#we fall asleep on the phone every night and I’ve not had nightmares since

[howlsmovingwaifu]

Oh so happy for you! Ohh who is this new person?!

It’s someone I’ve known for the last 6 years. We talked on and off and recently reconnected again. It’s been amazing and I’m very excited for the future at the moment ☺️🥰☺️

[peachandcherryaredelulu]

Shadow of You TEASER

VAMPIRE!Seventeen

Pairings:Seventeen??XOC, Seventeen??XOC, OT13

Synopsis: Quinn and Kitty are two normal twenty somethings, but when they find themselves in a new country the duo come face to face with love, heartache, and the unknown... or perhaps the supernatural

~ Not edited ~

It started like a whisper, so quiet that Kitty almost missed it. Every night it was the same, no light except for the candles that lined the room, flashes of images of an old dark castle surrounded by mountains capped with snow.. She could see no one else in the room with her, but could feel them watching her and just as the panic began to set in the voices got louder. 

“Katarina” It was loud enough now that she could hear the different voices. Still, she had no idea where they were, the only thing she knew was the louder the calling got the more desperate she was to get to them. To find them. 

“Come to us, Katarina,” It was so loud now as if they were standing right behind her speaking directly into her ear. 

“Katarina.”

“Katarina!”

“Kitty! Get your ass up!” She sat up with a start, nearly rolling off the couch. 

“I’m up Quinn, I’m up.” Kitty rubbed the sleep from her eyes and grabbed her glasses from where they had fallen from the couch. The sun was still up outside and the TV was playing some random episode of Criminal Minds in the background. 

“Did you fall asleep out here? You have a whole bed,”Quinn plopped down next to Kitty on the now free couch cushion. It was the fourth time this week that Kitty had fallen asleep out in the living room, it was never intended either. 

“I know, but I’m not sleeping well at night. I keep having the dream, I don’t know how you sleep so soundly with it,” Kitty was exhausted from her restless sleep. It had been months since the girls had started having identical dreams each night. 

“At first, I was so creeped out and it felt like I was having a panic attack every night when I closed my eyes. But it’s never been like a nightmare, I realized at some point I never felt scared of what was happening. My panic was because I feel as though my soul is weeping to get to those voices,” Quinn had told Kitty this all before and she couldn’t help but agree to some degree with her best friend. She had never had a true nightmare since these dreams started but there was something that sat low in her gut every time she slept. Fear of the unknown or of all the superstitions her family had drilled into her as a child. 

“I know, but all I can think about is the scary stories my Father would tell me as a kid so I would behave. That if I was a bad child the red-eyed men would drag me away into their castle and eat me,” Mr. Turca was a harsh man and had always been rather ill-suited for fatherhood. Even now the only thing he was good for was paying the bills, his trade off to keep his first born daughter as far from his new family as possible. That’s how the two girls met, when Kitty was shipped off to boarding school after her Father had remarried. 

“He’s such an asshole, you know that. He acts so high and mighty all the time. I’ve never even met the man and we’ve been friends since we were 12!” the two girls broke out in giggles, one sure fire way to make their days better were to talk shit about Mr. Turca or Quinn’s mother. 

A buzzing sound started from the coffee table in front of the couch, the two turned to each other trying to sober up from their laughter. 

“Speak of the devil and he shall appear,” Kitty flashed her phone screen to Quinn to show that her father was calling her. 

“I can only imagine what he wants now. You know he only ever calls for two reasons,” The two girls rolled their eyes knowing that he was either about to yell at Kitty for being a disappointment again or he was going to ask her to do something that was beneficial only to him. 

“Hello.” Kitty’s voice always became cold when speaking with her father, gone was the happy and loving woman she had worked so hard to become everytime his voice rang out over the phone. 

“Katarina, I have news about Aunt Lucia. She had been put on hospice care and given only a few weeks to live,” Kitty’s eyes went wide with the news and Quinn took that as her cue to retreat into her room to give her roommate some privacy during the phone call. 

Quinn was known to be too curious for her own good, let’s be honest she was a nosy bitch. She wanted to know everyone's business all the time, but she also respected her best friend above all else. Kitty’s father was a sore spot and most of their calls ended in some sort of fight between the two of them followed by him buying her something expensive to make amends. To keep her from going anywhere near his new wife and kids and imposing on his new happy life without her. 

Quinn occupied herself with her books and the other random crap in her room while she waited for the phone call to end, Kitty would almost always come and debrief after a conversation to process the bullshit that her father would spew. 

This conversation seemed to be taking longer than usual. The goal for both father and daughter were to keep these calls as brief as possible, the less they interacted the better. 

Twenty minutes passed before waltzing into Quinn's room with a smirk on her face. 

“I just scored us a free summer vacation traveling around the whole of Europe,” Kitty was rather proud of her bartering skills this time around. Her father wanted something huge from her and she wanted something huge from him. 

“What’s the catch?” There was always a catch with the Turca family, nothing was ever truly free with them. 

“We have to go to Romania and stay with Aunt Lucia until she dies. Then we can spend the rest of the summer traveling Europe as we please on my fathers dime.” Kitty was a little too nonchalant in her delivery of the real reason behind their Europe trip.

“I don’t know how I feel about this, have you ever met this woman?” Quinn was usually fine with all types of fuckery but this… the vibes were just slightly off with this. 

“No, I’ve never been to Romania. My dad went with his grandparents when he was very young, but that was the only time he’s been. Aunt Lucia is my father’s great aunt, his grandfather’s twin sister.” Quinn’s eyes went wide at the news of this woman’s age. 

“She turned 108 in March, the look on your face gave it all away. I don’t know how she made it this long either, kinda feel bad for her.” Kitty stopped playing with the book she had picked up off of Quinn’s bedside table to think back to what she knew of the woman she would see to the end of her life, “Never married or had children, she’s lived in the family home her entire life. She refused to leave when her brother decided to leave the country. She’s like a hermit from what I understand, but no one should die alone.” 

“Well then, looks like we're going to Romania and Europe for the summer. Good thing you’re a kindergarten teacher and have summers off.” Quinn assured her best friend trying to bring the mood back up.

“Good thing your job is writing erotic monster fiction and you can do that from anywhere,” Kitty pocked back at Quinn tossing the book with Quinn’s name across the front towards her spot on her bed. 

Thousands of miles away fate was stirring. Thirteen pairs of red eyes were open and looking into the darkness of night waiting, longing for their brides to come to them once more. To complete them. 

[keanureevesisbae]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 03. kiss in the rain

Spencer Reid x Elodie Price (asian/pacific islander/moluccan OFC)

Summary: Elodie's birthday is coming up!

Serie warnings: Mention of murder, blood. Mention of rape (not described). Eventual smut.

Chapter warnings: Mention of nightmares, of Rowan Rancher.

Word count: 1.8k

Masterlist // Beyond Words Masterlist

When I fall in love, it will be forever - Jane Austen

■□■□■□■□■□■

Her

I made the mistake of suggesting an audio tourguide when we stepped foot into this museum. We as in Spencer and I. After exchanging phone numbers and that call before I fell asleep, we’ve been consistently calling. Even when he has a case. He puts his phone in his front pocket and starts rambling, even when he’s talking to others. And ever since we do that, ever since his voice is the last one I hear before I fall asleep, I don’t have nightmares. 

Because I don’t have an eidetic memory like he does, I barely remember a word he said when we were in the museum, looking at different paintings. All I remember was the smile on my face, was the lingering of my eyes on his tall and lanky physique and how he’s so passionate about anything really, expressively talking with his hands. 

The two of us are now sitting at the cafe close to the museum. Him with an americano (and not only poured his own sugar packet in it, but also mine), me with a cappuccino.

‘Why do you have tattoos?’ Spencer asks.

I stare at the dots on my hand. I wonder if he knows how many tattoos I’m hiding underneath my clothes. I’ve got a lot of them. On my arms, my legs, my back, underneath my breasts. 

‘My father hated them,’ I say, ‘so when I was eighteen, the first thing I did was scheduling a tattoo appointment, so I could get inked. Whenever dad—‘ I realize quickly I’m outside. Talking about Rowan Rancher as my father could possibly fall onto the wrong ears. ‘Whenever he dated a woman prior to you know, he always checked whether or not she had tattoos.’

‘If she did, was it worse?’

I nod. ‘If she did, they found her. If she didn’t, I helped them find her.’

Spencer takes a sip of his coffee. With zero tact���and I absolutely think it’s adorable—he says: ‘Your birthday is in three days.’

‘True.’

‘What is the perfect way for you to spend your birthday?’

‘Honestly, I just want to browse for hours on end at Barnes and Nobles, no rush, just me and books. That’s all.’

‘Do you have anything to do in three days?’ Spencer asks. ‘I could take you to Barnes and Nobles. I find it soothing to spend my time around books too. Besides, I have to buy this newest book about quantum physics and corpus linguistics and hopefully I can find it there.’

I offer him a smile. ‘Do you want to spend your day with me, Spencer?’ I ask. 

‘It’s your birthday,’ he states. ‘I…’ I watch how he fidgets with his hands, tension in each of his fingers. ‘I know how it is to spend your birthdays alone. I don’t want you to spend it alone.’

Thank the stars for russet brown skin, because I would’ve been a blushing mess if I favored my father with his paler skin and blue eyes. I run my fingers through my black hair and say: ‘I’d like to spend my birthday with you. Especially in Barnes and Nobles.’

■□■□■□■□■□■

Them

‘Reid,’ Garcia says, almost dragging Spencer out of his thoughts and concentration. ‘What are you doing?’

‘I’m trying to create an understandable map of the local Barnes and Nobles.’

‘For yourself?’ Prentiss asks, rolling her desk chair over to Spencer’s desk. ‘I thought you had an eidetic memory and know your way around.’

‘I do have an eidetic memory,’ he states, ‘however I am taking Elodie to Barnes and Nobles for her birthday and because she has never been there before, I want to make sure the experience isn’t too overwhelming for her.’

‘Elodie?’ Prentiss asks, her eyes widening in intrigue. ‘As in Elodie Price?’

‘Yes.’

Morgan joins them and says: ‘Pretty boy has taken a liking in Elodie. They call every night before she goes to sleep.’

‘Usually we call at nine o’clock and ninety five percent of the time, she’s asleep at nine forty five,’ Spencer says, thinking back about the times where he doesn’t hear her hums, but instead hears soft snores. He goes back to creating the map again and Garcia ruffles his hairs.

‘You’re so sweet when you’re in love with someone,’ she says. ‘Elodie sure is a lucky girl.’

‘Why do you like her so much?’ Prentiss asks curiously.

‘She’s intriguing,’ Spencer answers, continuing using the ruler to draw a straight line. ‘You know that whenever she talks, I feel like I never want to press pause. I just want to absorb every syllable.’  He looks up with a smile—a very telling one—and whispers: ‘And whenever I look at her, I don’t want to look away.’

■□■□■□■□■□■

Her

Thankfully Spencer saved the happy birthday serenade for when he picked me up from my place, holding two cupcakes in his hands, one with a two and the other with a six. Once we’re in front of the Barnes and Nobles, he gives me a piece of paper. ‘What is it?’ I ask, folding it open. ‘A map?’

‘I created a map for you, since you told me you haven’t been to this Barnes and Nobles.’

Sometimes it’s hard not to smother this man with hugs.

The two of us make our way into the promised land, surrounded by books. Spencer follows me like a little duckling, though I think he knows better than anyone what’s the best route. Instead of berating me for taking a massive detour—it’s that massive I noticed it myself—he gives me all the precise measurements of this building. 

We stop near the romance section and I fold the map, putting it into my pocket, before I look at the spines and all the beautiful book covers. 

‘Romance novels generate over one point forty four billion dollars in revenue, making romance the highest earning genre of fiction,’ Spencer says. ‘Have you read Fifty Shades of Grey?’

I shake my head. ‘No, why would I?’

‘It’s the Best-Selling romance novel of all time,’ he answers. ‘Sold over one hundred fifty million copies, surpassing Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen with a good thirty million copies.’

‘I haven’t read Pride and Prejudice either,’ I say. ‘Though it’s a classic.’

Spencer nods. ‘Do you have a colleague degree, Elodie? Because approximately forty five percent of the romance readers have a college degree.’

It’s an odd way of conversing, sure, but I’m always curious to see what he’s gonna say next.

‘I’ve studied English in college,’ I say, ‘so yeah, I’ve got a degree.’

While Spencer provides me with tons of other facts about the building, the romance genre and certain authors, I put more and more books into my basket. Eventually we go towards his section of preferred books, with the help of the map. I watch him rhythmically pointing towards the bookshelves, almost like a conductor in front of an orchestra. While I am going to buy seven books, he is going to buy two he came for. 

However, once we’re near the check out, he grabs my shopping basket from me and says: ‘Happy birthday, Elodie.’

It takes me a good five seconds before I catch up. ‘No,’ I say, trying to grab the basket from him. ‘No, no, no, you’re not gonna pay for my books.’

‘It’s your birthday,’ he says, ‘of course I am gonna pay for the books. That is my gift to you.’

■□■□■□■□■□■

We end up at my apartment and together we stare out of the window, watching the rain pour from the dark sky. ‘I love the rain,’ I admit.

‘Why?’ 

‘I don’t know. It gives off something cosy. Don’t you think?’ 

Spencer nods, standing behind me as he takes in the rain. I hear his fingers tapping on the phone and not long afterwards, his footsteps walk away from me. I look over my shoulder, when I see him putting on his coat, before grabbing mine. 

‘What are you doing?’ I ask. 

‘According to many romance movies and novels, the rain is considered highly romantic.’ He places my coat on my shoulders, before he tugs my hand. 

‘Spencer, what are we doing?’

‘We’re going out in the rain,’ he tells me matter of factly. ‘Considering your favorite genre is romance, I think you deserve a romantic moment on your birthday.’

His fingers laced through mine and together we walk towards the exit. The raindrops fall on my head and my skin and I let out a juvenile squeal, delighted to be outside. I spread my arms and turn my face to the sky, closing my eyes, enjoying every single second of it. 

‘Elodie.’

My eyes meet Spencer’s, before we offer each other a smile. Shit, I could look at his gorgeous face for eternity and never ever be tired of it. ‘Yes, Spencer?’

‘Have you ever kissed someone?’

I nod. ‘Yeah, when I was younger. Why?’

‘Do you want me to kiss you?’

I’ve been yearning for a true kiss from you ever since you stepped foot into my life, Spencer Reid. Yes, I want you to kiss me and once you start, I don’t want you to stop. Instead of spilling those words, I simply nod. 

Spencer’s hair is stuck to his face and with a brute gesture, he pushes the locks from his face, before his large hands cup my face. He bridges the distance between us. His lips clash on mine and while it definitely could use some work, I take him in with everything I’ve got. His lips, his scent, his touch. I cling onto his jacket, parting my lips.

‘Happy birthday, Elodie,’ he whispers against me. 

I don’t want to let go. Not yet at least. I want to savor this moment. Savor the moment of him kissing me, of me having a normal birthday for the first time since I can remember. My body curves towards his, as we kiss again. 

■□■□■□■□■□■

Them

The elevator is crowded. Rossi, Morgan, JJ and Prentiss all join Spencer in the small and confined space. ‘How was Elodie’s birthday?’ Prentiss asks.

‘It was fun, after I gave her her birthday cupcake, we went to the bookstore, had a coffee and then went back to her place. We then spend some time in the rain.’

‘The rain?’ JJ lets out a low whistle. ‘Romantic.’

‘You know what I always want to do at least once in my life?’ Prentiss asks. ‘Kiss in the rain.’ She lets out a deep sigh, while staring lovingly ahead of her.

‘Elodie and I kissed in the rain.’

Everyone in the elevator simultaneously turns around and looks at Spencer. ‘You did what?’ JJ asks.

‘So unfair, you kissed in the rain?’ Prentiss whines.

Rossi pats him on the shoulder, while Morgan starts to laugh and say: ‘I knew something was different about you, kid.’

 ■□■□■□■□■□■

Beyond Words Taglist: @raccoon-eyed-rebel // @beenthroughalot // @chickensarentcheap //

[quarantinehomies]

Zeltzin: S.O.S

I sat frozen in the middle of my math lecture hall, staring at the message on my phone. What I see before me is a positive COVID test from my friend, John. Beside me sat Lily, and we were right in the middle of the lecture hall as we saw the positive COVID test on our phones. I immediately tuned out the sound coming from my professor as I turn to Lily. I remember her turning to me asking if we should leave because we spent time with John prior to our lecture and we ended up leaving our lecture sooner than later since the lecture ended in five minutes. We rushed back to Merrill, which was a whole journey from science hill. As we were completely out of breath, I had a bad feeling that there was something wrong with me. Once we were at the top of the hill, I felt like I couldn't breathe at all usually, I’m out of breath but not like this. I’d also like to mention that I’ve had COVID before, but I didn't feel as horrible as I did at the moment.

We meet John outside on the Merrill plaza and we all test again on a bench. I unpacked the COVID test and held my breath as I swabbed the inside of the nose, my nose ring getting caught with each swab. I dreaded this process and only found the part about dipping the drops into the test. Three drops in and immediately my COVID test showed two lines. I was so distraught over these results because I already got COVID in the past and I got my most recent booster months ago, which I know isn't a guarantee that I'm immune from COVID, but it still sucked to see. I remember thinking that this second time getting it won't be that bad because my body knew how to deal with it. However, I was so wrong. 

A temporary solution that I thought of was to quarantine in my room with John. I informed Valerie of my misfortune, and I told her to leave the room to stay with Richard and Lily in Merrill B. As John and I stayed in my room, I remember us just sitting on the floor, completely clueless about what to do in this situation. What was there to do? Could the timing be any worse? Was I going to fail my classes? I was spiraling. Until we got a call from Richard informing us he, too, had COVID. New plan. John and I transferred to Richard's room, and we had Lily and Valerie stay in my room. 

Now staying in Richards's room was an experience. Arriving there I took over his bed, and he was forced to stay in his roommate's bed, but I got priority since I was the one dying the most out of the two. The room was a double with beds that weren't lofted and I felt grateful because I did not want to waste a breath climbing up the ladder of a loft bed. I recall spending most of my time just coughing and trying to breathe as I rot in his bed. Time felt stagnant and life felt like we were in a Billie Eilish music video covering her album Happier Than Ever. I only left the bed when I needed to use the restroom and that alone exerted too much energy. I felt like a wilting flower petal. 

On a brighter note, we tried to make the most of it. We watched Netflix until dark and would always make commentary on the shows. I felt like we were movie critics and it became our full-time job. We watched a lot of Dahmer and that ended up giving me nightmares almost every night, but I found the show so enticing we were all so invested in finishing up the series. We also would try to include Lily and Val, who still lived in our room. Teleparties were a big hit, but we would all end up falling asleep during the hour-long movie, but we would make up for it with short and sweet FaceTime checking in on each other. All was at somewhat of an equilibrium until Valerie tested positive.

The next morning, we had a new roommate added to the room that was meant to be a double. We established Valerie would live in Richard's bed with me since that’s the only space the room could provide and she could join us in our endless Netflix binging. Now that the room was occupying four people, we had to feed four stomachs and the food variety wasn’t existent. The food they provided us was very plain, but that could be because of my loss of taste. I recall us using Grubhub as a resource sometimes, but I still couldn't taste my food, so it felt almost discouraging to eat. Just when I thought things couldn’t take a turn for the worst, Lily tested positive for COVID.

The next morning, we had a new roommate added to the room that was meant to be a Back to my original plan! Since we were all positive, we all migrated to me and Valerie’s room. This was somewhat of good timing since Richard's roommate wanted to move back into the room so he could have it all to himself now. I guess someone is a winner. I was feeling mixed about us all having COVID. I liked how we were all able to quarantine together, but also it wasn’t good fortune that we all were suffering from the virus. All the more, I enjoyed becoming reunited with my bed. Val reunited with her bed as well and as for everyone else, their new home was on the floor, which wasn’t anything new for John. Altogether we would have game nights and I would laugh until my stomach hurt. COVID didn't feel so bad when I was with all of them.

 As time passed, I was feeling better but Lily seemed to do worse since she just received COVID. Someone suggested we should go on a walk and so we all put our masks on and walked over to the East Field. The breeze was light and the sun hurt my eyes as I felt like I was a vampire being exposed to sunlight for the first time. I took pictures to capture these moments as I felt like it was a momentous occasion to finally be stepping foot outside. I did however feel a bit out of breath since that was the most active I have ever been. We all eventually headed back to our cave, isolated from society. 

The happy ending to my story was that I was starting to feel a lot better, and it was a week that had passed, so I decide to test myself again and, to my surprise, tested negative. I have never felt happier failing a test before. Valerie also tested negative that same day, and it felt like there was some light at the end of the tunnel. However, the rest who were still sick would test positive, and since we had immunity and they had nowhere else to go so they stayed in our room until they tested positive. Life remained the same until John finally tested negative. 

My family had invited me to attend a quinceanera for my neighbor and I was thrilled! It felt like this was a celebration of finally being free. I invited John and Valerie to go with me since they were negative and the next day we were off to celebrate a quinceanera but also our negative COVID tests. 

[baronessblixen]

So I just read your Antarctica angsty fic and saw you said you wanted to keep doing more angst. I’ve been craving a The Field Where I Died fic I looked up random angst dialog and came across ‘What are you trying to say?’ Super vague but a place to start! Happy fictober!!!

Thank you so much for the prompt! I hope I made it angsty 😁

Fictober Day 4 | Tagging @today-in-fic @xffictober2022 | Wc: 1804

Dreams of the Past

The first few times he dreams about Scully, he ignores it. He doesn’t remember what they’re about, is only left with a lingering feeling. It fades quickly every time and makes room for everyday life, for what happens in daylight. Until one night when he dreams of her screaming.

She’s half sitting, half lying on a bed, being tended by strangers while Mulder stands in the doorway, grappled by fear. He watches Scully, still screeching, being told to push! push! but no matter how hard she tries, there’s no baby. There should be a baby, he realizes. Her stomach is protruding, bigger than he ever thought possible. They’re having a baby. His heart swells before it breaks into pieces.

“We’re losing her,” someone says. “What else can we do? What can we do?”

“There’s nothing we can do,” a man says, stepping away from Scully, who is only whimpering in agony now. “She will die.”

“No!” This time it’s Mulder who screams. A moment later, he finds himself in his bed, panting and sweating. Just a dream. It was just a dream. A nightmare. His ears are ringing and he can still see Scully clear as a picture, framed by dim candlelight, trying to birth their child. Mulder wraps his arms around himself, feeling the loss of the child, of his beloved wife. Scully. He reminds himself that it wasn’t real. That all he has to do is pick up the phone and call Scully to hear her voice. He knows she’d call him crazy and for once, she’d be right. Thinking about Scully calms him enough to lie back down. It’s just after 2 am, far too early to stay awake.

Not once since the Ephesian case a couple of weeks ago has he dreamed about Melissa Riedal. Up until now, he hasn’t even thought about her. Instead, Scully has been invading his dreams. He wishes he could remember the rest of them. He wants to know if all of them have been this devastating. Is he losing her in every dream he’s had? In every life they’ve lived? He shudders thinking about it. Closing his eyes, he wills himself to relax. As much as he doesn’t want to relive the moment – losing her – he wants to keep going. He wants to see what else his mind has to offer him. After all, he’s no stranger to pain.

It doesn’t take him long to fall back asleep. Once, as a student, he tried to get into lucid dreaming, hoping it might help him make progress in finding Samantha. Then he met Phoebe and everything went to hell. Including his dreams and the rest of his sanity. It has been years since he’s last tried it and while he’s aware that he’s fast asleep and dreaming, there’s nothing he can do.

He takes in his surroundings, the sparsely decorated apartment, the lack of TV, the metallic drumming of a radio in another room. He walks around, trying to find clues if he – his past self – lives here. There’s an eeriness in the air, alerting him to be careful. He stops in front of a room, the door closed. That’s where the music is coming from, he realizes. It’s an old tune, but he recognizes its melody. This must be the 1930s or 40s. His stomach plummets before he opens the door. His eyes land on her body on the bed, still and pale. Her lips are parted slightly as if she had tried to say something before death took her.

He sits up in bed, gasping for air. Not again. Not Scully. Her face was so devoid of color, of everything that makes her the woman he… but it was her. He knows it was her. He no longer cares that it’s the middle of the night. He needs to see Scully. Needs to know what she’s thinking. He needs to know she’s okay.

It’s just after 4 am when he gets to her apartment. He considers using his key, but he doesn’t want to freak Scully out. No more than him showing up here in the middle of the night will do anyway. He should have called, he thinks, as he gently raps on her door. There’s shuffling on the other side of it before Scully opens the door. He’s never been so happy to see her. Her hair is sleep-ruffled and her pajama crooked, but she’s never looked more beautiful to him.

“Mulder, what time is it?”

“Late. Or early, however you want to look at it.”

“What happened?” She asks stifling a yawn. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay,” he says truthfully, smiling at her. At least physically he is and he doesn’t want to talk about his dreams out here in front of her apartment. “Can I come in? I don’t want to wake your neighbors too.”

“Of course. Come on in.” He follows her inside, taking off his coat and shoes, while she walks into the kitchen.

“Do you want coffee? I think I’m going to make coffee,” she says, yawning again. Mulder watches her, amazed at how normal everything is. She’s moving around her kitchen barefoot, asking him questions that he barely hears. She’s here. She’s alive. She’s fine. He thinks of his first dream, of her dying in childbirth. He couldn’t help her, was helpless. Then, in the second dream, he was too late. Each time he lost her. In this life, right now, nothing is wrong at all.

“Mulder, why are you here?”

“I- I needed to see you.”

“Why? Is it a case?” She rubs her eyes, hiding another yawn behind her hand.

“Have you ever had nightmares that felt so real that you… that you had to make sure they weren’t?”

“Did you have a nightmare?” She asks him. “Was it about Samantha?”

“Why do you think- no, it wasn’t about Samantha.”

“Let’s sit down, Mulder,” Scully says with a sigh. “I’m still trying to wake up. Tell me what happened?”

“I’ve been having dreams,” Mulder begins, glancing at her. “Ever since the Ephesian case. About… I think I’ve been dreaming about my past lives.”

“Melissa Riedal,” Scully says. “You were dreaming about her.”

“No,” he says. “I’ve been dreaming about… you.”

“You said it was nightmares,” she says, her voice gentle. She puts a hand over his and he stares at it for a moment, relishing her touch. “Do you want to talk about them?” When he lifts his eyes to hers, he can see that she wants to know. But she doesn’t know what he’s seen.

“Mulder, they’re just dreams,” she assures him. “They’re not real. No matter what happened in them, it’s not real.”

“But that’s just it, Scully. It was real.”

“What are you trying to say?” She squeezes his hand.

“I believe that they weren’t just dreams. I think that- whatever my relationship with Melissa Riedal was in this life or any other, pales in comparison to what we have in every life. But that’s not why I’m here, or why I had to see you.”

“What did you see?”

“You didn’t have any dreams?” Mulder asks instead, not wanting to put her through what he’s experienced. Her screaming. The pain she must have endured.

“No,” she says softly, giving him a smile. “I can take it, Mulder. Just tell me. You were spooked enough to come here in the middle of the night.”

“Well, I am Spooky Mulder, aren’t I?”

“Mulder,” she warns. “I want to know.” He nods, preparing himself. He puts his other hand over their entwined ones, needing to feel her warmth and strength.

“Tonight was the first time that I woke up from my dreams. Maybe we were happy in all those other lives,” he says. “In my first dream, you were… you were in labor. You were screaming. You were screaming so much, Scully. There was blood, but… there was no baby. They couldn’t get to the baby. The doctor – I think it was the doctor – said you were going to die.” He hears her gasp and he looks at her. There are tears in her eyes and when one falls, he wipes it away.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have-”

“Mulder, I’m not crying for me. Or whatever version of me that you think you saw in your dream. I’m crying because you had to experience that. What was the second dream?”

“I don’t- I don’t really know. I was in an apartment. I think it was the 1940s. Maybe it was wartime. I don’t know. I found you- there was a room and you were in it, but you were, um. You were…” He can no longer stop his own tears from falling. He hears Scully whisper something and then she wraps her arms around him, holding him close. His tears land on her shoulder where her pajama top has slipped out of position. She cradles his head, her fingers in his hair.

“It’s okay,” she whispers with a kiss to his temple. “It was just a dream, okay? I’m here, aren’t I?” He nods against her shoulder, taking in her sleepy scent, her Scullyness. She’s real. This is not a dream and he’s holding her. But what if this life ends like all the others? With him unable to save her? With him always being too late?

“Your nightmares are not reality. We don’t know what the future will bring, but I’m here, right? Look at me.” He lifts her head and they’re close together. Her face is devoid of make-up, making her look impossibly young. He can see her beauty mark that she always covers up. But he knows her secret. He touches it softly, letting his finger drift lower to her lips. She lets him touch her, watching his every move.

“You see? I’m real.”

“You shouldn’t cover this up, Scully. You’re beautiful.”

“Thank you,” she says. “Are you feeling better now?” He thinks about it for a moment and then he nods.

“Good. Do you think you can sleep some more?” She asks and he tenses. “I’m not sending you home. You can stay here, but I’m just so tired,” she admits with a shy smile.

“You sleep,” he says.

“What about you?” She yawns and gets comfortable right there with him on the couch, snuggling into his side.

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“Just another hour or so,” she says. “If you have another nightmare,” she says, turning to give him a sleepy look. “You can wake me.”

He knows he won’t sleep, but he nods anyway.

“Sweet dreams, Scully.” She smiles at him before she closes her eyes. Mulder holds her in his arms, content to feel her solid against her. He doesn’t need to dream when she’s right here with him.

[specialagentsergio]

side effects may vary

summary: An unexpected side effect brings you and Spencer closer—literally—when he’s prescribed a medication to help relieve his chronic nightmares.

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

category: fluff

content warnings: prescription drug use, one small sexual reference, discussion of tornadoes (spencer gives a small infodump)

a/n: i wrote this for @imagining-in-the-margins‘ “there was only one bed” event. when i saw the “medication makes someone sleepy” prompt, i had to take it, because this happens to me regularly lol.

word count: 2k

masterlist

It’s become a habit for you and Spencer: every Friday night you can, the two of you get together and watch a movie or show. It’s always at your place because he doesn’t have a TV, but he doesn’t mind—you have the better couch anyways. He thinks he could stay on it forever, especially on the nights where you don’t watch anything at all and talk for hours instead.

He made the mistake of mentioning this Friday night tradition to Morgan once. He’d questioned just why, exactly, Spencer liked going over to your place so much. Spencer hadn’t realized Derek was teasing him until he’d already come up with the lame excuse of your couch being really comfortable.

Morgan had chuckled. “I think it has less to do with the couch and more to do with the person who owns it, kid.”

He was right, of course, but was Spencer going to admit his silly little crush? Absolutely not. Especially not to Derek. He just continued going to your place every Friday, stubbornly ignoring the smirks and eyebrow wiggles sent his way from the man.

It’s one such night a few months later when an alarm on his phone goes off, making you both jump. He nearly spills the popcorn everywhere in his scramble to turn it off. “Sorry. It’s—wow, it’s nine already.” As usually happens when he’s with you, he’s lost track of time. It’s why he set the alarm in the first place.

“You have somewhere to be?” you ask.

“Um, no. I just…” he trails off, leaning forward to dig through his satchel at his feet, searching for the white paper bag he picked up from the pharmacy earlier in the day.

You don’t ask aloud, raising an eyebrow instead. It’s you providing him with an out—you’ll let him pretend he didn’t see it if he doesn’t want to answer the question.

He sighs, pulling the little orange bottle out, a prescription from the psychiatrist you’d coaxed him into seeing. “It’s just, uh… it’s supposed to help with, y’know… dreams,” he explains quietly.

“Nightmares,” you clarify.

“Yeah. That’s what the alarm was for.” He pops the cap and looks at the little pills inside. “To remind me.”

“We can finish this later,” you say with a gesture towards the TV. “It’s okay if you need to leave.”

He shakes his head. “She said to take it a few hours before bed. There’s plenty of time to finish.” Not that he cares that much about the show. He just doesn’t want to cut his time with you short.

“The bottle says it can make you drowsy, though,” you say, pointing out the little flap on the side of the bottle he hadn’t noticed.

“It won’t,” he dismisses nearly immediately, shaking a dose out into his hand.

“You can’t know that.”

“I’m a chronic insomniac. I’ve tried medication before. It doesn’t work,” he says firmly.

“If you say so,” you say, unconvinced.

“I do.”

“Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The words on their own typically imply annoyance or resignation, an insistence that the speaker knows better, but from you, all he can detect is amusement. And if he didn’t know better, he’d say your slight smile conveyed affection.

“Oh, I won’t,” he replies confidently, and takes the dose with a sip of water.

That confidence turns out to be misplaced.

It doesn’t happen quickly. You finish watching the current episode and he insists on another. About halfway through it, he starts to feel… different. A little… foggy and unfocused. Any movement he makes feels slow, and his eyelids are getting heavy. Try as he might, he can’t quite keep them open. He’ll rest them for just a minute….

“… encer. Spencer.” Something pokes his arm and he grumbles, shifting away.

“What?”

“It’s over.”

He blinks a few times, slowly reacquainting himself with his surroundings. Credits are rolling on the TV screen; he's about to ask why they look slanted, then realizes it's because he's slumped to the side. He pushes himself back to sitting, a delayed "oh" leaving his mouth. He rubs the sleep from one of his eyes, and catches your expression in the other.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything!" you protest but the little laugh punctuating your words gives away what he knew you were thinking: I told you so.

With a sigh, he begins gathering up his things, pulling his bag into his lap and untying his shoelaces so he can put them back on.

“What are you doing?" you ask.

"Um, going home?"

"You can't ride the Metro like this," you say. "You're half asleep."

He tries and fails to suppress a yawn, but still insists, "I'll be fine."

"Spencer, I don't like you riding the Metro this late even when you're totally lucid. You know that."

He does. You often express such worries on your Friday nights, offering to let him stay with you. He always declines. Your couch may be comfortable when he's sitting, but it's not long enough for his legs horizontally.

He also worries about what he might say in his sleep. He's been playfully teased by team members often enough already. The last thing he wants is to ruin your friendship by expressing his feelings for you in his sleep.

He's got one shoe on and is about to put on the other, but you snatch it away. "Hey."

"No,” you say firmly. "You're staying here tonight."

"(Y/N)--"

"Take your shoe off." You flip the TV off, stand, and stretch. "And come to bed."

His mouth drops open a little. Come to bed. Did he really just hear that? You say it like it's the most natural thing. It sounds so...domestic.

He really likes it.

His eyes follow you as you walk to your bedroom. You stop in the doorway and look back to him. "Come on."

He's in a bit of a daze as he walks towards you, not realizing he's still wearing one shoe for a few steps. He clumsily kicks it off, then follows you through the bedroom door and into the adjoining bathroom, where you provide him with a spare toothbrush.

Normally he wouldn't want to share toothpaste with someone. He's even refused to do so a few times on cases when his little travel-sized tube has run out, instead going down to the front desk of whatever place they're staying at for a replacement, no matter how tired he is. But tonight he doesn't even think twice, just takes the tube when you pass it to him. It simply feels...normal, as if you and him do this every night before bed.

I could get used to this.

Spencer's still a little groggy from the medication, so it isn't until he’s standing in the bedroom that he realizes that there’s a problem. "There's only one bed."

"Um, yeah," you reply. "What, did you think I had bunk beds?"

"No, I just..." He's not sure how to explain it when you're pulling back the covers like it’s any other night. "There's one bed... and two of us."

"That's correct. It's a queen. It's made for two people," you point out. You sit down on one side, then pat your hand on the other.

He slowly approaches the bed, but hesitates, twisting his fingers a little. Your expression shifts, and he blinks. Surely that's not a look of disappointment he's seeing?

Your voice is quiet when you speak. "Spencer, if you don't want to share a bed with me, you can just say it."

"What? No!" he exclaims. "That—that's not it at all."

"Okay, then, what is it?"

"The opposite,” he says with a nervous laugh. “I can't believe you want to share a bed with me."

"Why wouldn't I?" You say it so simply; he can hardly believe it.

"Well, because I'm... me," is the reply he comes up with. "I'm annoying, and I talk too much, and my limbs are all long and weird--"

"I don't think you're annoying, Spencer," you interrupt. "We wouldn't be friends if I did."

"Oh. I guess... I guess that's true. But my arms and legs--”

"Are fine,” you reassure.

“I…” He’s a little too out of it still to think of something else. “Well, okay.”

“Since that settled..." You smile up at him. "Would you get into bed?"

He can't help but smile back. "Okay."

You both settle in. Right before you turn off the light, he speaks again. "I talk in my sleep," he says quickly, heat rising to his cheeks. "Just thought you should know.

"So I'm gonna get your fun facts in the night, too?" you ask, the corner of your mouth turning up.

"Maybe." He fiddles with the collar of his shirt. "Derek says every night is a toss up between that or gibberish…”

You laugh. "Noted."

You turn the lights off and silence falls over the room as you both find comfortable positions. The medication definitely hasn't worn off; sleep is quickly approaching him again. He feels a light touch on his arm. It trails down to his wrist. A slight pause, then you're sliding your hand into his. On instinct he winds his fingers through yours. He hears a content sigh right before he drifts off.

---

Morning light spilling through the curtains wakes him up. He takes in a deep breath and stretches. He feels amazingly well rested; more than he has in a long time. And he had the best dream about you….

Spencer rolls over, then jumps a little—you're right there next to him, awake and looking at him with a soft expression.

"So it wasn't a dream," he says aloud.

You smile. "No, it wasn't.”

"We slept in the same bed," he says, dumbstruck.

"We did."

"You... held my hand?"

A nod and a bashful smile. “I did."

"Huh." He's quiet as he processes this and gathers his memories together. There's a question that comes to mind, but he doesn't know if he’s brave enough to voice it. Instead, he asks, "Did I sleep talk?"

"You did," you reply. "You told me the widest recorded tornado was 2.6 miles wide."

"The 2013 El Reno tornado," he says automatically. "It’s also the second most powerful tornado recorded. It occurred on May 31 of that year. Though it officially ranks as the widest tornado on record, current Doppler estimates of the 1999 Mullhall, Oklahoma tornado indicate that it may have been 4.3 miles wide."

You blink. "That's terrifying."

Spencer winces. "Sorry."

"It's okay." You hesitate a little, biting your lower lip, then slowly reach out and take his hand. Again, his fingers thread through yours perfectly.

He looks down at your joined hands, then back at you. His question from before returns. "What does this mean?" he asks quietly.

"It means..." You take a deep breath. "I like you.”

He frowns. "I know that. That's why we're friends."

"That's not what I meant." You squeeze his hand as if to remind him that you're holding it. "I meant that I like you as more than a friend."

His eyebrows shoot up. “Really?" he squeaks.

"Really," you confirm. "If you don't feel the same, I understa--”

You're cut off by him leaning forward and pressing the lightest little kiss on your lips.

"I like you as more than a friend, too," he says softly.

You give him the most wonderful smile. "Then get back here and kiss me properly."

Spencer obliges. He's never cared less about morning breath.

You scoot closer to him when you break apart and push his limbs around slightly to get into an embrace. "Finally," you murmur into the skin of his neck.

The sensation makes him shiver. “What do you mean?"

"I’ve been trying to get you into my bed for weeks."

He nearly chokes on his own sharp inhale. "I—what?"

"Not like that," you clarify. "I just wanted a good opportunity to confess. I figured you'd be too comfy in bed to run off right after I told you."

“You think I'd run off on you?"

You shrug. “You tend to remove yourself from a situation if your feelings get too intense. It’s not necessarily a bad thing, but in this case, it’s the last thing I wanted to happen, you know?”

"Yeah, I get that,” he says. "I promise not to do it with you, though. About anything.”

You lift your head to look him in the eyes. “Kiss me again."

Spencer does.

---------------

tell me what you thought here!

smut follow up: hands to myself

general taglist: @calm-and-doctor​ , @spencerreid9​

[fanficbitch]

In Another Life // Move In

November 2012

Aaron Hotchner x y/n

I feel light kisses starting at the nape of my neck and trailing up to the top of my ear. My toes curl, as do my lips. The kisses suddenly stop, but they are replaced by a whisper. “Good morning,” Aaron whispers in my ear.

“Good morning,” I whisper back.

My boyfriend squeezes his arms around my waist and holds me tight to his body. We lay there for a moment before I try to break free. “What are you doing?” Aaron asks.

I turn over in bed to face him. His hair is an adorable mess. I stroke my fingers through it a few times as an attempt to straighten it out. “One of us has to get Jack up,” I tell him.

“Can’t we stay here just a few more minutes?” he whines.

“Aaron, we do this every morning and every morning one of us is rushing Jack out the door and the other is almost late for work.”

“So that’s a no?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

I finally break free from his arms and throw the covers up. “It’s a no,” I say then deliver him a quick kiss and get out of bed.

I go to the dresser drawer Aaron has put aside for me so I can keep somethings here. I expect to find the set of work clothes I left here, but the drawer is nearly empty.

“Babe, did you move my clothes?” I ask over my shoulder.

“No,” he says with a yawn.

“Then where are my work clothes?” I ask. Aaron comes up next to me to look in the drawer.

“Did you remember to replace it after last week?” he asks me. I think on it for a moment and realize that I didn’t restock my clothes here.

“Great,” I say then slip on my shoes and grab my purse.

“What are you doing?” Aaron asks.

“I have to go home and grab some clothes,” I say as I approach him. “I’ll see you at work,” I say then give him a kiss. I try to walk away, but he grabs my hand and pulls me into his chest.

“Uh, wait,” he says, but looks over my head. “There was something I was hoping to talk to you about.”

“What is it?” I ask.

“It’s not necessarily a quick conversation,” he chuckles awkwardly.

I take a step back and cross my arms. “Aaron, you’re scaring me,” I say slowly.

“It’s nothing scary, it’s just-,” he says then pauses. “I just figured since you spend almost ever night here you could move in.”

I stay quiet for a moment and think over what he said. I mean he’s right. I spend most of my time here anyway and am hardly at my own home. But if I move in, that makes things a lot more serious. But it’s not like I’m not serious about this relationship already.

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” I ask carefully.

“Yeah, of course,” he says. “I’m ready to take the next step with you. I want the two people I love most to be under the same roof.”

“What about Jack? I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

“I’ve already talked to Jack about it and he wants you to move in. He loves you,” Aaron says.

I feel a little better with that knowledge, but I’m still hesitant. “I’ll think about it,” I tell him.

Aaron flashes me a confused face for a split second, but quickly covers it up. “Okay, that’s fine,” he says then kisses my forehead. “I’ll see you at work.”

“See ya,” I say then turn on my heel and leave the bedroom.

                                                     **********

I’ve been avoiding Aaron ever since I got to work. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to him, I just don’t know what to say. I don’t know if I want to move in with him or not.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asks as he approaches my desk.

I frown at him. “Nothing’s wrong,” I say, but he raises his eyebrows.

“You’re biting your nails. That means something is wrong,” Derek says. I realize that he is right and I am biting my nails. I quickly pull my hand away from my mouth and stuff it in my lap. “So what’s going on?”

I look around the room to make sure Aaron is not nearby. I see through the blinds in his office and see him sitting at his desk.

I lower my voice. “Aaron asked me to move in with him,” I say, but Derek keeps his previous expression.

“So?”

“That’s a big deal. I mean he has Jack. I don’t want to move in unless I’m absolutely sure I want to be with him forever,” I say but Derek just smirks at me. “What?”

“You two are practically raising Jack together already. I think if you weren’t sure this relationship would already be over.”

Derek does have a point. Jack and Aaron are my family. But this is still a huge commitment. I just don’t know what to do.

                                                     **********

I decided to stay at my apartment tonight. Aaron and I have hardly talked all day so I wasn’t really in the mood to stay over. 

I have my pajamas on and am pulling back my covers when my phone begins to ring. Aaron’s picture pops up. I hesitate for a moment, but ultimately decide to answer it.

“Hello?” I ask.

“Hi,” he says and then there is a long pause. “Strauss just called me in for an emergency meeting regarding a case we had a few weeks ago. I have to go so I was hoping you could come watch Jack while I’m gone. You don’t have to spend the night though, it’s just till I get back.”

I sigh. “Aaron-,”

“Just can you come watch him?”

Now I pause for a moment. “Yes, of course. I’ll leave now.”

                                                       **********

I’ve been at Aaron’s for the last 20 minutes. Right when I walked in, Aaron walked right past me out the door. Jack was already asleep so all I have to do is wait till Aaron gets back.

I lay down on my normal side in Aaron’s bed and try to get some sleep. However, it only lasts about 10 minutes because a sobbing young boy comes into the room. “Y/N,” Jack sobs.

I quickly turn on the light and lift Jack onto the bed. “What happened?” I ask.

“I had a nightmare,” he sniffs.

“Oh baby,” I say and hold him against my chest. “Everything is okay. You are safe.”

His cries begin to die down so I take my thumb and wipe away his remaining tears. “C-Can I sleep in here tonight?” he whimpers.

“Of course buddy,” I say and slide him off my lap. We both lay down as Jack still has his arms wrapped around me. I slowly rub his back until I hear his breaths even out. Before too long, Aaron is back.

“What happened?” Aaron asks as he climbs into bed.

“Nightmare,” I whisper and Aaron nods.

“Well, I can take your spot and you can get out of here,” Aaron says.

I look down at a sleeping Jack and know that I don’t want to miss out on anymore of these moments.

“No, I’m good right here,” I smile at him. “And I think I’ll take you up on that move in offer. I know that this is what I want.”

Aaron leans in to kiss me. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you too,” I whisper back.

Aaron lays down and reaches across Jack to grab my hand as the three of us fall into sleep.

[imagines-hoarder]

House Warming - Bucky Barnes

Summary: Hopping through some standout moments in making Bucky's apartment a place worth coming home to. (This definitely could have been a headcanon but I refuse to do headcanons at this time.)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 2.6 k

Warnings: fluff with a lil angst

A/N: I have finished all the assignments left for my degree and decided to sit down and write today. This is probably trash but idc because it has been written and therefore I may as well release it. It's been a while since I've written and years since I've truly tried dipping my foot into a different fandom, but I figured I'd give it ago. Please don't forget to leave comments, I love interacting with y'all. Thank you @bwbatta​ for the dividers! xoxox

Masterlist

It all started with a damn candle. A ‘sandalwood & vanilla orchid’ candle tucked away in a reused cyan jar.

“I found it at the art market down the street last weekend,” you said as you placed it in the corner of the living room window. “You know we have to support local business.”

“And I shouldn’t assume this is your way of telling me my place smells, right?” Bucky quipped from the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in his hand and a lazy smile on his face. He’d just gotten back from a 12-day mission with Sam, and the last thing he had on his to-do list was to buy candles.

The smile grew firmer as you put yourself into his arms. “Complete opposite, actually. I bought it cause I thought it smelled just like you.” You hid your face within his chest, and he thanked the stars that you couldn’t see the warmth rising in his cheeks. His barren apartment felt a little bigger with a candle in the windowsill.

From there it became decorative pillows… and a couch to hold them. The small living room had quickly become a mess by the time you both had brought it up to his fourth-floor apartment, furniture wrap and packing peanuts strewn everywhere.

“I still don’t know why you needed to buy a sofa this big,” Bucky grumbled as he leaned over the back of the beige three-seater, looking down at your splayed out across its cushions.

“Don’t get me wrong, babe. I love the transient bachelor look you’ve got going on here, but you need more furniture than an armchair,” you mumbled between heavy breaths as you tried to regain control from maneuvering the couch into the apartment.

“And the pillows?” A laugh fell from your lips as you watched him look at the indigo cushions with a remarkable amount of disdain. Who buys pillows made just to look nice on a couch?

“They add character.”

“I didn’t think character was an area we were lacking in. Transient bachelor, remember?” He walked around the couch and shifted you over so he could lay beside you. You instinctively curled into him as you both closed your eyes. For a second the place felt like home. “I also don't know how you plan for us both to fit on this couch every day along with the pillows.”

“Don’t worry about it,” You looked up from his chest with a mischievous glint that made his heart skip. “It’s a pullout bed too. I’m sure it’ll be firm enough even for you.”

The home improvements didn’t stop there, but Bucky refused to admit how much he enjoyed them.

He liked having a place and person to come home to. After you had bought neutral bedding for his room, you’d spent an evening putting together ‘his and hers’ trestle bookcases for either side of the bed. He’d try to keep up his crabbish demeanor as you argued that ‘you needed a place to set your books for when you slept over,’ and a side table could no longer contain the small collection you had spilling over. Even still, he couldn’t find it in himself to banter much about the minor changes you made to make the place feel lived in.

And God, did he love living with you around. Between missions, his continued therapy, and trying to find his place in a world that had tripled in opportunity since his youth, he knew that he never had to question who he was and where he fit in when he walked through that door. You still occasionally slept at your own apartment when he was away, but he could always count on you being asleep in his bed by the time he came home.

One toothbrush in a glass became two, and from there, hand creams, face masks, and cotton pads cluttered the bathroom counter, packed away in their clear containers. You had made sure to keep lavender bath salts on hand for the late-night baths you took together when he woke up in a panic, unable to close his eyes again for fear of falling back into a nightmare.

It took time and working through plenty of hesitation before Bucky could progress from sleeping on the pull-out sofa to the bed, but ever since, you found your nights attended by restlessness whenever you weren’t wrapped in his arms.

Once your lease was up and you had a lengthy conversation about your inability to rest without him, you quickly filled the apartment with brown boxes. Bucky had been no less than astounded by how much you fit into them. From then on, no nook or cranny was without a vase or shelf.

“How many mugs does one house need,” Bucky asked skeptically while he continued to carefully pull them from their paper wrappings.

“Oh, come on! They’re fun!” You exclaimed, wrapping an arm around his waist as you took the Charlie Brown mug from his metal palm. “Plus, we go through enough coffee around here to justify some extra mugs.”

After you put the mug into the lowest shelf of the cabinet, you busied yourself with filing away the spices one cabinet over. No matter how much he tried, Bucky couldn’t pull his eyes away from you, lost in your own world as you chipped away at unpacking your belongings, making yours his, and vice versa. The domesticity in the little things you did was something he could get used to, and he wanted to return the feeling of normalcy as much as he could. He was far from the average boyfriend, but you remind him that could be a good thing. You never wanted to be average, but in these small moments, as you both did what normal couples do, he felt that he could create a new normal with you.

“So your Christmas gift came in already, and it’s too big to hide.” Your awkward tone carried over the phone as he exited a station ten minutes away from the apartment. Even though his neck ached and the cold nipped at the top of his ears, he couldn’t stop himself from releasing a breathy laugh.

“I thought you said you were good at this gift-giving thing, doll,” he teased you as he maneuvered his way to your shared apartment.

“Oh, don’t you fret, baby. I am the best gift-giver in all of New York City. I just slightly miscalculated how big this thing was and have realized it won’t fit into our closet.”

He tsked with a smirk on his face. “If you say so.”

“Hey, you gave me my Christmas gift a week ago.”

“Yeah, that’s because I didn’t know if I’d be back before Christmas.”

“Well, you will be, and I’m glad you are,” your voice softened lovingly as he pulled out his keys to the front of the building.

Bucky had gotten used to your love, but he’d vow to never take it for granted. All the pain he’d endured had somehow led him to you, the person who didn’t see his broken pieces as a burden or a project but as a potential to be whatever he desired.

When he hung up the call and unlocked the apartment, his brows furrowed into one; the apartment was pitch black. It was only when he heard your soft footstep walking towards the entrance that his face relaxed.

Before he could even kiss you, you had your palms firmly placed over his eyes. “No peeking; your gift is in the living room.”

The uncertainty in what you could have got him made his stomach clench. “Is it an animal?”

You slowly dragged him through the front hallway, making sure to avoid crashing into the entryway storage table. “I’m sorry to say it’s not alive.”

“Is it a nice welcome-home spread with candles, fruit, and the pullout bed all set up?”

He could feel your eyes roll to completion. “Easy there, sergeant. That’s for later.” You pulled him down to sit on the couch, and he kept his eyes closed as you pulled your palms away, moving to turn on a lamp. “Okay, Buck. open up.”

When he opened his eyes, it took him a moment to understand what he was seeing nestled against the wall; when he did recognize it, he could only form two words “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit indeed.”

He was quick to stand up and cross the room, eager to get a good look at the walnut centerpiece. “Does it work?”

You scoffed as you moved to kiss his cheek. “What kind of girlfriend would get her ancient boyfriend a broken phonograph console?”

He didn’t even attempt to answer as he bent down to wrap his arms around you, his lips eager to find yours. “A fucking Magnavox radio and phonograph,” he mumbled against your lips.

“A working Magnavox radio and phonograph, you mean.” When you pulled away and saw that his face held a glow reserved only for special occasions, you knew you had made the right choice. “I’ve got some records wrapped up if you want to open those now too.”

You yelped in surprise as he picked you up and made his way towards your bedroom. “I’ve got something else I’d like to unwrap first.”

Bucky Barnes had grown up in a period when the average family could seldom afford nice things or much of anything at all. The Great Depression has resulted in the slogan ‘Make it do or Do without,” being ingrained into what memories he still had, and 'doing without' had become commonplace for the Barnes household.

That’s why every gadget and gizmo you added to your household left him in awe. For much of his life, including the decades he spent as a weapon for Hydra, he hadn’t been allowed to call anything his own; he was still getting used to living so plentifully, both in love and in life. But now, he could barely move and he thought it had all been taken away from him.

The attack was supposed to have been contained, at least three miles away from the apartment. Anything less, and he would have made you visit your family upstate instead of just suggesting it. By the time Sam had told him that there’d been some confirmed damage within a block of the apartment, Bucky was already on his way home. He couldn’t think of anything but the worse: you trapped in a collapsing apartment building or pulling up to find no building there at all.

He felt his lungs fill with air again as he pulled up to your building, completely intact regardless of the severe damage less than a five-minute walk away. It felt like both seconds and hours between when he parked his outside and unlocked the front door.

“He doesn’t have his phone on him, mom. How am I supposed to…” you trailed off from your call as he walked into the living room, turning your head away from the Breaking News report you’d been glued to for the last hour. “Wait, I’ll call you back. Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll call you back.” Your eyes never left his as he walked over to you, hanging up the phone with worry in your eyes. “Buck, are you oka-”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence before he pulled you off of the couch and into his arms. His grip was less reserved than he usually kept, but he made sure not to hurt you, eager to keep you in his arms, where he knew you were safe. A single tear fell from the corner of his eyes as he realized the real possibility that he could have lost you if you lived even 5 minutes closer to the attack. You stayed like that for a while, gathered tightly in his arms as you both settled onto the floor You didn’t push him to verbalize his fear; you already understood it. And it took this occurrence for him to realize he never wanted to experience this feeling again.

Bucky was quiet for the rest of the evening, and while it worried you, his fear had been evident enough not to require questioning. The city-wide cleanup had lasted all hours of the night; for the first time in all the years you had lived in the city, the sounds of the whirring of vehicles clearing debris off the street had been too close to ignore. The sun was rising before a single word was said between you and Bucky, tangled together on the sofa as the first ray of light made itself known.

“You’ve spent so much time piecing this place together, doll.” His voice was raspy. You know he hates when you see him cry, but his pain was always evident in his voice. “And it could have been all wiped away in seconds.” You let a heavy silence settle between you as you traced a pattern into his shoulder. He couldn’t bear to say it, but you knew what he meant: You could have been gone within seconds. “I just… I don’t ever want to feel like this again.”

You’d both gone through so much to make your relationship work. Nearly normal was as close as you would ever attain to being an average couple. The distance, the days without contact, and the ever-present fear that anything could pull you away from one another was something that had taken time to work through.

You looked around the living room and saw the place you had built together. There were photos and books scattered on any flat surface, a leftover mug half-filled with cold tea, and a record left out on the phonograph. The apartment looked like what love felt like; a messy combination of everything you and Bucky. But this apartment could not contain everything that ‘home’ was; only Bucky could do that.

The words fell from your mouth before you could restrain them. “Maybe we should move.”

Your eyes found each other, and you both sat in silence, though it felt lighter, invigorated with the new proposition.

Before he even responded, you could see tension dissolve from his shoulders. “Where do you want to move?”

You hadn’t thought that far ahead, only being able to provide him with a shrug. “I don’t know… maybe upstate, maybe somewhere else.”

“Your mom would like you being Upstate.”

“My mom would love us living next door too, but I don’t see that in the cards anytime soon.” You got a ghost of a smile for that.

“We could probably afford a house if we moved out there,” he said as he moved his lips to meet your forehead.

“Buck, I’d move anywhere with you. As long as we have each other, then we have all we need to rebuild this place.”

He pressed soft kisses to the crown of your head, and you swore you felt his chest flutter. “Tomorrow, I’m gonna look for some places, bigger ones too.” He tilted your head up to find your eyes, and you were sure that all of the love you carried for each other was incredibly visible at that moment. “You have made this apartment something worth coming home to. Now let me give you a house to make a home.” Your skin tingled with adoration as you pulled him as close as possible, burying your face into his neck.

You didn’t want to let go. You wanted to lay in this room, in this bed, and in this moment until the end of time, but you knew that something bigger and better was on the horizon for you and Bucky.

“All I heard is that you’re buying me a house.” His laugh was music to your ears.

[strangeinternetwasteland]

Imprint- Werewolf Bakugo x Fem! Reader Pt 1

A/N: I wrote this for @chaoticyuna and her summerween event which can be found here …this probably will be a multipart series…

WC: 1.7k

Warnings: None really this part is pretty SFW

There were always stories about your college UA. The ghosts that moaned and haunted the hallways, the skeletons they found buried deep beneath the school, the vampires that roamed openly on campus at night. None were ever as exaggerated as the tale of the werewolf that runs through the forest at night.

Of course, you didn’t believe any of this. The closest thing to ghosts or vampires were the pale-faced, sleep-deprived students you attended the school with. The fact that wolves even lived in the forest around the school seemed absurd. So when you started your first year at UA, the seniors would try to scare the freshmen.

You never gave in nor did you believe the stories. So when you decided to join a sorority, of course your initiation was to spend a night in the forest. Honestly, it was pathetic that so many gave into the stories like this. You refused to do such an act and were not accepted into the Sorority.

You tried again with another sorority that seemed to align with your ideals concerning the “supernatural” existence of beings. Your initiation was similar to the other sorority, only you had to go to the forest on a full moon and spend the whole night there. To you it wasn’t anything, you’d been camping many times with your family since you were little. One night wouldn’t hurt.

So you packed your sleeping bag, a few snacks, water, and some extra clothes. The warmth of the fall day gave false hope. You had checked the weather and made sure that it wasn’t going to be raining that night or extraordinarily cold. Everything seemed to have been perfect.

After dinner, you took your stuff and ventured off into the forest. You found a nice clearing not too long after the sun had just set, just before it became too dark to see. You set up camp, built a fire, and let your thoughts take you wherever they pleased while looking under the starry sky. You had drifted off to sleep fairly quickly.

A few hours later, you were awoken by the sound of a low growl of a wolf. The sound meant danger, and even in your half-sleeping state, you knew something was wrong. You quietly, and quickly tried to pack your things without attracting too much attention, you backed up slowly and felt yourself press up against something soft. You held your breath as you slowly turned to face a massive carmel colored wolf with red eyes. The last thought you had before everything turned cold and dark was, ‘I am going to die here, but why does he look sort of humane?’

You woke up just after the sun rose, in a cold sweat. Unsure if you dreamt of the giant wolf, or if it really happened. You argued with yourself while you packed up your things, but a feeling of uneasiness settled over you, almost as if you were being watched. You shook it off and chalked it up to your imagination. You walked back to the sorority house and reported your finding of nothing.

The next two weeks passed quickly, without much of anything happening. You were part of the Sorority, participating in house parties, thinking of charity events, and of course school. It was almost two months into school when you got a new student in your business marketing class, which was normally not a thing that happened often. When he entered the room all the girls in class stared at him. He oozed confidence and cockiness. Whispers were murmured amongst the girls.

When you looked up to see the commotion, you saw him walking toward you. Something about his stance and aura made you not want to make eye contact with him.

“Is this seat taken?” He asked you gruffly while pointing to the one directly next to you. You shook your head no, and kept your head down and gaze averted.

“I’m Katsuki Bakugo.” He told you while holding his hand out to you. You really wanted to look at him, but everything inside you screamed not to. You ignored him as best as you could, but your interaction  made the whole classroom whisper again.

“Alright, everyone settle down. Today’s assignment and your homework is to create a business model that you think would have sustainable growth in a five year model. You will be working with a partner. You have two weeks to complete this and present it to the class.” You swore you saw all the girls' eyes glued to Bakugo as the professor spoke.

“Bakugo, since you’re new to this class, I will let you pick your partner first.” The Professor said, but all the girls sat up a little straighter trying to get Bakugo’s attention. “I advise you though, that just because you are starting so late, I won’t make any excuse for you not to get your work done. You have quite a bit to catch up on.” He continued.

You saw Bakugo give a sly grin when the Professor said this. He nodded his head curtly.

“I choose Y/N as my partner for this assignment.” Bakugo spoke aloud, and you saw all the girls in the room deflate a little bit. You didn’t know Bakugo so how did he know you? You thought to yourself.  When you looked at him after he spoke, for the first time since he entered the room, something about him seemed so familiar. His eyes softened a bit as you looked at one another before he tore his eyes away from you. You felt his whole mood shift from confident to anger. You couldn’t explain it, but you knew something was off with Bakugo.

After everyone was partnered up, and you heard a few quips from the other females about how unfair it was that Bakugo picked you, the two of you were set off to work. As uncomfortable as Bakugo seemed with you, or the classroom, he had a lot of ideas for the assignment. Just before class the two of you exchanged numbers and planned to meet at the library tomorrow night.

Every other night you and Bakugo spent time at the library together until close. He always seemed very tense when around you, and you thought perhaps, it was just your personality that he didn’t like. He’d walk you to your dorm or sorority house when needed. The night before your presentation to the class, you were supposed to meet him, but he never showed up.

You walked around the school looking for him. You caught up with one of his friends Kirishima, who told you that Bakugo wasn’t feeling well. You thanked Kirishima, and gave him a message for Bakugo. You noticed that it was a full moon, and a cool fall night. You walked toward the forest where you felt most at peace. As you felt the cool crisp air biting at your cheeks, and feel your troubles melt away, you walked aimlessly.

Suddenly, you were in the darkest part of the forest, where very little moonlight filtered through the trees. You felt that uneasiness once again, and realized you were lost. Behind you, you heard a branch crack and break. Your heartbeat raced and you realized that you heard a low, warning growl from a wolf. This time you knew you weren’t dreaming.

In front of you was a snarling shadow with the bluest eyes you’d ever seen. You were shaking from adrenaline and while you should have ran away, you heard the gruffest, “Don’t Move” inside your head. So you obeyed. From above you lept a lighter colored wolf, who placed himself in front of you.

The two snarled at one another for a bit, but seemed to be communicating somehow. The sight was incredible and unbelievable. When the other wolf left without your legs gave out and you fainted once again.

When you woke you were surrounded with the feeling of warm fur, and the smell of carmel that pulled you back into sleep. You didn’t dream of anything more, but hours later you woke up in a fit, and inside your dorm. When you exited your dorm to rush to class, you were greeted by Bakugo.

“Hey, Y/N. Are you okay?” You eyed him suspiciously, he wasn’t as tense as he normally was.

“I am fine. I’ve just had nightmares as of late.” You snapped at him.

“Alright.” He said nonchalantly. The truth was you had a million questions for him, but you knew you couldn’t ask him.

“I meant, last night, I found you passed out in front of your dorm when I was walking back from the store.” He told you. You opened your mouth and then closed it.

“You know what? I don’t need this fake sympathy from you. Let’s do this stupid presentation and then we will never have to speak again.” You shouted at him.

He fell behind you as you walked as quickly as you could to the classroom. You both gave your presentation and ignored Bakugo as best as you could for the rest of class.

After class, you were the first one out and ran straight back to your dorm. You turned off your phone and fell asleep for the rest of the day. Your dorm mates Momo, Mina, and Ochako came and went.  Mina, whom you shared a room with, asked you if you wanted to join them. You told her no, and she knew that sometimes all you needed was space, gave you a head pat and left.

When they all left you were able to sleep again and at one point you swore you heard a knock at the door, but ignored it and everyone for the rest of the day. When you turned your phone on the next day, you saw the 5 missed phone calls from Bakugo. You were angry looking at that. The long apologetic text message didn’t seem to help either, nor did the box of Flamin’ hot Cheetos, which you assumed was Mina. However, you spotted the little note scribbled on top from Bakugo, you sat down angrily on the couch in the common area between your room and the other one, and ate the chips angrily. You were determined to ignore Bakugo for as long as possible.

[redheadsinmybed]

Adding to the family

Wanda x Natasha x Reader

Description: Wanda and you have been in a steady relationship, what happens when you add a special someone to it???

Notes: Wow! I can’t believe the amount of people on here who actually like my writing! It’s nice to know that you guys out there are enjoying it! Anyways have fun with this one!!

Wanda, sweet loving Wanda, was sent on a mission. Leaving you all alone with no one to snuggle with at night and no one to wake up to in the morning.

She didn’t want to leave you. She tried to convince Cap that they didn’t need her for the mission, but it didn't work and she got sent anyway.

Before she left Wanda and you had talked about your relationship. Not anything bad. At first you talked about where it was going. But then, somehow, the subject of Natasha came up.

“Do you like her,” Wanda asks you. You look into her eyes and see something, not sadness, but something else that you can’t describe.

“What do you mean ‘do I like her’” you ask with concern.

“I mean do you like-like her? I've seen the way you look at her baby.” You start to cry worried that she might leave you. Sure you like-like Nat, but you love Wanda more than anything and don’t want to lose her.

“Baby, it’s okay,” she says as she cups your face and wipes your tears away, “I’m not mad baby, I like her too” Wanda says and your eyes go wide.

“You do?” You ask.

“Yes baby”

“like , like-like her?”

“Yes baby” Wanda chuckles at your shocked look.

“Wait…” you say thoughtfully.

“If you like-like her and I like-like her and she like-likes both of us..” Your eyes go wide with excitement in realization. You look up at Wanda to make sure she’s on board with your thinking.

“Then maybe she can join our relationship,” Wanda finishes your sentence.

“Do you want that though, like truly want that?” You ask very seriously, ready to drop the subject if she says no.

“I would like that. What about you, how do you feel about it?” Wanda asks seriously too.

“I like it too,” you say, “but you’ll always be my-my…” You try to think of the right words.

“Same,” Wanda says, knowing what you meant. You smile up at her and hug her.

That was the conversation you had with her 2 days before her mission. Now it was the first day without her. It was about bedtime and you were scared. This is the first time in about 2 months that you are going to have to sleep without her.

Before you started sleeping with her you’d have nightmares, not every night but about every other. They stopped when you started sleeping with Wanda and you’ve been nightmare free ever since.

You get in bed and you realize just how empty it is without her. You start to cry knowing that she’s going to be gone for 3 days and 3 nights.

You cry yourself to sleep holding Bunny, your stuffed koala that Nat gave you, close to your chest.

You find yourself in a fight. You and Wanda are fighting Ultron. You use your combat skills to keep him distracted, while Wanda used her powers to rip out his mechanic heart. He fell to the ground, and Wanda came over to hug you.

Before she could reach you, you saw Ultrons hand lift up. He shoots an energy beam at Wanda’s back. You scream to warn her but no sound comes out.

You watch as she falls to the ground. The life in her eyes is gone as there’s a gaping hole in her body. You rush over to her.

“NO NO NO PLEASE!!!!!!” You scream at her.

“DON’T GO!!!” You say sobbing for her. She doesn’t move.

“MAMA!!!!!” You scream still crying. You hear your name being called and feel yourself being shaken.

You wake up drenched in sweat, breathing heavily, and little. You realise you can’t move because you are being held by someone.

“You’re okay I’ve got you, you’re okay,” You recognize the voice instantly. It’s Natasha. You finally realize where you are. In your bedroom, and Wanda isn’t here she’s on a mission. You start to cry afraid that the dream might have been real.

“It’s okay it was just a dream”

“Ma-Mama ah-alive?” You ask her with a shaky voice. Natasha instantly realizes that the dream must’ve made you go into your little state.

“Yes honey, your mama is still alive” Nat says, although you still worry that maybe she isn’t. Nat sees the worry in your face.

“Do you want to facetime her baby?” She asks you. You nod your head needing to make sure she was still alive.

“Okay,” Nat says as she lets go of you. You start to cry again when she pulls away.

“Mommy don’t go” You say scared that she’s gonna leave. Natasha is taken back for a moment at what you call her.

“I’m not going anywhere baby,” She says as she wipes the new tears off your face. Nat scoots back so her back is against the headboard. She pats the space in between her legs and you sit in front of her with your back to her chest. You lay your head against her chest and she wraps her arms around your front. She takes her phone and facetimes Wanda. It rings twice before she picks up.

“Hi baby,” she says when she sees you, and then she frowns seeing that you had been crying.

“baby girl what’s wrong?” She asks, worry in her voice.

“Bad dream mama,” You say quietly.

“Oh baby. Do you want to talk about it?” You start to cry again remembering the dream you had. Nat holds you tighter.

“W-we were fighting Ultron and he used his energy beam to kill you. An I twied to warn y-you b-but you died, you died mama, an I couldn’t, I couldn’t…” You tried to get out your sentence but you couldn’t.

“Oh baby girl,” Mama coos.

“It’s okay baby, mamas still alive, I’m right here baby,” Mama says to you trying to get you to calm down. It takes a while but eventually you calm down after many ‘it’s okays’ and ‘im right heres’. Wanda has to go but she told you that she would be okay.

“I will fight for you baby girl, no matter what,” She said to you before you said goodbye.

You are exhausted and tired. But you don’t want to be alone.

“Mommy?” You ask.

“Yes baby?”

“Will yous stay wit me?”

“I wasn’t planning to leave you alone tonight baby,” Nat says. You look up at her lovingly. Tasha picks up the covers for you to get under. When you do she gets off the bed, you whine tugging at her arm.

“What baby?”

“You said yous stay wit me,” you say pouting.

“I am baby, I am gonna sleep on the chair,” she says pointing to a relatively small chair in the conner of your room. You shake your head.

“No want you here,” you say pointing to the empty space next to you. Nat bites her lip thinking it through. Finally she gets under the covers with you. You instantly get as close as you can to her and hide your face in her neck.

Nat hesitantly wraps her arms around you. She feels you relax into her and she feels like this is right where she is supposed to be. She waits for you to fall asleep.

“I love you,” She says before she falls into sleep.

When you wake up you’re no longer little. You feel someone surrounding you. You open your eyes and you see red hair, Tasha. It all comes back to you at once, the dream, the name, the facetime. Oh no.

If you remember correctly you had called her ‘mommy’. Oh no oh no. You only talked about it with Wanda, you didn’t make any official plans.

What if she didn’t want to go through with it, what if she changed her mind. What if she sees you with Tasha right now, what if she’s mad. What if she leaves you.

As if on cue your bedroom door opens to reveal the one and only Wanda Maximoff. Oh f***.

Should you jump out of bed, what if you wake Nat? You decide that the best thing you can do is pretend like you are sleeping, then wake up and act confused. You close your eyes and relax your face.

You hear Wanda doing something, probably putting her mission stuff away. Then to your surprise you feel the covers being pulled back and the bed dip down to your empty side. You feel Wanda wrap her arms around you and feel her head on your chest.

You feel Nat move on your side, she must be a light sleeper.

“Morning,” you hear Wanda say you can feel her smile against your skin.

“Hey, your home early,” she was early. In fact she was only gone for a day when she should've been gone for 3.

“Yeah I know, but after last night I had to come home,” Wanda whispers back, clearly talking about you.

“I’m glad you’re back,” you can hear Natasha’s smile as she says it. Then you hear something you would have never expected. Kissing, lips on lips.

Your eyes fly open to see Wanda's hand tangled up in Natasha's hair, their lips moving together. They don’t notice you have your eyes open as you're too shocked at the moment to say anything.

Natasha is the first one to pull away. Wanda and her look down at you surprised to see you awake. They laugh because your mouth is practically touching the floor and your eyes are as big as saucers.

“Did you just- while I was- did you actually just- but-but when, how… what???” You blabber out. Wanda just smiles and kisses you with the same lips that she just was kissing Nat with.

“And you just- with the same- okay someone better explain,” you say.

“Well baby after you went to sleep Nat and I texted for a while, I told her about our talk we had and how we’d like to have her join our relationship”

“And you said yes,” you say to yourself.

“And I said yes,” Nat confirms.

“I hope you're not mad baby, you still want this right?” Wanda asks you.

“Well yeah I still want it, but I mean you gave me a heart attack when you came in. And when I saw you kissing Tasha I think I died for a moment,” Natasha and Wanda laugh.

“So it’s official, like in both?” You ask.

“Yes baby it’s official, in both,” you suddenly feel so happy you surge up to Natasha and kiss her. Her lips are so soft, and she’s gentle when she kisses you. You pull back with a huge smile on your face.

“Wow. You are a great kisser, way better than Wanda,” you say with a giggle.

“Hey!” Wanda says as she slaps your shoulder playfully. Natasha just blushes shaking her head. You yawn still tired as it’s only 6:15 a.m.

“You still tired baby girl?” Wanda asks you, tired herself after the long ride home.

You nod your head, slipping into your little state when you hear her call you that.

“Can you and mommy cuddle me?” you ask mama, picking up Bunny and holding her to your chest.

“Of course baby,” Wanda says as you lay back down. Natasha is on one side of you and Wanda is on the other. You snuggle into Nat wrapping your arms around her. Your front to mommy’s front and your back to mama’s front.

You feel mama wrap her arm around your waist and feel mommy’s hand on your hip. Feeling safe and loved you drift off into a peaceful sleep. Mama and mommy following you right after you.

[fangirlovestuff]

Bad Day - Bucky Barnes x reader

a/n - hey lovely people!! this is for the amazing @animnerd ‘s 100 followers challenge!! give her all the love, she deserves it so much!!! this came out a little bit longer than a usual drabble, but i hope you enjoy<3

Summary: Bucky comforts you about your bad day, and also puts things into perspective:)

Word Count: 700

Warnings: one bad language word:)

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"You wouldn't believe the day I've had," you sighed, plopping down on the couch.

You had just gotten home from your job after a long day. It's been a long week, honestly. There was so much work to do, and you usually liked your work, but this week it was just so boring. Right now, all you wanted was to cuddle up with your super soldier boyfriend on the couch, watch a movie and fall asleep midway.

"Awww," he pouted in sympathy, "What happened?"

He gently lifted your head from where you were laying on the couch so he could sit down, returning your head to rest on his thighs and stroking your hair.

"It's just been such a long day," you whined, "Barbra wouldn't stop giving me shit today over the smallest stuff. We've been closing the paperwork this entire week and I know it's necessary but it's so boring could fall asleep right at my desk, which I almost have, countless times, but today was just a whole new level of focus on the grittiest, most annoying details. Ugh, at least the nightmare's finally over."

"Yeah, and now I get to have you all to myself," he grinned, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, making you giggle.

You hummed in agreement. "But I'm warning you, there's a high chance I'm falling asleep. I'm so tired," you sighed, making him laugh and reassure you it'd be fine. "But what about you?" you asked, "How was your day? Your week?  I feel like I've been so tormented by my own shit I didn't ask," you smiled timidly, your eyes locking with his.

"Oh, well," he shrugged. "Long. I got up at like 2 am."

"What?" you frowned, "why?"

Bucky usually got up before you, so you didn't think anything of it when you woke up to an empty bed this morning. But usually he'd go on a run, and be back only after you were already gone for work, although if you were running late you'd get to tell him good morning on your way out. Not get up at 2 am, after what, two hours of sleep?

"Yeah, I hoped my phone didn't wake you up. We got called on mission. They told us it was short, so I didn't wake you up to tell you, figured we'd talk about it today. It was supposed to be a couple of days, but turns out we got shitty intel. We were supposed to go in today, at night, but when we got there at the early hours of the morning turned out we needed to go pretty much immediately. Long story short, we got the bad guys, but we went in severely unprepared. Wilson nearly- Sam got himself shot in the arm. Anyways, Steve was pissed when we got back. You shoulda seen him, guy was as red as a tomato. Not for nothing though. Fury got a hell of a mouthful, and we all had to sit there and watch, since you can't exactly walk out of a room in the middle of that," he chuckled.

"Yeah," you scoffed. "Tell me about it. I once saw him yell at Tony for disappearing with a smoke bomb in the middle of a briefing. Very awkward. Although I would've loved to at least see Tony do that, instead of just being there for the aftermath."

"Oh yeah, I remember that," he laughed. "Anyways, only after Steve was done we got to go to the med bay. Sam's gonna be fine, but it was a close call."

"I can't believe I was complaining about my day," you facepalmed, embarrassed, "I feel so stupid.

"Awww," he smiled, taking your hands in his and getting them off your face. "It's fine," he mumbled, pressing kisses to your face between his words, "I like that you have a normal life, doll. Besides, you're cute when you pout."

You laughed, reaching your hand behind his neck and pulling him down for a tender kiss. You were so grateful you could have him in your life, to rant about your small problems and support you through the bigger ones. You were so lucky.

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tell me your thoughts!!! and again, happy 100 followers lovely @animnerd​ !! you deserve every single one and more, ily<3

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[fruitydiaz-archived]

my darkest nights

A post 5.01 sort of speculation fic

Eddie makes it back home after the shift from hell and is grateful that he escaped Buck's persistent questioning - until a nightmare wakes him up and Buck shows up at his front door anyways. Because of course he does.

2,877 words

AO3 link

Eddie’s never been more grateful to be so exhausted after a shift. He’s never found himself standing in the locker room, staring at the slope of Buck’s slumped shoulders, the weight of his head pulling him down, and feeling grateful for it. He slips out of the locker rooms and to his truck without anyone noticing—everyone worn too close to the bone to focus on anything other than stripping off their uniforms and leaving for their respective homes.

What was supposed to be a 12-hour shift had turned into a 24-hour shift that dragged on, the ransomware attack sending first responders all over the city, wild goose chase after wild goose chase after literal wild goose chase. All the while Buck’s eyes rarely left Eddie. Normally, Eddie felt comforted by Buck’s constant presence, the way his eyes never strayed too far from him, especially when he found himself retreating into his head too much on calls.

But ever since the hospital—ever since running into Dr. Salazar—Buck’s eyes on him weren’t gentle and reassuring, equal parts check in with me and I’m checking in with you. They were worried and persistent and they made the hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck stand up.

By the time the power had been restored and the team had been cut loose, even Buck was too tired to chase Eddie down.

For the most part, Eddie is grateful, as he pulls into his driveway at 9 am, walking into his house and finding it quiet and empty. He’s thankful that he decided to leave Christopher with Pepa the day before, not knowing that his half shift would turn into a full shift from hell. For a moment he considers stopping in the kitchen to clear out the fridge of all the food that was definitely spoiled during the city-wide blackout, but his body screams for his bed and he listens.

He’s grateful when he pulls the curtains shut, switches off all the lights, and slips under the covers.

He’s grateful. Until the darkness settles around him again, until the sheets wrap themselves too tight around his body, until his eyes fly open and he finds himself searching frantically through the dark for a pair of wide, equally startled blue eyes.

He’s grateful until he realizes that he’s alone.

It’s not a panic attack that wakes him up—because Eddie doesn’t panic—but it takes him 10 minutes to get his heart rate back down. This sleep pattern is becoming painfully familiar to him, like finding an old t-shirt in the back of his closet that he hasn’t worn in 5 or so years, the material tight and constricting around his shoulders and chest. It’s 11:45 in the morning and he knows that trying to fall back asleep is useless, so he takes a quick shower and decides to clean out the fridge anyways.

When there’s a knock on his front door 30 minutes later, Eddie thinks he really shouldn’t be surprised.

But he still is when he pulls open the door and finds Buck standing in front of him, curls fresh and wet against his forehead, the circles under his eyes no less prominent than they were three hours ago. The spike of annoyance is almost immediate because Eddie knows that Buck got just about as much sleep as he did—if not less—and it was Eddie’s fault.

“Buck,” He starts to say, ready to wave him off again, turn him around on his porch and shove him back towards his jeep.

“I—is Christopher here?” Buck cuts him off, eyes darting over his shoulder. Eddie presses his lips together and shakes his head gently.

“He’s with Pepa,” He starts again but this time it’s Buck’s body that cuts him off, shoving his shoulder between Eddie and the doorway, pushing his way into Eddie’s house before he’s even had the opportunity to protest.

“What the hell is going on, Eddie?” Buck’s long legs make easy work of the distance between Eddie’s doorway to his kitchen and Eddie follows right on his heels, helpless and frustrated.

“Nothing’s going on, Buck. I told you to drop it.”

“Well I can’t, Eddie,” Buck says emphatically, spinning around and leaning back against Eddie’s counter. He pauses for a moment, wide eyes searching Eddie’s face before they drop to the floor. His fingers fumble with the hem of his sweatshirt and Eddie’s struck by how small he looks, shoulders hunched, bent inward.

He knows Buck pushes because he cares. Hell, if it were the other way around and Eddie had found out Buck had been to see a cardiologist and didn’t tell him, he wouldn’t have ever let them leave the hospital without finding out why. But Buck can’t know about this—whatever it is. Because Buck won’t drop it even after he finds out and all Eddie wants to do is move forward. He doesn’t get why no one else understands that.

“It wasn’t anything serious, Buck,” He tries again, but the way Buck stares back at him makes him feel like his body’s made of glass.

“Because if it was you would tell me?”

Eddie swallows. He holds Buck’s gaze and nods, a jerky aborted movement, before averting his eyes.

“Good, because four months ago you got shot.” Eddie ignores the way his entire body tenses as Buck continues. “And then you sat in the hospital room and told me that if anything ever happened to you I would be Christopher’s legal guardian.”

He doesn’t say anything and when he looks up again Buck has taken a step closer. He hovers over Eddie slightly, eyes soft and imploring.

“If something happens to you, I need to know. I want to know.”

“It was—it wasn’t a heart attack,” Eddie says quietly.

“But you thought it was.”

“The doctor said…they think it was a panic attack.” Eddie’s stomach twists at the gentle recognition that crosses Buck’s face. He’s not surprised in the slightest. Eddie can picture him easily, back at his loft, sitting on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, searching google for an explanation as to why Eddie would think he was having a heart attack if he wasn’t.

Realistically, Buck probably knew what was up while they were still in the hospital. But if Eddie can just pretend for a little longer—

“You don’t agree with them,” Buck says eventually and Eddie feels heat crawl up the back of his neck.

“I don’t panic,” He says as a reflex, the words familiar, having taken up residency on the tip of his tongue over the last couple of days. But the moment they’re out in the air, the moment he says them to Buck, he knows he’s lost the battle.

“Everybody panics.”

“I don’t.”

“Eddie, you got shot—”

“Why does everyone want to talk about that?” Eddie can’t keep the frustration from bleeding out into his words, not even through his gritted teeth. “I lived. I lived and he...he’s dead. I’ve moved on, why can’t everyone else?”

Eddie’s eyes are wide and frantic as he looks at Buck, pleading, and for a second Buck gets a glimpse at Eddie as a child. He gets a glimpse at Eddie before he closed himself off, before he was taught to build up walls around his heart, before he learned to shove every emotion down further and further until the only thing left was his ability to move forward. Before he learned how to control.

He reaches his hand out, settling it firmly on Eddie’s shoulder, thumb skipping over the pulse point in his neck.

“Eddie, it happened. Just because you don’t talk about it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I—I watched you almost die, Eds.”

“But I didn’t,” Eddie repeats, voice small.

“And I’m really fucking glad you didn’t,” Buck agrees on an exhale. “I get that you want to move on but until you actually talk about what happened, you’re not going to be able to.”

Buck hesitates for a moment, his eyes searching Eddie’s face. Eddie stares back at him and eventually, Buck sucks in his bottom lip and drops his hand from Eddie’s shoulder. He steps back against the counter, looking down at his hands.

“Eddie, you’ve been through a lot. You’ve seen things that most people don’t even think to worry about. It all adds up, you know?”

“But I’m used to it—it’s not the first time I’ve almost died,” Eddie says and Buck does his best not to flinch, the way he always does when Eddie casually mentions his own mortality, the number of times he’s stared death in the face only to turn his back on it and fight in the opposite direction. He takes a deep breath and pushes back from the counter, turning and slowly making his way towards Eddie’s kitchen table.

“You know, I still talk to Dr. Copeland about what happened that day, sometimes,” Buck pulls out a chair and slowly sinks down into it, his joints cracking as he does. He looks up at Eddie, who feels frozen in place, struck by the realization that it’s been four months and this is the first time Buck has ever actually mentioned the shooting, the first time he’s ever talked about it as something that happened to him too.

“For weeks I couldn’t look in the mirror because I—I would remember standing in the hospital bathroom after they took you in and seeing…your blood everywhere.”

Buck’s words settle in the pit of Eddie’s stomach like a rock. He wants to say something gentle and encouraging, but his throat feels tight, like it’s closing up on itself, and all he can do is stare back at Buck.

“Some nights I still have nightmares where I wake up and I can feel your blood on my hands. Or—or sometimes I wake up and in my dream…we never made it to the hospital. Or I’m frozen and I watch you die in the street. And it takes everything in me not to call you and make sure you’re alright. That you’re still alive.”

Eddie eventually makes his way to the chair opposite Buck, sliding into it with robotic, stilted movements that feel like they’re made by someone other than himself.

“I didn’t know,” He says quietly, and Buck regards him with a face full of guilt and pain.

“I knew you didn’t want to talk about it. But…maybe I should’ve tried harder. I’m sorry,” Buck says and Eddie’s face twists.

“You don’t have to apologize for that, Buck.”

“The point is, no matter how much time has passed, I still think about that day. And I wasn’t the one who got shot.”

Eddie’s jaw works and lets his eyes fall to the table, trying to find something else to focus on, his heartbeat rattling in his chest. He traces the surface, noting all of the different dings and marks in the wood, the water stains from years of use, from years of living. He doesn’t remember the story behind each mark—some of them weren’t even made by him (or Christopher, or Buck, or anyone else they know). The table was a late-night purchase off of Facebook one of the first nights Eddie spent alone in their house. He remembers feeling a great sense of pride when he made the purchase like he was finally moving forward, achieving something for himself and for Christopher, doing the right thing. And then he remembers the deep sense of dread and loneliness that washed over him immediately after. A table was something he and Chris needed, but Eddie wasn’t used to furniture shopping alone. He couldn’t help but think about how Shannon would’ve hated the table he chose—and she told him as much when she eventually saw it.

He remembers Shannon and the way she had suddenly fallen back into his life, like a rare kind of meteor, a once in a lifetime kind of thing, crashing through the sky, fiery and fierce, ripping through the ozone layer and leaving a crater in its wake. That’s how he felt when Shannon died—torn and empty.

That’s how he felt in the months after the shooting, too. Even as he fought to get up each morning, fought to go to physical therapy, fought through his mandated counseling sessions, fought to regain mobility so he could get some sense of independence back, so that he didn’t feel so useless in his own home.

None of it cured the emptiness. Not even when he reached his hand out some nights and felt the warmth of Ana’s body next to him. Not even when she held him in her arms, ran her fingers through his hair. He doesn’t feel anything.

Or—maybe that’s not true. Maybe he does feel something, something he’s just been ignoring—an uneasiness deep in the pit of his stomach. An uneasiness that spreads, slow and quiet until suddenly it’s taken over his whole body—panic.

He does his best to ignore it but nothing soothes it—and maybe that’s what he’s been doing this whole time. Trying to soothe the ache, the fear. Reaching for the things he thought would bring him comfort, would help him move on. And acknowledging this pain and panic means that it’s not working. None of it’s working. Not this, ignore it and move on mentality, not this relationship with Ana. Because it’s all connected, isn’t it?

Three days before Eddie got shot in the street, Carla reached across the table and took his hand, and told him to be sure he was following his heart. Three days later he was bleeding out on the street, eyes locked with Buck’s, the two moments twisted and tied together in his history, a knot so tight Eddie didn’t think he could ever untie them.

Looking back up at Buck, Eddie remembers the dream he woke up from earlier. The dream itself isn’t important—it was just one in an endless sea of scenarios that have blended together into one long continuous nightmare; an empty street, a shot in the air, fire, blood, screaming, mud, water, gasping for air—but Eddie remembers what he was searching for when he woke up.

Blue eyes, equally startled.

“I don’t,” Eddie says suddenly, his voice surprising him. He pauses, looks back down at his hands. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” Buck asks quietly. His hands slide across the table and hesitate just for a moment before they cover Eddie’s own. The relief is almost instant—not total but enough.

“Ask for help,” Eddie responds. Buck squeezes his hands and he looks back up at him. He swallows, hard, at the sight of Buck’s wide, pale blue eyes staring back at him. Eddie could get lost in them. Eddie wants to get lost in them. He thinks he could be safe there.

“You just did.”

It takes a moment for Eddie to realize he’s crying. It takes him even longer to realize this is the first time he’s ever cried in front of Buck. But after everything they’ve gone through, after this whole conversation, he can’t find it in him to feel ashamed of it. Especially not when Buck’s looking at him with nothing but sincerity and honesty in his eyes. And it hits him then that Buck loves him.

Eddie thinks maybe this is what it’s like to be loved in your entirety. He’s not sure he’s ever felt anything like it before. He doesn’t have time just yet to unpack the way it feels to have Buck look at him like that, to feel like he’s been cracked down the middle and opened up to reveal every ugly vulnerability and be met with nothing but love.

But it feels right. It feels like a step forward. A step in the right direction.

Eventually, he’ll have to go back to therapy. He’ll have to unpack the events from that day, the anger he never let himself feel, the fear that his life was about to be cut short, the regret he felt staring across the 20 feet of asphalt at Buck, covered in his blood.

He’ll have to talk to Christopher because he knows his son is too attentive for his own good, and if his trip to the hospital taught him anything (and it taught him a lot) it was that Christopher had no intention of playing along with this charade Eddie had going, and he saw right through it.

He’ll have to talk to Ana. He’ll have to confront the fact that when he searches for comfort in the middle of the night, in the midst of his panic, he doesn’t find it in the shape of her body, but in the image of Buck.

One day, he’ll have to face those feelings head-on. He’ll have to untangle this web of repression and fear, the threads of which had been spun so long before Eddie was ever aware that they’re practically embedded in his DNA.

But for now, he finds peace in his kitchen, his hands in Buck’s, blue eyes on his.

And he feels safe here. If only for the moment.

[eartht137]

DEAREST HEART- Letter One

Okay, For The Better has got me at a standstill. Every time I go to write the next chapter, I get a very "bad" idea and I have to write it in to meld with what I have in mind, but as my birthday is approaching in 2 days and Halloween is quickly approaching, I have developed a very new and delicious idea. I thought up this story in the shower. Hear me out, okay? The blinds that cover the window in my bathroom fell, and I mean fell from the wall, so I had to take a shower in the dark with a candle. Well it gets pretty muggy in my bathroom, as there's not a lot of room, so I opened the window to get some air, well with the wind blowing and the leaves rustling I kinda got that weird feeling that someone was watching me (which I highly doubt). In this story the character/you are a new wife and mom and you've been unmotivated to do normal chores and upkeep due to de pression and anxiety. I kinda wanted to touch on some real topics that I felt may resonate as I've noticed there is a lot of depression and anxieties that have been major high and I just wanted to send a small message that you are seen, you are heard, you are worthy, you are loved. Even if it is in your own world, I'd rather have my own world that I can escape to and have things go my way than keep taking on the pressure of things we deal with everyday. Also this is another Dark Clark Kent. I know, I know, the idea of the man just does something to me. So with that curvies, I present to you Dearest Heart. Okay rant over for the day. Please proceed..........oh yeah MMMMMMmwwwwwwaaahhhhhhh

Dark Clark Kent x Plus Size Reader

Warnings: Non Con, somnophilia, masturbation, stalking, mentions of impregnation. Maybe other things too. MINORS DNI!!!

You were getting up and ready for work, since starting your new job, you'd found yourself a bit out of balance. Being a new wife and mom, trying to adjust, you'd found yourself falling in and out of a reel of depression and anxiety. You very rarely had the energy or drive to clean and sometimes your depression got you to a point where you didn't really want to keep up your hygiene. Finally, you'd gotten the burst of life you needed and decided to make use of it while you had the drive. You started keeping up your hygiene as you used to and cleaned your house day by day. You started cherishing more moments with your husband and son. You had noticed the more you took effort within the day, it helped you feel a bit better everyday. One day, you stepped outside to get a breath of fresh air and sunlight. As you were getting ready to head back inside, you saw a letter place neatly on the bars of you security door with small rose. You tilted you head in confusion and looked around. You took the letter, seeing that it had "Dearest Heart' written beautifully across the front. You walked inside while admiring the vintage parchment envelope.

"Baby?" Your husband asked curiously, making you look up and smile as he and your son watched you.

"Well I think the mailman left someone else's mail-again." You sighed tossing the letter down on the table by your door. You went over and spent the remainder of you free time with your husband and son before heading into your office and logging on for work.

On your first break, you rushed out of your office hoping to spend time with your loved ones. You giggled as you watched your husband and son sleep with their mouths wide open on your couch. You were about to step into the bathroom when you got the nagging urge to go back and look at the letter again. You stared at it from across the room a moment before finally giving in to curiosity and grabbing it. You studied it for a moment before your husband adjusting on the couch startled you. You quietly went to the bathroom and examined the letter. Looking at your phone, you realized you didn't have much time, and would just open it to see what it looked like inside. A very hopeful side of you prayed that in your head that it was filled with cash that some good saint just felt in their heart to give, but you knew that was a slim chance. When you opened the letter, you almost gasped, almost like a child feeling as if you if you'd just done something forbidden. The alarm on you phone vibrated and you jumped, the letter dropped from you hands. You laughed a bit at yourself, picked up the letter, tucked it away and went back to work.

One your lunch break, after making something to eat for yourself and your hungry boys, you found yourself practically lured back to the bathroom to find the letter you'd tucked away for later. You opened it and pulled out a very beautifully written letter, but the first line damn near made your heart stop. You read it over and over trying to make sure you weren't seeing things, but there it was in black in, your name. You took a deep breath and continued reading the letter.

My Dearest Y/n,

I promised myself I wouldn't try to interfere in your life, but my heart won't let my stand idly by. I know this is abrupt as you've never seen me in your life, at least you don't remember meeting me, its been so long ago; but I can't keep quiet about this anymore as my love for you has yet to subside. I know it sounds unbelievable, but I swore I'd never lie to you and I am a man of my word. You might be a little worried as to how I know you, where you live-but you'd be shocked at how much I know about you and it'd scare you to know how long I've watched over you. Little love, I've been a bit disappointed in you. You allowed yourself to get to far down and instead of talking it out, you've been bottling everything in. We both know how that ends. You can talk to me if you need to, but I was really disappointed in how you allowed things to get. You weren't getting out of bed, you weren't keeping your hygiene up, and you weren't keeping the house up; on top of that, you haven't been utilizing any of your self-care tools. You didn't leave the house for a month and you cried every night by yourself because you're too stubborn to get out of your own head for two seconds and let the people who love you in. You were also finding a new lie every week to call into to work, that was disappointing darling because you don't have to lie, just tell them you need a day for your health, you don't owe them anymore explanation than that, but I don't want you to lie again. Do you remember those 2 weeks your backside was sore and stinging and you couldn't figure out why? I'm so sorry dear heart but I had to light a fire in you some way, and I just can't allow you to behave in such a way. I also can't stand to see the woman I love not take care of herself. On another note, I do want to tell you how proud of you I have been with how much you love and care for our son. He's growing so big isn't he? Oh darling, I know you think he's your husbands, but I guarantee he is my flesh and blood, why do you think he stares at me so long when he sees my photo pass your screen. His blood is my blood, he knows who he is. I have decided dear heart, to be a bit more active in your life as I have come to realize that my standing by protecting in the shadows is not enough. It will be awhile my love, but one day we will be together. You, Me and our son. I love you both so much, I promise you we will be a family as we should one day. For now I will continue to watch from the distance and protect you when you need me. I will also be there to talk whenever you just want to talk out loud. Before I end this letter, I want to also tell you how proud I am that you've started writing. I love the stories you've been writing about me and I promise to fulfill every one of you desires as soon as the time is right. Only this time, you'll be able to enjoy it as much as I have. I will be writing again, you don't have to reply, but it would be nice. Keep up the good work sweetheart, I love you.

With All My Heart and Soul,

Kal-El

Your heart pounded in your ears, you forgot to breath and tears filled your eyes. You kept trying to convince yourself it was a prank, but the more you tried to deny it, the more you knew it was real. You sat thinking to yourself, when you'd written a story about him, you didn't know anyone named Kal-El. You immediately started walking around your house making sure every window and door was locked. You wanted to tell your husband, but once again the gut feeling told you not to, and you'd realized that your gut was really on point and that just made things scarier.

You finished you lunch break and the rest of that day unable to concentrate on anything. That night while you took a shower, you kept looking through the blinds to see if you'd see someone. On one had you wanted to see if there was someone really there and on the other you felt you'd probably shit yourself if you really saw someone. After a moment or two, you'd finally convinced yourself it was a sick prank and someone in the neighborhood was being an idiot. You laughed a bit and finished up, ready to finally get the sleep you'd been begging for all day. As you laid in bed, every noise made you jump. Every time something or someone would move, you'd go from the precipice of sleep to fully awake. You had been feeling watched for the longest time and you'd just blamed it on being crazy, but now with the letter confirming your nightmare, you really had no idea what to do. Your mind ran and ran until it finally shut itself down and you drifted off to a very peaceful sleep despite everything going on around you.

He sat in the corner of your dark room watching you breath calmly. He wanted so badly to go over and rock you to sleep as he watched you struggle to fall asleep, but he couldn't present himself to you just yet, not until everything was perfect the way we wanted it before he showed himself.

He sat there watching you from the other side of the room knowing that soon you'd throw the covers off of your plush body exposing your luscious curves that he loved feeling in his large hands. His hand stroked himself as he thought back to the first night he took you. You were sleeping so good, you didn't hardly move. His released his hard thick cock from their restraints and pumped himself as he watched your breasts rise and fall with your breathing. He thought back to the first time he tasted your nipples, how hard they got when he kissed and nipped them. How wet you got for him and how he once made you cum from playing with them only. He then thought about how delicious you were. His fist moving faster and rougher down his shaft. He remembered how tight you were when he first fucked you. How hot and juicy you were as he pumped deep into your soft pussy filling you with every inch of him. He wanted to ruin you, and he wished you could see the happiness he felt when you couldn't cum one night from yours or your husbands touches. His hand pumped faster as he remembered fucking you so good one night your orgasm woke you as you came, as disappointed as he was that he couldn't feel you cum around him, he was still proud to have your body so responsive for him. That sent him over the edge and he came hard wanting so badly to empty inside of you. He wanted to see you round with his baby again, but he wanted to allow you the time to fully heal. He used one of your husbands shirts to wipe himself clean, and he gave you a soft peck on the lips, smiling when you turned away.

"I love you so much. I promise things will be right soon. Sleep well dearest heart." He whispered before leaving. He couldn't wait until you found his next letter.

[amjustagirl]

Chapters: one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven. ~ eight.

Wordcount: 2.9k

Summary: Being with Miya Atsumu is like chasing a storm - equal parts exhilaration and danger. After all, it’s impossible to tame a storm

Masterlist link here 

AO3 link here 

Author’s Note: And we’re at the final chapter! Thank you so much for going on this wild ride with me, and I’m rly excited to hear what you guys think - so please, drop me an ask, a note, a comment, anything!!! 

It takes time and effort to rebuild a home wrecked by a storm, and reconstruction efforts aren’t necessarily smooth sailing, especially at the start - after all, he’s still the same Miya Atsumu, arrogant and brash and foulmouthed and hyper focused on volleyball, and they both have baggage from years of regret and pain to work through. But he has determination to spare, and she loves him too much for her own good, so they start from the very foundation and work their way up, step by step, one day at a time. 

‘I’ll kill ya if ya ever hurt her again’, Osamu threatens darkly when she and Atsumu break the news to him. 

‘Go find yer own girl and stop being sweet on my wife damn it! ’ Atsumu growls, but the kiss he presses to her forehead when she smacks the back of his head for being mean to his twin is achingly sweet. 

‘Ugh, soppy. Get yer shit outta my house!’ Osamu scrunches his face in mock disgust. 

Both brothers are surprised when she beats Atsumu at flipping Osamu off. 

Atsumu moves back home (he’s not even going to hide how happy the sound of that makes him), and they mark the occasion by slipping his wedding ring back on his finger and eating take-out pizza on the living room floor. 

Her burly brothers turn up on their doorstep with a glint in their eyes and too much teeth in their smiles, determined to drag Atsumu off for a couple of drinks and what she assumes will be a very unpleasant chat. She’d insisted on patting them down to make sure they’re not packing any knives - ‘what do you take us for, little sis’, they’d protested - but she’s not taking any chances, and begs Osamu to join them, ‘please ‘Samu, I don’t want to be a widow right after I decide not to divorce his ass’, and he agrees despite grumbling that he might as well be Atsumu’s glorified babysitter at this rate. 

She’d woken up in bed the next morning to find the space beside her empty, but the living room crammed full of those four silly men. Atsumu and Osamu share a single futon between them, snoring back to back. There are faint bruises on Atsumu’s cheekbone and telltale scrapes on her own brothers’ knuckles, but otherwise they all seem relatively unscathed. 

She bends over, tracing her thumb along the contour of Atsumu’s jaw, and he stirs, eyes half lidded with sleep. 

‘Hey darlin', I’ve come home’, he tells her, warmth flickering in his smile. 

‘Welcome home, 'Tsumu’, she says, tucking the blanket under his chin and he hums in contentment, falling back asleep. 

His nightmares of brown envelopes and harsh neon lights distorting her face slowly fade, and he dreams instead of weeknight dinners and weekend picnics at the park, relishing the quiet domesticity of grocery trips and laundry loads, and delighting in home games with her and Shino cheering him on.

Some piss poor excuse of a gossip hound corners him after a match to ask him about whether he regrets leaving for Milan since his season ended in injury - and he freezes when the reporter slyly adds ‘especially since we all knew it’s a move that required you to leave your wife and daughter behind ‘. His manager is about to intervene when she sneaks up on him to slide an arm around his waist, apologising to the reporter that ‘she’s just so excited to give her husband a congratulatory kiss!’ . 

Sakusa and Meian have to join forces to pull Atsumu back from punching the reporter when he grins shark-like, thinking he’s spotted easy prey and asks her whether she felt abandoned in Japan due to his move - ‘pardon me Miya-san for my unwieldy choice of words’. 

‘Not at all’, she says without missing a beat, and Atsumu wonders if he imagines the flash of a knife in her smile. ‘I’ve always supported my husband in all his endeavours. It was a joint decision that I should stay in Japan to ensure our daughter has some stability in her life.'

‘She’s good’, his manager tells him when the reporter slinks away with his tail between his legs. 

‘Yeah - I don’t deserve her’, he answers with a rueful smile. 

When he tries to thank her that night, she levels him with a look that could knock a grown man (i.e. him) off his feet, but her voice is gentle and her words are soft. 

‘Don’t thank me’, she says. ‘Just be a better husband and father, ok?’ 

He’s not ashamed to admit that he actually cries. 

He learns to tell her he loves her at least once a day. She starts to smile back cheekily and reply ‘of course’. 

The game is in between sets when the skin at the back of his neck crackles with nerves. From the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Osamu sprinting right into the stands. Then his ears pick up on his little girl’s scream - ‘mama’  she cries, her shrill voice ringing above the confusion rippling through the crowd and his legs move of their own accord, leaping over the barrier into the audience, as he snarls and shoves his way to her usual spot. 

He thought he’s had his fill of nightmares to last him a lifetime. He’s evidently wrong. 

She lies crumpled on the ground, head resting on Osamu’s lap. Her lips are pale and her eyes are closed but thank god - thank whichever deity’s listening - her chest still moves with her breath. He’s not quite sure what happens next - he knows he dives to his knees and pulls her towards him but everything else is a blur until her eyes flutter open and she groans. 

‘Darlin’, can ya hear me? Can ya tell me where you are?’ he asks, forcing his voice to remain calm. 

‘Tsumu? Why are you here? Aren’t you in the middle of a game?’ she murmurs, confused. 

‘Fuck the game’, he snaps. ‘Are ya feelin' ok?’ 

‘Something hurts, Tsumu’, she rasps, eyes glazing over. He can feel the chill of ice seep into his spine. 

'Yer fine, yer fine, yer going to be fine' he mutters, over and over and over again, willing her to sit up and tell him she's fine, she's ok, she'll just shake it off - but light starts to shutter out of her eyes and frost creeps up his throat. 

‘I need a medic!’ he shouts, voice cracking on every word. ‘I need a medic, now!’

‘Tsumu’, he hears his brother interrupt urgently. ‘Tsumu, she’s bleedin’. 

He’s never been more grateful for Osamu when his twin turns to yell for an ambulance and yanks Shino away with him. The little girl is kicking and screaming for her mama but he knows she would kill him if he lets their little girl be traumatised from seeing her mama lying in a pool of blood on the floor. 

He can’t breathe - not even when the medics finally come and whisk her off to the hospital, his mind hardly able to process anything, terror still coursing through his veins when the doctors press brown envelopes full of forms into his bloodstained hands for him to sign so the relevant procedures can be carried out. 

‘Don’t!’ Osamu says sharply, when he drops his head into his hands and starts to whimper about how he’ll die if he loses her again and what the fuck is he gonna do, ‘Samu, if she doesn’t make it out alive – ‘she’s stronger than ya think, don’t ya dare give up on her like that’, and he promptly shuts up after that. Time in the waiting room passes agonizingly slow, seconds feeling like minutes, minutes stretching into hours, and he would have drowned from the weight of his despair if he weren’t anchored in place by his twin’s hand on his back.

His breath rushes back into his lungs when the doctors later tell him she’s fine,  they carried out the standard operation - but she doesn’t look fine, doesn’t seem fine, is very clearly not fine when they wheel her out, huddled into a ball with her head between her knees, like her world has just collapsed into itself. She doesn’t even look up when he sits beside her, the bed dipping under his weight. 

‘I’m sorry’, she eventually says, voice barely a whisper, and he fights the urge to break down into tears – because ‘Samu’s right, she’s so much stronger than he thinks. They'd been talking about trying for a sibling for Shino for some time now, since they've both grown up with brothers of their own and can't imagine life without them. But the doctors tell him that it’s just bad luck - the baby was never going to survive, and her collapse was probably exacerbated by stress, overwork, perhaps even fatigue from her skipping lunch for work and dinner to rush to his match.

‘Don’t be. It’s not yer fault at all’, he manages to pull himself together to reassure her, but she just stares blankly at the wall. 

His grandmother calls when they find out the baby they lost would have been a boy, and he fails her again when he’s too late to snatch the phone away before the old lady’s poison drips into her ears and traps her in a deadly fog. He’d cursed the old bitch out relentlessly, but the toxic words fester beneath her skin and she fades into a ghost before his eyes. He desperately tries to stop her spiral into frozen silence, but he’s away for games more than half the time, hands tied behind his back by the stranglehold of contracts and commitments he has no choice but to fulfil. 

He’s never been so thankful before when the season finally ends - but he is, at least this time, so he can talk her into taking two weeks off from work. They drop Shino off with her indulgent grandparents, and drift down the coast on the back of her bike. She doesn’t try breaking any speed limits - and he knows he should be happy about that, but there’s no spark in her eyes, no smile to answer the wind - there hasn’t been, not since she collapsed. 

(not since they lost their child)

He buys her mochi at every town, but she picks at it listlessly, just like she does these days when Osamu tries to tempt her with his latest creations. He insists they stay at  ryokans, traditional inns with onsens attached, hoping the heat from the water might chase the chill from her bones, but colour does not return to her cheeks. There are shadows beneath her eyes, and she seems to wilt under the vibrant red and gold of autumn leaves. 

They go for a walk after dinner one night, tracing a path along the shore. He’d been talking non-stop the entire trip to mask the gaps left by her silence, but tonight he falls quiet, allowing the hum of the waves to wash over them. Her hand is cold in his, so he wraps his jacket around her shoulders and hopes the warmth from his body bleeds into hers. 

She comes to a standstill, feet sinking in the sand, and tilts her head to face him. 

‘Tsumu?’, she breathes, a question in her eyes. 

‘I’m here’, he says, a prayer in his heart. 

There is a lighthouse on the cliff just a few miles ahead, illuminating the shadows of the waves. The faintest reflection of light pools in her eyes, and he stills as she lifts her gaze to meet his. 

‘I know’, she says, offering him the smallest of smiles. 

He interlaces their fingers together firmly, and tugs her towards shelter, as a storm brews over the horizon. 

That night she tucks her head under his chin, and he holds her until she falls asleep, cradled in his arms. He keeps slumber at bay by counting her breaths, and only falls asleep himself when the storm breaks. 

'Why did I wake up to a blonde octopus wrapped around me', she mumbles, voice heavy with sleep. 

'Nah. More like a seahorse, cos I'm not letting ya go, sweetheart', he replies, tightening his grip on her waist. 'Ya got a problem with that?' 

Her only response is to burrow herself deeper into his chest.

'Guess not', he chuckles fondly, nuzzling his nose into her hair, hope blossoming anew in his heart. 

Time turns their wounds into scars and they heal together, one breath at a time. 

She stays away from their first few matches when the season begins again. The press is coerced into passing over reports of her collapse by the dual forces of the MSBY press machine and their legal team, but they are forced to ride out the gossip generated in internet forums by a fringe group of deranged fans. His teammates treat her like she’s made of glass - even Bokuto dials himself down a notch, all save for Shoyo, who slips her his mother’s number, telling her gently that the six year gap between him and Natsu wasn’t deliberate, and that she would find a sympathetic ear in the older woman. 

He knew he was right to anoint Shoyo as his favourite wing spiker - not only does he fly high enough to answer the demand of every single one of his sets, but his sunniness drags her out of the fog into yoga classes and meditation practices, and slowly but surely he watches her bloom again. It’s a powerful combination - Shoyo-kun’s friendship and his mother’s gentle conversations, Osamu’s cooking and her love for Shino, capped with his determination to show her he loves her and prove that he’s here to stay.

‘It’s like Kintsugi’, she tells him, with a wide smile. ‘All of you poured gold into the cracks of my heart and made me whole again’. 

The years pass. 

Shino turns seven – a very respectable age for his very best girl, he tells her (I'm your only girl, Papa, Shino informs him archly), and obliges her demands of a bicycle in MSBY colours and volleyball lessons, forcing all his teammates to turn up for her birthday party, volleyball themed of course. The look of unadulterated joy on his princess’ face is worth every ounce of effort to put up with Sakusa’s complaints at having to turn up for a kiddie party full of loud noises and far too much candy, and the sweaty afternoons spent hand painting the bicycle black and gold. 

The day Atsumu discovers his first white hair makes her thank her lucky stars that she’s immune to his nonsense by now, because the wailing and gnashing of teeth she has to put up with makes ‘Samu offer her his couch as refuge. She slaps tape and salonpas on his aches and pains, and points to the deepening lines on her face when he complains about his age. 

‘Those lines aren’t wrinkles. If they’re caused by laughter, it doesn’t count’, he reasons laughingly. She’s left befuddled by his logic and shakes her head.

Meian Shugo retires, and Hinata throws a party to celebrate in his honour, cramming the entire MSBY team and assorted friends into his penthouse apartment on a rainy Saturday night. Osamu’s hired to cater the food but remains as a guest, shooting a smirk at him when Shoyo drags her off to dance during his favourite song, twin flames burning bright in the night. 

‘A hundred yen for your thoughts?’ she asks, when Shoyo returns with her breathless but wreathed with smiles. 

‘Was just wondering when you were gonna save a dance for this old man’, he teases. 

‘Oh?’ she says with a laugh. ‘Thought you said your back hurt, and you didn’t want to move?’

‘Meh - I was hoping you’d forget that’, he says airily, then frowns when he notices there’s no drink in her hand. 

‘Not drinking tonight, sweetheart?’, he asks, curling his fingers around her empty hand. 

‘The doctor warned me not too’, she answers, her smile growing impossibly wider. He blinks in confusion when she leans on to her toes to whisper into his ear - then oh. 

‘You’re pregnant?’ he repeats, unable to trust his ears, eyes filling with tears when she bites her lips and nods. 

‘Are you happy, ‘Tsumu?’, she asks, her face alight with hope. 

There is so much he wants to say to her, starting with thank you loving me enough to give me another chance all those years ago and ending with I love you, so ridiculously much – because he can never say it enough, she’s given him more than he deserves – her heart, Shino, a happy home and now the promise of another child. 

But there's salt and water welling up in his throat, and it’s all he can do to choke out a shaky ‘of course’, before gathering her in his arms, warmth pooling in his eyes, love overflowing in his heart. 

They stay that way for most of the night, entwined in each other’s arms, so drunk on happiness and love and warmth that they don’t even notice the storm clearing and the moon rising in the clear night sky. 

[amor-immortalem]

Everything Undesired

Genre: angst, hurt/comfort

Warnings: dead dove: do not eat, heavily implied rape, gross misuse of a pact, dissociation victim blaming

Summary: not all pact masters use their pacts judiciously or in a positive way. What happens when a pact is misused in one of the worst ways possible?

A/N: so a while back I did a comic by the name of ‘Meet Me Under the Azaleas’ I’m no longer happy with the writing I put into it originally so I wanted to rewrite it using the same plot line and adding some extra scenes that weren’t in the original comic which I’ll be taking down tonight. It should work better as a fic anyway.

Chapter 1

“You are ours. We own you.”

Those words rang in his head over and over as he stumbled his way into his room, overstimulated, exhausted- a mess. He knew it was a mistake to answer the call of those witches tonight. The thoughts of what they did, how their hands ran over his body, what they had taken away. It made his stomach churn and tie itself in knots with guilt and shame. It burned just the same as the rope marks on his wrists and ankles- wounds that would heal within the hour.

“You won’t breathe a word of this to anyone- this we command of you, Avatar of Greed.”

Those women -no, they were monsters- abused the innate trust that comes with a demon who enters a pact with a human, multiple in this case. They had violated the boundaries he’d put in place the day he started dating his human. Oh God, what would she think if word ever got out? He had no way of speaking out- to scream the truth until his voice was raw.

He needed to shower, to get the stench of sex and sweat off of him. He had to get their scent off of him. As he entered the bathroom, Mammon tore off his clothes as he started the water. The lights remained off as he couldn’t bare to look at himself after what happened. Not after how he just let them use him like that.

He stepped under the boiling water and just let it run against him. The falling water did nothing to drown out the deafening voices running rampant in his mind.

“Disgusting!” They roared, “Useless! Pathetic! Weak! Whore! ….. Scum!”

He falls to the floor of his shower, hands gripping at his hair as he let out a whimper that eventually turned into quiet sobs. The steamy air making it harder to breathe. Why didn’t he fight against them harder- against their orders. No, he just laid there and took it.

He grabbed the soap and a wash rag and scrubbed his body until every bit of him was raw and even then he wouldn’t stop. It was only when he saw the blood swirling around the drain that Mammon realized what he was doing to himself- how bad the water burned the exposed skin. It felt like hellfire raining down upon him.

He felt horrible as he reached up and switched the water off. He could still hear it in his head as he reached for a towel- all the crying, screaming, begging for them to stop.

He was a pathetic, sorry excuse of a demon, he thinks as he wraps the towel around his waist and travels down the his stairs quietly. It’s early morning now. There was only a few hours left before he would have wake up for school. He contemplated just skipping the entire day. There would be know way he’d be able to function. He could always say he feels sick- its not that far from the truth. He would decide in a few hours, he thought as he crawled into bed. It didn’t take long for her to move closer to him. His naturally warmer body temperature was what drew her to him. His body involuntarily tensing as she nuzzled into his chest, arms slipping around his body. He would only tuck her head under his chin and drape and arm over her side as he let the scent of her shampoo relax him enough to fall into a light sleep.

After a short while, someone's alarm blared among the sheets- whether it his or Arella's, he couldn't be sure. Mammon patted around for the offending phone, just wanting to get five more minutes of shut eye. He eventually succeeded but not without waking his partner.

"Morning, Love," Arella sighed, her voice still laced with the grogginess of sleep.

"Mornin', Treasure," The demon yawns as he curls back up, pulling her closer to his chest. "Sleep well?"

"I did. What time you get back last night?" Arella's voice is soft as her hand slides under his shirt, rubbing gently along his side.

"5 this mornin'." He says as he tries to hide the way his body recoils from her touch, a pang of guilt strikes his heart as she notices. "Sorry... 'm not really feelin' all that great right now..."

"No, that's alright." She removes her hand from his side, choosing instead to rest it against his cheek as she readjusts herself so she's eye-level with him on the pillow. "How selfish of those witches to keep you out so late on a school night..." Its at this point she notices the puffiness and how red his eyes are. "You look like you've been crying... Is everything alright?"

He just shakes his head. Mammon wants so badly to tell her what happened to him the night before- the real reason he got home so late, but unsurprisingly, no words come out. He just closes his eyes, letting himself relax under her gentle touch. "I'm jus' really tired s'all."

"I believe it. You only got a hour and a half's worth of sleep. Would you like to just stay home all day, just the two of us?" Arella moves him so he's resting with his head on her chest.

"That's sounds.... nice," he hums quietly, so close to falling back into the clutches of sleep.

"Alright then. Go on and go back to sleep," She kisses the top of his head, carding her fingers through the soft, fluffy locks the other hand rubbing small circles in the center of his back. "I've got you."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This carried on for months. The witches would summon him and as long as he complied with their wishes, they would hold his secret. By the third time, he would check out- let his mind escape to anywhere but the present until it was over. It became a vicious cycle. They would call, he would go to them, and then he would crawl into his bed for maybe an hour or two before forcing himself to get up for classes that he often fell asleep in. After the tenth, once they had finished with him, he asked why they were doing this and they told him.

“We desire something to bind you to us for the rest of our lives.”

“A child.”

The demon’s eyes widened at that. Never in his life had he been so opposed to the idea of having children. In fact, just before all of this happened he had been daydreaming about what his children with Arella would look like if they were ever so fortunate to have any but a child with one of the witches? It made him sick. A half-demon born from a demon of his status had a high probability of killing its mother- one who he would then have to raise. How could he explain that to his brothers- to Arella? The very thought filled him with dread. How could he ever bring himself to care for a child conceived from a crime? A child that would always be nothing but a constant reminder of the worst nights of his life. They didn’t deserve a life like that.

And so Mammon did the only thing he could think to do: he fled. He ran back to the Devildom, back to House of Lamentation as fast a his legs would carry him. He crashed through the doors of the house. Never had he been so greatful to be the first one home. As he climbed the steps up to his room he vowed to himself never again. He wouldn’t give them what they wanted, consequences be damned.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It had been six months since his last encounter with the witches. There was nothing on their end- absolute radio silence. Part of Mammon wondered if they'd gotten what they wanted from him after all. Everyday was filled with the anxiety of not knowing. His nightmares had gotten worse. Most of them were based around those nights he'd spent with them, others involved everyone finding out a one-sided version of what had happened, all spun in the favor of the witches. He dreamed of Arella leaving him, heart-broken from the implication that he would stray from her and running into the arms of one of his brothers. The worst ones- the ones he would wake up from covered in a cold sweat in the dead of night- consisted of him standing in the witches' home, the sounds of screaming, the smell of blood, the piercing first cries somewhere between the call of a demon and the screams of a human baby infecting his senses. It all felt too real. It felt like a crushing weight on his chest.

Over this time, Mammon had grown distant from both his brothers and Arella, hardly spending anytime with them. He fell apart. The grades he worked so hard to pull up had taken a nose dive, he was hardly eating- choosing only to consume just barely enough to sustain himself. He no longer slept for fear of the nightmares and he instead threw himself into side jobs that would keep him out of the house well passed curfew as well as earn him plentiful amounts of grimm. He couldn't go on like this much longer.

Everyone was worried for him. None of them had ever seen the Avatar of Greed in this manner and the gradual change in his demeanor alarmed them. Despite everyone’s best attempts, Mammon hardly smiled anymore. He just simply didn't seem to enjoy all of the things he once did. They all knew something was wrong but when asked the white haired demon would shrug it off, say he was fine when he very obviously was not. Everything came to a head the night Mammon collapsed, finally falling victim to exhaustion and hunger.

It was after this that Lucifer called the family to a meeting while Arella sat with Mammon in his room as he slept fitfully.

"What do we do, Lucifer?" Asmo seemed distraught with fear. "Our brother is suffering from something and we don't even know where to start in trying to help him."

"We have to get him to talk somehow," Satan quipped, "Perhaps Arella can-"

"If this were any other situation, I would suggest it but right now, I don't think that's a very wise move. If she forces him to talk it could very well damage the bond they share." For the first time in thousands of years, Lucifer didn't know what to do. Whatever was causing this shift in personality was eating away at Mammon. "We'll try to think of a way to fix this- to find out what happened to our dear brother. So let's start at the beginning of all of this. What do we know about what he was doing before this happened?"

"Well, Levi started, "He was getting called up by those witch sisters with more and more frequently. I heard him come home super late- like early morning hours late..."

"And after that is when he practically stopped eating." Beel chimed in.

"And he was having nightmares almost nightly, afterwards." Belphie nodded. "I did my best with my powers to look into them but there were so many mental blocks that he subconsciously put up, I couldn't see or hear anything very well and what I could see didn't make a whole lot of sense. They weren't very clear, but they had something to do with the witches... and I felt an overwhelming sense of guilt associated with them."

"Then obviously something happened while he was with them," Satan said, brow furrowed. "But what that may be, we won't know until he talks."

"Asmo, I see the look on your face." Lucifer called out to the Avatar of Lust. "Is there something, you'd like share with the group?"

Everyone's eyes were locked onto Asmodeus as the demon sat with a contemplative look on his face. He was very slowly starting to piece together what had been going on.

"Not yet, but I may have a hunch." He finally said. "Mammon has a pact with these women, correct?"

Next

Masterlist 2

[penajavier]

though you are no god -  Frankie Morales x f!reader

This idea had been brewing for a while and hanging out in my drafts for a longer while, but I’ve finally found the inspiration to clean it up and share it! I am clearly a beginner at this and feedback/critique is always welcome. 

Title: though you are no god (credit)

Pairing: Francisco Morales x f!reader. One use of the word “girl”.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.3k

Content/warnings: brief mentions of nightmares and trauma recovery, angst, smut, still somehow the sappiest shit I’ve ever written. frankie likes to be praised. strictly 18+

ao3

••••••••

The first time you get to witness Francisco Morales fall to his knees in front of you, you almost don't remember it happening.  

His mouth presses hot and wet and urgent against your skin where he is bunching up your shirt to expose it. You are nearly as drunk as him, blindly pulling it off and throwing it somewhere behind him. The wall behind you is cool but does absolutely fuck-all to clear your head because oh god his hands are big and warm and his tongue is incessant and oh god this is Frankie, your goofy, kind, awkward, hot as fuck friend-of-a-friend. He pulls you forward a fraction just to tug on your pants and underwear, letting them gather around your feet without giving you the leg room to step out of them. He lifts your left leg over his shoulder with ease, and then his hands are bracing him against you and his tongue is working as if it has a mind of its own, circling your clit and sliding up your lips and you don't remember his fingers being that thick but somehow they are and you are close to going insane. 

Maybe tomorrow you'll wonder how you ended up here, in a hallway in his apartment where he barely bothered to turn the lights on before pressing himself into you, effectively shutting off any sane connection you might have still retained to the world after however-many drinks you two had got in you. The night was supposed to be about Santi, you vaguely recall, but right now you honest to god cannot even remember what promotion he got that you were supposed to be celebrating. You might have made a mental note to apologize to him for leaving his party early, but Frankie adds another finger to your wet cunt and moans like it's pleasuring him more than you, and it's a real effort not to kick him in the chest or collapse on him then and there.  

The fucker laughs as if he knows exactly what he's doing to you, and somehow increases his efforts to a degree you hadn't thought possible. It doesn't take much after that for you to feel that knot tightening in your belly, the electricity of it making your limbs shake. Only when he’s satisfied making you cum thoroughly on his tongue and his hand does he stand up, and for the first time since you got here, he speaks. "Hi," he says, the loopiest grin on his face, before leaning forward to kiss you without waiting for you to answer.  

Your last remaining brain cell thinks to itself, this is going to be one hell of a night. 

•••• 

The second time Frankie Morales falls to his knees in front of you, you can barely bring yourself to look at him. 

It's been weeks (months?) since he practically fell off the grid, following your childhood best friend and designated bad-idea-haver Santiago Garcia into the guts of South America. You had reached the point where a part of you was bracing itself for the worst kind of news, of never getting to see your boys again or hell, not even knowing what the fuck happened to them down there. The rest of you was still holding on to your anger in a misplaced effort to stay hopeful, refusing to let you feel anything other than the need to wring their necks as soon as one of them walked back in the door. And that was it, the majority of your days spent getting on edge every time your phone rang or you felt you saw a familiar set of messy curls pass you by on the street, until you walked home one day to find him standing outside your door, hand poised to knock but hesitant. 

"What the fuck?" the words escape you before you can help it, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. When he turns to look at you coming up behind him, you almost stop in shock at how absolutely shit he looks. "What the fuck?" you say again, seeming to have lost all your vocabulary at the sight of this stupid infuriating beautiful man finally standing in front of you in one piece, messy curls and all.  

An eternity passes with the two of you simply staring at each other, your grocery bags forgotten in your hands and his fingers twitching in an effort to keep them to himself. The smell of fresh bread wafting from your grocery bag does little to alleviate any tension, and the silence is almost painful. You want to do something, say something of all the rage and hurt you've nursed in you at being left alone. How dare you, you want to bark at him, want to hold him by the collar and smack him or kiss his face raw. 

You must take too long in your own head because he carefully extends a hand toward you, but you are so over-stimulated at the mere sight of him that you flinch.  

That's what breaks him, you realize later when the storms have passed and the proverbial rivers have calmed. Not the pain and loss and grief of the mission - things he'll whisper into your chest when you let him - and not the physical battering he must have taken through it all. What breaks him is you flinching away from him, as if you'd forgotten who he was. It’s only me, it's your Frankie, he wants to scream; wants to gather you in his arms and breathe into your ribs. But all he can do is fall to the ground and plead with his eyes.

I'm sorry, mi alma he seems to be saying, and the sight of this glorious man breaking down in front of your doorstep makes you ache in the depths of your bones. You rush forward, all your anger evaporating away from you in the instant it takes to wrap your arms around him and let him rest his head on your stomach. The position is awkward at best. His touch feels almost alien and his hair doesn't smell like you're used to, but you let him cry, let him ruin the clothes you hadn’t given much thought to anyway, and it doesn't occur to either of you that the shirt is one of his that he'd left at your place. 

You choke back the ocean rising in your throat, not knowing how to navigate everything you're feeling at the same time. Will we ever be okay? you wonder, your entire body feeling numb as he holds you just the tiniest bit more tightly.  

You don't know then if you'll ever forgive him, and he doesn't know if he'll ever be the same man again, but right there in that moment none of it matters. What matters is that he is here, and you are holding him like you'd wished and prayed for in all those lonely nights. Maybe you'll never be okay like you used to be, but you have him for now, and you're too exhausted to think beyond that. 

•••• 

The third time, it's fucking magical. 

You and your Frankie have finally settled into a somewhat stable routine. After he left you with the promise to get his shit together, he made good on his word. It seemed as if the mission that must not be named put things into perspective for him - and for you, for that matter - and the two of you decided to give up on the delicate dance you kept orchestrating around each other. You had realized that you needed him much more than you could ever resent him for leaving, and he had realized he never wanted to feel the paralysing fear of thinking he'd never make it back to you again. You two had decided to sit down like adults and talk about it, and Frankie’s regular visits to his therapist had certainly helped. 

Now, in the early morning light in your shared bedroom, he looks the very picture of calm. The birds chirp softly outside the window, blending in with the music of the traffic that you two have begrudgingly come to love. The nightmares haven't left him completely, but they're less frequent and far less incapacitating for him. You feel a rush of pride for how far he's come, how much effort he put into building himself back up piece by piece after being shattered to his bare bones. You’ve seen him curl into you out of fear and into himself during the moments of self loathing when he feels he doesn't deserve your kindness, but now he sleeps with his head tilted slightly upward, exposing the beautiful planes of his neck to you. He is beautiful, you've known it for as long as you've known him, but something about the soft sunlight turning his curls golden and the way you can tell he's truly at peace in this moment, brings tears to your eyes and makes your throat clench. 

You lean up on your elbow and touch his face. His skin is soft, and he smells faintly of your body wash. Thief, you think fondly, brushing his unruly hair away from his forehead. he had stopped cutting it as frequently as he used to because he noticed you liked running your hands through it, and you realize with a jolt that that had been years ago, long before you two had any conversation about the future, even before he had his world turned upside down in the depths of an unnamed jungle. That is when you realize that Francisco Morales told you he loved you long before you had the sense to understand it, and this time you do cry. 

He stirs in his sleep. You briefly worry that you woke him, but he simply turns his head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, breathing deeply at your shoulder before falling back asleep. The feeling of his soft breaths against your skin makes you smile, and you feel yourself falling more in love with every one of them. 

He wakes you up hours later with gentle kisses and the promise of pancakes, making you giggle with the way his moustache tickles your chin. When you find him in the kitchen later he seems more chipper than usual, smelling like a bakery and humming softly while setting the table for two. He greets you with a sweet kiss and pulls out your chair for you before sitting down in his own. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” you ask playfully, and he smiles wide behind his glasses that you’d finally convinced him he needed. Beautiful man, you can't help but think. 

"Just wanted to do something nice for my girl," he answers with his mouth full and you flick a berry at him, which he expertly catches. "Oh so that's how it's gonna be," he puts down his fork and you start to run away, but he is far too quick. He catches you by your waist and pulls you into his chest, licking your cheek obscenely.  

"Frankie, you dog!" you giggle, still fighting his grip.  

"Dogs are cute," he shrugs, seemingly unfazed against you using all your force. He is gentle as anything with you, but he sure likes to show off his strength every once in a while. He lifts you effortlessly off the floor and sets you on the counter. "You think I'm cute?" he wiggles his eyebrows. 

You almost playfully call him insufferable on autopilot, the way you've always bantered since you've known him. But you're aware now how he relies on verbal affirmations, and you've been making a conscious effort of supplying them whenever you can. So instead you hold his face in your palms and tell him that you think he's the most wonderful man in the world, and that you love him more than anything.  

"Baby," he drops his head to your shoulder and sighs. You do this to him, making his heart swell and threaten to burst out of his ribs. He doesn't have the words, doesn't know how to tell you he feels like the luckiest man in the world every morning when he wakes up next to you, every time he hears your voice or feels your palm in his. He doesn't know how to tell you you've been his anchor and his best friend, or how he can't believe he gets to have this kind of domestic bliss at all. "Baby," he repeats, "I love you." 

You try to deepen the kiss he initiates, but he pulls back and tells you he has plans for the day, telling you to get dressed for something outdoors. You feel a rush of happiness at the thought of him feeling more and more like himself with every day that passes, picking up old habits and finding joy in them. You kiss his cheek and run off to get dressed, beyond excited to see what he had planned. 

The ride to the field is longer than you expected. Frankie has turned the radio on and it plays softly in the background as you two talk occasionally. It’s a calm morning, with the perfect weather that's neither too cold nor too warm. He lifts your hand to his lips and kisses it softly once he's parked, and then he hops out and opens your door for you. 

"Such a gentleman," you tease. 

"Yeah," is all he says before he's kissing you breathless against the truck. It takes you by surprise, but it's far from unwelcome. 

Your hands come to rest on his shoulders, and you can tell it takes a special amount of effort for him to pull away from you, his hands still holding you close as he pulls on yours and leads you deeper into the field. The grass is high enough to tickle your ankles, and the whisper of it against your skin feels wonderful. He slows down, the pace leisurely enough for you to appreciate the wildflowers growing around you. He’s careful not to step on any, and you're struck once again by the multitudes that exist within this one man. The same man who has confessed to sins you could never have thought him capable of, now so careful with a thing as gentle as a dandelion. You think about his hand that is so gentle in yours, and the memory of it firmly wrapping around your throat as he does unspeakable things to you makes you blush, and you will yourself to come back to the present.  

Frankie has led you to a tree, and you notice a tree house resting on the sturdier branches. It’s new, you realize, and look at him quizzically. 

"Remember how I was supposed to pick up new hobbies?" he says sheepishly, gently leading you around to the other side where you see wooden footrests leading up. He urges you to climb up, and you are still so surprised that you can only obey. 

"I thought you'd like this," he's saying. "It can be our secret place, we come here whenever we want. Not that we don't already have a home and privacy but I thought this could be nice to have. Like a little getaway close to home." He's rambling now, as you notice all the fine details he has paid attention to in the construction of it. 

"Honey? Do you like it?" he asks when you've been too quiet. 

"Do I like it?" you ask incredulously. "Francisco Morales, this is amazing!" 

He immediately breaks into a wide grin, and you can see that he is proud of himself. He looks almost like an eager child, and you love the way his eyes shine in that moment. 

"There's one more thing," he leads you to a small opening in the wall that serves as a window. You can see the clear sky and the field stretching out under you, and the cool breeze feels like a gentle caress. It's a beautiful view, and you lose yourself in the sights and smells for a moment. 

"So am I looking at something specific?" you ask, wondering what it was he wanted to show you.  

He doesn't answer, though, and you turn around to repeat the question. The sight that meets you nearly knocks you off your feet, and you cover your gasp with your hand. 

Frankie is on one knee, hat resting by his feet and hand extended, holding the most gorgeous ring you have ever laid eyes on. You might be biased, but you couldn't care less. 

"Darling, I-" he starts, but you don't have the self control that he apparently does, and you throw your arms around him. 

He wraps tightly around you, only letting you have enough room to look up and kiss him. And god do you kiss him. You kiss him like he has never been kissed before, like you could pour every ounce of affection you have for him into that one moment, needing him as close to you as possible. 

You don't realise you're crying until he kisses the tears off your cheeks, and then he lifts your hand and slides the ring on. 

•••• 

The fourth time comes that night, after you've spent your day in the field, holding on to each other and bursting with mutual joy. 

He sits you down on the bed, and kneels in front of you, kissing your shoulders gently. "Hey, Mrs. Morales," he smiles as he says it, even as he's biting the soft skin at your clavicle. 

You laugh, telling him that’s not how engagement rings work. He only grins against your skin and bites harder. 

You scratch his head and he purrs, lifting his head briefly to give you a sweet kiss before he's pushing you to lie down. Let me take care of you, honey, he whispers. Then his hands are on your waist and his mouth is on your chest, making you writhe in place. He kisses and sucks and bites, making sure to give every part of you equal attention. So beautiful, he's talking almost to himself as he leaves a wet trail of kisses down to your tummy.  

His hands meanwhile touch and grab and smooth over any part they can reach, moving as if of their own volition. He knows your body so well that he can map it with his eyes closed, can recognize it with his last breaths. He reaches your cunt and pulls you closer, closer, inhaling deeply and groaning like he's hardly staying in control. 

With the same patience he had displayed earlier in the day he teases you mercilessly, kissing around where you need him most. You pull on his hair and he tuts and bites your thigh. What did I say, baby - a flick of his tongue against you - let me take care of you. You whine petulantly, and he tells you to be a good girl for him. He even says please, the asshole. 

The first lick against your clit comes at the same time as his finger pushes into you, and it takes everything you have not to lift off the bed. So wet for me, he moans against you, the vibration making your pleasure amplify. You fist the sheets around you, telling him how fucking good he's making you feel, how good he always makes you feel. The praise fuels him on and he pushes two more fingers into you at the same time. 

You are so full and so stimulated with his tongue incessant against your clit, and he has no plans of letting up. You feel your orgasm hit you quick and hard, and you can barely warn him before you're gushing, soaking his face and trying to pull away from the overstimulation. 

He looks up at you, grinning like the Cheshire cat. He licks you clean until you're begging him to stop, and then he patiently kisses his way back up your body. 

"That was... that was amazing," you're out of breath as you say it, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in to taste yourself. 

"Oh honey," he coos. "I've barely started." 

•••

fin.

Tagging some lovely mutuals whom I love and who are amazing writers: @disgruntledspacedad @pedropascaldice @frannyzooey. Please let me know if you don’t want to be tagged in the future (if there is a future) ❤️