song, The Girl from Mexico, Naná)—iconic Mexican glamor, known for her dramatic romances and hot temper. she could do unspeakable things <3 to me <3

Greta Garbo (Camille, Anna Karenina, Queen Christina)—Enigmatic and alluring and made me bisexual. The perfect example of the eroticism in silent films that literally transcends text. Could literally not change anything about her expression but you knew by looking at her eyes what she was thinking. She’s so gorgeous.

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Lupe Vélez:

(joint propaganda for del Río and Vélez) When I asked my 58-year-old coworker who I have been keeping updated on the vintage men tournament if there was anyone she wanted me to submit on her behalf, almost immediately she said Dolores del Río, soon followed by her assigned rival by studios (due to being the first major Mexican actresses in Hollywood) Lupe Vélez - which del Río did not play into and Vélez did. We love queens who know what they're about. No drama vs drama for the sake of publicity. These ladies are fantastic, my coworker has excellent taste.

A beautiful girl with a beautiful singing voice. She also loved small dogs.

Garbo:

A cold-ass Swedish WLW Sphinx. Had plans to murder Hitler that she never got around to. "She will remain always a child of vikings, moved about by a snowy dream."

First of all, she's on the money; that's how much of a treasure she is. She's beautiful in such a distinct way you need very few lines to draw her. (Drawing by Einar Nerman) She managed to be mesmerizing in both silent and sound films. She kissed a woman in Queen Christina (and probably several more in real life). She was super dry and really funny in Ninotchka. She got the hell out of Hollywood and stayed out, living for almost 50 years after her retirement.

Garbo is one of the many reasons why I'm gay. If you haven't seen Queen Christina please do, She is so gender in that film. Also her accent makes it sound like she's always talking in cursive and it's so hypnotic (or at least I think so).

She's a gay introvert, like all of us here on Tumblr.

Probabaly a lesbian, absolutely a mood when she retired

Mysterious and aloof, charismatic and enigmatic, with beautiful androgynous characteristics, Garbo is undoubtedly the most eccentric and unique Hollywood vintage star. Her aversion to fame and stardom makes her even more desirable to the audience, and her insane chemistry with the camera, an actress one of a kind! Her particularity and her oddity is what discerns her strongly from her hollywood co workers at the time, noone was like her and would never be like her. I think, to the utmost extent, that she deserves the title of the hottest vintage star, even though that would be an understatement of what she is!

SO gorgeous, her thick Swedish accent makes will turn your brain into pudding

#greta garbo #lupe velez #hotvintagepoll #fuck that old woman #ladies 4

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escapingrealtiylovinginsanity · 8 months

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Nick Amaro NSFW Alphabet

Guys I finished rewatching season 14 and I forgot how much I hate the storyline they give Nick. I love him as a character, but I would love to completely reconstruct his backstory. He has to be one of the most personally screwed-over characters in SVU. Am I the only one who hates the hidden love child-which I’m completely disregarding? Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this!

Warnings- Some Maria-hate (sorry not sorry).

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Nick's aftercare is exceptional. He cleans you up, washing any mess he has made off you with a warm washcloth or a hot shower. Then it is cuddling and whatever you want in your post-glow bliss. Usually, it’s time for you to talk about whatever you want. Something you did, a movie you saw, an awful joke you heard that you laughed at but didn’t seem worth bothering him about. He wants to hear it all.

It’s a time that you have this full attention. Sometimes it leads to more vulnerable emotional conversations that he seems to have an easier time having when his walls are down after sex. Sometimes words are too much and the two of you just hold each other, caressing each other's bodies.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and their partner’s)

Nick’s favorite body part of himself is his hands. They are rough, calloused, and strong from years of sports, hard work, and shooting a gun. They are dexterous and versatile enough to accomplish his endless paperwork, playing catch with Zara, fixing things around the house, and his favorite teasing you with them until you come apart so prettily with his name on your lips.

Nick loves your entire body. He tells you all the time there is nothing he would ever change. He loves your curves and doesn’t discriminate between them. Why be a boobs or ass man, when he has two hands and a willing mouth that can have both and more?

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Nick is a jealous man, and he knows it. You are his and nobody else. After spending a significant amount of time watching any another man try to talk or flirt with you there is nothing more that he wants to do than take you to his bed and paint his cum all over your body. It gives him undeniable satisfaction seeing his seed on your skin claiming you in the most barbaric way. He should hate it because it may be considered demeaning, but he can’t. Even later when he is cleaning you up, he smiles knowing the evidence of his DNA still lingers on your skin, clinging to you.

D = Dirty secret (self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It’s not necessarily dirty but you made Nick come embarrassingly early by calling him Papi one day out of nowhere while you were riding him. He never liked the idea of being called daddy by his partners. It seemed weird to him but hearing the word Papi come from your lips as you took your pleasure from him did all the right things.

When you guys were basking in the afterglow, he casually asked you about the nickname. You had admitted that one of your friends had told you it was a common term of endearment for Cuban men but you seemed a bit embarrassed. Instead of just telling you he liked it he spent the next few months trying to casually reinforce the nickname whenever you used it by getting you off as many times as possible.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Nick has experience. While he did go through a bit of a Casanova stage in his teens and early twenties, he has always been more of a long-term partner kind of guy. The different women did teach him about different ways to enjoy sex and a bit of experimentation. However, when he married Maria, it was narrowed down to what she liked. She liked sex that was very plain and vanilla, missionary mostly. She wasn't very interested in sex after she had Zara and what they did do was repetitive.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Nick’s favorite position is doggy. He likes the control of your body it gives. His hands are free to caress and massage you. He can take you with your back pressed tightly to his chest fistful of your hair to make you look at him and steal open mouth kisses as he thrust into you. Or he can push you down on your knees with your face in the mattress as he holds your wrist behind your back and pounds into you hard and fast. Moans and his name bouncing from the walls as he takes you deeper and deeper. He loves leaving Hickes and love bites on your neck and down the back of your shoulder.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Nick is a very passionate man but that doesn’t always translate into seriousness. You guys have had sex that you have laughed halfway through. You have been mid sex and his beard rubbed just right to tickle you and send you squirming with laughter that was contagious.

H = Hair (how well-groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Nick’s hair is dark and thick, and it curls when it gets too long. He keeps it trimmed up for hygiene's sake typically. He doesn’t think much about it when it gets overgrown when life is too busy, or he just can’t be bothered. When he is in a relationship, he keeps up on it more as a respectful consideration for you.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Nick is the definition of a Latino lover. He will spend his time with foreplay and the sex making sure you know how important you and your pleasure are to him. He calls you sweet nicknames and tells you how much you mean to him and how he has missed you and your body. If he pins your hands, he intertwines your fingers.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Nick doesn’t masturbate often. When he does it's usually not to pleasure himself so much as to get a release from some stress. It’s quick and efficient and then he washes up and continues with his day or gets ready for sleep. He will also get himself off if he is horny, but you are not available or in the mood.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Nick’s love language is words of affirmation, and he has a major praise kink that he likes to mix with his dirty talk. He is also a bit of an exhibitionist. He likes to push the line of where you can have sex without getting caught. Just be careful while he’s drinking because it heightens all these kinks and can lead to some pretty close calls.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Nick’s favorite place to have sex is the bedroom because it has the most options and comfort. He has become a big fan of the laundry room. While the space is limited, Zara doesn’t feel the need to interrupt when you go in there because she doesn’t think there is anything of value and would rather watch TV while you guys do the ‘laundry’ unlike when you guys try to sneak away to the bedroom or bathroom. There is a door so there is no risk of her getting in there unexpectedly. Nick has also found many uses for the dryer while it’s on that aren’t clothes-related.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Nick is not hard to convince to have sex or turn on. But he is a very visual man, and if you want to make him go feral wearing lingerie or one of his shirts buttoned halfway up is a good way of giving him an instant boner.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Nick grew up with an abusive dad and he watched him beat his mom. He will never hit, slap, or do anything that could hurt you. An open-palmed smack on the ass is about as far as he will take it and that’s only if you enjoy it. He will never degrade you because it is against his morals of respecting women.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Nick likes to get as much as he likes to receive. He wants you to sit on his face, sit not hover. If you don’t know the difference, he will pull you down on top of him and lick and devour your cunt until your legs are shaking to the point where sitting is the only option. He will work you up so well you will be riding his face. He loves 69ing too. Your moan vibrating around his dick from the pleasure of him eating out your pretty pussy? The answer is always yes.

Nick loves a good blowjob. You found that it can fix his bad attitude. He came home in a bad mood and was trying to start a fight about something petty and irrelevant. He was in the kitchen slamming stuff around as he was making his coffee, bitching about how messy it was. You knew it had nothing to do with you, and everything to do with a disaster case, and marched over to him and grabbed his belt. He froze at first not sure what was going on, but it wasn't complaints falling from his lips when you dropped to your knees and gave him a quick messy blowjob. When you were done and got back to your feet, you pecked his lips and told him you were late for work leaving him stunned. When you returned home the kitchen was clean, he had cooked homemade traditional Cuban food, and he apologized to you all night long with a lot more than just his mouth.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Nick likes to make the foreplay slow and passionate, to make sure you are satisfied and ready to take him. When it comes to sex his preferred pace is fast and on the rougher side. Your body in his hands as he pounds into you your breast bouncing, head thrown back as you take him.

He does have a gentler side that comes out quite often. One that takes you slow and steady. He will kiss every inch of your body whispering Spanish words of endearment and praise against your skin. These are the times he wants to look you in the eyes and make sure you know his love for you in this physical act. That you can hear it, feel it, taste it, and see it in his eyes.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Nick loves a good quicky. Life is busy, especially with a job like his and kids. Sometimes you just have to take those fifteen minutes and make them worth every second. It doesn’t always need to be long to be good and satisfying. Besides Nick enjoys seeing you after a quick tousle out with your friends or random people knowing exactly what causes that flush in your cheeks. Knowing that his cum is still leaking out of you and into your wet panties unless of course he still has them in his pocket for safekeeping.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Nick is willing to experiment with his limits. He is willing to try any position you want at least once. He likes to push the limits where you two can get away with having sex. He likes the bathrooms at bars, the laundry room when Zara is preoccupied, and getting head when he is driving in low to no-traffic areas. He likes the adrenaline of the possibility, but he doesn’t actually want to get caught.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Nick has stamina for days. He can drag out foreplay and sex for hours if you will let him. If you're planning on a sleepless night and are okay walking a little funny the next day you only have to give him about a half hour to recuperate and he will be ready to go again if you are.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

No, Nick’s not a toy guy. He is kind of old-fashioned and I think he might take it as a hit to his masculinity if you wanted to use them when you were in bed together.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

Nick is an ungodly tease. His sweet and dirty talk is second to none. He can get you wet just by telling you about what he is going to do to you. The innocent but consistent touches drive you crazy. Then when he finally has you in the bedroom you can almost taste the pleasure, he is going to give you. He teases you more and tisks about how impatient you are. “All good things come to those who wait, Corazón.”

If you want his teasing to stop, you will have to beg him or start teasing him back. He can give way better than he can take. You will have him changing his pace quick.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Nick isn’t loud but he is by no means silent. He likes to dirty talk, and praise you in bed with a mix of English and Spanish words. He grunts and moans but keeps the noise to a minimum when Zara is in the house. If he knows that there isn’t a risk of being interrupted or overheard that is when Nick gets louder and likes to fuck you to upbeat Cuban music.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Nick doesn’t know how to ask for attention or affection. He grew up with a controlling abusive father and a traumatized turned aloof mother. Then he married Maria, a strong-willed but distant and emotionally unavailable soldier. He never got consistent affection and doesn't understand his own need for it. He doesn’t consciously know he does it, but when he needs that affection, he will initiate sex even if he is not in the mood to have it. He will make it so good for you like he has to earn it. You will moan and call his name as he wrecks you with his fingers and mouth.

Then he will usually wave you off when you go to reciprocate even if he is hard. He knows that what he really wants is already within reach because when you are pleasure drunk and boneless it always means that you are willing and wanting to cuddle. Your fingers will stroke and play with his hair, your other hand wandering his back teasing tense muscles until they relax. It takes you a long time to figure out what he is doing and when you do it breaks your heart.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Nick has a lean body with muscular arms and thighs. His chest is toned with a visible six-pack. He has a sparse dusting of hair on his lower stomach, a happy trail leading down to his goods. Nick is a big boy, above average in size. His cock is thick and long with a slight upwards curve.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Nick has a pretty high sex drive but good control over it. While he would prefer to have sex four or five times a week, he doesn’t expect that. He has times when he becomes a sex hound, and you swear it always seems to match up to when you're ovulating. His sex drive can also completely diminish during bad sex crime cases.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Nick is one of those rare men that sex boosts his energy, at least for a little while. The flood of endorphins gives him a giddy relaxed high. If it is a quickie or during the middle of the day, he will have the sudden urge to accomplish something, or if you're really lucky cook traditional Cuban food. If it’s time for bed you will almost always fall asleep before him, but he is content to lay in bed with you either just cuddled up or playing games on his phone until the high fades.

I forgot how long this prompt takes but hey there’s Nick’s! I have quite a few Nick miniseries that I’m going to be working on. One is the relationship building between the reader and Zara while still featuring Nick of course.

I have another series that will be more angsty and will probably take longer because it’s going to be a split vibe of what could have happened in a situation with Nick and the reader's relationship when tragedy hits. I’m excited to challenge my writing in that way.

Let me know if either of these piques your interest! I hope you enjoyed xoxo

#law and order svu #law and order special victims unit #svu #nick amaro x you #nick amaro x reader #nick amaro imagine #nick amaro svu #nick amaro

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jawz · 9 months

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i’ve been thinking a lot lately about the way my ethnicity affected the way i was gendered as a child, my drive to transition, and even my detransition…

as a hispanic growing up with my white mom and white stepdad and white brother and white extended family in scandinavian hell (minnesota), i always felt different, always felt wrong. (my parents divorced as a baby, and my dad and his family, cuban and italian, all live in florida.) my neighborhood wasn’t so bad; it was way more diverse than the metro area itself. growing up i had mixed friends, i had friends with curly hair… but us trailer park kids were only a fraction of the population of our schools and district. a sea of blonde hair. there were times in elementary school i would literally pray to god to make my hair straight, make my eyes blue. grown-ups touched my hair and always asked “is it naturally curly?”. my classmates urged me to straighten it and by age 13 it was part of my ridiculously time-consuming “feminizing” beauty rituals.

much earlier, by the age of 8 or 9, i already had thick, dark hair growing on my legs. other kids, boys and girls alike, called me “gorilla girl”, faked gagging when i wore shorts, insisted i was actually a boy. that one became more and more common as i came into my personality: bold, class clown, competitive with the boys. (always wanting to charm the girls, but i didn’t recognize that back then.)

my mustache was there by 8, as well. just a little peach fuzz above my lip but dark enough to notice. are you even a girl? my mom would spread wax over her own face and soon began waxing my stache as well. it hurt so badly. i put up with it because she said it would make the kids stop teasing me. of course i was a girl- she was a woman and she had peach fuzz too!… but i felt self-conscious at the fact that my body hair was so much more noticeable, even as a child. my mother’s hair is very thin, straight, lighter brown; her complexion is warmer than mine, pink where mine is olive, green and yellow. i worried you could see the strands about to burst through. i was worried that to be a girl- a woman- i must hide parts of myself every day. i must cover the shoots of grass, the weeds that reveal that i’m not fit for society, that whisper i’m wild and untamed.

it wasn’t actually until i was 18 at least that i actually started to consider myself latino. i had sometimes said ‘hispanic’ growing up, as that’s what my family in florida called themselves; they referred to themselves as “spanish”, which i found out was not quite true after compiling my family tree and discovering that those ancestors emigrated from havana. in their minds they were white: “descended from spanish royalty” (as if!!)… i had spent my youth constantly trying to claim solely whiteness, confused as to why everyone was asking me “are you mexican?” “are you jewish?” “are you middle eastern?” - even though inside i think i knew. i knew my family didn’t look like me. i resented my surname being changed to Lind when i was five, my stepdad’s name, in order to give me the same name as the rest of them. despite my apparent envy of swedes and norwegians i knew it wasn’t my name; i still stood out terribly. i glared at myself in the mirror every day, i never could move past how the kids at school said my eyes were the color of shit, that my hair looked like pubes, that i must have had a sex change without being told because that would explain the mustache, the aggression…

by the time i was fourteen i was entirely primed to accept an alternative explanation to what was “wrong” with me. my sexuality was becoming more and more apparent but before i could ever come out as lesbian or even bi, i had discovered what it meant to be trans. i was so immediately certain that this was the key, THIS was why everyone said i didn’t fit in, THIS was why my behavior wasn’t girly, THIS was why i wanted to date girls. it was 2011, still deep in the “brain sex” era of the trans community, and i was sure without a shadow of a doubt that i was physically female, mentally male. all that needed to be done was to “correct” my body and bring it in line with my brain. despite the fact that very few people knew what transition actually was back then, i genuinely assumed it would make sense to everyone else, too: they had told me i wasn’t ‘really’ a girl so many times i had no trouble believing it.

transition, of course, did not suddenly de-latinize me LOL. first i became a total Other, outside of both the minnesotan ethnic norms and the gender+sex norms; eventually, with hormones and surgery at a very young age, i was able to pass as a boy, but by the time i could grow actual full-on facial hair, i realized i was still the pan-latin american enigma to people around me. multiple times someone would call me “sanchez” as some sort of attempted insult or joke. police looked at me differently than they had before. shop owners followed me, accused me of shoplifting. and sometimes, the white girls i dated told me that i was way cooler than all the boring white boys they knew. one girl even called me “exotic” to my face. it was, apparently, a compliment.

when i was 21 i heard that my girlfriend had referred to me to others as “a POC who identifies as white”. it felt as though she didn’t even know me at all. i’d never claimed either of those things to her.

moving to the west coast (socal specifically, where being latino/a is not considered ‘abnormal’) illuminated a lot of the bizarre and unnatural racial expectations of my midwest upbringing; i think by this point i was beginning to realize what so many things from my childhood had meant. that they weren’t really saying i was a boy. they were saying we don’t like girls who look like you, and we’d rather not have you included in our category.

it took me another three years to fully reckon with this. by the time i decided to detransition i had a much better understanding of the circumstances of my life; conversations with close friends who are also latina and have walked similar paths to me, heard similar insults, similar “compliments”, opened my eyes to the fact that i was not alone. i no longer feel weird for thinking the race/ethnicity boxes on government forms are hopelessly reductive. i know who i am and who i am not.

(around this time, i happened upon some old pictures of my dad’s side of the family. beautiful and glamorous women: adela, my uncle’s mother, the piano player; melanie, my aunt, the wife, hostess, and addict; lauren and andrea, my cousins, the restauranteurs; stella, my dad’s mamma, the widow and matriarch. and on all their faces, thick dark eyebrows, and, yes, that ever-familiar peach fuzz. i swear it healed something in my soul. despite my lack of beauty and glamor, we are not so different after all.)

that’s not to say all things are easy now. i’ve spent three years living as a GNC woman and if that wasn’t enough to confirm most all of my hypotheses on people’s perceptions of me, i don’t know what is.

detrans spaces (like most trans spaces) are overwhelmingly white- or at least that’s who dominates conversation. i see SO much downplaying of the things that naturally hairy women go through societally. i see trans allies who purport to be “okay” with detransitioners, saying “what’s the big deal? if you took testosterone you can just go off it and get laser hair removal!! :)” as if laser isn’t expensive as hell, painful as hell, and also WAY more of a process for a woman with dark curly hair than it is for one with straight blonde hair lmfao!!! i see detrans women obsessed with removing all traces of hair from their bodies (even though most of them clearly don’t have a neverending five o’clock shadow like some of us do! my lower face has a constant blue-green disturbance under the surface which makes female spaces incredibly daunting) and insulting the rest of us for being ugly and hairy and making no effort to look like women or what the fuck ever. basically, a lot of people who claim to support us are just racists and essentialists and believe that sex is visual and not biological…🤨

anyway… i guess my main takeaways from all this are:

1. please stop acting like detransition is an entirely internal process and that it’s easy for all of us to be seen as our sex again (some of us like. actually transitioned and passed as the opposite sex), or that potential physical interventions aren’t incredibly invasive and difficult

2. stop assuming all transition and detransition journeys follow your own experience of lifelong whiteness and hairlessness

3. it is a distinct experience to be regularly de-gendered or denied your sex, PRIOR to ever thinking of yourself as literally trans. many trans/detrans people had this happen to us (we were once the vast majority of trans people). but many did not, and generally shock others when they begun breaking gender norms. i really think people from the second group often have trouble understanding that for the first group, changing gender expression is basically a bandaid over an abscess… we have lived entire lifetimes being denied our sex, being told our bodies are not “truly” ours, that there is someone else inside trying to break out. kicked out of the bathroom, the changing room, alienated from single-sex peer groups. transition just flips this experience and instead separates us from our preferred gender group, reinforcing the feeling that we have no place, anywhere.

race/ethnicity, being homosexual or bisexual, mental illness stigma, disability, and low economic class all play an additional role in this. stop perpetuating this and denying us our biological sex.

#this is a toooootal rant lmao sorry but its been on my mind for a while.#kind of a culmination of two posts ive been wanting to make #detrans #detransition #ok to reblog

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claritys-silly-things · 2 months

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It’s that time again yall

Headcanons! It’s a long one this time

Emetophobia tw

- (I think I can classify this as modern) Rip sodapop curtis you would’ve loved saying “I’m just a girl 🎀”

- Soda never liked haircuts. When he was a small feral child his long hair would get tangled a lot, but he’s tender headed as FUCK so he would scream and cry when his momma brought the brush out. Darry put sodas hair into braids sometimes just for fun and soda didn’t mind bc it kept his hair from getting tangled, and then it didn’t hurt to brush. He’s always had really soft hair and it grows super fast.

- Jealous little soda asksjks (this was about soda being jealous over pony getting attention as a baby but I don’t wanna edit the original ramble I wrote down)

- When ponyboy was born he just kind of STARED. No crying or anything just 👁️👁️. Even Darry cried when he was born. Soda cried a lot.

- Adding on, Darry and pony were pretty quiet babies. They still cried for food and stuff sometimes but not a lot. Soda was a LOUDDD crier, and a frequent one too. It was the type of crying that sounds like it hurts the baby’s throat cause they’re shrieking their head off. Also soda would cry for, like, the first year of his life if he was ever handed to his dad.

- If Johnny survived the fire and got a wheelchair, he’d be running over people’s feet. Constantly. Just because. Or bc they asked for it. Either way, the moment he gets a hang of that wheelchair it is OVER for yall. And probably before that too.

- Ponyboy gets the same. Goddamn. Thing. At EVERY restaurant. Partly because it scares him to order anything else, partly because he’s picky asf. He makes sure it’s there on the menu and has his order memorized by now. “Chicken tenders, fries, and a Pepsi please.” He’s tried to ask for other things in the past like eggs, cuz he likes those, but the moment they asked him “how would you like them done” he just stared at Darry because he didn’t know what all the different types of eggs were, and now he’s scared bc he’s taking longer, and the server is still there, so he just got sunny side up eggs and they were slimy and he wanted to go home and cry (based on a true story sadly)

- Basically pony has anxiety and probably autism (so me)

- Ponyboy likes avocado. That’s it that’s the headcanon. It’s like one of the only healthy-ish things he’ll eat.

- Soda gets suuuper nauseous really easily, and pony gets carsick on occasion. So the first time pony went to a theme park, his family was scared that he would throw up like soda. They go on a ride and he’s like “yall im fine dawg.” Soda is jealous bc pony can go on rides unaffected (soda will still go on rides anyways, he just throws up afterwards)

- Pony is the most PALE ASS BITCH you’ve ever seen. He burns soo easily. His face gets red really quickly, no matter what’s going on. The only time he gets the slightest bit darker is when he burns and tans. Two-bit has been like “you ain’t white you translucent” multiple times because in the right lighting you can see pony’s veins. It’s even worse because soda and Darry tan so wonderfully, and pony looks like he had an allergic reaction if he doesn’t reapply his sunscreen when he’s supposed to. I feel like Mrs Curtis is the reason for this, she didn’t tan. Mr Curtis did tho.

- Pony has mild (severe) ocd

- Marcia’s last name is smith she is white-Hispanic on one side and Native American on the other thank you for coming to my TED talk

- Marcia is Cuban and Native American

- Marcia’s full name is Marcia smith that’s it that’s the end

It’s funny cuz I listed these things like three times and just forgot about the other two

- Twobit is Brazilian end headcanon

- Mr Curtis had autism and Mrs Curtis had inattentive adhd

- Mr Curtis was half Mexican on his mom’s side and half Irish on his dad’s side. Mrs Curtis was full Italian-American.

- Darrys the typa guy to make pony and soda turn off a show or movie if it talks about possession or like demonic stuff/soul stealing stuff

- (Modern au) Darry will get a text from ponyboy about something, like “can I go in your room rq” and he sees it but doesn’t actually open the text message until later and like, two hours later he’ll just respond “no” and thinks it’s the funniest shit ever

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the-great-kraken · 9 months

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why arthur christmas is the best christmas movie of all time:

- treating christmas as a military operation undertaken by battalions of elves risking their lives

- it nails the family dynamic: a vaguely offensive grandpa constantly talking about the good old days, an older man determined he's still young and a brilliant father, the coolest woman you've ever met brushed off as "Wife", an eldest child desperate for respect and acknowledgement, and a younger child beginning to notice the family's intense dysfunction. what could be more christmassy.

- a lot of dark humour for a kids movie and completely unafraid to drop references to the cuban missile crisis or vietnam war

- "is it true children aren't real and they're just antimatter?"

- at one point they hypnotise lions with a pair of novelty slippers and singing silent night

- moving on from the old ways but recognising that the technological age brings with it intense depersonalisation and in order to welcome it in we need to make changes to the way we view consumption to prevent everything falling to a corporate mindset

- the homoerotic energy between Steve and his elf and the blatant lesbianism of bryoney

- grandsanta says "at least finish us off with a rock" and arthur literally stops to consider it

- arthur's autistic swag

- "all around the streets, children on new bicycles pointing "THAT'S THE GIRL SANTA HATES!" she runs away, alcoholic by the age of nine, DEAD BEFORE SHE'S EVEN-"

- the US military shoots down santa after mistaking him for a ufo

- arthur running solely on weaponised anxiety for a good chunk of the movie

arthur christmas suffered from a terrible marketing campaign and i won't let it keep going on without the recognition it deserves

#i watched it today and goddamn i love this movie #iconic #rhi rambles #arthur christmas #christmas movies #christmas

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howboringislife · 11 months

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Aot men and their favorite season

Including: Levi, Erwin, Armin & Jean

Cw: none

「 ✦ Levi ✦ 」

This man says that he doesn't have a preference for a season but he secretly loves fall. It's not too hot or too cold outside, ideal weather to wear hoodies. Levi likes to take walks with you in the forest, the colorful leaves softly falling on the ground to create the most peaceful and perfect view in the whole world. And once back home, he can share a warm cup of tea with you while watching a scary movie. He even accepts to have matching fall outfits with you because he secretly finds it adorable. Please, protect this man at all costs.

「 ✦ Erwin ✦ 」

Erwin is a total summer guy. He HATES to feel cold (he's an old grandpa after all). He's 100% the type to wear shorts with a cuban collar shirt and sunglasses. Erwin can spend all his day on the beach, giving him this nice summer tan that makes him even hotter (you don't know how he doesn't catch sun burns). Will drag you into the water or just splash some into your face to tease you, the water war is officially declared. And what's better than ice cream during a hot summer day? Nothing. Offer him some and he will be the happiest man in the world.

「 ✦ Armin ✦ 」

Armin loves all the seasons but he's definitely also a summer guy like Erwin. He hates the cold because he quickly falls sick. This man loves the sea and will beg you to go to there, I mean... how to say no to this sweetie? Armin will literally dash into the water, splashing it everywhere and laugh in happiness. He's gonna try to make some sand castles and find sea shells with your help. He is still a child deep inside him. And what about watermelon? He absolutely loves it (make him a plate of fresh juicy watermelon and he will be in heaven).

「 ✦ Jean ✦ 」

I see Jean as a winter guy. He likes the snow; he finds it fascinating how these white little snowflakes manage to cover up everything in like one day. Also, the winter brings a lot of nice things! What's better than coming home all frozen up before cuddling with you under a warm blanket, drinking hot chocolate with small marshmallows while watching a comfort movie ? Even if he is grown up adult, Jean still likes to make snowball fights against you but immediately stop when he starting losing, pretexting that he got snow in his neck. Poor baby can't assume he lose a game.

#levi ackerman x reader #erwin smith x reader #jean kirstein x reader #armin arlert x reader #levi ackerman #erwin smith #jean kirstein #armin arlert #levi aot #erwin aot #jean aot #armin aot #attack on titan #aot #aot headcanons #levi headcanons #erwin headcanons #jean headcanons #armin headcanons

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squadmuse · 6 months

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BABY BARBA

A RAFAEL BARBA X ORIGINAL FEMALE CHARACTER STORY

A/N: ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE, I HOPE YOU ENJOY THOUGH AS THIS IS MY FIRST EVER STORY | CONTENT WARNINGS INCLUDE PREGNANCY, BABY AND RELATED TOPICS | WORD COUNT: 2181 | NOT DIALOGUE HEAVY BTW | THIS STORY IS SET IN 2015 - CHARACTERS ARE OF AGE: 45 & 36 (8 YEAR AGE GAP)

It had been a Tuesday afternoon when Rafael had received the news, the news that his wife was in labor with their child.

Until that moment, it had been a Tuesday not unlike any other that had gone by in Rafael’s life so far. Rafael had never expected to become a father, let alone a husband, and had come to the realization that his future was only that of an attorney, and his loving mother. Life had slipped past him in some regards, although he didn’t see that as something to regret in some ways. Rafael had conquered his own expectations, reached goal after goal and some more. He had become comfortable as a bachelor, comfortable as himself, he was happy.

However, that had all changed when he had met the woman who was to become his wife and him her husband. Much like the snow that was her name, she had appeared during a case he had been prosecuting at the time, graceful yet powerful and leaving Rafael’s cheeks quite rosy.

Nieves Fernandez de Córdoba was her name, a forensic psychologist who specialized in the very special victims that Rafael would find justice for in the courtroom. The daughter of a Spanish father and a Cuban mother, she had been born in America and raised in England. An educated yet exhilarating woman, Rafael had been enthralled by her from the get-go. However, she was quite the professional and so was he, leaving no doubt that any sort of relationship between the two could happen. So, Rafael had settled on being a good friend to Nieves. They had become fast friends, close as friends could be and knew the other inside out. A year had passed filled with memories of art galleries, Broadway shows, quiet nights in with homemade meals, and it had been the greatest year of Rafael’s life. It hadn’t been long afterward that he had bundled up the courage to ask Nieves out officially, to be his girlfriend as she was now working in Brooklyn, and not a potential conflict for their victims’ search for justice. He needn’t have been worried about rejection, as Nieves had wracked her brain in search of how to ask him too.

It felt a lifetime ago now. A real romance had flourished between Rafael and Nieves after that moment. After a year together, they moved in together to a brownstone in Brooklyn. It had been somewhat surreal and surprising to Rafael to see himself settling down, putting roots down and having a wonderful love in his life. A year after that, they had been counting down the minutes until the new year at a resort in Gstaad, when Rafael found himself on one knee and his grandmother’s ring poised towards Nieves. Luckily, she had said yes, and the pair had kissed with love and passion and excitement for their future together. Nieves had wanted a small family wedding, and Rafael could remember the stress that their mothers had been upon them both over the whole wedding from the planning to the big day itself.

Now, after a year of marriage, Rafael was about to become a father, and Nieves a mother. He could remember the moment when Nieves had revealed she was pregnant, a little baby-gro with the words, “Papi’s Co-Counsel,” printed upon it in dark writing. Rafael remembered his tears, the tears from Nieves and the fountain of tears that had erupted from their mothers at the revelation of parenthood for their children and an upcoming grandchild for them both to spoil and cherish.

————

Rafael had just won a high profile case, one that had kept him up over the last few weeks as the court proceedings dragged on. Luckily, he had got justice for the victims and the lone survivor, with the serial rapist and murderer now headed for Rikers with a lengthy prison sentence behind bars. It was a case that Rafael was glad that Nieves had not been involved with, he didn’t need her getting stressed or anything worse so close to her due date. Three weeks were left to go, and he wanted nothing more than for his pregnant wife to be safely away from the sort of scum he had been forced to endure with as the prosecuting senior Assistant District Attorney. As the courtroom began to file out, even Carisi heading out quickly, Rafael found himself reaching for his cellphone.

He never had it on in court, procedure dictating against it being on. Rafael knew if anything happened, god forbid to Nieves or the baby, that someone would reach his or her mother or even Carmen and then one of them to him. But at that moment, he felt an instinctive need to switch the iPhone on. Almost instantly, the screen blew up with missed call notifications and text message after text message, and it set Rafael’s alarm bells ringing and his stress levels skyrocketing. Many of them were from his mother, some from Nieves’ mother and some from the next-door neighbor out in Brooklyn who had become friends with Rafael and his wife since they had moved in. All of them said the same - Nieves was in labor. The baby was coming and was coming early. Three weeks early, and for Rafael it seemed that time stood still at that moment. All that mattered was his wife and unborn child. Not the case, not himself, not any single thing other than the two people he loved more than anything.

Rushing out of the courthouse, nearly barreling into Rollins and Fin who were lingering on the steps, Rafael didn’t bother to fill in either, as it seemed obvious in his haste and rush that only one thing would do such a thing to someone like himself, that Nieves was about to give birth. Both were parents that he knew, and he knew they knew the panic of an expectant parent. Rafael threw himself into the next available cab. The little yellow cab’s driver didn’t notice or even question Rafael’s slightly disheveled look or the rambled directions he gave to the hospital where his wife was at, and it wasn’t long before Rafael was on his way. As the taxi cab drove through an ever-busy Manhattan, Rafael tugged at his tie, the purple silk wrapping around his tense hand and slipping around his fingers. It was actually happening, all those months and all those days had been and gone, and now Rafael was hours away from becoming a father. It was surreal, quite nerve-wracking and almost impossible to comprehend.

But even as one of the most important days in Rafael’s life approached, he wouldn’t have changed it for the world. The love that he had for his unborn child and for his wife was impossible to fathom and both were the greatest gifts that Rafael could ever have imagined. He was still a grumpy, dry-witted attorney with a questionable addiction to coffee and a love of coordinating fashion, and Nieves had never once tried to change him. Rafael was himself, just as Nieves was herself, and so would their baby be whoever they were.

As the cab pulled up outside the hospital, Rafael tipped the driver generously and rushed out, his feet hitting against the ground with passionate intensity that could only be described as an expectant father rushing. Rafael quickly found himself out of breath, panting slightly at the reception of the hospital. A young nurse smiled warmly upwards at him.

“Hello sir, how may I help you today? I am Nurse Wu,” asked the nurse in turquoise scrubs and dark hair styled into an intricate plait. She didn’t rush him, noticing that Rafael had run in.

“M-My wife, my wife is in labor, and she’s here,” replied Rafael with a slight pant. He was in his forties for crying out loud, and even though he was going to the gym regularly now, the impromptu run had him out of breath. Nurse Wu nodded, knowing the tell-tale signs of a new father-to-be.

“Now what is your wife’s name?”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” apologized Rafael to the nurse. “Her name is Nieves Fernandez de Córdoba, I can give you her date of birth and Social Security if you need that?”

Nurse Wu shook her head. “It’s quite alright sir, I’ve met a few fathers-to-be like yourself, so you don’t need to apologize!” she said with a warm smile to Rafael while clicking away at her computer screen.

Rafael chuckled lowly. “Never thought this day would come to be honest, and now here it is.”

Nurse Wu nodded. “Ah, I’ve found your wife, Nieves, is on the OB/GYN floor, in room number 4 and her doctor is a Dr. Herrera, and I wish you all good luck and congratulations.”

“Thank you so much,” replied Rafael and, without delay, he took off in the direction of the lift or stairs.

——————-——

When Rafael finally reached the OB/GYN floor of the hospital, he hurriedly went in search of his wife’s room. He didn’t have to look long, finding the room and rushing inside. Inside, laid on a hospital bed and dressed in a hospital gown was his wife, hooked up to monitors and machines as she chatted away with his mother and her own mother. The commotion that Rafael seemed to make, coming into the private room as if he were a human hurricane, seemed to stun Nieves and their mothers into silence as both Lucia Barba and María Fernandez de Córdoba sat both in soundless shock.

“I’m here!” said Rafael louder than he intended, his anxiety getting the better of him at that moment.

“Dios mio,” exclaimed Nieves with a slight smile as her husband rushed to her side. “ I knew you’d make it, Rafi, but rest assured both of our Mami have been wonderful.”

Lucia smiled, brushing Nieves’s hair softly. “Oh mija, Rafael wouldn’t miss this for anything,” she said lovingly as María sorted out blankets and baby outfits - both grandmothers had been buying nonstop for the new arrival.

Holding onto Nieves’s hand, Rafael nodded in agreement. “Cariño, I’d move heaven and hell to be here with you, to be by your side now and whenever else we find ourselves here,” murmured Rafael as he placed his free hand on his wife’s pregnant belly. The three women chuckled at that and Rafael furrowed his brows in slight confusion.

“Let's have this little one before we think about adding any more little Barbas to our familia,” smiled Nieves.

——

Starlight flickered through the room’s windows and even though it was many floors above the ground, the hustle and bustle of New York City carried upwards, the city that never slept. Rafael, however was also not sleeping, not unlike the city he called home. Nieves was fast asleep, that he could see and knew from where he was nestled in the comfy armchair. Hours had passed since he had arrived into the room where his wife, mother and mother-in-law were, his unborn child about to arrive into the world.

Glancing over the foot of the hospital bed, Rafael’s green eyes fell upon the little bassinet that held his sleeping child. Wrapped up in a little blanket, knitted by Lucia and wearing a little green hat knitted by María, who were both now proud abuelas, was Rafael’s newborn son.

The littlest Barba had entered the world after a long labor, screaming and crying at the top of his little lungs, covered in blood and fluids. Twenty-seven hours after Rafael had received those calls and text messages, his son had finally arrived. With ten little toes and ten little fingers, the little boy was absolutely perfect in Rafael and Nieves’s eyes, minds and hearts.

Óscar Felipe was the name that Nieves and Rafael had settled upon, having decided not to find out the baby’s gender all those months ago. It was a great fit for their son, with his middle name picked in honor of Nieves’s father, who had yet to meet his newest grandson having been stuck in Madrid. Lucia and María had been the only people to meet Óscar, and so far the only ones other than Rafael and Nieves. Both of their mothers had been so overjoyed, cuddling their grandson and showering him with affection and love. Rafael was about to try to sleep, the events of the day finally catching up with his familiar insomnia, when he noticed his little boy starting to get restless and awake in the bassinet. Arising from his seat, Rafael made his way over to Óscar and took in the incredible sight.

Both his wife, mother and even mother-in-law had rambled about how much Óscar already looked like Rafael, the spitting image of the countless baby photos that Lucia had taken all those years ago. His son’s soft head of hair was tucked away under a little knitted hat, hiding it away, but Óscar’s little eyes were wide open.

“The world is your oyster, mijo, and I’ll always be right there beside you.”

#rafael barba #law and order #law & order #law & order svu #svu #special victims unit #rafael barba x oc #rafael barba fanfic #rafael barba x reader #raúl esparza

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adrienneleclerc · 8 months

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Grovel

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Hispanic/Latina! Reader

Summary: Walter begs Y/N for forgiveness after something that will test their relationship happens

Warnings: CHEATING, angst, spelling and grammar mistakes

A/N: based on April Jai’s unreleased song “Grovel”, I have no idea when it will be released but I can't wait for the song. This also doesn't follow Night Hunter/NOMIS canon, Walter is 40, Y/N is 32

Walter Marshall thought that after his divorce with Angie, he was not going to find someone else. He believed he came with a lot of baggage because he is a homicide detective, that was until he met Y/N, a nurse.

Y/N was the one that treated Walter's bullet wound when he was on the Simon case and when he sees her in a bar a month later, they hit it off and went on 5 dates before Walter decided to ask her to be his girlfriend.

5 years later, they are still together and Y/N has moved into Walter's house and they are so happy and in love.

Until tonight.

It all started 3 days ago, it was 4 in the afternoon and Y/N was getting out of the hospital. Her car was in the shop and Walter said that he would gladly drop her off and pick her up. 10 minutes later, Walter picked her up.

"Hello, darling, how was your shift today?" Walter asked, pulling out of the hospital parking lot.

"It was good, a little tiring, but nothing a cuban coffee can't fix. How was your day, Oso?" Y/N asked.

"Stressful as fuck." Walter muttered.

"You're still on that case?" Y/N asked.

"Yes. We have no leads, it is like this guy is always three steps ahead and its pissing me the fuck off." Walter huffed out. Y/N took his hand in hers and rubbed her thumb over his hand in an attept to soothe him.

"You'll get this guy, i'm sure of it." Y/N said.

When they got home, Y/N saw the folders, clue board, everything that Walter had in his office at the police department was in his living room.

"You're working from home?" Y/N asked.

"I figured it would be better to focus all my attention on this case so I brought some of the files home, i hope that's okay." Walter said, sitting down at the table to look over things he might have missed with this case.

“Yeah it’s fine, Oso, that’s your job. Just don’t work too hard, okay? Sleep is not for the weak.” Y/N says.

“I know, love, I won’t turn into a zombie.” Walter said and they kissed.

Which brings us to tonight, Y/N took an Uber home because Walter’s phone was turned off. When Y/N entered the house, she found Walter drinking coffee in the living room, the same way she left him this morning and the day before.

“How was your day, Walter?” Y/N asked. Walter ignored her, writing notes on the case. “Well, my day was good, I worked with some of the pediatric patients, el día fue súper leve.”

“Y/N, I’m trying to work here.” Walter said.

“I see that, but you haven’t moved from this spot. Have you eaten? La estufa sigue igual de limpio, have you been living off coffee?” Y/N asked. Walter stayed silent. “Okay, fine, did you buy what I asked you to get?”

“You said I haven’t moved from this spot so clearly I haven’t gotten what you asked for.” Walter snapped, looking up from the table.

“No me hables así, eh, ni siquiera mi papá le habla así a mi mamá, Don’t try me, Walter.” Y/N said as she walked to the kitchen.

“Ugh, even Angie wasn’t such a bitch.” Walter muttered and Y/N stopped to turn around.

“You know what, you’re stressed, you haven’t eaten, you’re probably sleep deprived, let me just cook and we can talk after you take a nap, okay.” Y/N said but Walter then slammed his hands on the table.

“I am not a child, Y/N, you don’t have to smother me, and you are most certainly not my wife so stop acting like it.” Walter raised his voice and Y/N widened her eyes.

“I May not be your wife but I am your girlfriend, and I deserve to be respected, Walter.” Y/N said.

“I am not going to sit here and be nagged by you, I’m going out.” Walter huffed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Y/N shouted.

“Out! Are you having trouble hearing me more than usual?” Walter asked as he left the house, closing the door behind him.

“Ugh, me encabrona!” Y/N shouted. This was their first big fight. Y/N calmed down a little and she wanted to cry because she just drove her boyfriend out of his house.

Walter sat in his truck to calm down a little. “FUCK!” Walter shouted, hitting his steering wheel. He drove somewhere he thought he would stop visiting after Faye went away to college; Angie’s house.

Walter rang her doorbell and Angie opened the door in Jeans and a sweater.

“Walter? What are you doing here? Faye doesn’t come back until spring break.” Angie said.

“I know, I came to talk to you.” Walter said.

“You should have called, this isn’t a good time.” Angie said.

“I think I messed things up with Y/N.” Walter said. Angie sighed and moved out of the way so Walter can come in. Angie walked to the couch and patted on the empty space next to her.

“Tell me everything. Y/N seems very sweet, kinda young, but she’s a good person, what the hell did you do?” Angie asked him

“I’ve been too focused on this case that i forgot to pick her up from her job since they are working on her car, I yelled at her, basically called her a bitch, and disrespected her. She just wanted to to take care of me, to stop me from getting burnout, and I yelled at her and disrespected her. Saying that she should stop acting like she’s my wife.” Walter said. His eyes were tearing up.

“Wow, that’s a lot to unpack.” Angie said.

“Why did we get a divorce, Angie?” Walter asked.

Why are you asking me that?” Angie asked.

“Was it me? Was I the problem?” Walter asked. Angie looked at him, saw that Walter looked practically broken.

“Listen, Walter, we got married in our early 20s. We were young, we weren’t going to last anyway. You tried your hardest to make me happy, and i was happy with you for a while. You are a great father to Faye, you put your all in our relationship, but you are also a workaholic.” Angie said softly. “It’s not a bad thing, you’re a cop, someone has to get the bad guys, right? I couldn’t handle that because I’m not used to it. But Y/N is a nurse, right? A nurse and a cop, what could be better than that? She knows the heavy workload you have because she has the same.”

“So what you’re saying it that I pushed away the one person who could possibly understand me.” Walter said.

“Sorta. You shouldn’t have yelled at her, she was just trying to get you to relax and eat, God knows how much I tried to get you to eat back when you were still on the SWAT Team.” Angie said.

“My job is stressful, Angie, you know that.” Walter said.

“And so does she. I’m sure you’ll make it right.” Angie said. Then Walter’s stomach growled and bleh of them laughed.

“Yeah, Y/N wasn’t lying when she said I was living off coffee, do you have anything to eat?” Walter asked.

“I Can order us takeout. You want Chinese, Italian, or Latin food?” Angie asked, holding out the menus she keeps in a kitchen drawer.

“Latin food.” Walter said, already missing Y/N’s cooking.

“You got it, detective.” Angie said.

While Y/N was drinking wine, eating ice cream, and watching movies that make her cry (for me it’s how to train your dragon, Beethoven, elemental, I’m a sensitive and emotion person, okay), Walter was getting nostalgic with Angie, eating and drinking.

"Remember that time you stayed up with me for a case when I just started working as a homicide detective?" Walter asked, eating a piece of chicken with his rice.

"Oh my god, yes, I was so tired, I think I crashed around 4am, I was exhausted at work." Angie said.

"I told you that you didn't have to stay up, but you were so stubborn and made us coffee after you put Faye to bed." Walter said.

"I had to support my husband." Angie said, taking a sip of wine.

More time went on, they finished the bottle of wine, and one thing led to another, Walter kissed Angie.

Y/N saw that the time was 10pm and Walter still hasn't come home yet. She got off the couch and unlocked her phone to call Walter, it went to voicemail after a few rings.

"Hey Oso, please come back home. We both have said some things, you mostly, but I really want to talk about this, I'm sorry if I nag you, that is not my intention, I just love you so much and I want you to take care of yourself, bye." Y/N left the voicemail and went to the bedroom she shared with Walter and Walter and Angie were too busy undressing each other on their way to her bedroom to notice his phone vibrating on the kitchen counter.

Walter lied awake in bed, with Angie by his side, Angie was asleep, both were naked.

"What have I done?" Walter wondered out loud in a whisper. He tried to sleep but every time he closed his eyes, he just sees what happened with Angie.

It was 8 in the morning and Y/N did not have to go in for work. She went downstairs and Walter still wasn't back home. Meanwhile Walter was putting his clothes back on.

"This never should have happened." Walter stated, zipping up his pants.

"You think I'm thrilled we slept together? I'm married! I'm just happy he has a business trip in Boston." Angie said, putting on her bathrobe.

"Where is my phone?" Walter asked, looking throgh her bedroom.

"It's probably downstairs on the kitchen counter. Have a safe trip home, make up with Y/N, I'll see you when Faye comes back." Angie said. Walter went downstairs and turned on his phone. He saw a voicemail from Y/N. He played the voicemail and his eyes strated tearing up.

"I am such a wanker." Walter muttered. He walked out of the house and got into his truck to go back home. He saw Y/N’s car in the driveway. He spent a few mintues in his truck crying, thinking about how he should tell Y/N. Its worse if she finds out later so it is better to be truthful now. He got out of the car, walked into the house and saw Y/N making pancakes.

"Oso, you're back!" Y/N exclaimed, leaving the mixing bowl on the counter and walked over to him, pulling him into a hug. "Listen, I promise not to 'nag' you as much if you promise to take care of yourself. I am not trying to smother you, I just don't want you to burn yourself out, okay?" Y/N pulled away from the hug and saw that Walter's eyes were red. "Hey, whats wrong?" Y/N asked, she was about to wipe his tears when Walter took her hands in his and pushed them away.

"We need to talk." Walter said.

"Okay, can it wait?" Y/N asked.

"No, it can't." Walter said. Y/N looked at him, his face was serious. She nodded and took off her apron, followed Walter into the living room and sat on the couch. Walter had her hands in his. "Something happened when i left. But I'm letting you know now that it meant nothing and that I completely regret it."

"Walter, you're scaring me, what did you do?" Y/N asked, her voice breaking as her eyes became glassy.

"I drove to Angie's house. I need clarity, I just fought with you and I know i messed up really bad but I didn't know if it would have been the end. I asked Angie why we got divorced, I asked if it was the problem with our argument." Walter said, carefully looking at Y/N's reactions to his words. "She came to the conclusion that you and I are perfect for each other and that I should be more open to accepting your help, that I was pushing you away. We were reliving our good moments, we were eating drinking, and then we..." Walter was cut off by Y/N putting her hand up.

"You slept with your ex wife?" Y/N asked.

"Yes.” Walter admitted.

“You slept with your ex-wife after she told you that you and I were practically perfect for each other?” Y/N asked again.

“Yes.” Walter whispered. Y/N nodded and took her hands out of Walter’s, she walked to the kitchen and Walter trailed behind her. He observed how she picked up the mixing bowl and continued to mix the batter before turning on the stove and pouring the mix with a ladle onto the pan. “Say something, anything.” Walter said. Y/N remained silent until she finished making pancakes and the mixing bowl was empty.

“You wanna know what I did when you left me on our home? I cried because I had no idea where you were going. I was drinking wine and purposely watching movies that I know will make me cry because you were gone for hours and did send me a text to let me know you were alright. We never had a fight like this, Walter, Never, in our 5 years of dating. And the first thing you do is go to your ex-wife’s house? After you told me that Angie wasn’t as much as a bitch as I was? Do you see how messed up that is?” Y/N asked Walter with tears in her eyes.

“It didn’t mean anything, Y/N, I swear.” Walter said.

“Oh please Walter, you guys were married for what, 9 years? You loved each other, Walter. Maybe you still love each other, I don’t know. What I do know is that feelings were involved, Walter. It’s is different than sleeping with a random woman, which I would still be angry about by the way. You cheating on me with Angie is much worse than a random hookup.” Y/N explained, trying to hold on her tears.

“It was a mistake, Y/N, we were drunk.” Walter said.

“Oh, you were drunk, I guess that makes it better, then.” Y/N commented sarcastically. Me vale madre if you were drunk or not, we were still together.” Y/N said.

“I can make it better, please. I’m sorry I hurt you, I shouldn’t have left you, it was bad judgment on my part.” Walter said, he was going to wrap his arm around her when Y/N moved away.

“Now is not the time Walter.” Y/N said.

“What happened to Oso?” Walter asked.

“You lost that nickname the minute you slept with Angie. The worst part about ALL OF THIS is that you needed her to tell you that we were perfect for each other. You needed confirmation from another person, you couldn’t just take my word for it. You didn’t want me to smother you? Well congratulations, Walter, I won’t be here to smother you anymore.” Y/N said, walking upstairs, Walter following suit. He saw her pull out a suitcase, she was packing.

“No, please don’t leave me, we have to talk about this, please.” Walter said. Y/N looked up to see Walter’s eyes, his once bright blue eyes were now dull.

“Fine, you want to talk, let’s talk. How was your night with Angie?” Y/N asked.

“I don’t understand.” Walter said.

“Then let me help you understand. While I was home watching movies, you were fücking Angie in her house, how was she in bed? Is that clear enough?” Y/N asked kinda aggressively.

“I can’t answer that.” Walter stated.

“You’re the one who wanted to talk.” Y/N reminded him.

“It was different, you and I have always made love, Y/N. Angie was nothing compared to what we have.” Walter said. Y/N got closer to Walter.

“Had, Walter.” Y/N said, she finished packing her suitcase with her clothes, towels, and toiletries. She got the suitcase and started walking downstair, opening the front door, Walter trailed behind her. “You finally did it, Walter, you pushed me away, I hope you’re happy.” Y/N gave Walter his key back.

“What can I do to fix this? Fix us?” Walter asked.

“I just need time. I can’t sleep in the same bed with you or stay in the same house with you knowing that if we have another fight, you’d go to Angie, that you slept with Angie. The day I moved in, you promised me that you’d never hurt me and I believed you, guess we were both wrong.” Y/N said. She left and closed the door. Walter immediately broke down crying on the floor, he messed up big time.

Y/N entered her car and called one of her friends from the hospital.

“Hey Y/N, what’s up, how’s your weekend?” Her friend asked.

“Hey Blair, um, I was wondering if I can stay at your house for a few days or a few weeks.” Y/N said.

“Yeah, babe, stay with me as long as you need, okay? You sound like you’ve been through it. Go over to my house, I’ll call Seth and let him know, okay. Love you, bye." Blair hung up and Y/N but Blair's address on her phone and drove to her house. She saw Blair's husband, Seth, outside the house with the door open, along with two kids playing in the front yard with a cavalier king charles spaniel. Y/N parked her car in the driveway and got out.

"Y/N, its so nice to meet you, you need any help with your bag?" Seth asked.

"No, its fine, I got it." Y/N said. "How old are they?" Y/N asked Seth, entering the house.

"7 and 4. The dog is 2. We don't have the guest room set up so you will have to sleep on the couch tonight, is that alright?" Seth asked.

"Of course, I’m intruding. I will help with dinner and cleaning.” Y/N said.

“Sounds like a deal.” Seth said

Walter has been throwing himself into work since she left 4 days ago. Whenever there was an interrogation and the suspect would get testy, Walter took out all his anger on them. However, Commissioner Harper has had enough of Walter’s anger issues.

“Marshall, you can’t keep hulking out on the suspects/perps, we’ll get nowhere. Go home, you’re not coming back until you fix whatever problem you have going on.” Harper said. Walter huffed and walked out.

When he made it home and saw the picture of him and Y/N together, he decided it was time to get her back. He got in his truck, bought her favorite flowers, and went to the hospital she worked at. He got out of the truck and entered the hospital lobby.

“Hi, I’m Walter Marshall, I’m here to see Y/N L/N, she’s a nurse.” Walter said.

“Do you know what floor she’s working on?” The receptionist asked.

“Can’t you check?” Walter asked.

“She’s assigned to me 9th floor, here’s your visitor pass.” The receptionist said and Walter thanked her. He saw that a lot of people were waiting for the elevator so he decided to take the stairs. Luckily for him, this was light work compared to his SWAT training. He stopped at the 9th floor and walked to the nurse station.

“Hello, can I…oh it’s you.”

“Nice to see you too, Blair. Do you know where Y/N is?” Walter asked, lowkey out of breath,

“Why would I tell you? She’s devastated over his things ended.” Blair said.

“That’s why I’m here, to make things right. Where is she?” Walter asked again.

“She’s getting a translator from the supply closet.” Blair answered, pointing towards the door and Walter thanked her. He opened the door and saw Y/N in her light blue scrubs, her hair (down, braided, in a ponytail, up to you!), he closed the door and Y/N turned around.

“Walter, what are you doing here?” Y/N asked. Walter saw that Y/N had dark circles under her eyes, Y/N noticed the same thing about Walter. His hair was messier than usual.

“I came to win you back.” Walter says, handing Y/N the flowers.

“Flowers? You think you can fix everything with flowers?” Y/N said.

“No, but I think this might fix everything.” Walter said.

You better learn to grovel Get down on your knees Begging for forgiveness like "please, oh baby, please" I want all the tears streaming down your pretty face Telling me I'm someone that you can't replace I want you to grovel, grovel

Walter got down on his knees in front of Y/N, looking up at her like he was worshiping a goddess, on his mind he was.

“Please forgive, Y/N, you mean the whole world to me, these last few days have been utter torture, my house doesn’t feel like a home anymore, you brought light to my life, I am nothing without you.” Walter starts tearing up, voice breaking. “Please, baby, please forgive me, I made a terrible mistake, I admit that, you are someone that I can’t replace, no one, and I mean no one could replace you. You are so special to me, I am so lucky to have you, and I will worship the ground you walk on if you let me, please. I don’t know what I’ll do without you in my life.” When Walter was finished with his little speech, both of them were crying.

“Of course I forgive you, Oso. Now get up, the floor is filthy.” Y/N said, helping Walter up. Walter laughed lightly, getting up, and pulling Y/N into a kiss. She pulled away. “So I don’t have to worry about Angie?”

“Of course not, my love, I am in love with you, I dreamt about you since you left, I missed you. I will worship you everyday until I die, no one compares to you, I swear.” Walter said, kissing her once more.

“Thank you for the flowers. And thank you for coming all the way here to apologize, must’ve been hard with Blair being in the front today.” Y/N said, smelling the flowers.

“No it was not. Quick question, not that I’m ungrateful or anything, thank you for forgiving me, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you didn’t, but why did you?” Walter asked. Y/N pretended to think.

“Have I ever told you that I love when a man grovels and begs?” Y/N playfully asked and Walter laughed wholeheartedly.

“Good to know for the future. I’ll see you at home.” Walter kissed her goodbye, both of them walking out of the supply closet.

“See you at home.” Y/N said, still holding the flowers.

Walter walked back to his truck and got in. Smiling to himself, she’s coming back home, back to me

The End

Hope y’all liked it, was it too long? Was it good? I don’t know how to write couple fights, clearly. This took forever to write

Taglist: @warriormirkwood

#hispanic reader #latina #hispanic #henry cavill x reader #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall x reader #walter marshall x you #henry cavill #night hunter #walter marshall

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