#when everything hits you like a fucking tsunami
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As per usual, itâs DP crossover with (probably) DC, although you could probably adjust it for other fandoms
ANYWAYS
A little kid and his mother are trick or treating in another city, perhaps at some kind of event rather than knocking on doors, and the kid is dressed as Phantom. Itâs very adorable, with his little ghost-shaped bucket and clearly homemade and already stained costumeâlisten, white only works if you can just fly over street grime or phase it out of your clothesâand his slightly Iâll fitting wig. The kid is SO happy to be out and about dressed as his favorite, and maybe even showed it off to Phantom back in Amity Park before his family left.
The hero, insert whoever you wish here, is probably in civvies and just enjoying the event. The kid, meanwhile, is so glad when people ask who he is so he can explain, and so- the hero gets to hear ALL ABOUT the local town hero who is probably pretty small time despite the kidâs clearly exaggerated stories. The hero certainly never heard of him, but the kidâs mom confirms that Phantom really was the town hero, despite some mixed reviews of the poor guy.
âDid you manage to show him your costume?â the hero asks.
âYeah! We went down to the cemetery to leave flowers and I got to show him my costume.â
Wait. Cemetery? Maybe it was part of theme, because Phantom had to be named that for a reason, but⊠it sounded likeâŠ
The kid ignores the suddenly VERY still hero and instead turns to his mom. âMomma, do you think we should bring him candy? He doesnât get to trick or treat like we do, and I can work super hard to get him a bunch!â
The kidâs mom just smiles. âWe could, but maybe we should bring him something homemade. I bet heâd like something more filling, teen boys like him have a hollow leg.â
The kid wrinkles his nose. âLike Vernie with the pizza bagels?â
âLike your cousin, yes. We can make some cinnamon rolls and take them to his memorial, maybe bring some of the apples from your grandpaâs gardenâŠâ
The hero is pretty much forgotten as the two-part family wanders off, not quite intentionally forgetting the hero is there so much as the hero somewhat accidentally ended the conversation when they just froze and didnât ask anything further.
Not that the hero didnât want to. But theyâd learn something very serious.
Oneâthere was a small town hero theyâd never heard of. Twoâthat hero was apparently a teen. Thirdâmost pressingly, the teen hero was both beloved enough to have kids dressing up as him and dead enough to have a grave.
This⊠might require some phone calls.
#dpxdc#danny phantom crossover#meanwhile Danny. sitting on a giant marble slab that has the most ridiculous gag gifts a ghost could ever ask for#heâs just like Oh Sweet Cinnamon Rolls!#he would try to convince people to bring him nasty burger but while val has MOSTLY gotten over her vindictive anger at Phantom DOES decide#that sheâs gonna be petty and add cilantro to everything#because Danny has the cilantro soap gene#jokes on her heâll still eat it#Danny likes his little memorial in the grave. it helps settle him sometimes. also heâs gotten to know the security guards for the cemetery#theyâre fun. a bit morbid. they LIKE his jokes so you can stuff it JAZZ#MEANWHILE the hero. Whomstever they are but like 90% of you are thinking either batfam or Justice league#are having just. a TOUCH of a crisis#now they gotta figure out where the kid and his mom are from without either of them figuring out#dealerâs choice on what the GIW and why Amity Park isnât on the radar#Iâll add my two cents bc when donât I but Iâm by and large not like⊠dictating this? anyways#I like making the GIW just a BIT more incompetent or just having some massive flaws as an organizational group#so they keep forgetting to tell people to not LEAVE and to keep quiet#average amity Parker if the GIW tried this anyways: aw thatâs cute. anyways-#and if itâs dc I guess you need to figure out how the jl never found out. so#i mean thereâs a LOT of heroes and cities in dc#and amity park is just lost to the noise or. bc Fenton bad luck#every time Danny tried to call. the jl had some insane disaster and or their systems were down#he eventually figured he might actually be cursed- juryâs still out on that -and heâs saving lives by just handling it himself#he can handle rhe metaphorical mega thunderstorms if it means he doesnât accidentally summon a fucking tsunami to hit the planet ya know?#the kid and the mom have no idea that what they said was Odd#they are just so used to it. amity park already was using death puns and had an. interesting history and relation with death#even BEFORE there was a dead kid flying around in his white gogo boots
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May I ask what were the best transformers media you ever saw/read?
Well Transformers Prime, Transformers 1986 and IDW comics are having the first place thatâs for sure
And then the second place is kind of shared by Fall of Cybertron, Exodus, Prime wars trilogy, Robots in disguise(2001) and Transformers One.
The third place goes to G1, Animated, Earthspark, Armada, War for Cybertron Netflix series, Aligned Robots in disguise, Bumblebee, Rise of the Beasts and Cyberverse because I only liked some little parts of them.
And then I also saw some of the Bay movies, Victory and Headmasters and didnât like them at all.
Separate first place for J-Decker. It is not exactly Transformers but it is a show about giant robots and I loved it

#call me weird for placing cheap ugly shows above Earthspark and Animated#but the thing is#I have when the whole narrative revolves around human kids#*hate#Iâm allergic to them#Prime wars trilogy had one of the worst face rigs I ever saw#but it also had Overlord teaming up with evil Rodimus and Megatron being funniest mf alive#Armada is straight up infuriating imma be honest#Armada is like#Au where all the weapons work only once and then just create some glitter#I actually have SO many thoughts on Armada. like. as a writer#the way they keep reusing the same plot 3000 times is borderline impressive#OH War for Cybertron from Netflix was such an experience!#It was so painfully boring and stupid sometimes#but the other times. ooooouuufff. The scene where some nameless decepticon gives Megatron a little tour to show him how him and his friends#-work so hard for the cause??? THAT SHIT HIT HARD#âŠ.also I pretty much only like the Quintesson apocalypse arc from the entire Cyberverse#Transformers Victory is fun until you actually hear them speaking#the concept of Star Saber adopting a human child and raising him and then#going to human school as his legal guardian being like âyeah sure I can sign all your tiny ass documentsâ#itâs hilarious but unfortunately all the writers of that anime were snorting cocaine because WHY all the characters talk like that#Animated was fun for me only near the end. Idk what to say. Iâm not a fan of any drama centered around humans#things got interesting when Cybertronian government got involved#Earthspark is WHOLE giant topic ahahah. I liked Twitch. sometimes. I also liked Grimlock while he had voice lines. Prowl was fun.#everything else needs and essay haha I donât wanna annoy anyone#OH I also watching Tf Cybertron right now and this shit is UGLY. they have NO RIGS. THEY HAVE ONE EXPRESSION EACH#but for some fucked up reason I love it. they got the guy named Landmine who only can have (-_-) face.#their Megatron actually respects Starscream so far and regularly gives him positive reinforcement??? I heard words âexcellent job Starscrea#and went WAIT WHAT#Anyway. If you ask me to ramble about media you get a word tsunami. I have a lot to share
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sisters bf!theo would so stick his fingers in your mouth while doing doggy to shut you up bc you tried suggesting that you two should stop hooking up when heâs literally pounding into you
ââ â sisterâs bf!theo shuts you up when you suggest ending your situationship
havenât written in more than two weeks, so forgive me is this is a little rusty, but !!! i missed sisterâs bf!theo so much, and my hands have been itching to write some more for the bastard
warnings: 18+ mdni, cheating, p in v, fingers in the mouth, slight gagging, spanking, mentions of blood, degradation, cursing
it always came in waves, like a tsunami that the coast guard failed to warn about â the scalding hot shame, the guilt you felt whenever you sisterâs boyfriendâs cock stretched you out in ways youâd never have imagined if it wasnât for him. it was wild, the things theo did to your body, making it crave him more and more after every stolen encounter in your room, when your sister wasnât around â or even if she was, to be honest; in her room, busy with her college homework, or in the shower, unaware of what was happening on the other side of the wall.
but tonight, you were in luck â she went out on a girlâs night with her friends, and theo wasted no time. the second he texted her an âi love you, baby, take careâ, he was out of the door, in his car, and then, ten minutes later â in your bed. you were on your hands and knees before you knew it, but your face wasnât pushed into the pillows this time â no, when your sister wasnât around, theo wanted to hear you. he needed to know how fucked out you were, how good he was making you feel. at the back of your mind, you were aware it wasnât really about your pleasure, it was much more about stroking his ego, but⊠you couldnât bring yourself to care, not when his cock was sliding in and out, making you drip all over your thighs and the sheets, making youâ
fuck. why did theo have to leave his phone on the bed, right next to you? did he do that on purpose? you wouldnât even put it past him. the screen lit up with a notification. a text from your sister, a âlove you tooâ, and there it was again â the guilt, the shame, everything all at once, crushing down. theo didnât even look â he was too busy watching your ass bounce with each of his thrusts, and the screen dimmed in a few moments, untouched and ignored.
"weâ" no, you couldnât string a coherent sentence together, you felt too fucking amazing to think. theo barely heard a word somewhere between your shameless moans, but didnât pay attention. his hand came down on your asscheek with a sharp slap as he was enjoying the freedom of being as noisy as he wanted. plus, the spanking always made a good job of shutting you up, and he didnât want you to talk right now â he only wanted the moans and the whimpers.
but for some reason, you just couldnât let it go. maybe it was because for the first time, you saw the evidence of your sisterâs love for theo while he was balls deep inside of you. maybe youâve just been suppressing it for too long. but when theoâs cock hit your cervix and a jolt of pained pleasure shot through your body, you managed to breathe out: âweshouldnâtbedoingthis.â
âwhat?â
theo had absolutely no idea what you had just said, because your pussy clenched around him at the same exact moment, squeezing his cock to the point he nearly came on the spot. but he managed to hold off, his hand digging into your ass to steady himself. "the fuck you just said, piccola? why are you even talking?â he muttered in-between breathless pants, his hips snapping to your body with increased speed.
"we shouldnâtââ god, it was hard, talking while you were being railed mindless by a man whose purpose was to stop you from talking. "we shouldnât be doing⊠thisâŠâ somehow, the words finally came out, followed by another string of lewd, loud sounds from your mouth.
you could hear theo sigh behind you. or maybe it was just a gasp of pleasure, because his thrusts became sloppier, signalling his approaching orgasm. however, just a split second later, your mouth was filled; theoâs fingers were plunged almost to your throat, making you gag â why the hell were they so long, anyway?
"dumb, dumb, dumb.â each word was punctuated by a rough thrust and a slap on your ass. you were tempted to bite his fingers off, but only managed to scrape the skin a little bit. it seemed to turn theo on even more. "canât believe i hit the dumbest duo in the world. one has no idea iâm fucking her sister right under her nose, and the other thinks i care.â
even his cock rearranging your guts couldnât stop you from finally sinking your teeth into his index and middle fingers in silent retaliation. theo hissed, but didnât pull out, even when a metallic tang of blood hit your tongue. you felt a strange sense of satisfaction, knowing you ripped through his skin â at least this way, you managed to get under it.
"youâre just asking for it, arenât you, piccola?â theo muttered in frustration, realizing heâd have to teach you a lesson and therefore, hold back on finishing. "youâre gonna get it. youâre gonna fucking get it.â
in one fluid motion of his, you were manhandled onto your back, and your legs were flipped over his shoulders. he was clearly enraged, and the previous shame and guilt squeezing your chest were quickly replaced by a sick kind of excitement. you did it.
"letâs fucking pray she doesnât come back early.â
more.
#â âá kiraâs works .á#sisterâs bf!theo#theo nott#theo nott x reader#theo nott x fem!reader#theo nott x you#theo nott x y/n#theo nott smut#theo nott drabble#theo nott imagine#theo nott fanfiction#theodore nott#theodore nott x reader#theodore nott x fem!reader#theodore nott x you#theodore nott smut#theodore nott fanfiction#theodore nott imagine#slytherin boys#slytherin boys smut#slytherin boys imagine#slytherin boys fanfiction
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Astronomy (Prologue)



âItâs astronomy, weâre two worlds apartâ
Wally Clark x fem!reader
Summary: After suffering a near-fatal fall off the school roof, you started seeing things that werenât actually there. Or- people who werenât actually there.
Warnings: mentions of suicide, addiction, drugs, lots of angst.
next chap.
âŠâąÂ·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·âąâŠâąÂ·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·Â·âąâŠ
Your legs dangled off the roof, the moon's dim light illuminating the grass below. Tears filled your waterline and your eyebrows pulled together. Silent sobs filled the night air, getting lost in the whispers of the wind.
There was no sugarcoating it, no easy way to say itâYour life fucking sucked. Drugged out Dad, your Mom out of the picture, the whole nine yards. If your life were a shitty low-budget movie, you and Nicole wouldâve laughed at the lazy plot of it all.
Nicole.
The poison of her name ran through your veins and tore a hole through your heart. Youâd grown up with her, she was there through your worst moments, and you were there for hers. But when you hit middle school, it wasnât you and her against the world. It was always Maddie.
Maddie. Maddie. Maddie.
You truly had nothing against her. You had nothing against her, or Simon, or even Xavier of all fucking people. But everything in the past few years was always about her. The two of you were simply friends by extension. Two separate people pushed into the same friend group. But still, it seemed like the whole world revolved around her.
Nicole always had an obsession with Maddie. What she ate, what she wore, how she decorated her lockerâŠDown to how she fucking spoke. Nicole copied every. Single. Part of her. You never knew if she wanted her, or if she wanted to be her. Whatever it was, it drew you two apart. You slowly started losing your best friend.
The pain and loneliness was beginning to be too much. You felt so suffocatingly alone, the only person you could confide in being lost in a la-la land of infatuation.
So, you found yourself on top of the school roof at 2 in the morning. It wasnât high enough to die. Maybe high enough to make you hurt. High enough so someone would actually care for you. The thought of jumping crossed your mind- just for a split second. It was a fleeting thought, soaring quickly through your head like a turbojet.
Tears began to spill harder, gushing out of your eyes like a fountain. Your sobs became louder. You grounded the meat of your palms into your eyes, desperate to stop the tsunami from streaming down your face.
Behind you, words faded in and out of the breeze, and heavy whispers echoed across the silent roof.
âIs⊠sheâŠâ
âIâŠ.do- knowâŠâ
It was bits and pieces of phrases you shouldnât have been hearing. Phrases that broke through the barrier of life and death itself. You didnât know it at the time, though. Still, you whipped your head around, your lip quivering just slightly. Shadows faded in and out across the roof, the air seemingly moving in the wrong direction.
Your sobbing quickly died down, and you squinted, your head beginning to swim with confusion. The shadows shifted in and out of reality, almost. You would not have noticed them if you hadnât been looking so meticulously.
The phantom-like whispers snuck closer as if reaching out for you. Your heart began to pick up speed, beating against your chest painfully. Breath hitching in your throat, you hastily stood up. Palms slick with sweat, goosebumps bursting across your skin, legs trembling, you yelled out, begging them to stop.
You couldnât comprehend the gravity of your situation, couldnât comprehend what the hell you were seeing. You took a step back, your heel hooking on the lip of the roof. Gravity took control, yanking you down over the edge.
The last thing you saw was a large hand stretching out towards you.
ââââââââââââ
Wally loomed over you, his head tilted. Eyebrows knitted together with concern, he glanced over to Rhonda and Charley, who seemed oddly standoffish.
âIs⊠Is she okay?â He questioned.
Rhonda rolled her cherry lollipop against her cheek, âI donât know Moose, maybe sheâs just sleeping?â
Wally narrowed his eyes at her. Why couldn't she understand the urgency of the situation? Here was a girl, lying half-dead on school property with a puddle of blood pooling beneath her head.
âWhat if she dies?â Wally slid his hands into his pockets, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. His teeth sunk into the plush skin.
Charley frowned, wringing his hands together. âI mean⊠We canât really do anything, Wally,â He reasoned. Wally knew he was right. If you died, you died. He couldnât stop it. But it didnât stop him from feeling any less awful. He felt⊠Drawn to youâin some incomprehensible way.
The group whipped their heads back down to you when you stirred. A soft groan escaped your lips. They watched with bated breath as you brought a shaky hand to the back of your head. You pulled your fingers back to your eye line, your pupils dilating at the smear of crimson.
The back of your skull throbbed with a searing, blinding pain that drew out another groan. You scrunched your eyelids together, fuzzy dots crowding your vision. At the same time, Wally crouched down next to you, fingers sprawled out on the soft grass.
Soft earth rustled beneath the soles of Rhondaâs boots as she turned on her heel. Charley glanced at you, then at Wally, then back at Rhonda. Confliction flashed across his soft features. As bad as he felt, there was nothing he could physically do.
âWe should probably go,â Charley grumbled.
Still, Wally looked back down at you. He brought his fingers a featherâs touch away from your jaw before drawing them back. As much as he wanted to reach out to you, to help you, he couldnât. He sat back on his haunches and took one last look at your pretty face.
Charley and Rhonda were halfway across the field when your eyes slowly cracked open. Wallyâs eyes widened as you looked at him. Your eyes didnât look through him. They looked at him. Your gaze pierced through the noise of the wind around you. It locked onto him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. It wasnât possible. You were living. Breathing. Your soul was still tied to the land of the living. You still had a fucking pulse, a heartbeat.
âWhat the fuckâŠâ He whispered.
You donât remember what happened next. Only that you scrambled up, despite the agony in your head and the strain in your bones, and found yourself at home just minutes later, shoes caked in mud.
You donât know what the fuck you thought you saw. It was a hallucination. Your brain had conjured his image up, projected him in front of you. You fell off the roof, for fucks sake.
Still, your eyes glided over to a picture on the wall of your living room. In it, stood your dad and his high school best friend--Who died 40 years ago.
#school spirits#milo manheim#wally clark#wally clark x reader#wally clark fanfiction#school spirits fanfiction#milo manheim fanfiction#fem!reader#fanfic#split river high#astronomy
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âTake care of me?â

sub!matt sturniolo x Fem!reader
part 2
warnings: smut | no actual p in v | fem!receiving oral | dry humping?| face riding| sub matt x soft dom reader | not edited !!!
matt is blue
reader is pink
word count: 1k
author notes: please let me know if i missed anything + iâm new to this! i welcome any feedback as long as youâre not mean about it!
i open my eyes, the sunset gleaming just right through mattâs bedroom window. i stretch my arms out, accidentally bumping my knuckles on the bed frame, right after i hear my hands hit the bed frame i here shuffling outside the door before it opens, revealing my boyfriend matt, he was wearing sweatpants, a black t shirt and his hair was tousled from filming whatever it was him and his brothers had gone and recorded.
âhi ma, did i wake you?â
âno baby you didnât just- just coincidental timing i guessâ i say while letting out a yawn.
matt turns towards his desk, throwing off his shirt. As he does so i admire the way his arms and shoulders move
god he looks so good.
âwhatâd you do while i was gone mama?â
matt walks towards the bed, pressing his knee down onto the mattress and making his way over to me, laying his cheek down on my stomach, his hand going to trace shapes on my hip.
ânot a lot. i fell asleep about thirty minutes after you guys leftâ
my hands card through his soft brown hair
before speaking again. âcome here babyâ
matt made his way up to me, looking down slightly from the angle he layed at. my hands immediately grabbed his face, bringing his face down too me. his lips met mine.his beautifully soft lips.
matt moaned into the kiss, i felt him harden against my thigh.
i pushed him up by his shoulders.
âmatty do you think- uhm. that you can just take care of me tonight ?â
he smiled, âofcourse.â
he pecked me one last time before slowly undressing me, starting with my sweatpants, slowly moving them down my legs while looking up at me. Next he went for my shirt.
i heard his breath hitch when he saw i wasnât wearing a bra
âgod youâre so prettyâ
i giggled before he removed my panties and flipped us over.
âmatt?â
âi wanna try something new tonight is that okay?â
âokayâ i smile at him
âtell me to stop and i will okay?â he pecked my lips before laying down
i gave him a confused expression, then he started moving me up to hover above his face.
oh.
he looked up at me to look for anything sign of a no
i simply smiled, as did he when he saw my response to his worries
his hands wrapped around my thighs, bringing me just above his mouth, i felt his hot breath against my core
holy fuck.
his toungue managed its way to my clit. swirling in shapes i couldnât identify
âfuck- matt oh my godâ
he hummed in response, the vibrations traveling straight through me.
i moaned, moving to rest forward on the bed frame
i tried so hard to conceal my moans so neither chris or nick would hear but it was so hard with the way matts toungue traveled through my folds.
all of the sudden i was hit with a new sensation, mattâs toungue slipped inside of me at the same time his fingers fumbled with my clit.
âfuck! matt- oh my god! fuck that feels so good- d-donât stop!â
he hummed again, his vacant hand moved behind me
i slightly peeked back to see he was massaging the tent in his pants
âfuck matty you canât even focus on just me can you?â
he removed himself slightly, his fingers still making circles on my clit, to say âiâm sorry mama i canât help it sometimes. youâre just so beautifulâ
as he reattached himself i felt everything grow tighter. his toungue moved faster inside and on my clit. everything started to feel like it was coming together inside of me. the knot in my lower tummy slowly coming undone
âholy shit matt- iâm gonna- fuck!â
before i could finish my sentence my orgasm crashed over me like a tsunami.
my hips started rocking back and forth, riding myself through my high.
as i felt my orgasm slowing down, i also felt matt start to slow down
âone more baby, one more can you do that for me?â
âof course mamaâ he beamed that beautiful smile of his up at me before licking a stripe through my folds,my jaw going slack and my eyebrows knitting together
âholy shit matt!â
the though of nick or chrisâs hearing me had completely slipped my mind at the moment. it only felt like me and matt existed.
i already felt my second orgasm approaching when all of the sudden matt grunted before flipped us over, my ass landing on the pile of pillows i had earlier napped on and my back pressing against the bed frame
âholy shit!â my left hand carding through his soft hair, gripping only slightly. i donât wanna hurt my boy of course.
my right hand made its way behind me to grip the bed frame.
i noticed mattâs hips starting to thrust down onto the mattress, faster and faster
at the sight of that the cord in my stomach suddenly snapped, my hips thrusting back and forth to once again. matt helped my ride out my orgasm flicking my clit with his tongue
he pulled his mouth off of me to let out a loud moan, his hips moving up and down on the bed, he gripped at my hips, i pulled him up to rest his head on my chest.
âfuck- fuck fuck ! oh my god!! can i cum mama please?â he looked up at me through his lashes.
how could i ever say no to that?
âofcourse my sweet boy.â
his face was pressing into my chest, his jaw going slack and his hips stuttered as he wimpered my name.
âfuck! please oh my god!â he panted before slipping his arms under me and he held me tight while working himself through his orgasm
i expected him to stop but he kept going.
âbaby donât overstimulate yourselfâ
âmmm- fuck!â he thrusted one last time and stopped. he panted against my breasts
âfuck i better go get cleaned up.â he spoke after calming down
âon second thought matty how about i take care of you too.â
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Things Happen
Dean Winchester x Reader
When you and Dean get hit with a powder on a hunt you're not sure what's gonna happen until you get stuck in an elevator
It's smut yall
It all happened so fast. One minute you, Sam and Dean were chasing a witch through an old warehouse the next she'd turned, throwing an orange, fruity scented powder all over you and Dean just as Sam got the kill shot.
Your eyes met Dean's as both of you were struck with the realization something was wrong. You could hear your own heartbeat, every inch of your body felt like it was on fire and you were acutely aware of the green eyed hunter clenching his jaw tightly against his own pain to ask if you were ok.
âWhat the hell is this Sam?â You asked, turning to look at the younger Winchester who'd smartly stood a few feet away from the two of you. âI have no ideaâ the fire that had been contained on your skin chose that moment to rip through your stomach, nearly making you double over. Dean rushed to your side but the moment his hand touched your back it only made the fire worsen, a groan escaping his lips as well.
âYou two go back to the hotel. I'll call Rowena in and we'll figure it outâ you glanced over at Dean who nodded âYeah, ok Sammy. Just watch your back until red gets hereâ
Every bump the impala hit shot straight through you. Every nerve ending was on fire and the heat between your thighs was getting worse with every passing moment. It took everything you had to concentrate on anything besides the movements of Dean's fingers on the steering wheel. The thought of those fingers on you, his hands splayed across your body, those damn lips of his tasting your skin. What the hell was going on with you?
You'd always been attracted to Dean, you had eyes. He was a gorgeous man, sweet, caring and no matter how he saw himself a truly good person at his core. You had feelings for him beyond friendship but had never once considered acting on them yet now the only thought you had was what would he feel like inside of you?
â-----------------
Dean was trying to concentrate on the road, clenching every muscle in his jaw hard enough there was a chance he'd cracked a tooth. The fruity scent of that powder still clung to the air but under it he could smell you. The shampoo you preferred, the scented lotion you loved. Every damn bump he hit a low moan would slip from you and his cock would twitch at the sound.
You were a beautiful woman, an amazing hunter and one of the most important people to him. He'd always wanted you, wanted more but wouldn't risk it yet now all he could imagine was having you underneath him.
You followed Dean into the hotel about the time a loud crack of thunder went through the sky and what seemed like hell itself unleashed. âFucking tsunamiâ Dean muttered, heading for the elevator.
You stepped in behind him, shaking slightly. Your legs felt like they were made of jello at that point. Your heart rate was higher than it normally was on hunts and you were certain the slick from your core was dripping down your legs at that point. You fell back against the wall, taking deep breaths and trying to ignore Dean's breathing.
You closed your eyes when the elevator began to move but it only went six floors then screeched to a halt. Your eyes flew open âDean?â He shrugged âI'm trying sweetheart, I'm tryingâ he was hitting the emergency call button repeatedly.
You slid down to the floor, sitting with your knees drawn up to your chest in hopes to soothe the ache throbbing through you. You vaguely heard Dean curse something about a rolling blackout but couldn't care less. The fire, the heat, everything was starting to hurt. You had to get a release âDean?â
You knew you sounded wrecked but you didn't care you needed it, you needed him. He knelt in front of you and one look in his eyes told you he was barely hanging on himself âI want youâ you whispered and he groaned âSweetheart, baby please don't say thatâ
You looked up at him and he swallowed hard âI'm barely hanging on hereâ you leaned forward âThen let goâ the moment his lips crashed into yours the heat roared back to life.
Everything in you was screaming that this was Dean, your best friend, your best friend who had never shown interest in you but it didn't matter because if you didn't do something for relief you'd die here in this elevator.
â-----------------
Dean grabbed your ankle and gave a tug, pulling you down onto your back where he could move to be between your legs. Hovering over you he took a few deep breath âSweetheartâ you shook your head âShut upâÂ
â-----------
When you pulled him back into another kiss, hooking your legs around his waist Dean felt what resolve he had crumple. Whatever was happening it demanded you. It craved you and he was powerless to fight it. His hands went to the hem of your shirt and you broke the kiss long enough to snatch it off and throw it. His lips went from yours, down your neck then he started to kiss down your chest âI need more Dean, fuck it hurts and I need moreâ
He knew what you meant. He was hurting. His cock was harder than it'd ever been and the fire, fuck the fire nipping through his body. He had to help you first, had to get you somewhat level headed. He nodded then lowered his lips to your stomach.
He used one hand to unsnap your jeans and then slipped it inside, he moaned into your skin at the feeling of the warm moisture he found seeping from your pussy. You were soaked and responsive to the point that a barely there flicker of his fingers made your back arch off the floor. âPleaseâ
He freed your body of your boots and jeans faster than he'd ever undressed himself even. He took a moment to sit back on his heels and look at you. A brief moment of clarity telling him to stop this, he could handle the pain but what if you regretted him when this was over? âDean it hurts please help meâ you begged and that was all it took. He licked into you in one fluid motion and your fingers tangled in his hair âYes, fuck Deanâ
â------------
Dean began to work you towards an orgasm, flicking his tongue against your clit while he added a finger, curling it up to hit that spot inside of you. The pleasure began to push back against the pain and you found yourself unashamed as you ground your hips down against Dean's face. Your moans urged him on and when he shifted just slightly that blinding heat gave way to pleasure. He worked you through the orgasm and you could feel the pain roll back a bit.
When you became too sensitive you weakly shoved at his head. He pulled away and smiled up at you âFeeling better?â You nodded âWanna take those jeans off?â His smile slipped into a grin âYes ma'amâ
â--------------
Dean slipped his jeans, shirt and boots off before tucking his shirt under your head as a makeshift pillow. Even if this was something pushing you two to do this he was going to make you as comfortable as possible. His hand shook slightly and he wasn't sure of the cause of it but you underneath him, all spread out and begging made that heat roar to life.Â
He held your eyes as he slipped into you, both of you groaning at the feeling. Once he was fully inside of you he stilled, his muscles shaking with the urge to take you hard and fast. He could fight this enough to be gentle, to make it amazing for you. It was the only hope he had for you to not hate him when you were both clear headed.
Your eyes focused on him and you smiled âFuck me Dean, pleaseâ he caught your lips in a hungry kiss âOh sweetheart you're gonna be the death of meâÂ
â----------------
Dean buried his face in your neck as his thrusts got harder and deeper. You were so close to that edge you just needed a little more. Without you having to say anything Dean slipped a hand between your bodies, rubbing tight circles on your clit. Your back arched, pressing your breasts up into his chest as you came with a loud moan of his name.Â
Once your vision cleared a bit you could feel Dean holding back. He needed to come, he needed that release from the heat, the pain. âCome for me Dean. Pleaseâ you begged, tightening your grip on his shoulders and spreading your legs further to give him deeper access.
You could feel his thrusts get harder and knew he was close. He pulled his face up to catch his lips in a kiss. You poured everything you'd always felt into the kiss, trying to tell him you'd wanted this for years that it wasn't just magical shit forcing the two of you to do this. You wanted Dean, you wanted to feel him come inside of you, you wanted to be his.
He groaned into your mouth as he slammed into you one final time and you felt him come filling you up.
â---------
You lay there for a few moments, Dean's now softening cock still inside of you as you both worked to get your breathing back to normal. Both of your heads were cleared now, the effects having worn off.Â
âDean I..â your words were cut off by Dean's phone ringing. He pulled out of you gently before retrieving his phone. You could only hear his end which consisted of âYeah we figured that outâŠ.just what it sounds like SamâŠ..what?...That's not..yeah okâŠ. I knowâŠ.I knowâ
He hung up then looked at you where you were now slowly slipping back into your clothes. He did the same but when you started to tie your boots he knelt down and tied them for you. Neither of you had spoken the last few minutes.
When he stood up he reached for your hand and you gave it to him. He pulled you into his chest, wrapping both arms around you âSweetheartâ yet again the two of you were interrupted by the elevator choosing that moment to start working again.
You stayed in Dean's arms until you reached the tenth floor. You stepped off first and he watched you carefully. What was going through his head? What was going through yours? You'd figured out it was sex pollen. A few hunters had run across different variants but the cure was always to fuck it out your system. It was never meant to kill but would if you didn't give in.
You stepped off the elevator first and Dean walked off behind you. You headed for the conjoined rooms you, him and Sam had gotten. You could feel the heat from him at your back but this time it was a very human feeling.
â----------
You unlocked the door to your room and was about to step inside when Dean's hand grabbed your arm. You looked at him and he took a deep breath âThat was..â âSex pollen, I know. I know that's why that happenedâÂ
He shook his head âNo, sweetheart you don't. The pollen may have caused it but it wasn't just the pollenâ
âWhat are you saying Dean?â You asked pulling your arm away from him to cross it over your other arm. âI'm saying I tried to hold off as long as I could because of how much I care about you, how long I've wanted to do that. I just, I hope you don't hate me nowâ
You shook your head âI couldn't hate you for us saving both our lives. I couldn't hate you for anything, I care about you way too muchâ he half smiled âCare about me like you care about Sam or?â You cut him off by pressing a quick kiss to his lips.Â
You stepped back and shrugged âCare about you like if you want to try this between us for real I wouldn't be opposed to itâ a grin slipped onto his face âI want you for a lot longer than a day or twoâ you returned his grin âGood cause it's gonna take a long time for me to get sick of youâÂ
Before you could say anything else Dean stepped closer and picked you up, his hands bracing under your thighs. You gasped lightly and he grinned âSometimes witches aren't too bad I guess, if they got me youâ you laughed "Oh shut up and take me inside"
#dean winchester smut#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x female!reader#supernatural fanfiction#spn fanfiction#dean winchester fanfiction
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Until My Blood's On Fire
Frank Castle x female reader. You saved Frank's life and now you're somewhere you didn't expect to be., and unsure how to feel about it. Some very vague history with Matt but he's in the bad books for an unknown reason... You decide! đ
Warnings: sex, sado masochism, lying, undefined relationship, maybe reader is lying to herself?
ââHe know that you're here?â
You don't answer, instead concentrating on the way Frank is touching you. His hand just under the hem of your top, tracing slowly over the raised ragged skin on your side just above your hip. It has almost fully healed, torn flesh rapidly meshing together just like you and him had been. He feels for the scar every time you're together, which is happening more and more. It's the reminder, the tangible evidence of what you did, the bullet you saved him from. He'd come back to it, later, when he's inside you and you'll clasp your hand over his, urging him to press, to dig his fingers in and coax out the sharp pain that comes with a tsunami of euphoria.
Almost healed, almostâŠ
And then what would come after? When the pain had faded to nothing would you still find yourself here?
Sometimes you didn't think you could stand the raw tenderness with which he handled you, but then he'd slip the button of your pants and slide his hand so easily into your underwear, a shared groan at the discovery of how wet you were, even though he always had you aching for him every time. He'd roll the very tip of his finger lightly around your clit making you moan out, your head falling back giving him space for him to kiss his way up the column of it, nipping at your jaw and shh-shh-shhing you gently in the otherwise quiet of the stark, utilitarian safehouse.
âFrank⊠don't teaseâŠâ you'd warn, and you'd feel his smile against your skin.
âYou sure?â He'd ask, pitch of his voice lilting upwards, circling softly again. It was so often a rhetorical question, knowing that sometimes you needed it drawn right out and slowed way down. More often than not he could tell, but you didn't want that tonight.
âPlease- I-â you make a pained sound that hits him right in the gut making him briefly withdraw.
âAnythinâ you want, sweetheart.â
And it was true. He owed you his life, you gave him that, when you threw yourself in front of that gun. Whether he wanted it or not there was no question. He would do anything for you in return for that gift, and you wanted him to do this. It was easy. Transactional.
He jumps into action, making quick work of getting your pants and other clothes off, your own hands scrabbling and pawing at his shirt and jeans with urgency to get him similarly naked.
In next to no time he's hoisting you up in his arms and you're wrapping your limbs around him as he makes the few easy steps to the nearest wall, you've barely time to breathe before he lines up and pushes inside. You're outside your body now, watching him watch your reaction as he wastes no time rocking his hips up into you, your mouth hanging open and eyes beginning to almost roll back into your head as he sets a solid steady pace.
âThis what you need?â he's asking, âjust like that⊠yeah?â his head nestles into the crook of your neck, his full beard always surprisingly soft against your skin. You're so tight and wet that he's already gritting his teeth hard to keep a handle in his own control and that just increases the building fiery flame of desire within you.
âUhuh⊠yeah, l-like thaâ fuck, Frankââ he slams his hips up effortlessly, punching your breath out, holding you up like you're nothing, everything. You only land back down in your body when he props you up with just a single hand under your ass, the others' fingers grabbing your chin and turning your head to look straight at him. Your eyes are blown black to the irises like night pools, but his are even darker. Yes, this was the Frank Castle you needed tonight, the one that showed no mercy. The Punisher, the one that wouldn't stop until you cried âRedâ.
A poor choice for a safe word perhaps, a simple stop sign tied up to so much complex baggage. If Frank gave a shit he didn't show it, and besides he'd never gone as far for you to ever need to say it, you're not sure he would.
He could though.
Shit, you're too in your head, you didn't think that was even possible with the way Frank was fucking you right now. Somehow he can tell, his strong, thick fingers moving to grip around your neck like a collar, just enough pressure to bring you back where you need to be.
âWhere'd you go pretty girl? Right here with me, hm?â
God he was so good. Soft and fierce in the way he shows his loyalty to you, his adoration of you. You could tell him to get off and leave and you know he'd do it. Sure he'd argue, but he'd do it because you told him to. Transactional.
The hand around your neck slips down and your head knocks back against the wall as he runs it over your tits before diving to kiss the rounded swell of soft skin and suckle hard on your peaked nipple. He gives each of them equal attention, using his tongue and teeth to send shivers of pleasure down your spine toward your core.
âBed.â You eventually direct with an airy gasp, and he's taking you there sharpish, laying you out on the worn twin mattress like a princess. He grabs the pillow, folding it in half and stuffing it under your lower back to tilt your pelvis so he can hit you just right, the way that makes your heart pound and your toes curl.
You pull him down by the neck, whimpering with need and bringing his mouth to your own as he's stretching you open with his cock again. The kiss feels like a fight, violent like you need to prove your passion is only that, refusing to let him have you so easy despite everything. Frank curses at the sting of your nails gouging tracks down his back, hisses as you bite and tug his lower lip, but he doesn't stop the dirty roll and scoop of his hips. If anything it spurs him on. You're greedy and he wants nothing more than to see you satisfied, even in these stolen moments between the relentless cycle of bullets, fists, and blood in the Kitchen.
Your hands furrow through the longer, curly lengths of his dark hair, your panting mouth murmuring his name right by his ear while he drills that heavenly place inside you with a precise ease.
âAttagirl,â he growls low as your own pitched moans heighten with every long thrust, powering you towards oblivion. He's supporting himself above you with one arm, the muscles bulging obscenely, the other hand sliding up your thigh encouraging you to wrap them tight around his waist as he moves further up your body, sliding in even deeper.
The small room is stifling with the heat of the summer night and sweat slicks your skin, simultaneously sticking and gliding your bodies to each other. Your fingers claw into the flesh of his ass as his chest drags over your sensitive nipples with each quickening thrust. Frank watches you closely, staving off his own pleasure for the chance of a raw view of your own. You can feel the fuse burning hotter, getting closer to the point where just one more spark will send you over the edge.
âFrank, please⊠do it, fucking do it!â
He knows exactly what you mean but you guide his hand regardless as he needs the clear consent. He'd never want to risk hurting you without it.
âYeah I got you sweetheart, I got you,â Frank digs his fingers hard into that mark in your side that binds you. âc'mon⊠there you go, c'monââ
And that's it. The pain is white hot and deep. You cry out, tears spilling over as you convulse in ecstacy underneath him, his eyes are boring into your soul bare with emotion as he works you through it. Your body clenching, pulsing, squeezing around him when he unloads with a feral sound that tails off into a vulnerable whimper you swear you've never heard from him before.
Transactional, that's all there is to it.
âHe know you're here?â When he asks again, Frank has you wrapped in his arms, your head laying on his chest, the spacey haze of your tryst just starting to mellow.
âNoâ, was what you said, but you suspected that Matt did know. There was only so much you could hide with a shower, even if you did always use your own bodywash instead of anything of Frank's.
âI told him I was going out with Jessica. She'll cover for me.â
âRedâll know you're lyinââ Frank points out, brushing his fingertips lightly along your arm.
âAh but I was out with Jess, then I came here so technicallyâŠ"
He just shakes his head, a slight smile creeping across his lips as he considers your logic. âAlright, alright.â
âIt doesn't matter what Matt thinks, he doesn't have a say in what I do with my life. Not after what happened.â
âHeâs a good guy.â
âYou're a good guy.â You counter, and Frank scoffs loudly.
âNow that's a goddamn lie and you know it.â
You turn in his arms, looking up at him with a serious expression. âI wouldn't have thought you worth saving otherwise, would I?â
âIs that how it works?â
âYeah, things can be pretty simple like that, Frank.â You weren't sure you even believed the words coming out of your own mouth.
âHmm.â
There's silence, then he kisses the top of your head.
You don't know what it means.
Maybe it's as close to I love you as the two of you would ever get, and that was okay.
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Home.
Gale Dekarios x f!reader
Synopsis: You and Gale show eachother how much you love eachother through some good ol' love making
CW: breeding, his undying love for you, overstimulation? but not really. This is pretty vanilla because Gale loves you
788 words! Enjoy

You felt like you were floating. Pure ecstasy courses through your veins as your nails run down Gales chest. Admiring his hairy body as you straddled his hips, having stopped your bouncing on his dick to calm your aching legs.
Gale kept his eyes on you, always wavering to a different part of your body. Your face in pleasure, your breasts that bounced with every raise and drop of your hips, he watched his hands as he gripped your waist. Gale was enthralled by you, the ring on his left ring finger specified so, taking a look on the matching ring you wore on your left hand, which was now splayed against his pecs.
âStopping already?â Gale teased, letting go of your hips to place his hands behind his head. Quickly raising his hips slightly to press more of him into you. His pubic bone rubbed against your clit deliciously.
âShut up.â The words came out of you in a breathy tone, still trying to catch your breath. Moving to raise your hips up again, only leaving the tip of your lover's cock inside of you. Your legs shook before you dropped down, your ass rippled as it hit his body once again.
Everything was wet, sticky. Sweat dropped down both of your bodies, the slick from your legs dripped onto his cock, even managing to run down his balls and to the bed below him.
âAs much as I love making your legs shake, you're going to hurt yourself.â Gale chuckled as he placed his hands back onto your thighs, holding you to stay down in his lap.
Air couldn't seem to get any faster into your lungs, deep breathes didn't seem to take. âJust wanna be good for you.â You whined to Gale, who looked up at you with his beautiful brown puppy eyes.
âYou're being so good.â he smiled, moving his upper body to sit up, his chest coming to touch yours. âYou're such a good girl for me.â
You allowed him to slowly pull you off his dick, laying you down on your back onto the bed as he climbed on top of you. The silk sheets felt smooth against your skin. Closing your eyes, focusing on how cool the sheets felt for one second before being filled again by your husband.
He was always so big, so full it made you want to keep him inside you forever. No matter how close you two became, you always wanted to be closer. Molding into one for all eternity.
âFocus on me.â You hear him say, holding eye contact with you as he slowly moves in and out of your wet cunt. Sucking him in so eagerly.
You call his name, moving your hands to hold his face, resting his forehead against your own. âA request..â You quietly ask.
His voice wavers as he says âhm?â, groaning slightly from how warm and tightly you hugged his cock.
âFill me?â wrapping your arms around his waist quickly, feeling his lower back tense and relax every time he thrusts. His pace picks up slightly at your words.
âYeah?â Gale smirks, moving one of his hands down to rub circles against your clit. His dexterous fingers always felt so good against your cunt. âWant me to fuck a baby into you?â
His words were always so filthy during these moments, and you nod swiftly, your forehead bumping slightly against his as you do, which causes a small thing of giggles to erupt from you both.
His fingers and thrusts don't relent even as you share a laugh, causing your giggles to quickly erupt into moans. Your body was on fire, his touch sending waves of flames up your body and through your system. You arch your back off the bed, your breasts pushing up into his own pecs as your orgasm comes quickly, rushing over you like a tsunami.
You convulse around Gales dick, and your moans of his name make him erupt into his own orgasm. He whimpers as he continues to fuck your pretty cunt as he spills his seed into you, only stopping when both of your legs are quivering.
You were so full, so full of him and his seed, you could cum again at the thought of him spilling inside of you. You run your hands through his hair as Gale's cock slowly softens inside of you, wanting to stay inside your warmth for the rest of time.
âI love you.â He says, his lips are close to yours. His breath is hot against your face.
âI love you too.â You smile, pressing your lips against his to seal your love. He tasted like home. And you wouldn't want it any other way.
#bg3#baldurs gate 3#baldurs gate gale#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#gale dekarious smut#gale x reader#gale x reader smut#bg3 gale
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Someone please write this and tag me in it or something like please and I would die if you based his appearance on the pic. Cod idea version is below two parts. Please continue reading.
Ugh I wanna read a MHA blharem fanfic where the MC is suicidal (in a funny but also like dark way) but he has stupidly good luck that keeps anything bad from happening to him, like to the point bullets dodge him and hit the opponent type luck or a bird will come outta nowhere and take a hit for him, or the knife he uses to try to kill himself with breaks or is super dull, or the pills suddenly expire, or a hero always swoops in when he jumps and that's how he meets heros or something. Just stupidly good luck but bad in his opinion and he keeps on stumbling into villain attacks and his luck makes it like he did something to stop it like a villains attack will suddenly cancel or malfunction or a large gust of wind will blow the villain down, successfully making it look like the MC has multiple quirks or something. Other than his suicide attempts drawing attention to himself, he trys his best to be completely invisible. I seriously need more books rn, MHA has such cool characters and there's so much potential for inserts but almost none are to my style. Also preferably a power bottom or uke mc
I feel like he'd listen to songs by Glass Animals or Two Feet. Like the beat and vibe of take a slice would fit him well especially if he's thinking about committing in his room. I imagine he's laying in his bed lights off, broken knife or ripped rope in hand or expired pills scattered around him while he's staring at the ceiling in annoyance or with a somber look while take a slice plays or or go fuck yourself by two feet plays while stuck in his thoughts or just blank minded. I feel if you use the second pic he'd like to listen to songs like too sweet by Hozier and artists like Two Feet, Arctic Monkeys, Glass Animals, Hozier, Des Rocs, MISSIO, Lund, Son Lux, The Neighborhood, David Kushner, Steve Lacy, Red Leather, Cigarettes After Sex, Troy Boi, d4vd, Tsunami J. (Die Young for ex), Mac Miller (for ex. Self Care), ThxSoMch, alt-j, FKJ, etc
This could also work with literally any fandom. Like for example in a cod fanfic he could be the bastard son of a rich family (who had a lot of enemies) who they don't care about (but should cuz his luck could take them places ;)) and they, because despite everything he's the only child and they can't have him die from an enemy because itd ruin their image, hire taskforce 141 to protect him in a lone warehouse (the big rich apartment things I forgot the name of) while they're gone for a year. Tf 141 wouldn't be happy of course but they grow on our mc and take it as a vacation or something. He secretly tries to commit when they can't notice and they don't for a while but they finally find out when he finds one of their guns and tries to shoot himself just for it to literally break which shouldn't happen because they take care of their guns or something or they catch him about to hang himself with one of the rope, brand new btw, they literally use to climb into a helicopter so they know it's sturdy, and it immediately breaks (rips? Tears?) which also shouldn't happen because they know the rope is able to literally carry like 5 men at once, and that's how they discover his good luck and suicidal tendencies. The mc immediately gives up trying to commit in secret and goes to do it in the open now. They come up with a compromise, he can only attempt one time a die and they just gotta watch him till he does try, not that it'll work anyway, his luck prevents it. Or he could be a marine or Merc or something who joined just so he could get into danger so he could die but to their horror and his own, nothing will kill him. Like he'd run out of ammo and everything and be in front of an enemy just for the enemy's gun to suddenly jam or for the enemy to step on a mine or get hit by a stray bullet or something. His call sign would be clover đ. Like he'd be known for being in or a part of the most dangerous missions that go to crap or something and come out unscathed. Like if he's a Merc he'd deliberately choose dangerous missions that other mercs avoid and go in alone and not even try, just walk right into an enemy's base and start shooting with the hopes of dying himself. Like even as he's doing a cool takedown move the only thought in his mind is ugh I wish a bullet would just hit me already or I wonder if this guy can kill me or I wonder if this guy is strong enough to choke me or I wonder if my luck can stop a grenade or something. Like don't give this guy explosives he'd probably tape an active one on himself. His handler refuses to give him explosives when he's alone because they've had to stop him from activating it on the spot and shoving it in a pocket. I was thinking poly 141 x male oc/reader (plus like Alejandro and his buddy and some of kortac or other hot cod characters). I'd expect him to be like silent and brooding but it looks cute to others. I'd also imagine he's incredibly short like 5'4. He also wears his hair like that in hopes it would help with him getting shot or something. His power of only good luck make him usable for any fandom just let me know if you use him cuz it's like to read it. Prefer if he's used for long fics with chapters or something but do what you want
He could also be a bartender in Gotham in the middle of an area between all the territories of the villains or something.
Also this is how'd I think he looked, art not mine at all. Probably found on Pinterest

Feel like he'd look like this too, especially for cod. Art not mine I'm pretty sure I found it on DeviantArt. Love their art tho
#bnha x male reader#fanfiction#long fic#bnha#mha#mha x male reader#x male reader#x male oc#male! reader#male!oc#male reader#please write this#tag me if you write this#mha x oc#bnha x oc#my hero academia#my hero academia x male reader#writing ideas#fanfic#boku no hero academia#art not mine#cod x male!reader#cod 141#task force 141 x male reader#141 x male reader#call of duty#cod x male reader#cod fic#call of duty x male reader#call of duty fanfic
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Part 2 Part 3 AO3
Written for the @corrodedcoffinfest Black Friday pop-up event.
Prompts: Black, Friday, "I'm not standing in line for that", Leftovers, Trampled, One Day Only, "I am giving thanks."
Yeah... all of them, and you're right, it was a stupid idea.
Part 1
Word Count: Pt1 - 3080 | Rating: M | CW: Past suicidal ideation (very subtle, blink and you'll miss, I'm just being cautious) | POV: Mixed - Pt1 Eddie, Pt2 Steve, Pt3 Eddie | Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson | Tags: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Gareth CC, Jeff CC, Matt CC, Wayne Munson, disabled Eddie Munson, pining, protective Gareth, protective Steve, kissing, guitars, reference to canon typical injuries, references to blood and injury - - please let me know if you think I've missed any.
I'm posting in 3 parts, because this is nearly 12k in total, which is a lot. Mods - hope that's ok! I'll link them all together. :)
Thereâs a wispy smell of smoke wafting under his bedroom door.
Somethingâs on fire.
His eyes fly open. Holy shit, somethingâs on fire!
Eddie pulls himself out of bed as quick as he can; in a fraction of a second his mind has managed to flick through his options like a rolodex - grab his crutches, yes or no? Should he put clothes on? Itâs freezing outside, he should at least bring a sweater, right? Shoes though, those are definitely important. Maybe he doesnât need to go out at all, maybe itâs small and he can deal with it himselfâ
Heâs hears crashing and banging from his kitchen, followed by a loud âMother fucker!âÂ
That is definitely not Wayne.
Heâs on fire and heâs being burgled.
He grabs a crutch with the full intention of braining someone with it, and drags his sleep addled body through the house. He stumbles into his kitchen, crutch raised to find Steve Harrington waving a towel around, and something smouldering in the sink while being doused with water.
âUh, what the fuck is going on?â
Steve spins around, the towel waving come to an abrupt end.
âShit, I didnât mean to wake you.â
Eddie limps to the kitchen table and gingerly lowers himself into a seat. Itâs been eight months since⊠since. His mind is in a surprisingly good place, all things considered, but his body, not so much. After everything, after Chrissy, God rest her soul, and Patrick, and being hunted by an entire town, and then being ripped apart by creatures that shouldnât exist outside of comic books and fantasy games, after all of that his body just said âenough.â The bats got enough bone, muscle and tendon to leave him changed in ways he couldnât imagine when he was sitting under Skull Rock trying to make sense of what his life was going to be like if he lived long enough to see it; court cases, long prison sentences (or death row), and a complete and utter mental breakdown. He avoided the court proceedings and prison, but he got his mental breakdown eventually, once the relief of being alive and the undoing of handcuffs had sunk in. He was free. He was going to live. Time for his mind to try and process the tsunami of emotions that overwhelmed it during the summer.
He got through it.
Thereâs a number of reasons for that. Wayne, first and foremost. Wayne, who never doubted him, who had always done his best by Eddie, somehow managed to step it up another notch. He took extended leave from work, that Eddie knows he couldnât afford unless he had managed to dip into what Eddie knew to be an extremely meagre savings account. Eddie doesnât love easy, trusts people even less so. People leave. People can be bitterly mean, people can hit and lash out when youâre least expecting it. His father was a viper in their nest of a home, always coiled, ready to strike. Wayne was never like that. Eddie pushed that mans buttons so hard but there were no hands raised, no words that couldnât be taken back. Just disappointment. Anger was rare, but Eddie had been beyond a fucker to him at times, when he was young and the world had torn away everything he knew, the good and the bad. They fought, then they made up. Nothing was held over his head, nothing got filed away and thrown at him at a later date. They fought, they said sorry, they moved on.Â
Eddie doesnât love easy, and he trusts people even less so, but the exception to that is, and always will be, Wayne Munson.
Of course, there is also the Nerd Brigade that he kind of thought he would just never really hear from again, if heâs honest. They went to school together, he ran campaigns for them, and okay, they saved him from something horrific but like, itâs just something he got caught up in right? He didnât really mean anything to them, after all.Â
Except, they visited him in the hospital. They came to visit him at home. They brought him books and tapes and magazines, and kept him company when he was stuck in bed most days. Brought him movies once he could make it to the sofa. He wasnât in the mood for them in those early days, especially when he was stuck in his little tar pit, but they kept throwing him ropes until he hung on. Stubborn to the bitter end.
Gareth, and Jeff and Matt. Well, that was more complicated, because they couldnât ever know what had happened, and explaining away injuries like his was tough when you canât say the words âinter-dimensional bats.â There was a wall there for a while. Itâs a fence now. They can see over the top of it, can link hands and shoot the shit, but itâs still a divider. Maybe one day theyâll get to push the last of it down.
The last reason he managed to climb out that nasty fucking pit of self loathing and pity was currently standing in his kitchen with an exasperated look on his face, dish towel over his shoulders and hands on his hips.Â
Dustin and the other kids he could understand. Theyâre excitable chimps, nerds of the highest order. They have things in common, things to talk to him about that gave him a reason to wake up in the morning, and get out of bed. And his band, well theyâre his band, you know? Brothers in arms, even if the arms are linked a little looser than before.
But Steve Harrington turning up to their new home? Nope, that was not on his recovery bingo card.
Steve was there in the hospital, dropping off and picking up kids. So sometimes he sat with him a while, when the chimps were visiting Max. And then one day Chief Powell walks in, mutters some half assed apology and uncuffs him. Just like that. As it turned out, those cuffs were the finger in the dam. And once you take the finger away, it all comes pouring out.
Eddieâs not entirely sure about what happened next. He knows he let out the most embarrassingly loud sob, and that spurred Steve into motion because then heâs being held; Steve was on his bed wrapping his arms around him, and fuck if Eddie didnât hurt all over, his skin, his legs, his everything on fire, but it felt good to be held. To have someone to press their mouth so close to his ear and tell him itâs okay, youâre going to be okay, for someone to stroke his hair, lay a comforting hand on his back. For someone to reach the pain that morphine could never dull.
After that, Steve was just there, with or without the little assholes that tormented him. He was there the day the doctors told him they couldnât do much more for him, he was there the day Eddie went home. He had been there even when Eddie wasnât; the asshole had helped Wayne move into their new little house and decorate the place.Â
He was there through the summer, there with the kids, there without. He was there when all Eddie could do was stare blankly at a wall, and he was there when all Eddie could do was cry. He was there when things started to get better.
And now heâs here, setting fire to Wayneâs new kitchen at eight P.M. on Thanksgiving.Â
âNot that Iâm not pleased to see you, obviously, but um⊠why are you setting fire to my home?â
âI wasnât setting fire to your home, asshole. I was trying toââ he gestures angrily at the sink, âmake you dinner. Or heat, it up at least. But thatâs ruined, soâŠâ
âDinner?â
Steve shrugs at him, flushes a little across his cheeks, and Eddie does his best not to think about that too much.
âI justâ when you said Wayne was working tonight, I just thought, you know. Like, your first Thanksgiving after⊠and I just thoughtââ Heâs beet red, looks firmly at the floor, at the wall, at literally anywhere other than Eddie. âI just didnât want you to be on your own, thats all.â
Itâs not a revelation, exactly. He had several offers for Thanksgiving dinner; Hop and The Byers, which would have been desperately awkward, the Wheelers, an absolutely firm but polite no, and even the Sinclair and Hendersons. And it was all lovely, honestly, that people were over the Satan workshopping thing, but theyâd moved onto the pity thing. And more fundamentally than that, their Thanksgivings were never going to be like his and Wayneâs Thanksgiving, and thatâs fine. Variety is the spice of life, and heâs sure theyâll have a great time. Itâs just not for him.
But maybe it is. Because Steve didnât want him to be alone, and thereâs a little lump growing deep in his throat.Â
âThatâs⊠really nice, actually.â
Steve huffs, dramatically. âYeah, well, itâs ruined. Mom gave me all this left over food and all I had to do was leave it in the oven,â he scrabbles around on the counter, in amongst the dishes and retrieves a piece of paper. âItâs all here, all the times, the temperatures. And I fucking nodded off and now itâsââ he gestures to the sink again.
Eddie climbs out of his seat and makes his way to the sink. He winces at the sight of what he thinks might have been some turkey.
âItâs pretty black.â
Steve sighs. âUnderstatement.â
âIf you were trying to make charcoal you did a pretty good job.â
âHa ha.âÂ
Steve flops into the chair Eddie vacated. âI just wanted it to be perfect for you. You know, itâs been a shitty year, like for everyone, but you especially.â He tails off, his voice gets quieter, as if heâs embarrassed by it.
Something swells inside of Eddie, a knot of happiness. Not at how dejected Steve is, but at how much it had clearly meant to him that this was good for Eddie.Â
Perfect. He wanted it to be perfect.Â
He needs to not be reading into things so much. There be dragons, after all.
Steve looks miserable, and Eddie hates that, canât bear it actually, so he makes his way back to the table and flops into the chair facing Steveâs.
âHey,â he says softly, nudging Steveâs hand with his. âHonestly I really appreciate the thought.âÂ
And who is this Eddie Munson that doesnât mock people for being considerate, for putting effort into things heâs never considered important? A habit born out of bitterness at not having parents like everyone elseâs, at not just being different, but having to lean into the different, to own otherness before someone else takes it and wraps it around him anyway.Â
He does appreciate the thought. Heâs revelling in it and trying desperately to keep a lid on just how much it means to him. Outside of Wayne, who has cared this much about whether he has nice things?
Steve leans back in his seat, that quick flash of red colouring his cheeks again. âYeah, well, the thought isnât much good if itâs sitting in the sink burnt to a fucking crisp, is it?â
âHow was your Thanksgiving?â
Steve shrugs. âIt was okay. Mom was hosting this year, so we had like, a million people in the house. My cousins are a fucking nightmare, honestly, probably ripping my room apart as we speak. Animals.â
âWas the food good?â
The confused little ripple on Steveâs face is cuter than it has any right to be, and Eddie doesnât even make an effort to stop the little smile that he knows is pulling at his own lips. He rests his head in on hand, elbow planted on the table.
âYeah, it was good. Youâd know that if I didnât fuck up reheating it. I should have just put it in the microwave, seriously, I donât why my momââ
âWas the company good?â
âUh, sure. Itâs nice to see the family, yeah.â
âWas it perfect?â
Thereâs a silence, a little wrinkle as Steve wonders on the question. Thereâs something about sitting here with Steve, just the two of them at the kitchen table, burnt food in the sink. Something warm. Something homey. Like Steve fits in ways Eddie had never imagined anyone fitting. Itâs resolute and fast and comes from nowhere - I want this. Eddie buries it as fast as it came.
âI mean, it was nice, sure.â
âBut was it perfect?â
Steve shrugs and it strikes Eddie that Steve might think heâs being made fun of, that Eddie is goading him somehow, and nothing could be further from the truth.
âYou know how I usually spend Thanksgiving? Wayne usually works it, moneyâs too good to pass up, you know? So he works, and I get up early and then we have a couple of Turkey dinners and a couple of beers, and maybe pie if we could get one. And then we sit in front of the TV until Wayne falls asleep in his chair. And I cover the old man up in a blanket, and I leave him to sleep for the day. I go to my room and I listen to music and I read and then when itâs time to wake him up we have waffles and ice cream and maybe some more pie if weâre feeling extra decadent. Then he goes to work.Â
âAnd Iâm here by myself and yeah, itâs lonely, sometimes. But I have Wayne, and so I get a day to be thankful for that. Itâs not perfect by most peopleâs standards, but itâs perfect for me.â
Steve looks at him, awed.
âHoly shit.â
It feels reverent, oddly, like Steve has seen this gentle part of him, like heâs unpicked locks for Steve, like heâsâ
âYouâre such a sap.â
Asshole!
âI am not!â
Steve leans back in the dining chair, wood creaking dangerously, grinning widely.Â
âYou are! Youâre a fucking sap, Eddie Munson. How did anyone think you were cool enough to be a Satan worshipper?â
Eddie damn near splutters at it. âOh fuck you Harrington! Look at me, Iâm practically the Prince of Darkness.â
âOkay, so thatâs Ozzyâ.â
âYou rememberââ
ââand also youâre a fucking pussycat.â
He has to bite his tongue, canât say anything else or it might be something he canât take back. And he doesnât want to lose this. Heâs never been short of friends, he has the band, and okay, theyâre like eleven years old or something, but Dustin and the dweeb crew are friends now, too. Thereâs Robin, and Nancy - Nancy fucking Wheeler for Christâs sake - and then thereâs Steve.
Thereâs something to be said for people seeing you at your worst and sticking with you regardless. All of those people - okay, not the band - have seen him at his worst. Dead is probably him at his worst. Bloodied and torn open is not a good look for anyone. He feels sick thinking about it. But they saw it.Â
Steve saw it, then he tried to fix it.
Or well, Steve gave him CPR; no one wants to know theyâve had CPR performed on them, itâs a window into an event that he really doesnât want to think about. But it was Steve, and somehow that feels big in a way he canât put his finger on.
And then Steve got him out, and Steve kept him alive in the car all the way to the hospital, and Steve screamed at a nurse until they brought a gurney, and Steve, Steve, Steve. It always comes back to Steve.
Crushes are childish things, things for hair twirling girls and handsome boys, and Eddie has never had crushes. He watches someone from afar and then stuffs it away, squashes it before it gets that far. He watched Steve, once, before folding that feeling neatly and stuffing it in a box marked âI Canât Have It.âÂ
But thereâs something to be said for a man saving your life, for risking his own to save yours, and then for sticking with you for months after. For not just being there physically, but mentally, emotionally. Thereâs a bond that has been growing, a root deep within Eddie, a seed thatâs been there for years but has finally been watered, has had the sun of a long hot summer to grow it; Steve is his best friend. But the flutter of more, of want, sings within him.
Sitting here with him, hands almost touching over the worn top of the kitchen table, burnt turkey in the sink, over cooked potatoes and solid gravy on the counter, itâs as close to looking at that neatly folded thing as he dares, and this time when he stuffs it back inside it hurts.
âSo,â Steve says, with a soft knock-knock on the table. âHave you got plans for tomorrow? Hitting up the stores?â
Eddie canât help the snort of laughter. âUh, no. Just chilling here, I think. The guys asked me to go with them to Indie, but⊠not really in the mood for walking around the mall all day, you know?â
Steve flashes a look, like concern maybe?Â
âOh. Everything okay?â
âNo, yeah, everythingâs fine. Just tired is all. And you know,â he taps his leg, the only shorthand he needs for the shit show that has become his body. He smiles, big and as genuine as he can make it and it does the trick as Steveâs shoulders relax.
âWhat about you? Big plans?â Eddie crosses his arms and leans across the table with a wide grin on his face. âA date, maybe?â It stings his lips to say it.
âYeah, right,â Steve scoffs. âRobin wants to get away from her family for the day, I think she has about a hundred Buckleyâs camped out in her place. Youâre welcome to join us?â
That flutter again. Heâs so close to saying yes before he reins it in.
âNah, I think Iâm just going to laze around in my pyjamas for the day. But thanks for the offer.â
âOkay, well, if you change your mindâŠâ
They spend the rest of the evening throwing out whatâs left of Mrs Harringtonâs prize, and very, very black, turkey, and ordering a pizza. And Eddie doesnât think anymore about that thing folded up inside of him.
#corrodedcoffinfest: Black Friday#corrodedcoffinfest#steddie#eddie munson#steve harrington#gareth stranger things#jeff stranger things#matt stranger things#wayne munson
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Another scene from that fic I haven't posted. Excerpt of this scene under the cut
---
Bucky falls the instant he steps inside the facility. Vertigo takes hold and then heâs falling, falling away from himself and away from the howling storm trying to tear him apart. He falls and the Soldier weathers the storm, the memories hitting him like hail. Itâs just pain. Pain and noise. Heâs done more under worse conditions.
He takes the pain and burns it like fuel as he plunges into the depths, puts the noise where it canât disrupt his focus. The mission is to confirm this facilityâs purpose and purge it. No prisoners. As always, no survivors.
A quarter of them try to fight. They die.
A quarter of them try to run. They die.
The rest beg for their lives. They die.
The last makes a stand in the bare concrete room housing the cryo unit. He manages to separate the Soldier from his guns with a kind of stun baton that leaves the metal arm jolting and uncooperative, but on his next lunge, the Soldier grabs the baton halfway down the shaft with his right hand and crushes it.
His left arm resets and locks in for a punch that sends the man crashing into the cryo pod. Though blood streams from his nose, he fumbles at his waist and unsheathes a knife. The Soldier almost smiles. When the Soldier draws one of the tantos from his back, the man pales. Heâs fast enough to dodge when the Soldier whips it at his head and just barely quick enough to catch the second tanto on his own blade when the Soldier closes the gap.
Caught up in the flurry of blows, the Soldier lets the grin twist his lips under his mask. This man is good. Very, very good. As good as anyone can get with unmodified flesh and bone.
But he is unmodified. Sweat gleams on his face and he pants with each lunge, parry, and dodge. The Soldier feels no exhaustion and gives no quarter, chasing him around the small space and ensuring he never has any delusions of reaching the door.
For a minute, the man thinks heâs holding his own. The Soldier lets him think that. It feels good to stretch these muscles, to wield a knife in a way he hasnât since fighting Captain Americaâ
Fighting Steveâ
âĐĐ”ŃĐ”ŃДДĐș,â the man gasps, and the Soldier freezes. That is what that word means: silence and stillness. The land between shifting waters, immovable and eternal. His muscles lock. The armâs plates lock. Everything locks and his thoughts break against his body in waves.
The man doubles over with his hands on his knees and heaves for breath. Drops of sweat splatter on the floor, joining the blood heâs shed from the dozen small cuts the Soldier has inflicted on him over the course of their fight.
Theyâre fighting. Right. But the man said пДŃĐ”ŃДДĐșâheâs a handler. The Soldier obeys the handler.
âFuck,â the man straightens and glares at the Soldier, âyou are fucking terrifying.â
The Soldier cannot respond, but his muscles are starting to itch with a need to move. There is a headache crawling out from the base of his skull with a sound like a scream.
âYou killed all of them, didnât you?â He peers past the Soldier, towards the door. âI donât understand why they keep saying to bring you back alive. Youâre not worth this.â
He knows: the knife in his hand belongs in the manâs eye, in his brain. But пДŃĐ”ŃДДĐș holds him fast. Canât disobey the handler. Canât move. Canât do anything other than watch as the handler steps close and lines up his own knife.
âFuck that,â the man says, face contorting in anger. âFuck you.â
He drives the knife into the Soldierâs chest.
Pain crashes through the Soldierâs mind in a tsunami that rips away the shackles of пДŃĐ”ŃДДĐș. Clarity, as it always does even without the burn of electricity, follows in its wake: this man isnât his handler. He doesnât have authority to override the mission. The mission is to take no prisoners and leave no survivors and he is still alive.
The Soldierâs left hand slams into the manâs chest and throws him back. Something cracks on impact; a rib, from the manâs grunt and subsequent gasp. With his right hand, the Soldier rips the knife out of his chest. The manâs next sound of pain is cut off by that knife when Soldier drives up into his brain through the fleshy underside of his jaw. A puppet with its strings cut, the man crumples and the Soldier lets him fall. Even lets him keep the knife.
For just a moment, the room is silent, no more echoes of combat bouncing off its bare gray walls. The Soldierâs breathing is the loudest sound.
He spares the next moment to examine the tear in his jacket. The wound beneath is bleeding heavily from him pulling the knife out but, upon inspection, it shows itself to be narrow and small. At the angle he struck at, the blade must have hit bone, to be stopped from going any deeper. Or the man underestimated the Soldierâs muscle density and the force required to rip through it.
The wound requires cleaning, but he halts his steps toward the exit and the medical supplies beyond when a quiet beep reaches his ears. Itâs a sound he knows, a sound deeper than anything a knife can reach. He turns and faces the cryo pod. The beep comes again. Underneath it is the soft hiss of air through narrow tubes. His left hand twitches and he crosses the room in three long strides.
Thereâs a man in the cryo pod. That doesnât make sense; this is the Soldierâs pod, even if he has no intention of using it ever again.
He wipes at the fog on the small window and frowns at the pale, gaunt face framed with ice crystals that rests on the other side. That frown deepens when the face and its tousled blond hair tugs at frosted strings of memory in his mind. As the monitor beeps a soft and infrequent report on the manâs vitals, recognition gives way to vertigo and the Soldierâno, no, James, Bucky, my name is Buckyânearly collapses against the pod. Frigid metal bites into what little exposed skin makes contact but he doesnât feel it because his eyes are fixed on Steve. Steve, whoâs stuck in the pod. Steve, whoâs stripped of his serum and small and week and frozen. Steve, whose vitals are sounding off ever slower while Buckyâs own heartbeat thunders in his ears.
GET HIM OUT. The order screams through his thoughts and tears up everything else on its way. Heâs slamming his fist on the emergency release before he even thinks to move. But the pod doesnât open. Doesnât open when he hits the release again. Doesnât open when he tries the actual command sequence for defrosting. Doesnât open when he slams his fist into it with a shout. And still Steve's vitals are slowing.
Static bites at his focus and black creeps in at the edges of his vision. All he can see is the cryo chamber. Steve. Steve. That coldâhe wouldnât wish it on anyone. It never leaves. Itâs enough to kill Stevie. More than enough.
God, he might already be dead. When was the last beep?
âStay with me,â he begs the silent figure while he claws at every seam in the pod, hunting for purchase. âDonât you dare quit, youâre too stubborn to stop now, you hear me? Too stubborn by half. Stay with me, donât leave.â
He hasnât heard a beep inâ
Inâ
His metal hand smashes into the side of the pod, denting the metal enough to expose a lip he can fasten his fingers around. He rips the panel away with a roar but itâs just an exterior support. There are so many more. So many.
Heâs yelling at Steve, now, so Steve can hear him over the sound of Bucky tearing apart the pod. Screaming for him to stay, to wake up, to stay god please stay, because the monitor isnât beeping anymore andâ
The last hinge gives way with a shriek and the pod door goes crashing across the room. Searingly cold air blasts over him, forcing his eyes into a squint, but he reaches in blindly with his left hand and findsâ
Nothing. The pod is empty. Blinking away tears, he stares at the unoccupied restraints in mute confusion, the adrenaline pumping through his veins only making that confusion spiral faster as frigid mist spreads across the floor. A blink and that mist is gone. The cold is gone.
A glance to the right: no vitals monitor. A glance back at the pod: no Steve.
Thereâs blood roaring in his ears, the ground is swaying under his feet, he canât get enough air, and he's falling.
---
He comes to after a few seconds, finding himself sprawled on his right side. Another few seconds pass before he pieces together what happened and why his right shoulder and head ache. The wound in his chest is still bleeding. Itâs the easiest thing to focus on with his mind fogged by confusion and pain.
Thick drops of blood pool around the fingers of his hand when he brings it near and then fall to the floor. He watches them, transfixed. And then notes how bright red his blood is. A good sign.
With a bit of effort, he gets his left hand braced against the floor in front of him and, fingers scraping on the concrete, slowly levers himself up while putting as little strain on his core as he can. He uses the cryo pod for support as he gets to his feet, leaving a bloody handprint on the metal. The front of his jacket is shiny with blood and the room spins a bit when he stands straight, but itâs manageable once he leans against the wall and takes a few measured breaths. He looks to his right; the cryo pod is empty.
Of course it is. Why wouldnât it be?
#abb art#bucky barnes#winter soldier#the winter soldier#i should actually tag this fic probably uhhh#abb autoresurrection#technically this scene is from book 3 (of 3) and the first one was from book 1#i didn't bother with a background this time đ#my art
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the neighborhood keeps getting smaller | logan howlett
series masterlist âž pt 2
âł summary: after a long journey out into the wilderness, rowan finds himself needing a ride
word count: 2.2k
song: western nights | ethel cain
pairings: old man!logan x original character
content warnings: 18+ content (MDNI), mentions of societal oppression/misdeeds, mentions of war/military, mentions of trauma, i think thatâs pretty much it for this one honestly, just some good old exposition, rowan is a mysterious man, logan is⊠well⊠logan, genuinely not sure what else to tag this with, logan is a limo driver, thunderstorms (lmk if i missed anything!)
âł a/n: i am SO EXCITED to officially be starting this series!! not much actually happens in this chapter but i hope to give some insight into rowanâs character and hints at where the story might go. i hope you all enjoy!!
âââżâââĄÂ°Ëâ§âżâ§Ë°ââââżââ
Itâs raining. Itâs always fucking raining.
Heâs so sick of the bad weather. Itâs like the universe is taunting him. Every time he thinks his life canât get any worse, that heâs really hit rock bottom this time, some other bullshit happens.
Like the goddamn rain.
It was supposed to be a nice day out- leave it to the weather apps to fuck everything up. Now it's raining, and it's probably gonna storm, too. Fuck, he wishes she was here, damn it. He wishes any of them were here.
But they're all gone.
So Logan has nothing left to do but get back in his car and start the drive toward his next destination.
âââżâââĄÂ°Ëâ§âżâ§Ë°ââââżââ
The rain pours down in sheets around him, a downpour that leaves him soaked to the bone. He stands at the edge of the sidewalk, scanning the cars as they pass by, unaware of his plight, caring for nothing but themselves. Even if some poor soul did happen to give a damn- a rare occurrence unless he was paying them- their opinion wouldnât remain so indifferent if they know who he was, what he was.
In one hand rests a plastic bag from the pharmacy and a similar bag from the convenience store off to the side. In the other lies a briefcase, the scratches unnoticeable through the water thatâs coating it. A backpack is slung over one shoulder, weighing him down. He knows it will throw off his balance later, but his left shoulder has been giving him too much trouble lately. Another thing to add to the list of problems he can never quite seem to get rid of.
His eyes flicker toward the pavement, past the rip in his dress pants and his mud covered shoes, down to the paper floating along the side of the street. The ink is smudged, most of the text barely legible, but he can make out the words mutants and extinction, and thatâs all he needs to see before heâs looking away again. With any luck, the steady rainfall will carry that paper straight into a sewer grate.
Itâs been so long now, too long of this life. Still, he becomes caught up in his own mind, barely noticing a car speeding down the side of the road until itâs nearly too late. Heâs been going for too long, becoming tired, distracted. Three days is pushing it out beyond civilization, but he has little choice in the matter. Information does not come to him- he goes to it.
He blinks a few drops of rain out of his eyes, taking a step back as the car drives particularly close to the curb, sending a tsunami of filthy water in his direction that he is barely able to avoid. In his younger years, he would have given them a rude gesture or thrown a particularly unkind set of insults in their direction. Now, he just takes a step forward, returning to his previous position. The crumbling overhang of the local pharmacy behind him would do little to shield him from the rain, and he hasn't bothered carrying an umbrella with him for years. The rain, the cold, the squelch of his shoes when his socks are drenched with water- it doesn't bother him. None of it does, nor has it ever. The rain makes him feel clean of who he is, the sins he's committed, the mistakes he's made. It reminds him that he is alive, reminds him of his purpose, the one thing he has left.
At first he hadnât even been sure what town he was in; only hours after emerging fully from the wilderness did he finally come upon a sign for Horizon City. It was the bearer of the relieving discovery that heâd made it back to the edges of El Paso, the place where heâs somehow ended up spending what he always assumed would be his final days. Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months. He's been searching for so long, yet he refuses to give up. What would be the point, after all that, if he laid down his quest and let the world take him, as it had taken so many others?
He is, admittedly, afraid of the answer.
He doesn't check his phone, doesn't look to see where his driver might be, why itâs taking so long for the person, whose name he glanced at once and has already slipped his mind, to show up in the worst part of town. Perhaps thatâs why, and he reminds himself to tip them well. He always tries to, knowing too well how hard it is to get by in this world. Money is the one thing he isn't short on, not that it does him much good anymore. Not here. The people he needs, the things heâs trying to find- none of it can be bought, no oneâs loyalties turned so easily. But at the very least, he can sleep a little better at night knowing he isn't someone ordinary people will grumble about, the reason they'll go home and complain to their wives, the imbecile who makes them drive all the way to some dingy pharmacy in the middle of nowhere and tips next to nothing, the person who comes into the restaurant at two in the morning and stays for what feels like hours, then leaves without paying the bill.
Rowan Hawthorne is not that man, nor will he ever let himself become him. Even in his youth, in his worst days, he had not lost his respect for humanity. No matter how many wrongs they have done, how many evil deeds have been committed, there is a value to life that he prioritizes above all else.
Well, most else. There are exceptions, of course, as there are to every rule.
Finally, a black limousine pulls up to the curb. The door opens, and a man steps out of the drivers side, unfurling an umbrella as he goes. His hair is dark, almost black at first glance, but brown when the streetlight catches it, dotted with flecks of grey. His face, accompanied by a beard of the same color, looks strangely familiar, the crease of his brows and bags under his eyes showing the testament of time. He's older- around fifty, if Rowan had to take a guess, though those hazel eyes have the weight of far more years behind them. The buttons of his white collared shirt are misaligned, his tie seemingly done by an amateur, the wrinkles of his clothes not quite ironed out fully. His umbrella gets stuck midway through opening and he swears under his breath, struggling with it for a moment before it finally relents. He assumes, perhaps foolishly, that Rowan is the one who called for him, making his way over with a gruff, "You order a ride?"
Rowan simply nods, allowing the man to hold the umbrella over his head as he opens the door for him. The break from the rain is not unwelcome for his clothing, but remains troublesome for his soul. Still, he is not one to ignore a kindness, no matter how misguided.
This man, unlike many he meets, is a mystery he cannot unravel at first glance. Were he anyone else, Rowan would have ignored the weariness that rested on his soul and the tug at his own heart that told him he knew him, and assumed that this was just another lower-class man that didn't have his life together and drowned himself in vices to cope with it. Rowan, unfortunately, knows better than that. Those eyes hold the look of a man who has seen horrors akin to his own, and coming by that was not easy.
He speculates on the manâs origins as he sets his belongings in the car. Perhaps heâs a veteran- no, too young for that, for the scale of destruction he would have had to see to have it overtake him so fully. A criminal? A refugee? A mere troubled soul? Countless possibilities run through his mind, but none of them seem accurate.
Or maybe, maybe-
No.
Rowan sits down, paying no mind to the water that drips onto the seats as the door closes beside him. He'll have to tip extra, though given how much the man looks like he needs it, he was probably going to anyway. His right hand rests atop the handle of his briefcase, his left doing the same to the strap of his backpack.
The driver enters a moment later, shoving his umbrella into the front seat as he pulls up the navigation system. Rowan catches a glimpse of a flask in his center console and a cigar in his pocket, confirming his original suspicions but giving him no further answers.
Perhaps it would be best if he paid this stranger no mind. He has enough issues of his own to attend to.
"Where you headed?" He asks.
Rowan gives him the name of the hotel he's been staying at, an Autograph Collection hotel in the heart of the city. It's a little extravagant for his tastes, but things designed for the wealthy tend to work better and be more discreet than things designed for the poor. Rowan has learned to use this to his advantage in all aspects of his travels, such as the expensive hotel he's being taken to or the limousine he's commissioned to do it. The driver doesn't say anything more, just starts the car and pulls out onto the road.
He stares out the window, watching as the run-down buildings pass them by. Long rides like this are the only time he truly allows himself to relax, or at least aim for the closest thing to it for a man like him. To let his guard down, let his mind wander, is dangerous, especially when he is not alone; but to never allow himself that freedom would be even more treacherous. He learned that lesson the hard way. Besides, it's not like he could do anything productive at the moment. Reading makes him carsick, and listening to anything out in the open would be too risky.
So he sits, and he waits.
Ten minutes pass in this peaceful silence, Rowan's eyes resting on the street outside, when a rustling sound from the front seat draws his attention. The driver fumbles with his phone, fighting to pull it out of his pocket as he checks it at a red light. It's a decision Rowan doesn't appreciate, but he isn't one to argue about matters as trivial as this. Instead he glances back out the window, his eyes lingering on the storm clouds forming in the sky.
The driver catches his gaze in the rearview mirror, adjusting the windshield wipers to the highest setting before speaking up. âWeatherâs not supposed to get any better.â He grunts, shoving his phone back into his pocket. âYou want me to pull over?â
âNo.â
He raises an eyebrow, this time glancing back slightly, a puzzled expression on his face. âYouâre askinâ me to drive straight into a thunderstorm; you know that, right?â
Rowan keeps his gaze steadily locked on the other man as he speaks once more. âIf you wanted to pull over, you wouldnât have asked me.â His tone remains calm, leveled. âTherefore, I request that you continue to drive.â
The driver kind of scoffs in way that tells Rowan he was right about why he was asking, turning back around to look at the road. âItâs your funeral.â He grumbles under his breath, but he obliges anyway.
Iâm pretty sure it would be our funeral, Rowan thinks, but he keeps those words to himself, settling back into his seat with no worries clinging to him. He has faith that the skies will not harm him.
Even as the rain starts pouring down harder and thunder booms through the air, his faith never wavers. Lightning crackles in the distance, flashing across the sky. He can hardly see anything out the window, the storm enveloping almost everything around them. Streams of profanity leave the driverâs mouth. Rowanâs not sure if he thinks he canât hear him or if he simply doesnât care, but either way he supposes the circumstances warrant his colorful language.
In about fifteen minutes, the worst has passed. The rain continues on with the occasional lightning and thunder, but nothing severe enough to make the driver grip the wheel quite as tightly anymore. A glance out the window reveals theyâve just passed Fort Bliss, and Rowan looks away again, keeping his eyes out the opposite window until they pull into the complex housing the group of hotels that includes his temporary residence.
âWeâre here.â The driver says, moving to get out of the car, but pausing. He turns around, watching as Rowan unbuckles his seatbelt and leans forward.
He pulls out his wallet, counting out the bills. One, two, three hundred. He pauses, briefly, then adds another four- seven, a lucky number. That should suffice. He holds them out to the driver, a stack of twenties and fives.
The other manâs eyes narrow, eyeing the money warily. He says nothing, glancing between the stack of bills and the man holding them.
Rowan waits, expectantly, the rain pattering down on the windows in their silence. The driver looks back at the money, his jaw tensing slightly. Then he snatches it from his hand- gone, in the blink of an eye.
Satisfied, Rowan retracts his hand, leaning back into his seat. He tucks away his wallet, getting ahold of all his things before reaching for the handle to open the door.
âI got it.â The driver says with a huff, grabbing his umbrella and stepping out of the car, coming around to the other side. Rowan waits, allowing him to open the door and shield him with his umbrella as he takes the few steps towards the overhang of the hotel before him.
âThank you.â Rowan says with a brief incline of his head. Then he leaves, disappearing with the last of the rain.
tags: @flowersforbucky @namikyento @thinkinonsense @sweetverine @wchswift @pidgeypidge-pidge @gewrgia-black @atleastpleasetelephone @r0ttedcherubim @cenviswasteland @logaenhowlett @th3mrskory @wlwloverwrites @rosenclaws @lostinlovingrevery @lubdubology @unlikeable-female-character
(this is the taglist for my but one out of twenty isnât so bad (is that so bad?) series. if anyone would like to be added to or removed from this taglist, please let me know!)
#cas series#logan howlett#wolverine#logan howlett x oc#logan howlett x original character#wolverine x oc#wolverine fanfiction#logan howlett fanfiction#old man logan
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Wildest dreams, pt. 28
Summary: Paul's gone. While the search for him is ongoing, Y/N is back home, awaiting his return.
Warnings: angst, fluff, sexual innuendos, swearing, talking about death, mental health issues and suicide
Wildest Dreams Masterlist
ââââââââââââ
Tucking her legs under her, Y/N stares out the window. Itâs been unusually cold lately, the skies turning darker with each passing day. The clouds are getting lower, spreading among the trees surrounding her home. Whenever autumn comes knocking, Y/N welcomes the rainy days and moody weather with both arms. She didnât detest the cold as she once did, because Paul would always hold her a little bit closer. Heâd often kiss her until they both struggled to keep their hands to each other and she had to beg for mercy before they were both late for work. Itâs not like heâd kiss her any less in the summer, itâs just that heâs aware his warmth in already warm days is harder for Y/Nâs body to handle. Itâs why heâd give her space from time to time. Y/N hated that. Thatâs why sheâd turn down the AC to freezing cold temperatures all the time just so she could enjoy Paulâs cuddles more.
She misses his cuddles now.
Itâs been five days since Paul went out of the Cullenâs house and shifted into a wolf. When heâd lose his temper, Paul would be back by nightfall and Y/N never needed to worry. This felt different. Jacob didnât tell her much at first, trying to sugarcoat what theyâd discovered, but she wasnât letting up. She could never let up when Paul was involved.
âYou need to hear it from him, not me,â Jacob sighs.
Pinching the bridge of her nose, Y/N frowns deeply. âI donât know whatâs happening, but I know I feel that his heart is shattered and I -â, she pauses as a sob threatens to escape her. âI never feel his emotions unless theyâre at an extreme and his pain is suffocating me right now.â
âItâs a deeply personal thing I canât imagine Paul would want you to talk to us about.â
Chuckling dryly, she points a finger at Jacobâs chest. âYou have no idea what he or I would want. You werenât here when we were building this relationship from the ground up! You werenât here as we grew up and you sure as hell werenât here when we learned each otherâs hearts by heart! So donât tell me what he would or wouldnât want, because I know what he wants, and that is me! And if he is in this state because he believes heâs done something that will take me away from him, I need to know what the fuck it is so I can convince him it isnât his fault and thatâ,â belting over she lets a shuddered breath pass her lips. Clutching her chest, Y/Nâs knees hit the ground with a loud sob echoing throughout the room. Jacobâs quick to wrap his arms around her, looking at Edward in distress.
âSheâs overwhelmedâ, Edward explains before glancing at Jasper, who seems devastated by the constant waves of pure anguish coming off of Y/N.
In the blink of an eye, Jasper is beside Y/N, his hand running up and down her back as she gasps for breath. All the pain and confusion coursing through her blood is nearly enough to make anyone insane. Even Jasper is barely holding it together as he takes some of her pain, replacing the tsunami of negative emotions with a sense of tranquility.
It doesnât take long for Y/Nâs breathing to return to normal, but her tears donât dry. Jasper can manipulate her emotions, but he canât trick her body into forgetting everything.
âJust tell me,â she pleads. âI need to know how to bring him back home.â
âHeâs found out youâd possess a rare ability if you were to join our family,â Carlisle answers, and her eyes find him immediately. âOne that the Volturi would never allow to exist. That means theyâd kill you if you were to change.â
Wiping her tears with the back of her hand, she furrows her eyebrows. âThen I wonât shift and it wonât be a problem.â
âAro will know,â Alice chimes in. âHe can read every thought anyoneâs ever had just by touch. Heâd find out about you. Even as a human, youâd be a threat. The potential you carry is enough for him to act.â
Letting out a heavy breath, Y/N shakes her head. âHow do you even know I might have this power?â
âWe asked a member of our extended family to visit,â Alice replies. âWe didnât want to take risks when it came to you. A Quileute imprint.â
âAnd if you didnât? If he never told you what potential I carry? If we never even mentioned the possibility of me being part of your family?â
âYouâd have never gone through what Paul saw the day he imprinted on you.â
âA self-actualizing prophesy,â Y/N nods. âIs it really as bad as it seems?â Y/N asks Alice. âPaul has always seemed traumatized by it, but heâs my imprint. Is it really a horrid way to die?â
For the first time, Y/N noticed emotions in the Cullens. The Cullens' stony faces are difficult to read by humans, but Y/N can no longer ignore the emotions she notices in them. Itâs on all their facesâcompassion and pity most of all.
âOkay thenâ, Y/N forces a small smile as she uses Jacobâs shoulders to help herself stand. Jasper doesnât hesitate, holding her up as she stumbles during her attempt.
âWe need to find my fiancĂ©,â Y/N purses her lips. âJacob,â she sighs. âPlease find him and bring him back to me.â
âI will do my best,â he promises. âBut itâs not easy when we get into this headspace. It once took me an entire summer to return to my human form.â
Nodding, she swallows thickly. âTell him I need him. Tell him I love him and I donât care about anything other than spending the rest of my life with him. I want to get married and I want us to live every single day to the fullest.â
âIâll gather the rest of the pack still willing to shift,â Jacob pecks her forehead. âWe can cover more ground and drag him back if necessary.â
As Jacob walks toward the door, heâs stopped as her fingers coil around his pinky fingerâthe only part of him she could reach as he all but ran to fulfill his promise.
âDonât let him see me breaking down. He canât ever know.â
Ever since, Y/N waited for her soulmate to return to her. Embry, Quill, and Seth joined Jacob in their search the very first night. Sam and his eldest son waited for Leah and her husband, Owen, to come from Port Angeles before joining the very next day.
Emily would visit with her youngest every morning. Y/Nâd have her dad over for lunch, but it didnât help distract her as much. The greatest thing Sam has ever done for her was give her and Paul his blessing to clue her father in. She didnât tell him she was marked for certain death. It would kill him to know, but he knows enough to be aware her life is in danger. She told him Paulâs off with the pack trying to hunt down a rogue cold one, protecting the tribe. Kim and Jared would come over every other night for dinner. Y/N imagines itâs because they feel guilty about Jaredâs lack of involvement in the search for Paul. Heâs not shifted in so long, the human part of him is much stronger than the wolf. Y/N supposes they didnât want to halt his aging now when they finally seem to look the same age. She canât take it to heart. Perhaps sheâd hate if Paul shifted after a decade too.
Claire and her wife visited on the second day. Sheâs never been too close to Claire as she and Andrea live far, about a five-hour drive in one direction. They mostly see each other for holidays, but Y/N appreciated her visiting very much. Catching up with them put her mind at ease for a few hours, long enough to maintain some semblance of sanity.
Renesmee showed up with Bella for a few hours on the third day, bringing loads of chocolates Edward knew Y/N liked. Apparently, heâs joined the search earlier that day with Emmett and Rosalie.
The only ones who never left her home were Daisy and Jasper. It would likely drive Embry crazy if he knew his imprint had been sitting beside a vampire this entire time, especially when that vampire was Jasper. Heâs apparently less stable with his diet compared to others in his family, but Y/N likes it when heâs close by. If it werenât for him micromanaging her emotions whenever they threatened to kill her, Y/N would have lost herself. Alice came and went, unable to handle the smell of wolves for too long. The smell of several wolves mixed together is much worse than Jacob's scent, she said.
âHeâs going to come backâ, Daisy hands her a cup of warm tea. Itâs nothing compared to holding Paulâs hand, but if she closes her eyes for a few minutes, she can pretend heâs there, safe with her.
Daisy sits with her, feeling her loss. Embryâs never been away this long before. She canât imagine how hard it must be for Y/N when she canât even be sure Paul is alright when she can feel heâs in pain. At least Embry isnât in danger and he isnât heartbroken to the point of being stuck in his wolf form. Heâll definitely come back home. Paul might not. She doesnât say that openly, but she carries that worry. Meeting Y/N was scary as hell, especially with how highly Embry used to talk about her. She knows they had a mutual crush on each other when they were younger, but it never seemed to work for them. Embry told her he didnât want to mess up his friendship with Jacob, who was evidently in love with Y/N, but he also didnât want to risk losing Y/N as a friend. It was easier to admire her from a distance.
Itâs not like Daisy is insecure about her relationship with Embry now, but before she knew what imprinting was, it did cross her mind that Y/N might be competition. She only found out about imprints when Embry spilled the beans about Paul imprinting on Y/N when she first came back to town. He wasnât aware she was close enough to hear him and the way he mocked Paul for it, but she heard it. It wasnât hard making the connection about their own situation. Smiling, she remembers how stupid his face looked when she called him her imprint in bed that night. He nearly choked on his own saliva before she kissed him harder than ever before. She wishes he was with her to kiss him harder than that. Jared didnât shift and leave Kim, so why did Embry? Shaking her head, she puts those thoughts away. Y/N is a close friend, possibly her closest friend, and sheâs definitely Embryâs favorite person aside from herself. This is a small sacrifice for someone they both care about.
Jasper watches the two girls from the couch. He can sense the quickly shifting emotions in Daisy every day, but none of them are malicious. Itâs evident she simply misses her husband. Y/N is a hurricane compared to Daisy. Sheâs impossible to predict and the devastation her emotions can cause is incredibly difficult to contain. Heâs never truly delved much into imprint connections, perhaps because Jacob and Renesmee had a simple relationship. Renesmee didnât pay him much attention until she ended things with her high school boyfriend. After graduation, thatâs when she decided she wanted himâŠselfishly so. She never quite unlatched from him. Renesmee was more or less obsessed with him, jealous of Y/Nâs friendship with him, but she was never in any pain regarding Jacob. As for the wolf side of the relationship, Jacob just wanted to protect her and make her happy. He didnât necessarily love her the way Renesmee loved him, but he wouldnât ever break her heart, even though his own wasnât whole. Jasper always knew Jacob loved someone else and despite the imprinting tying him to his niece, Jacob never forgot the one he wanted truly. Seeing Jacob and Y/N in the same room revealed everything to him â he wanted what he could never have. And now heâs off, making sure Y/N can have some form of a happy ending as if she wonât die soon.
Never before did Jasper care much about humans, knowing theyâre around only for a brief part of his immortal life. Very few did he care to befriend and, for some reason, Y/N felt like a person he wanted to be around. She didnât make him thirsty, itâs her heart that speaks to him. So many people walk around hiding their true feelings, but she feels everything so clearly and she refuses to pretend otherwise. Itâs rare to find someone like that. He has observed her mainly depressed in the time he's known her, but he wonders about the potential of being around her when she's truly happy.? He could get drunk on candid joyfulness Y/N is capable of feeling. Perhaps heâs going to be invited to the wedding when Paul returns. Sheâll certainly be cheerful on that day and he has to know the other side of this despair. He can't believe that he cannot replace this pit of aching with ecstasy and serenity.
Alice finds him unreasonable for staying with Y/N inside the house she shares with Paul, but he canât bring himself to leave yet. Not before sheâs reunited with her fiancĂ©. Leaving now is like playing with destiny. She deserves the relief heâs cautiously giving her, making sure she can feel her emotions without allowing them to cross the borders of what she can safely handle. Y/N needs him, even if others do not agree. Until Paul walks over the threshold of this house, Jasper will not leave. Y/N doesnât demand it either. He can feel sheâs grateful for his presence, for taking the edge off the very sharp knife her emotions tend to become.
So he stays, watching over the girls as the lighting tears apart the sky.
âWhat would happen if I were to join your family and Aro was,â Y/N pauses as she turns to look at Jasper, who seemed rather surprised she was talking about it. âWell, if he was eliminated, would it really be such a problem for me? For your family?â
Staring at Jasper, Y/N watches as his lips spread in a thin line and then into a genuine smile. Sheâs definitely gone mad. âYouâd want to take on the Volturi?â
âI want to take on Aro,â she corrects. âIf he was alone, heâd be easier to eliminate.â
âTo kill, you mean,â Jasper states.
Shaking her head, she places the empty teacup down. âI understand the chances of it are minimal, but say I accept to be one of you and I get this magical power of making vampires human⊠Canât I make him human?â
âWould he, like, just become a vampire again?â Daisy asks.
Jasper rubs his chin. The more time he spends around her, Y/N swears he does these little gestures for her benefit, something to take away from the ungodly beauty he possesses, to make him seem more human.
It's impossible to turn them into vampires after they have been cured. However, the rest of them would know. The entire army would be ready to dismember us to get to you.â
âNot if he disappears,â Y/N tries. âWe could hold him hostage until he dies a human death.â
âThatâs darkâ, Daisy notes.
âItâs nothing compared to what heâs been doing for much longer than youâve been alive,â Jasper argues. âHe deserves far worse.â
âCould it work?â Y/N asks as Jasperâs phone lights up. âAlice?â The hope in her voice is so easily detectable that it makes Jasper almost frown when he sees itâs a message from Edward.
We found Paul.
âNo. Edward says they found Paul.â
âAre they coming home?â Y/N jumps, running toward Jasper. âCall him, call him!â
Smiling as her hope brings alive the butterflies in his stomach, Jasper dials his brother immediately.
âKind of hard to talk nowâ, Edward grunts as a loud growl sounds.
âIâm with Y/N. Youâre on speaker.â
âWhere is heâ, Y/N grabs Jasperâs wrist, bringing her lips closer to the phone. âIs he okay?â
âCanadaâ, Edward sighs as the growling grows louder.
âIs that him?!â she exclaims. âPaul Lahote, you stop that right now!â
On command, the growls turn into whimpers and she canât help the way her chin trembles with the pained sound leaving her fiancĂ©.
âCome home,â she says softly. âI know you believe you put me in this situation, but thatâs not true.â Sniffling, she pauses as if to wonder if saying it in front of everyone is unwise. It doesnât take long for her to decide, choosing to prioritize Paul over her vulnerability. âIf you and I never fell in love, Iâd have been dead a long time ago. Paul, I came back home for a few months to tie up loose ends.â
Glancing at Daisy who stood by her, Y/N swallows thickly. âI was struggling with anxiety and depression. And I didnât feel like I had anyone in this world other than my dad. I justâŠI was in therapy, but it didnât really feel like it was working. The meds never really helped either. I was just soâŠso lonely.â
âY/Nâ, Daisy rests a hand on her shoulder as a show of support.
âI was planning on taking my life and then you showed up in that forest with your stupid smile and gorgeous eyes and suddenly I had one more mystery to solve.â Smiling meekly, Y/N sighs. âBefore long, I was falling in love with you and my friends returned to me and in that time, I started falling in love with life again. You saved my life, Paul Lahote, and I hate how cheesy that sounds, but you did. And whatever time I got now is still a lot longer than it would have been if we never met.â
Biting her lower lip, she closes her eyes. âYou made me happier than I believed was possible. I love you and I want to marry you. I want to marry you and become your wife as we planned. Come back to me so we can enjoy this time we have left.â
âI will.â
She recognizes Paulâs voice immediately.
âIâll be home soon. Weâll do whatever you want.â His voice is shaky, imbued with heavy emotions heâs attempting to keep under control.
Smiling, she nods. âA beach wedding would have been great, but the weather might not agree.â
âIâll make sure it agrees,â Paul sniffles.
âWhere we had our first date?â
âSounds perfect!â
Neither spoke for a few moments. Each breath seems to hang in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Itâs the kind of silence that carries weight, a palpable tension that both parties are acutely aware of but hesitate to break. Y/N inhales sharply as Paul breaks the silence.
âI love you too.â
âI knowâ, she replies quietly.
âWith all my heart.â
âI believe you.â
âIâll see you soon,â Paul promises.
Nodding, she holds her breath as tears rush to her eyes. She canât let Paul hear her crying. Heâs carrying far too much guilt already and her tears shouldnât be part of the load. Swallowing the growing lump at the back of her throat, she replies sweetly, her tone laced with all the love she wants to give him.
âIâll hold you to that.â
__________________
Tags:  @b-tchymoonâ @squiddalooâ @abbiesxoxâ @kellyashcroftâ @the-chaotic-cowââ @xxxjaexxxââ @captainrogers-19ââ @bexloxlââ @llovergirlllââ @adaydreamaway08ââ @sunsetevergreenââ @volturiwolfââ @twihard08ââ @galacticstxrdustââ @sorrow-and-blissââ @ireadthensuetheauthorsââ @missxmarvelousââ @locokocaââ @unstablekayââ @makhaiaââ @venusdelaroixââ @avadakadabra93ââ @tearsforhanââ @a-marie-aââ @lendeluxeââ @seagulls-cornerââ @jdbxwsââ @konigslilslutââ @rottenstyxââ @itsmytimetoodreamââ @dreamerwasfoundââ @convolutingsââ  @thingfromloveââ @jennyamanda8ââ @havecourage-darlingââ @luvr-exeââ @alittlejudgementalââ @turningtoclownââ @emptydoorsandpaintedwindowsââ @marvelmenarebeautifulââ @bringmethe-worldââ @alitaarââ @sugasthreedollarkookieââ @chloe-skywalkerââ @heyheyheygggââ @feral-ratatattat-kingââ @queereddieââ @fandomrulesall-blogââ @queenotaku27ââ @dcgoddessââ @lilac-crowns-blogââ @small-town-wayward-daughterââ @yourqueentpââ @boreddemigoddââ @chaosgoblinreblogsthingsââ @felinegrateââ @lunajay33ââ @gtfoanaââ @hpboysslut2707ââ @tpwk-harry-stylesââ @amberpanda99ââ @let-love-bleeds-redââ @mo-s-blogâââ @nj01ââ @myheadsinanotherworldââ @problematicpastryââ @witchybabel
A/N: No clue why Tumblr is being a bitch today, I don't even know if the tags are working because it doesn't let me do my usual thing, so if you're on the tag list, please let me know if you got a notification or not. On a side note, I've had the worst stomach bug since Friday, so forgive me for the grammar, I beg for leniency. As usual, anyone wanting to be tagged can comment on the post, just make sure your blog visibility settings are on and that your blog hasnât been flagged (blurry pfp is usually your clue that you have been flagged) as those are most common reasons why tumblr wonât let you be tagged. Also keep in mind changing your @ might mean you lose your tag since Tumblr acts like your blog no longer exists due to the change.
Part 29
#paul lahote#paul lahote x reader#twilight fandom#twilight fanfiction#twilight saga#twlight#paul lahote series#paul lahote imagine#paul lahote angst#jacob black#the cullens#paul lahote fanfic#paul lahote fic#jasper hale#imprint#imprinting
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Saudade
â Paring; Lt. Simon âGhostâ Riley x male reader. Fandom; Call of Duty: Modern Warfare II
Saudade: (n.) a feeling of longing, melancholy, or nostalgia; longing to be near something or someone that is distant, or that has been loved and then lost; âthe love that remainsâ.
Quote; âFuck you, Simon.â
Disclaimer; middle of a war, angst, sad, guns, violence, descriptions of war, childhood friends, childhood trauma, kind of PTSD, blood, fighting, fear, stabbing, no use of Y/N, conflict, arguing.
Word Count: 0.9k.
Masterlist
A/N: I read the very first lines of this @charliemwrites fic and this came to my mind. I havenât read the rest yet, but inspo from them. Also, please send in requests. Iâm desperate for ideas.
The sound of gunfire wasnât foreign. Not to Simon. However, even with ear coverage, the headache couldnât be stopped. The adrenaline of the bloodshed kept his mind off the pain. It was moments like these where his mind was empty and only set on surviving and carrying out the mission.
Simonâs back hit the wall as he took a brief breather before he busted into the room, firing at the first man he saw in a Shadow uniform. His gun was aimed at the wrong person at the wrong time because he was quickly met with a hit, sending him to the ground with a groan of pain. He tried to shoot whoever the perpetrator was, but the enemy pried the rifle from his hands and pinned him to the ground, holding their own gun to his head. All Simon could see were the soldierâs eyes, but even those let off more emotion than would be ideal in a situation like this. Simon struggled, but his struggle did him no good against the body weight of the enemy atop him.
The soldier didnât shoot, though. Thatâs why Simon was trying to act fast, as he managed to get his hand out from under the enemy, and he grabbed the knife on his leg and lodged it into the manâs thigh. Instinctively, the stranger yelled out and slammed the handgun down against the lieutenant's head. The mask cracked and Simon cringed in pain.
âYou fuckinâ piece of shit!â The soldier yelled, and he angrily ripped the mask from the other manâs face. He tore everything off Simon's face, destroying his comm and headset, ripping the balaclava, and using the broken mask to stab him in the shoulder. Simon fought him, tossing his head around to stop him and even grabbing him by the face to make him let go. The soldier pointed the gun back at Simonâs bare forehead. He held Simonâs wrist tightly, stabbing the other piece of his mask into his palm, making Simon let go.
As the enemyâs rage calmed and his breathing steadied, his hand wavered. His eyes widened ever so slightly before sharpening again. âWhat are you doing here?â His tone was harsh, as if he were talking to a private. Simon took it as a demand in order to win rather than the manâs curiosity.
âYouâre a dumb fuck if you think you can get information out of me in the middle of a warzone,â Simon spat out through gritted teeth.
The soldier paused before they lowered their balaclava. Simonâs eyes widened in fear as all the unwanted memories rushed back to him like a tsunami. His breath became labored. Everything he wanted to forget was on top of him, pointing a pistol at his head. He started thrashing more. âGet off of me! Get the hell off of me, you dickhead!â He shouted angrily.
âStop it,â he says calmly. However, all gentleness was gone when Simon continued to fight. âI said stop!â He punched Simon with his full strength. He grabbed Simonâs face harshly, making him look at him. âYou can run. Forget everything bad. But Iâll be damned if you try to forget me, you cowardly bitch. I fought for you. Iâm the only reason you lived through your pathetic childhood and you abandoned me. You left me with everything I fought with you through. I wouldnât be here if it wasnât for you! I couldâve had a happy childhood, but I was too busy fending for your bitch ass.â All that pent-up aggression was being spewed through a tight jaw and angry eyes.
Simon was desperate to get away. He looked like a little boy again, trying to get away from whatever his father brought home. âI had to! You donât get it!â Another hit from the gun shut Simon up. The lieutenant knew exactly what he had done was wrong, and he knew that the man in front of him had every right to be angry. Even though Simon was the reason his youth was corrupted, they never split. He was like a brother to him. One who helped him through all, yet Simon left him with everything the other protected him from.
The soldier got back to his feet and pulled his mask back up. He turned around and was ready to walk away from his opponent, unable to pull the trigger, even though he was overwhelmed with a burning hatred for Simon. Angry at him for putting him through his fucked-up family even though they werenât related. He still had the urge to protect him.
âFuck you, Simon. I hope it all comes back to you at night. I hope it keeps you up.â He grumbled as he limped out of the room, leaving Simon there on the floor.
#god complex 12#x reader#x y/n#x you#x male reader#cod#cod mw2#cod x male reader#cod mwii#cod modern warfare#ghost x you#ghost x male reader#ghost fanfiction#cod ghost#ghost call of duty#ghost mw2#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#ghost cod#ghost#simon riley x male reader#simon âghostâ riley x male reader#simon riley x male reader#simon ghost riley x male reader#simon riley x y/n#simon riley x you#simon riley x reader#simon âghostâ riley#simon riley#call of duty x reader
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canon au eoin-survives-the fall hc ish ???
Just picture Augustin looking at Eoin and paddy (as a pair) and him trying to figure them out and ofc his first thought is paddy is the moon and Eoin is the sun ??? Besides of the straightforward comparison just by looking at them and seeing them behave, there's no denying that paddy seems to shine when he's hit by eoin's light, whenever he is around the man
And that seems all fair and good, but something is not quite right anyway? Because the sun and the moon don't orbit each other the way they do - you could argue they helplessly follow one another, never quite meeting but. Even if unsaid, Augustin would propose there's actually something there, paddy and eoin are meeting (however one wished to interpret that). So the analogy doesn't fully track and he shouldn't even think about it that much bc like. Who cares, right? Except he does, and he keeps looking at them and observing them and he wriggles himself sort of next to them whenever he's allowed to, or between them, and he pays attention but still can't put his finger on it
Until there's a mission with both Irishmen leading different squads and augustin happens to see with his very eyes how Eoin mcgonigal goes absolutely feral when paddy does not show up at rendezvous point with his unit. He doesn't scream but he growls, and he very much still raises his voice, firm and with authority, and it booms through the desert, and Augustin literally sees him get all up on reg fucking seekings' personal space, grab him and rough him up against the nearest surface, yell and demand about paddy in more languages than augustin knew eoin was fluent in
-- until paddy does show up. A bit dirty and with probably some bruises, but very much alive and kicking
And everything in eoin mcgonigal's body comes undone, all pliant and invitingly gentle again - even if he does get on Paddy's case about his recklessness
And that's when Augustin comes to the conclusion that whereas paddy is indeed the moon (lunatic that he is,) Eoin is but the earth - they are constantly orbiting each other, eoin's gravity pulls paddy in at every turn.
But most importantly, Eoin needs Paddy the way the earth needs the moon to control the tides. With them gone, tsunamis would wreak havoc inside Eoin mcgonigal, taking anyone who dares come close in the process.
It's somehow fascinating and, dare he say, somewhat alluring.
#sas rogue heroes#eoin mcgonigal#paddy mayne#augustin jordan#the writing is kinda all over the place because this was a sudden vision i was hit by#and i just word vomited the whole rant to my bestie on discord so shout out to her#achinghcarts#for hearing me out#anyways never not thinking about themâą#and by them i also very much mean all three of them okay like. they all have two hands ???#and im very much here for augustin playing the curious card to explain why hes suddenly fascinated by these two weirdos (affectionate)#and their dynamic
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i love dove so much ;-; đȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘđȘ i want more of her pls
THANK YOU!
93 for đȘ:
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âOkay,â Buck sighs. âWell⊠I still donât know if I fully get it. But it doesnât matter. Youâre home, heâs home, so⊠Iâm happy.â
Eddie smiles. Itâs tight. Nervous. Like he knows heâs gotten away with a flimsy explanation, which isnât usually a grace Buck affords to him. Buckâs actually not entirely sure why heâs letting it drop so easily. Maybe because heâs got things on his brain he doesnât quite want to tell Eddie, either.Â
âIâm happy, too,â Eddie says.Â
I realized that heâs just kind of⊠Heâs just kind of sadâŠÂ
âThen thatâs what matters,â Buck replies, relinquishing any hopes of learning more.Â
ii.
Christopher takes Buckâs words to heart. From there on out, heâs always kind to Dove. Even when she is kind of objectively annoying in a way that makes Buck want to call up Maddie and apologize for having once been young in her proximity. Because, wow? Once Chris starts giving her attention, Dove sort of becomes a pest.Â
Sheâs kind of obsessed with Chris. Talks about him all the time. Thinks heâs the coolest person on earth. Buck and Eddie are completely old news. Did you know Chris learned how to make robots at school? Did you know Chris is better at video games than you? Itâs constant and, frankly, adorable. Much better than her glaring at him like heâs a crooked picture hanging on the wall, anyway.Â
For his part, Chris seems to quietly enjoy the attention. Itâs always been just him. Heâs always been the baby. Once he gets over the fact that there can in fact be two kids around, he takes it in stride.Â
âHe told me he can basically show her everything he likes and make her cool,â Eddie tells Buck one shift at work. âLike sheâs a puppy to raise to do fun tricks.â
âHmm,â Buck considers this. âI guess heâs not wrong. Sheâs still at a pretty impressionable age.â
âYeah, I didnât know whether or not to be concerned,â Eddie admits.Â
âI mean, as long as heâs like⊠Reasonable?â Buck posits. âLike, not forcing any opinions or hobbies on her? Then I guess? Whatever? I think she wants to be like him regardless.â
Eddie shrugs. âHe kind of likes that about her.â
âDiaz control freak genes are strong,â Buck nods.Â
âOh, fuck off,â Eddie rolls his eyes. âWait until she learns what a clipboard is. Then she can adopt your style of control freak.â
âHey, you jest, but thatâs not a bad idea. Itâs never too early to learn about effective organization and project management.â
Eddie rolls his eyes. But the gesture, Buck finds, is fond.Â
iii.
They do end up taking both kids to the beach. Itâs not really warm enough to enjoy the water properly, but they pack a lunch, and set out to have a good day regardless.Â
Buck purchases and insists that Dove wear a lifejacket. Even when she complains that it looks silly. He doesnât actually care. He, for one, will never take ocean safety lightly again in his life. Sure, sheâs had a few swimming lessons in a pool. With no currents or waves. No undertow. The ocean is a totally different beast. One Buck is all too familiar with.Â
Chris tells her as much when they pick him and Eddie up and sheâs still grumbling out the life jacket.Â
âItâs puffy,â she complains. âI donât need one in swimming lessons.â
âWell, I donât know,â Chris says. âI think itâs kind of smart to have. One time, Buck and I got hit by a really big wave called a tsunami. I wish Iâd been wearing one then.â
Buck and Eddie tense in unison. Neither of them had planned on terrifying her today.Â
âReally?â Dove asks.Â
âOh, yeah,â Chris nods. âIt was super scary even though Iâm a good swimmer. Better to be safe than sorry.â
A phrase Buck has used no less than ten times in explaining the necessity of this less-than-stylish piece of apparel.Â
âOkay, Chris,â Dove says, sated. âThatâs pretty smart.â
Wow.Â
Eddie looks at Buck and snorts, amused.Â
âJokes on you,â Buck grumbles. âIâm sending her to your place next time she needs convincing of anything.â
Eddie shrugs. âIâm not complaining.â
âȘïžâȘïžâȘïž
Itâs a really nice afternoon, even if it is a little chilly. Dove puts her feet in the ocean and makes a shrill giggle-shriek combo noise when a receding wave pulls sand over her toes. Eddie convinces her to look for sea glass.Â
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