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yelenasbitch · 13 days ago

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Death's Revival: Chapter 2 and 3

Summary: Natasha's sudden and tragic ending left behind many mourning loved ones, including her wife. Yelena tracked down Clint, and now she's going to meet her sister's wife, only without her sister there to help out. Grief is a process for friends and family, especially when it ends suddenly...

Word Count: 2,624 and 2,328 = 4,952

Warnings: Grief, mentions of death/dying, weight issues, memory issues, etc.

A/N: I wrote this bc this is what happened, and that's only if you believe Thanos was real and not an anxiety induced dream sequence...

Masterlist (coming soon)

Steve keeps Clint up to date about your visits with Yelena, how you look and how you act when she’s there. He’s pleased to hear that the two of you are helping to heal each other, though he’s still concerned over your health, mental and physical.

After he met Yelena, after Christmas and New Years and things returning to normal, Clint reflected on everything. He thinks about Natasha and her sacrifice, of course he does, he’s been thinking about it non-stop since it happened. Thinking about the look in your eyes and on your face when he came back alone and as you had talked to him at her grave. Still, he thinks and thinks during the next few months, his conversations with Steve reminding him of the love and longing that follows his best friend beyond the grave, that haunts his days and nights.

He goes to visit Natasha’s grave again, stands there and thinks about how it’s empty, how she died thousands of miles from home, from anything familiar, from the people she fought and died to save. He remembers the way she told him to let go, knowing that he had children to return to, and while she had you, she couldn't do that to his family. He keeps brooding over her sacrifice until Laura finally makes him talk to her, and her suggestion after four nights in a row of talking things through for hours makes him feel like an idiot for not thinking of it himself.

“Why don’t you just ask the Wizard Guy, Strange, right? Ask him to open up a portal and take her and bury her here? Would that be any better? Maybe?” Laura misses Natasha as well, and cannot explain how grateful and devastated she is about her sacrifice. She knows it was for her and the kids, and feels so guilty and so thankful all at once.

Clint stares at his wife for a few moments and then calls her a genius, running to find his phone. She makes him text Steve first, to talk through his plan, and after he sits for a minute, he thinks it’s a good idea, and agrees to wait and talk not only to Steve but also Sam and Bucky. Still, he falls asleep much easier that night, finally feeling as though he’s finally doing the right thing for his deceased best friend.

Once the three of them have talked, Clint calls Stephen Strange and asks to see him, wanting to make this request in person. He knows it's a big request, but he’s also ready to go toe to toe with this sorcerer in order to get his best friend's body back to earth. In order to give you a sense of closure and maybe get you back to earth as well.

They arrange to meet in the city at some nondescript coffee shop; Clint is wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, trying to remain unnoticed. He thinks wistfully of the days before every man, woman, and child in the world knew who he was and what he looked like. He thinks of past covert missions. He thinks of Budapest. He clears his throat and sips at his terrible coffee.

When Strange shows up, Clint straightens in his seat and waits for him to sit down.

“Well?” And holy shit, Clint remembers why he doesn’t particularly like this man, his arrogance overpowering with just a single word. He reminds himself that he needs a favor from this guy, and calms himself down enough to behave politely.

“I need help, I need a big favor.” Strange just sits there and waits. “I want to go to Vormir, where Natasha—where she—anyway… I want to collect her body and bring it home so we can bury her. Please, I know this is a lot to ask, but her wife is a wreck, and her sister is heartbroken, and I thought it would be nice for them to know, at least, that her body is here, so they can visit her.” He stops, takes a breath to keep going, desperate to persuade him to help, but he’s interrupted by Strange.

“I can try.” He says, and Clint feels a weight lift off his chest. “It’ll take some time to find the right incantation, and I’m not sure that her body will still be there. Sometimes when magic is involved, things get–they don’t work the way you’d think.”

Clint is nodding now, “I understand, I won’t be angry if it doesn’t work, I just have to try.” He also thinks that nothing can be expected now, with aliens and magic and a best friend shaped hole in his life. Still, he keeps going for Natasha and his family and you.

“Fine,” Stephen stands up, “I’ll contact you when I’m ready.”

“Thank you.” And Clint shakes his hand and watches him leave, thinking that after Tony Stark, he shouldn’t be surprised by the depth of human kindness within everyone, even the people you want to punch in the face sometimes.

It’s another month and a half of angst-filled pacing before he finally gets the call that Stephen will be ready in two days, giving him time to prepare. He tells Laura everything, and tells the kids that he’s going into the city to see you and Steve, consoling himself with the fact that it’s not a complete lie, and then packs a bag.

The two of them meet at the compound, sit with Steve for a few minutes, and then they go outside to a private area so he can begin. Clint watches with interest as Strange’s magic sparks into life, creating beautiful and intricate patterns of light and heat. Suddenly it forms a circle and through its growing opening, Clint can see the familiar landscape that haunts his dreams, his every move. Strange looks at him and nods, and they both walk through the opening, going from one planet to another in the blink of an eye.

They’re greeted by the familiar form of Red Skull making his way over to them. They both tense, though Steve said he had been perfectly cordial during their last encounter.

“You’ve returned for her. Finally.” And he turns, beckoning them; they shrug at each other and follow, confused.

“What do you mean ‘finally’?” Clint asks after a few minutes of walking.

“Well, I will admit that time passes differently here, but I was surprised when the other one did not take her back with him, and then no one came to collect her. It was especially confusing after watching the two of you fight, not to avoid that fate, but to embrace it.”

“You mean that we could have done this when Steve returned the Stone?” Stephen asks, wanting to clarify things, wanting to know the rules of this magical plane.

“Yes, a soul for a soul, after all.” And before they can ask anything else, he stops in front of an altar that Clint could have sworn was not there ten feet ago.

Natasha Romanoff is laying on top of this strange stone altar, looking as though she’s taking a quick nap. Looking like she might wake up at any moment. Her cheeks are pink and her eyes, though closed, seem to flicker. She even looks like she’s breathing, and–

“IS SHE ALIVE?” Clint screams, or maybe whispers, he can’t even tell right now, rushing forward to grab her hand, her warm hand.

“Well, yes.” Red Skull looks from Clint to Strange, settling on talking to the latter, the one who isn’t fawning over this ordinary woman.

“A soul for a soul. So when the stone was returned–”

“She gets to come back to life?” Stephen asks, and Clint can’t tell if his excitement is due to the fact that Natasha is alive, or because this is fascinating. Probably the second option.

“Then why is she unconscious?” Clint is getting nervous, looking for the catch.

“I was unsure if anyone would come for her, so I kept her asleep. She is perfectly healthy and safe, and she will wake soon after you return to Earth with her.”

Clint shifts, picks Natasha up, and nods to Strange.

“I think it’s time we go home.” He wants to get out of here, wants to check her over back on Earth. Back where he knows she won’t be ripped from his grasp again.

“Yes,” Stephen turns to Red Skull, “thank you. I apologize for intruding and not coming to retrieve her sooner. We didn't know.”

The odd being simply nods and walks a bit away before disappearing.

Stephen opens the portal, and they walk back through, breathing in relief when they’re back on the familiar green grass of the compound under their own blue sky.

“I’m going to take her to medical, can you tell Steve for me?” Clint is already walking as he says all of this, not wanting to waste any time in case something goes wrong with his best friend, who is miraculously back from the dead.

“Of course!” Stephen calls from behind him, and then it’s all a blur.

He arrives at the medical wing and the nurses and doctors converge on her, looking her over and taking her vitals. After a few tests she’s brought to a secure room, Natasha is infamous here for not being very happy to wake up in the hospital. Clint follows from room to room, test to test, texting with his wife and Steve, and finally sitting down in her room after he drags the chair a bit closer to the hospital bed, wanting to stay near her, just in case.

He keeps looking at Natasha lying there, not believing his eyes, and unwilling to blink lest she disappear.

Natasha is still unmoving on the hospital bed, hooked up to all the various and loud machines, but the doctor has assured Clint that she’s stable, in great condition even, considering… Still, she hasn’t woken up, and Clint is getting more and more anxious as time passes. He should’ve made Strange stay with them, either for his magical abilities or his medical knowledge; still, Clint is more grateful than he’ll ever be able to express.

The heart monitor betrays her, beeping rapidly when she begins to regain consciousness, even though she keeps her eyes closed as she automatically assesses her surroundings. Once she realizes that it’s herheart rate riling up the machine, she takes a deep breath and opens her eyes. They lock on Clint’s where he’s sitting beside her, frozen.

“So I guess it didn't work, huh?” She speaks first and then he’s crying and smiling and hugging her tightly as she tries to figure out what the hell is happening with him.

“Nat, Natasha, yes, it worked, but you’re home now.” And then he has to stop, tears of relief choking him again.

She looks around the room, confused when she doesn’t see you hovering nearby as well, used to your look of relief and frustration whenever she’d landed herself back here.

“Clint, what the hell happened? If it worked, then I should be dead. And if I’m dead I wouldn’t be in the hospital. What. Happened.”

He takes a breath and curses himself for not thinking this through, in his defense though, he’d simply gone to collect her body, and had come home with an alive but unconscious Natasha Romanoff. Not conducive to clear thinking. And of course she’s already frustrated with him. Typical.

He’s missed it so much.

“Well, you did it,” he starts, pausing at this part, unwilling to say the words, “and I got the soul stone.” He keeps going, describing it all, explaining what Steve did, what happened with Tony, all of it. He also explains how Yelena tried to kill him–Natasha smirks at this and rolls her eyes a bit at her sister’s dramatics. Still, he hasn’t said a word about you, and she’s started getting nervous by the time he’s (almost) caught her up with everything.

“What about her, Clint? What happened to my wife?! Where is she?” and her heart rate spikes again, which makes her angry, and just starts a vicious cycle.

“And get these things OFF of me!” She begins ripping at them, taking it all off, which of course brings in the nurses and starts the various medical questions necessary when someone comes back from the dead without a scratch on them. Even for people who work with the Avengers, it’s a bit weird.

Clint just watches off to the side, racking his brain as he tries to figure out what to tell Natasha, and how to prepare you for your dead wife’s sudden return. When he hears his former partner threaten to stab one of the newer nurses, he steps in, and they’re all done in another thirty minutes. The room empties, and Natasha begins to put on her shoes, preparing to leave; Clint winces and puts a hand out to stop her when she stands to go.

“Nat, we need to talk.” She looks at him sharply and he backtracks immediately.

“She’s fine, her and Yelena both; healthy as horses, really.” Not really, but you’re apparently less corpse-like when Yelena is around and he’s counting that as a win.

“But she was really upset about what happened, obviously we all were, but you know how much she loves you.” He stops and takes a breath, wishing he had his own wife here to help him navigate this messy conversation.

“You promised that you’d watch out for her, and I know you did. Just tell me. Please.” She’s sitting there stone-faced as he continues, and it's one of the hardest things he’s ever done. And he’s been through a lot in the last few years…

“She, well, once we got through the funerals, she just kind of shut down. And she wouldn’t leave the compound, wouldn’t come stay with the family at the farm, no matter how much we begged. She went almost catatonic, Nat, and the only reason she didn’t is because we told her we’d have to move her to a hospital, take her out of your home. Still, it wasn’t good.”

He goes on, describes the conversation he’d had with you at her empty grave, explains how Steve kept an eye on you, Sam and Bucky visiting when they could, and finally he gets to Yelena. He says that he’s heard you eat when she’s there, and spend more than an hour in her company, even if most of it is spent in companionable silence. By the time he’s done, Natasha has a faraway look in her eyes, tears running down her cheeks at how much pain you’d been in during the time she’s been gone. If the horrible things Clint is telling her is him being reassuring, she doesn't want to think about what he’s sparing her from knowing.

“I can’t–how am I going to face her, Clint? She’s going to hate me.” The guilt she feels is overpowering, and her head won’t stop spinning as she tries to reconcile the time she’s missed along with your crisis during her absence.

“Are you nuts?!” and Clint is yelling at her for the first time in quite a while, snapping her out of her thoughts. “She’s missed you so–I mean, how can you–? She’s going to be so happy to see you, Natasha. You are her everything, and she’s going to come back to life along with you.”

He can tell that Natasha isn’t fully convinced, but he makes her follow him out of the medical wing, and towards the almost deserted Avenger’s quarters of the compound. Walking next to her is a relief, and he feels almost like himself again.

Chapter 3

Nat and Clint stop to see Steve before they go up to your floor, and though Clint and Strange had warned him, Steve looks so surprised that for a second Clint worries about his heart giving out. Still, he’s smiling and laughing, and looking so pleased to have Natasha back home, alive and well. The smiles last until Nat asks about you, wanting Steve to tell her in his own words about how her wife has been doing, especially since he sees you so often.

His version of events don’t make her feel better; if anything, it’s worse. And she doesn’t know if Clint was trying to soften the blow, or if he genuinely didn't know how bad things were. She thinks it’s a bit of both, based on his body language and words, but she is a bit distracted at the moment, so she’s not too sure. Steve also seems like he’s trying to make her feel better, ensuring that she doesn’t panic about you even as she hears how you’ve been grieving her death. Their combined words have painted a horrifying picture of you in her absence, and she avoids trying to dig deeper into their words to figure out how much they’re hiding from her.

“You need to go see her, Nat.” Steve’s voice is gentle but reprimanding, breaking into her thoughts.

She nods, hears a rushing sound as she tries to figure out what the hell she’s going to say to you, how she’ll explain something she doesn’t really understand herself. She hasn’t even been gone that long in her mind, just going to Vormir and then waking up in the hospital. Still, she stands and makes her way out, shaking her head slightly when Clint goes to follow her. She needs to do this alone, owes it to you. He nods in understanding, sitting down again, and she squares her shoulders and sets out, goes home.

When Natasha reaches your floor and steps out of the elevator, she can immediately feel the desolation, the loneliness that you’ve embraced in her absence. Still, the small lamp that sits on a long thin table in the middle of the hall is turned on, the way it always was when she’d come home from a mission. It was your way of showing her that you’d missed her, that you were waiting for her to return, and she’d bet everything she has that the lamp hasn’t been turned off, not even once, since she’s been gone. Heart beating fast and breathing shallow, she makes her way through the hall towards the door that leads to the kitchen and living room, knowing that that’s where you’ll be, curled up in your spot. The bay window had been your favorite spot since you’d moved in with her, and she takes a few seconds to remember all the times she’s carried you to bed after you’d fallen asleep waiting for her to come home after missions. ,

She opens the door silently, sees you curled up in the bay window, head against the glass. She holds in a gasp at how…sickly you look. She still thinks you’re the most beautiful person in the universe, any universe, but your appearance is shocking. Hair gone brittle, skin dull, dark bags under your eyes, and your wasted figure all makes her heart ache, especially when she remembers how both Steve and Clint had reassured her that you were eating more with Yelena, enjoying her company. If this is you getting better…she really can’t imagine worse, doesn’t want to. She’s horrified enough as it is.

She keeps walking towards you after taking in your appearance, and suddenly your head moves up from the window, your eyes take in her figure. You always seem to know, she thinks fondly, when she’s close, no matter how silently and stealthily she moves, and no matter what's happening around the two of you. You blink a few times and then force yourself up, untangle yourself from the comforter you’d been wrapped in, stand there and look at her where she’s frozen, unable to speak with how happy she is to see you, even like this.

“Natasha, Natty,” you smile, and then you’re speaking in a rush, “I knew you’d be here, but I don’t know–I mean I can’t–can’t quite remember how I—how I died. Is that normal? Although it doesn’t matter. I’m just so happy to be with you again.” Natasha’s smile fades as she realizes what you think is happening, and the happy look on your face makes her stomach turn as her mind races for the words to fix this.

“No, no my love, you’re not dead.” She starts slowly, not wanting to overtax your grief stricken mind. You look confused at her words, and she takes a few steps towards you, heart clenching when you mirror her actions with a look of trepidation. Though confused and fearful, you’re still aching to be close to her.

“I don’t get it, what—? Please, no. No, I’m so tired, don’t leave me again!” And you take another, frantic, step towards her, and then she sees you falter, catches you just before you hit the ground. She checks, and your pulse is steady, but you aren’t waking up, and so she scoops you into her arms and heads back to the medical wing, asking FRIDAY to alert the others as she stands in the elevator holding your limp body.

When you wake up in the medical ward, you start screaming before anyone can talk to you, your last memory being Natasha’s ghost coming to take you away and then rejecting you (or at least, that’s what you think). You begin clawing at yourself, sobbing and screaming, asking for them to let you go, let you join her. Eventually they’re forced to sedate and restrain you, and there are still tears running down your face as the drugs take over and send you rushing into oblivion.

Natasha watches from outside the room, and feels her heart break.

When Yelena gets to the compound, arrives at the medical wing, the sisters go into a private room to talk. Clint had called her and she’d cut a mission short, rushing back even though she couldn't quite believe him. The sisters stand there, facing each other, and Yelena looks over Natasha suspiciously.

“C’mon Yelena. Just ask me what you want and then let me give you a hug.” It may have only felt like a short time since she’d seen you, but she hasn’t seen Yelena in over five years. At least her sister looks healthy, looks like she’d been able to carry on after the blip and Natasha’s death.

Yelena asks two questions before she finally breaks, crying as she falls into her sister’s embrace, grasping tightly as the redhead whispers to her in Russian. Eventually the crying subsides and they sit together, catch up. Natasha asks her sister about everything she’s been up to, starting from when she reappeared after the snap. She asks follow up questions, makes sure that Yelena knows how much she is loved by her older sister. Eventually Yelena gets to you, talks about what it was like to hear about you from Barton and then Steve, and then to meet you, to see her room. They both start crying again, even though neither one will admit it.

“What’s going on with her?” Yelena finally asks. She’s been avoiding the subject since she arrived. Yelena has grown to love you and she knows that her sister is scared by what’s happening, more scared by this than facing her own death. It’s an unsettling thought, and she shies away from it immediately.

“I don’t really know. She thought she was dead, when she saw me,” Natasha explains slowly, “and then she fainted when I tried to explain…things. The doctors are saying that she was out for so long because of how…fragile her body is right now. I brought her here and then when she woke up she completely lost it, tried to—they had to sedate her, even put on restraints.”

Yelena looks shocked, trying to picture you raising your voice even a bit, cannot connect this picture to the idea of you, the low tones you use, your shuffling from one room to the other, the soft smile she’s coaxed from you a couple times. She holds her sister tight, silently promising that she will fix this all, make sure things get better for all of you. And then she thinks that Natasha is probably thinking the same thing. She rests her head on her sister’s shoulder, knowing there is nothing she can say right now, knowing they will both have to wait for you to wake up, and hope that you’ll be calm.

The next time you wake up, you’re restrained, arms and legs tied to the bed, but it doesn't matter. The sedatives are still working their way through your system, you’re groggy and disoriented, and it takes you a few minutes to even remember what's going on, to open your eyes and scan the room. When you do look around, you see Clint staring at you, worry and something else, something you can’t figure out, on his face.

You turn your head to the other side, not wanting to see him.

You remember now, it all comes rushing back; you’d seen Natasha, thought she’d come to bring you to the afterlife, instead, it seems you fainted and someone found you and dragged you to the hospital. You remember waking up the first time, and tears leak out of your eyes as you feel the same desperation creeping up on you.

You face Clint again, gasp out “please.” It’s all you can say, but he’s shaking his head, grasping for your hand.

“No, no. I have something to tell you, I need to explain everything.” He watches for a reaction, but you just blink, cannot muster the energy to respond. He continues anyway, praying that you’re coherent enough to listen and digest the information.

“I talked to Stephen Strange about going to get Natasha’s body,” it hurts when he says her name, the first time he’s said it out loud to you in over a year.

“I wanted to bring her home to bury her here, so that, well, anyway. When we got there, apparently it’s a soul for a soul, and so when Steve returned the stone, he was entitled to–he could’ve–I guess he didn't know–wasn’t told–” Clint keeps struggling, starting and stopping. It's annoying enough to stir you to speak, it helps too that the drugs are wearing off even more as your heart beats faster, annoyance giving way to adrenaline, expelling the drugs.

“Spit it out, I just want to be finished with this.”

“We brought back the stone, and by doing that, we got Natasha back. Alive, I mean. She’s home. She’s here. She’s safe. She’s alive.” You stare at him, unable to believe what he’s saying.

He says it again, all of it and slowly, and then he keeps repeating those two words: ‘she’s alive’.

“Bring her,” you say finally, and he looks concerned. You sit up, frustrated and coherent enough to look like it.

“I’m fine now, you idiot. Someone should have told me! Of course I was going to think I had died, when I SAW MY DEAD WIFE APPEAR! GO GET HER!” You’re yelling by the end, angry and frustrated, and still not quite believing this isn’t some horrible trick. Still, you’d been married to an Avenger, you’ve seen plenty of crazy things over the years. You’re afraid to hope, but you need to, need this to be true.

He runs out of the room, and anticipation blooms in your chest; you start breathing heavily, vision going fuzzy, but you try and calm yourself down, knowing that they’ll sedate you again if you get too overwrought.

You have your eyes closed as you try to manage your breathing, and so you don't see Natasha come in, but you can tell when she’s there, though she’s as silent as ever. It was your own superpower, that's what she’d always said.

“Are you really here?” you ask, voice wavering and eyes still closed.

“Yes,” she says, and you’d forgotten just how sweet her voice sounds, “open up and take a look.”

You steel yourself and open your eyes, take in the sight of your beautiful wife, standing in front of you, looking as though she’d never left.

You go to reach for her, but the restraints that you’re still attached to prevent you from getting very far. You start tugging at them, and she quickly comes over, sitting next to you on the hospital bed, and undoing them with speed and efficiency, not quite meeting your eyes.

Once she’s done, you take her face in your hands, run them along her nose, cheeks, lips, mapping out her face, trailing your hands along her arms, touching her skin wherever you can, trying to prove to yourself that she’s here, alive, in front of you. Your eyes meet, though you can hardly see through the tears of joy and relief that are clouding your vision. You blink to clear them, swallow heavily to unstick your throat; you hold on tighter.

“Natasha,” you whisper, and her eyes close as she leans her forehead against yours. “I missed you so much.” And you’re crying, and the words are pathetic, a shadow of the pain, the misery, the destruction that you felt at her loss, a drop in the ocean of your grief. These are, however, the only words that your tired and drugged brain can come up with, and you begin to repeat them, over and over.

She pulls back to look at you, “I know, I’m so sorry–”

You shake your head, not wanting to think about it anymore, and then you both lean in, your lips meet, and it feels like coming home.

#natasha romanoff x reader #black widow #clint barton #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fanfiction #marvel x reader #natasha x reader #natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x you #mcu #natasha romanoff angst #natasha romanoff lives

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fumifooms · 1 year ago

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Marchil crumbs masterpost

Because I can and I will. Someone already made a tiny one way back but I lost it idk if it was here or on reddit… And we’re so small that we have no tag… I can’t credit you sorry marchil warrior you are not forgotten. I’ll definitely updating this whenever I find a new crumb. We’ve already reached the 30 pics cap part 2 coming soon. They do interact a ton I suppose. As always it’s not because I put moments on here that I’m saying they’re inherently romantic blablabla.

Part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7

My vision: Unstoppable force vs immovable object. Corrupt (money) bitter divorcee and corrupt (magic) hopeless romantic. Emotional constipation vs emotional intelligence. Streets savvy vs prestigious academic. Girl with the longest lifespan possible who has trauma over loss x guy with the shortest lifespan who has trauma over past romance. They would take their romantic interest to the fricking grave. Halfling vs elf. Emotionally distant vs clingy and needy… Not that Chilchuck doesn’t seek her attention plenty ngl. By all means they are so incompatible and yet their dynamic is so delightful, opposites certainly do attract if Kui’s to be believed because these two constantly drift towards each other.

To me they're the embodiment of "If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known". Oh actually that'd apply to Laios and Dunmeshi as a whole as well-

She’s his worst nightmare. Opening up to someone?? The audacity to ask that of him. She raises his blood pressure to dangerous levels. He would risk his life for her.

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HIS WORST NIGHTMARE (what he needs). She's classified as a friend who won’t shut up btw Notice how on the dating sim chapter cover, the clicky hand is always on the choice he ended up choosing in canon except for two, Falin’s and Marcille’s. Meaning he may have hesitated on it, on telling her she was pretty? She’s front and center~

It’s notable that Marcille is the main victim of his teasing, he criticizes Laios and everyone plenty but teasing is done much more towards her than anyone else, and we can see that it is something he enjoys. Perhaps one of the things that put him in a good mood the most, besides alcohol and laughing at others in general lol. Here’s a post compiling a lot of that teasing: link

He often confronts her about things and teases/insults her but it's always without any real animosity, sometimes having problems with her actions but never disliking her.

She craves his approval? More likely than you think.

Chilchuck having a sparkly flustered Marcille on his mind and failing to pull her ponytail so she'd give him her attention the right way, then being devastated when she claps back lol. For as much as he teases her, she’s very much able to stand up for herself when it goes too far and to challenge him on some flaws he may have.

Marcille’s canon shapeshifter of Chilchuck is the most convincing one/last one standing! In which he was nicer because Marcille still had some trouble not seeing him as young and thus innocent. Which besides the whole age thing, her having an accurate but nicer version of Chilchuck in her mind is pretty flattering lol

In the earlier chapters they stick by each other the most, often sharing knowing glances and judging the other together. They share this complicity and "wow finally someone sane in this party" energy that none of the others have in quite that way. Comrades in disgust.

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He cannot escape her gossip, she will not rest until she knows all and has met his family and romanticized his life and relationships. She’s the one who pushes Chilchuck to be more open about himself the most. Which, we do also see her being jealous when Chilchuck opens up more to others instead of her, like pic below. Moreover, we see that she’s able to read him like a book to the point that it freaks him out!! Oh the horror of being known… Relationship goals, freak him out bc you understand him so well Oh can I just point out as well that they're the only ones who saw each other's succubus. Like wow knowing each other's most alluring form? Dayum

When doing her theory about what happened between him and his wife, the pictures where her roleplaying as his wife, like literally with her being a half-foot like in the changeling chapters and the mini chilchuck for a baby lmaooo. Which I just now realized that means Marcille’s question about if his wife has blonde hair is valid, we technically don’t know if he already liked blondes or if it’s an acquired taste. Give me a sec to recover from that-

But yeah Marcille is so people-obsessed that she catalogues every little detail about someone, like how Chilchuck complains when he has to wait after someone… She notices things and takes them in stride even if they’re flaws. (In first page, it's the bottom row middle panel)

She wanted to sleep in his bed when Izutsumi was being clingy and she didn't want to sleep alone <3

Here he goes to her to either help her stay upright or comfort her… Uncharacteristic of him but very sweet. What are you gonna do if she collapses on you big guy, collapse along in a show of solidarity?

He's been shown to make sure Marcille stays safe a few times as well, like below. No I will not accept "she's the healer of the party" as a full explanation. He really does get an arc, from not wanting to be anywhere near the battlefield to sticking by his party members. Unlike Laios, Senshi and Izutsumi they both tend to hang in the back in battles, I love how they often strategize together as well.

The reverse is also sometimes true. Especially with how non-shy Marcille is with physical contact, interestingly she's way less delicate about saving others than him lol.

He’s the only one shown to flinch when she makes a noisein the bath which leads me to think he’s the one most flustered by the whole Marcille changing and bathing close by thing, it prob doesn’t help that he has great hearing but yeah, he seems to be hyperaware of her presence in those instances and overreacts.

"Come with me and braid my hair every day!" Meanwhile Chilchuck is fighting for his life holding her at an arm’s length

I can’t believe this is on his ADVENTURER’S BIBLE DESCRIPTION like that thing is one big paragraph about his whole character and you allotted that important limited space for this. Kui do you hear yourself

Part 2 here

#Dungeon meshi #marcille donato #chilchuck tims #marchil #Marcille x chilchuck #Chilchuck x marcille #Funny story before I knew there was already a good ship name (marchil) i was using every other iteration like marchuck and chilcille #Shipping crumbs #i’ve never multishipped as much as for Dunmeshi it’s kinda wild #You will never know my next move never know what ship i’ll talk about next #This ship is so ancient and has survived the war for me. Ok peepaw let’s get me back to bed #Oh and pls don’t come for me for calling Chil money corrupt I don’t mean it that seriously i swear. Just in the money > friends sense #That we saw a lot from him at first #i got so much laimar crumbs while looking for marchil ones too. man these are tedious and tiring to make tho #i am every dunmeshi fan afraid of shipping's worst nightmare #does that make the community chilchuck and me Marcille

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ishipallthings · 4 months ago

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Cap Iron Man Rec Week 2024 (Fri)

Family Fluff Friday - July 26th for @cap-ironman Rec Week

Family fluff - both canon and AU fics, all the fluff!

Remember to show some love for your hard-working creators!

Deep in the Heart of Me by Finely Honed (jaqen_hgar) (AU)

There were days when the realization that he was someone’s father made Steve’s head hurt, but mostly he was grateful that he could trust his instincts, because apparently Peter was what had been missing from his life. Yes, he still had lingering, unresolved issues from his time in the Army, and sure, he had what Bucky annoyingly referred to as a criminally untapped ass, and no life outside of work and Peter, but Steve was okay with how his life had turned out because of trusting his instincts. Unfortunately, those same instincts had straight up betrayed him by going absolutely haywire upon being exposed to Tony Stark.

ten years too late (just in time) by Anonymous (AU)

Steve never went out with Tony when they were young despite Tony’s attempts at wooing him, mostly because he thought Tony was too much of a flimsy playboy who could never really commit seriously to anything that wasn’t partying. Years later he runs into Single Father Tony taking care of his 3 year old. Tony refuses to buy his kid candy before dinner and is overall a pretty decent dad. Tony also thinks Steve could never be interested in him, since he was always rebuffed before, but Tony’s in for a surprise.

Tony, Please by FestiveFerret @festiveferret (AU)

Steve is doing just fine nursing a painful crush on his most captivating client. That is, until his babysitter has an emergency and drops Steve's six-year-old daughter off at his work. Somehow, everything goes off the rails.

Send Me A Hero by suitofhumour @suitofhumour (AU)

Tony needed a bodyguard for his kids and Steve Rogers was the most recommended pick available. Even as Tony tries to be wary of him, the guy manages to worm his way into Tony's life and soon his heart. But Steve has a secret that might be something that even Tony with his Iron Man suit cannot handle easily.

The one where… Tony meets Mr. Rogers by shieldmaidenofrohan (AU)

“Are you ready?”

In the midst of a heavy rain by BladeoftheNebula @bladeofthenebula27 (AU)

“Do you know where Mr Rogers is?” Peter hummed. “He took his refreshment with him. He said he was going for a walk and would return for our next lesson.”

the porcupine and the armadillo by meidui @meidui (MCU, post-EG, series link)

‘I would not hurt them,’ the Porcupine thought to himself. ‘They did not give me a chance to show them that my belly is soft and has no quills. They also did not care that my quills are not there to hurt them. They are there to protect me and I would not survive without them.’

Treading Desire Lines by fohatic @fohatic (MCU, post-EG)

Tony knows that his daughter can be difficult, but he really needs someone to do him a solid when an important opportunity arises. Unfortunately, word is already out: Morgan Stark is a real handful. Never one to shrink from a challenge, Steve steps in, hoping to shift the strained dynamic between him and Tony and having no idea how the course of his life is about to change.

you’ve got to close your eyes and see by Thahire @thahiree (MCU, post-EG)

Morgan manages to bring Tony back eleven years after Thanos’ defeat, long after everyone’s learned to live without him. Everyone’s overjoyed once they get over their shock, but Tony finds it hard to adjust, now that Pepper’s moved on and Morgan’s not a little kid anymore. Somehow, the one constant is Steve.

Hope you guys enjoy the recs, and stay tuned! Please mind the tags before reading. Check out my tag for previous years’ rec lists, and here is an older rec list I made for stevetony single parent AUs :)

#stevetony #stony #superhusbands #steve x tony #capimrecweek #my rec lists #fic recs

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rainyamidala · 2 years ago

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authors note; if you dont like the "has kids and is pregnant" trope, this is not for you !!!! this is basically a headcanon explaining why jake is so tough on his sons in atwow !!

d/n = daughters name

s/n = sons name.

i didn't want to make up names in case readers would like to do that on their own. personally i imagined the kids in way of water lol

theme; you tell jake he's being too hard on your kids - he tells you why.

pairing; dilf jake sully x reader

warnings; bad ending !! clearly what i need to work on the most. mentions of death and war. intentional lower caps

"Jake." I began, looking at him with that look on my face as he finished lecturing our son. This conversation we were about to have must not be had in front of the kids, as that might make it seem like i don't respect jake when he sets a boundary or makes a decision. if thats what it looked like to our kids they could start not listening to him - which is the last thing i'd want.

but it was getting out of hand, and it made me uncomfortable.

we had three kids, one on the way. two boys, one girl.

i always thought him being much more strict with our sons was because they were older and needed to take more responsibility than our daughter had to - because i agreed with that. he did lecture d/n when he had to (so she wouldn't get a suffocating attitude and behavior as a grown up. parenting !) but with our boys it was very different. he'd lecture them about everything, and being very harsh and closed minded when he did so.

jake caught on, nodding.

"you guys go ahead, your mother and I will be right behind you." he said, patting our oldest sons back twice before they went off, mumbling to each other.

"i told you he'd freak out!"

"shut up, jerk. it was your idea."

"oh, yeah? you're the one who started it!"

i waited until they were out of hearing distance before i began again, turning from their direction and to my mates.

"you are very hard on them." i said as i turned around, gaining a sigh from jake in response.

"we've been over this, y/n. they're teenagers. they can't grow and mature with kisses and hugs."

"but it is more than that. you cannot expect them to make no mistakes." it is hard enough already for them with their father being who he was. but like every other na'vi they wanting to make their father and anyone with his name proud - that wouldn't be such a fight if he didn't have so high and unrealistic expectations.

"i don't." Jake responded fast, sounding over it already. he hated having to explain his reasoning - having to explain and defend himself.

"they think you do. that's whats important - they think you have expectations they will never be able to fulfill."

"they said that?"

"once. but they do not have to. i see it - i feel it." i felt very close to all of my children, like if they were physically hurt, I was too.

"I'm their father - its my job to be hard on them. toughen them up for the real world."

"your daughter is growing up in the same world - you don't treat her the same and they see it, jake." the absolute last thing id ever wish for is for jake to be so tough that it creates a wedge between two sons and a father.

"what do you want me to do, hm? let them run off and break every rule we set for them? that is not the kind of example i want to set for the youngest; that you can do whatever you want, whenever you want with no consequences." as he said the word youngest, he placed a hand on my stomach. ever since i got pregnant, he had gotten even more strict. i thought it was because he didn't want to stress me out with our kids (specifically boys) being wild, doing things they shouldn't be doing, but i'd never asked.

"talk to me, ma jake. why are you like this?" before we had our oldest, s/n, jake was very fun. definitely the wildest man i had ever met, always doing something he shouldn't. he was still like that, but less than before. i knew it was because he had matured massively since then, but i wish he'd seen himself in our sons before being so quick to judge their excitement for the world around them.

"because that's how my father raised me and my brother - i think i turned out alright. that's what i want for them. to turn out alright. more than alright - i want them to be the men they were born to be." he explained, struggling a little to keep the eye contact between us.

Jake was not one to talk about his family or his life before Pandora. i knew about his brother and his warrior background, but his parents weren't a subject he'd heavily touch on unless heavily forced.

"when i was a marine, i could be careless. it's more to the story but in the end, i lost my legs because i wasn' thinking two steps ahead. i didn't have my father to correct and lecture me, so i'm giving it to my kids." Jake was very grateful for this chapter in his life, more thankful for this than anything. being able to wiggle his toes and run in the forest was a gift he did not recognize until it was lost. not being able to do so as a human threw him to the wolves of depression - same affect as losing his brother.

he'd hate for one of his sons to get badly injured or even worse: one losing the other like he had lost his brother many years ago.

i opened my mouth to respond, but he quickly shut me off by continuing.

"my father raised me like this and I will continue raising my sons like this. you might not agree with me on everything, but i know i'm doing the right thing."

In response, i just nodded, looking down. i felt slightly bad for bringing it up, seeing the direction it had gone in. Jake had lost his brother and didn't want our kids to fall in his footsteps of fate.

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just-dreaming-marvel · 3 months ago

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Are you team cap or iron man?

woah, loaded question lol

I believe that there were better ways to go about it from both sides.

I'm going to answer this with mostly Captain America Civil War in mind.

So here we go... (good luck)

I believe that Steve was incredibly selfish as soon as Bucky became involved and dragged people down with him. (Steve's actually a really selfish guy if you actually look at everything, but that's a whole other rant...)

I believe that Steve was too emotional and wasn't thinking fully since Peggy passed and Bucky became involved. He couldn't see past himself.

I believe that Tony signed the Accords due to all the guilt and he was honestly trying to make things better.

I believe that if they had ALL signed the Accords, they would have been able to negotiate and get the Accords amended over time as problems arose.

I believe that if they had all signed the Accords, the United Nations would have come to realize the mistake they made in the Accords and either amended or dissolved. Instead, Thanos came and the United Nations were still too busy hunting down the fugitive Avengers! (Ross, I'm looking at you...)

I believe that if they had ALL not signed the Accords, they would have been able to negotiate and figure out a new plan together with the governments. Though, I do believe that this way would have gotten them all in jail together at one point. (Can you imagine? All of them in Raft together? What chaos would that bring? Ross would have definitely retired after that.)

I believe that Steve didn't have any right to keep Tony in the dark about the truth about how Bucky killed Howard and Maria. (Like, when did he find out? How did he find out? Did Sam know too since he was helping search for Bucky? Did Natasha, Maria Hill, and Nick Fury know the truth? I hate them all if they knew and kept it from Tony.)

I believe that Ross was so against the Avengers, that he helped push the Accords and offered to be the one to break the news. I believe that he purposely reached out to Tony first, knowing that Tony felt all the guilt from every incident, and knew that he could get him to sign it. (Ross is the real bad guy here. He is the worst.)

I believe that Steve was right to not want to trust the government. (Who would after the fall of SHIELD?)

I don't believe that Tony fully trusted the Accords or the government, but understood that it was a step to making things right.

I believe that the Avengers should be held accountable and kept in check. (Even Tony agreed and he was the one to create Ultron!)

I believe that if Steve had gone to Tony before the airport incident with proof that it was a setup, things would have been different.

I believe that if the Civil War hadn't happened, Thanos would have been defeated in Infinity War.

I believe that Steve's viewpoint of everything being black and white (right or wrong), is not a good way of viewing things and caused a lot of this.

I believe that Steve doesn't feel enough guilt for the damage he and the other Avengers have done.

I believe that Tony feels too much guilt for the damage he and the other Avengers have done.

I believe that locking them in a room together until they figured it out, would have solved the issue. (Seriously, Natasha, why didn't you do this?)

I believe that Steve fully took advantage of Sharon and should have looked after her. She had to be on the run, alone, and then never got pardoned. (He also only kissed her because she was related to Peggy.)

I believe that in a real world scenario, Tony is the most correct in his believes. (Can you imagine if the Avengers were real and New York got demolished every other Thursday? Like, what would insurance look like? You cannot tell me that people would still be living in New York if the Avengers were real. Or living any place that constantly gets attacked like that.)

BUT after all that, I am Team Iron Man. Tony Stark is my main man and has successful character development. He truly changed where Steve remained selfish (to the point where he left!).

If you decide to respond to this, please be kind. We all have the right to our own opinions.

(I added this to my opinions masterlist...)

#captain america civil war #civil war #team iron man #team cap #team captain america #iron man vs captain america #captain america vs iron man #captain america versus iron man #iron man versus captain america #iron man #tony stark #captain america #steve rogers

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berrygoesprivate · 3 months ago

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I Stole Your Heart, You Stole My Life

Summary: You cannot believe you have to bail him out again. You decide this is his last chance.

Warnings:F!reader, m/f pairing, angst (lots of it), fluff (a little bit), nicknames!(baby, dollface, mi amor), slight smut, consent, kissing, mention of substance abuse and alcohol, no mention of y/n, arguing, yelling

Notes:I was highly encouraged to keep writing the story of Frankie and his girl. So, thank you for kicking my ass, without you this wouldn't exist. <3 And also huge thanks to my editor, Sam <33

word count: 3,9 k

Your phone keeps vibrating on the wooden nightstand next to you. You slowly open your eyes, clearly sleepy and try to figure out if you are dreaming or if it’s real. As the sound continues you know it isn’t a dream so you quickly grab the phone and hold it to your ear, the only sound escaping your lips is a mumbled, “Hm?” as you pick up.

“Hey, dollface,” his voice is sounding soft and kind of hesitant on the other end of the line.

“Frankie?” You’re wide awake now. “Everything alright?”

“Yes. I am okay. Sorry to wake you up.“There’s a short pause. “I know it’s late.”

You take a glimpse at the digital alarm clock next to you. It’s 1:15 a.m. and the red of the numbers is illuminating your face, making you blink in disbelief.

“It is,” you answer harshly, burying your face in your hand and sighing. “What’s wrong? You are in trouble, aren’t you?” You ask honestly. As if you don’t know the answer already.

“Kinda…,” he answers, hesitantly and clearing his throat. “I am… at the police station.” His voice is slightly off. The way his Spanish accent shines through, like it always does when he’s tipsy, or on drugs. Or both.

Suddenly your eyes widen. “You’re what?” you ask shocked.

A nervous laughter on the other side. You can just imagine him standing there, with this damn cocky smile on his face and re-adjusting the cap he’s usually wearing. If they let him keep it for the arrest, that is.

“It’s silly. I just–,” he says, almost too quiet to understand.

“I don’t wanna know what got you there,” you snap back.

“Look.. I-I wouldn’t have called if there would be someone else I could call. I didn’t want to bother you.”

You laugh dryly.

“Fuck, Francisco. Are you serious? You know I am always there for you. But this isn’t the first time you call me in the middle of the night.” You sigh again.

There is a deep sigh on the other end before he continues, “I am sorry, baby. I really am.” He has the decency to sound sincere.

“I’ll come pick you up. Can you send me the location?”

“My phone is dead,” he replies. “I’m calling from the police station.”

You roll your eyes. Of course yours is the only number that he knows by heart. “Seriously?” Your voice is getting more annoyed by the second but you can’t help it. This is so fucking exhausting. You just wanted to go back to sleep. You didn’t plan to drive a car, let alone pick up your boyfriend from the police station.

“I know,” he sighs. “It’s the police station on Tanglewood Drive. Same street as the bar.” You know exactly where that is. It’s the bar where you first met, his go-to place. The place that could be considered his main address. You sigh again, deeply and exhausted. “I’ll be there in 15,” you say, clearly irritated and end the call.

You throw your phone on the bed, the anger creeping up and threatening to consume you completely. This isn’t the first time this is happening, it’s not even the second or the third time. You’re just done, so fucking done with his bullshit. And every fucking time you find yourself in this mindset, telling yourself it’ll be the last time but every time he looks at you with his big, sad, brown puppy eyes and it’s like all your anger melts away.

But this time it’s different. At least that’s what you’re telling yourself. You crawl out of bed. Your sleep shirt - one of Frankie’s old band shirts - hanging loosely on your frame. You don’t even bother putting on a bra. The guys at the station must have seen it all already.

You grab the nearest yoga pants you can find and hop into them. Quickly step into your tiny bathroom, splash some cold water in your face and exhale deeply. This won’t be happening again. Not ever. You decide for yourself that tonight is going to be the last time, that this is the line you’re drawing. Otherwise, all of his problems will swallow you whole, dragging you down into dark places you hadn’t even known existed before you met him. You quickly grab your keys and step into the cold night air, its freshness waking you up and this whole routine tells you that you won’t be getting back to sleep tonight. Your blood is boiling in your veins as you start the engine of your car. It’s a cold autumn night, one where it isn’t quite cold enough to freeze, but still cold enough that your breath is very visible in the car’s interior. You turn the heater on the lowest setting and start driving.

Ten minutes later you arrive at the police station. Frankie is already standing outside, a cigarette between his lips, the flame of his lighter illuminating his face for a moment and you are reminded of the first time you met at the bar. He offered you a cigarette and you agreed, even if you didn’t smoke yourself, but something about him smoking was so alluring that you couldn’t help yourself. You had to have a taste of him, even if it was through the bitter taste of nicotine.

He suddenly knocks against the passenger window and you’re catapulted back to the present, leaning over to open the door for him. He’s sinking into the seat, searching for your face immediately. But you’re not looking at him. It’s clear as day that he’s under some influence. There’s the smell of alcohol, cigarette smoke and something else you can’t pinpoint. You’re not even stopping the motor as he begins speaking.

“Thank you so much for picking me up. Cops in there said I’m lucky you picked me up or I would’ve slept in a cell." He sounds so casual, like all of this wasn’t a big deal and you instead picked him up from a play date. Because that's how he behaves. Like a fucking child.

And you’re feeling like you’re his mom, like you are responsible for him when really you’re not. You’re not married, you’re not even living together and still you’re sitting here, the clock ticking almost two a.m. and picking him up from a fucking police station. You sigh heavily and don’t say another word as you start driving to his place in the next town over.

It’s silent in the car, cold despite the heater being on, as you drive through the night. It would be a beautiful trip if this wasn’t so damn exhausting. The two of you driving through the night, only the dashboard and streetlights illuminating both of your features, some nice music as a soundtrack in the background. Instead you’re both sitting in silence, the only sound being that of the motor.

He suddenly breaks the silence, his tone pleading, “Dollface, please say something.”

You shake your head and grab the steering wheel harder in an attempt not to lose control of your emotions.

“I don’t know what to say anymore, Francisco,” you say calmly, but it's the kind of calm that’s only a facade masking your need to yell at him and he knows it. He has to, because he doesn’t say anything in return.

As you stop the car at a red light, you dare to look over to him for the first time. If you didn't know that he’s a grown man, way over 30, you could’ve sworn that there’s a teenager in your passenger seat who got caught doing something shitty. He’s looking lost, ashamed and almost broken.

He must feel your stare, because he’s not looking at you. He keeps looking out the window.

Pathetic. That’s what he is. That’s what he looks like. Pathetic. And it’s the first time since you found yourself stuck in this shitshow of a relationship that you’re not feeling bad for him.

No. You’re angry. So angry that you’re getting hot again, your cheeks burning as the light finally turns green. You hit the accelerator way too hard considering the small car you’re driving. The rest of the drive is silent and you feel a sense of relief as the familiar apartment complex comes into sight. You hit the break, still too hard, making both of you nod in unison. You hoped he would just hop out of the car and vanish out of sight, but of course he remains seated next to you. The small space of the car feels like it’s gonna crush you any minute.

“Could you at least look at me? Please?” His voice is dripping with insecurity. You don’t want to look at him, don’t wanna fall into his trap again. You just can’t. But a second later you feel his big, slightly calloused hand on your chin, lifting it so you have no other chance but to look at him. And the sight in front of you is almost taking your breath away. His whole body language is sad and pitiful. His strong, broad shoulders slumped, his face, especially the eyes, tired and empty and all of it is immediately pulling on your heart strings. Fuck. He lets go of your chin and you soften for just a moment before you decide not to give in. Not this time. Not ever again.

“I do. What now? You’re telling me how sorry you are? You swear you will do better? I’ve heard it all before, Francisco. Every. Fucking. Word. This isn’t my first tango after all,” you snap at him and he’s flinching in his seat like you just wounded him. He looks at you silently with an unreadable expression.

One part screams at you to tell him for a last time to get his shit together, the other just wants to climb into his lap and hug him closely. Finally the angry part of you wins as the weeks of pent-up frustration find their way out.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you say firmly, trying not to let tears build up behind your eyes and threatening to let you sound weak. His eyebrows shoot up, clearly not sure he heard you correctly.

“W-what do you mean?” he asks, his voice nothing more than a pained whisper and his eyes turning even darker, even sadder, if that’s even possible. You take one more breath before answering.

“Like I said, I can’t do this anymore. Any of it. I’m sick and tired of cleaning up your messes, Francisco.” He just stares at you, his mouth slightly open, his plush lips looking so kissable that for a moment you’re staring at them.

All the memories of your good times flood your mind, making it hard to swallow as you feel the knot in your throat tightening.

“Baby, please…” He pleads, his voice so warm and familiar. His nickname for you cutting you like a knife.

“No,” you answer sharply. “No pleading, no promises. This is it, Francisco. I’m done with you. I have to think of myself. I can’t keep picking you up in the middle of the night, I can’t lend you any more money, I can’t watch you destroy yourself more and more. It’s breaking me…” You break off, the last part of your sentence is only a hoarse whisper. He holds your intense gaze, his eyes watering. Is he about to cry? Fuck, you weren’t prepared for this.

“Don’t you dare start to cry now,” you warn him and he chuckles silently, only his shoulders moving a bit.

“I know I pushed you too far. I know I am a dumb-ass, okay? But you have to believe me when I say that I really try to do better. I don’t want to lose you… I can’t lose you,” he says and his voice is full of sincerity.

You swallow hard, your own eyes watering. Fucking fuck.

“Frankie… Please. Don’t make this any harder than it already is.”

He grabs your hand holding the steering wheel and kisses your palm.

“Mi amor…” he starts, his Spanish accent shining through every syllable and your lower body is reacting involuntarily. Normally you would fall for this. Him speaking Spanish was always your weakness, one of the first things you noticed about your chemistry. You squirm in your seat and have to clear your throat.

“Fuck your mi amor bullshit, Francisco. That doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t make anything better. What the hell was it this time? Did some random dude look at you the wrong way? What was it?” You hiss and pull your hand away. This isn’t the first fight you have and he knows you can’t stand physical touch during fights. He should know better.

This is what your relationship is about. The two of you being passionate and stubborn. Fighting, yelling at each other just to make up for it in the bedroom later. For a while this was good. It was intense, new, thrilling even. But as time went on and you kept finding yourself in situations like this when even the sex couldn’t make things right anymore. You have reached your limit, you are past it at this point. Actually, you let it go on for longer than is healthy for you.

“I know I have some issues, okay? I know. But I swear this time it was different. It was all a big misunderstanding. Some random dude called the cops and they took me with them, because I maybe broke something. But not someone's arm or anything like this,” he defends himself, like him not being violent towards another human being would award him a fucking medal.

“Jesus Christ, Francisco! You’re making it sound like that’s something to be proud of?!”

“I mean, it’s better than being in a fight, isn’t it? I would call that a small victory.” He grins at you all cocky. You want to punch that damn smile out of his face. Instead you’re shaking your head in pure disbelief at his words.

“You can’t be serious right now. Whatever you got in trouble for this time doesn’t matter. It happened so much the past few weeks you know there’s a long-ass criminal record of you now. How the hell are you planning on working again? No one’s going to hire you like this,” you sigh heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose.

He sighs too. “You’re right. But I can’t help it, sometimes something in me just snaps and my mind goes blank. I--” But he doesn’t get to complete his sentence because you cut him off with your hand covering his mouth. You know all of this already, none of the things he just said are new to you. The only thing honorable about him right now is that he was never violent towards you.

“I don’t wanna hear it. I’m not having any of your bullshit anymore. I want you to leave the car.” You say resolutely and he’s looking at you with wide eyes as you lean over him to open the passenger door.

“I’m not leaving,” he says and his voice is just as firm as yours. You glare at him.

“For God’s sake, Francisco. I am serious. Get out, now,”you warn him, your voice trembling in anger.

He’s shaking his head and crosses his arms in front of his chest, making his whole frame look broader, almost intimidating. His whole face consists of a grimace as he holds your angry stare.

“I’m not leaving. You can’t just throw me out of your car and your life just because you’re angry,” he says calmly, a stark contrast to his body language. You growl in your chest, the anger setting your whole body on fire. Suddenly sitting with him in the small space of the car is too much and you jump out of it, slamming the driver's door shut. It doesn't take him long to do the same and now you’re standing outside of your car, both of your breaths making small clouds in the cold night air. Your chest is heaving and feels like it’s collapsing.

He’s making a few steps in your direction, you’re taking a few back before your lower back hits the hood of your car.

“Francisco, what the fuck is wrong with you? Do you really think this is saving anything? Were my words not clear enough or is your mind so dazed from all the substances you’re simply not getting what I said?” The words taste bitter in your mouth.

“I heard you loud and clear. But if you really think I let you leave like I am some random hookup, you’re mistaken.” Every fiber of you is on fire by now, the outrage creeping up, consuming you whole and you finally snap completely.

“Fuck off! You should have thought about this before you’ve drowned yourself in drugs and alcohol! Do you really think I can love you like this? You know what you are, Francisco?! A pathetic, miserable man-child, nothing to offer anymore. The military swallowed you whole and spit you out like something that won’t stay down! It made you a shell of a man. And it’s disgusting and tiring to watch you destroy yourself. In the beginning I sympathized with you, but now all I feel is contempt.”

Your look must be pure venom at this point, your words sharp like knives as he stumbles back, clearly taken aback at your outburst. He’s used to you being passionate but you never assaulted him like this before and for a tiny moment you’re regretting your words as you see his reaction. But it’s too late to take it back now.

“Y-You don’t mean that…,” he whimpers, his big hand resting on his chest as if he’s physically hurt by your words.

“I mean every fucking word. I am done with you. So fucking done with you. I don’t wanna see your face anymore, I don’t wanna hear your voice anymore and I promise you this will be the last time you’ll see me. Ever.”

You stare at him and even if it's cold outside it feels like you’re burning up as you feel hot tears streaming down your face.

“Fuck,” you curse under your breath and turn around. You can’t let him see your tears. He can’t win, not this time.

There’s a beat of silence, but not for long.

“You know I love you. Like, really fucking love you. Fuck, I never thought I could love somebody as much as I love you,” his voice is hoarse and heavy with emotions. You can’t turn around to look at him, because if you do, you know how that unfolds.

Without waiting for your answer, he continues, “From the moment I first saw you I knew you were far too good for me. But in some mysterious way you fell for me, only God knows why, but I feel like the luckiest motherfucker on this Godforsaken earth. You make me feel things I thought weren’t possible anymore and I will forever be thankful for this, mi amor.” The last part of the sentence, the way he pronounces it makes your heart break and you start to sob. You’re torn apart between turning around and kissing him deeply or getting in your car and driving off.

Before you decide you can feel his strong arms around your waist, pressing you against his hot body, fitting together like two fucking puzzle pieces and you sob even more. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, brushing away a few strands of hair so he can place a soft kiss behind your ear, making you shiver instantly and for a fragment of a moment you think about the possibility of staying. Fighting this battle together with him. You feel absolutely horrible about leaving him alone in this broken state, God knows if he will ever be able to fight his demons. You turn around to face him, his hands still resting on your waist, his face just millimeters away from yours as you find yourself drowning in his dark brown eyes.

You blush instantly, his breath on your lips warm and heavy but so alluring as your eyes wander to his lips. He knows you. God damn it, he knows you so well.

He finds your mouth, the meeting of your lips electrifying your whole being. Fuck fuck fuck. Your brain is foggy with the sensation of the soft and intimate kiss, all emotions laid bare. It’s making you grab his neck, the soft locks under his cap between your fingers as you answer the declaration with your own mouth.

It’s obvious where this is leading as he deepens the kiss, his tongue dancing with yours while his grip on your waist tightens and your anger melts away, although not completely. It’s still lingering in your subconscious as he takes your hands and leads you into his apartment. Minutes later you find yourself in his bed, him hovering over you, his strong arms on either side of your head as you wrap your legs around his hips, creating the much needed friction you both are hungry for. It’s a well-known dance for the both of you, having memorized it by now, its steps deeply burnt into your brain and limbs.

But this time it’s different. It feels different. Neither of you are talking. The only communication between you is your bodies rubbing together, embracing each other. The kisses are passionate and raw. Seconds later you strip off your clothes, leaving both of you naked.

His intense stare on your naked body makes your breath catch in your throat and his eyes are dark, hungry but also so full of affection and something else you can’t quite put into words.

He’s worshiping your body, like he always does. His gaze never leaves yours as he finally eases into you, slow and torturous, savoring the feeling of you around him like a man starving. It makes you both moan in unison and you scratch his back as it all threatens to overwhelm you.

This is so different from all the times before, so raw and vulnerable it makes your heart constrict in your chest. As you both reach your peak he’s pressing his lips on yours, absorbing your moan. His eyes are still burning into yours before he kisses your forehead and collapses next to you. It’s a gesture so familiar and so loving a little tear is running down your already hot cheek.

There are no more words between you. You’re just snuggling up into his arms, your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calming down. Him gently caressing your back in soothing up and down motions. His warm and slightly sweaty scent fills your nostrils and you try to store it to memory as you drift to sleep.

When the first rays of sunshine hit the bedroom through his curtains you stand up immediately. You’re quiet enough he won’t wake up. His back is facing you and you watch him for just a moment before you dress yourself and take one last glance at his sleeping form before you head out of his apartment and start the engine of your car to drive off.

You don’t know whether the sound of your engine wakes him up. Maybe he rolls over to snuggle closer to you but you are not there anymore. You are in your car.

He’s going to find the note you left on the bedside table sooner or later. You tried to write as legibly as possible, “Just for the record. I really fucking loved you too. But it doesn’t change anything.”

And maybe he cries as hard as you do.

#francisco morales #frankie morales #triple frontier #oneshot #fluff #angst #f!reader #breakup #slight smut

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