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#comfort fanfic
raspberryroo1312 · 25 minutes ago
everything I write turns into hurt/comfort and I think that indicates something about my mental state that I’m not prepared to come to terms with
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ao3feed-romione · an hour ago
Written in the Stars
Written In The Stars by skaioctavia
"It's okay, Mione," he said on her ear, although he knew he was telling her a lie. Nothing was okay. Everything seems to be falling apart around them.
But everything could be falling apart, as long as Ron had Hermione by his side."
Words: 2856, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Categories: F/M
Characters: Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Harry Potter, Dobby, Draco Malfoy
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Additional Tags: Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort
Read Here:
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hey guys! i posted again! i wasn’t gonna post this today but it’s @notfaulkingaround ‘s birthday so this is a gift! sort of... i hope you like it mae :)
The door slams shut before Sid can even stand up from the table so he’s left all alone in a silent kitchen. Rain patters outside still and he vaguely recognises the sound of Sullivan’s car starting then rolling away on the wet gravel. Their breakfasts sit abandoned on the table and Sid feels sick to look at them.
He didn’t even get his kiss.
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threshasaurus-writes · 3 hours ago
Love, Monsters & Mischief
Chapter 2: Meatball Sandwiches
When Doctor Doom abducts Hawkeye and Captain America, it sets off an unstoppable roller coaster of events for the Avengers.
An impostor, unrequited love, power outages, arc reactor mishaps, super villain scheming, Hulk rampages, Deadpool tirades, wedding proposals, and a very unexpected new addition to the family all feature as the heroes do their best to weather the storm of Love, Monsters & Mischief!
(This is The Big One—our Marvel fic from back in the day, now lightly revised and ready for the world to read at last! The finished fic will be 90+ chapters (not a typo), with at least two chapters posted each week. ♥)
Rated Mature, will be at least 475k, Stony, Thorki, Hulkeye, Spideypool, Eventual DevilSpideyPool, Loki & Bruce Banner Friendship, Steve Rogers & Thor Friendship, Implied/Referenced Sex, Magical Mpreg, Pregnant Loki, Fluff and Angst, Domestic Avengers, Plot Twists, Friendship/Love, Emotional Baggage, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Feels, Everyone Is Gay, Steve And Tony Are Basically Peter’s Adopted Parents, Genderfluid Loki, Daniel Way Deadpool, Teen Peter Parker, Blood and Injury, Hurt Tony, Hurt Loki, Hurt Clint, Protective Thor, Protective Steve, Arc Reactor Issues, Norse Mythology Loki Lore, Guilty Tony, Guilty Loki, Angst Muffin Peter, Tired Bruce, Supervillains, Polyamory Negotiations, Marriage Proposal, Step-Sibling Incest, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Everyone Needs A Hug, Longfic
Chapter 2 is here on AO3!
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It's Delicate: Part III
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Summary: Spencer Reid finds himself at a gas station at 2:00 am, thinking he’s only leaving with a cup of crappy coffee. But something taped to the door catches his eye. Spencer leaves the gas station with more than he intended: the chance at a friend, and maybe something more along the way.
Word Count: 3.9
Author’s Note: Here's Part 3!! This was super difficult for me to get out, but I think I'm happy with it. I rewrote it like 3 or 4 times
It's Delicate: Part III
Spencer notices everything. He’s been trained to notice the slightest change in his environment. He supposes that his profiler training has helped him be more comfortable in social situations. But still, Spencer feels like a fish out of water as he pushes the door to the bookstore open. He knows he should feel at home when he’s in a bookstore, but his heart seems to be racing. Spencer tries to quiet his nerves before he can feel himself running away.
Thinking that it might be a good idea to distract himself, Spencer walks over to the bookshelf filled with books from the floor to the ceiling. He runs his fingers along the spine of the books. Some are old and used, and others are well cared for with their enabled and embossed writing on the spines. He recognizes some titles, but others aren’t too familiar. There’s a whole world of books out there that Spencer has yet to explore. There’s a couple other patrons in the store, an older woman who sits on the soft rocking chair in the back corner and a young woman who already has a pile of books tucked under her arms.
Looking around, Spencer walks towards the back of the store where a glowing sign directs him to the restroom. He goes into the Men’s Room and locks the door behind him. Spencer looks at his reflection in the mirror. He wouldn’t consider himself a vain man, nor would he consider himself aloof about his appearance. He’s very much aware of the deep lines that collect around his eyes and the dark bags underneath. Spencer runs his fingers through his hair, wondering if he should have gotten a haircut. He likes the way his longer hair looks. It took so long after getting released from prison to get his curls back. His hair is the one part of his physical appearance that Spencer can say he likes; the rest he’s a little less than indifferent about on a good day.
Spencer shuts the light off in the bathroom and heads back to the front of the store. He approaches the store clerk, who sits behind the counter. She’s talking with the young woman who had the pile of books tucked under her arms. Spencer looks around the store, trying to find a sign for where the book club meets. He realizes that he doesn’t even know what Y/N looks like. He decides to take out his phone to text Y/N that he’s here. Spencer walks to the short stories section of the store and looks for the “P”s. Once he finds the book he’s looking for he takes a photo and attaches it to the message.
Spencer: How have I not discovered this place sooner??
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He doesn’t expect for Y/N to text him back right away, so he tucks his phone back into his pocket. Spencer walks to the front of the store. The display highlights the books of the month with different authors, genres, and themes. It’s a quaint little store and Spencer wonders why he put off visiting so long. The young woman finishes with the clerk and brushes past Spencer, her face buried in her phone. Spencer walks towards the shelves of True Crime books. He sees Rossi’s latest release about the Golden State Killer. Before Spencer can pick up the book, he feels his phone buzz in his pocket.
Y/N: Ooooh a man after my own heart :) I’m guessing you’re here too
Spencer: Yes...I just realized I don’t know what you look like?
Y/N: Well, I guess that means you have to find me
Spencer looks around at the patrons in the store. The older woman and the younger woman seem like the only logical candidates. The young woman doesn’t look up when Spencer brushes past, her attention is intently focused on the book across her lap, while the older woman swipes on her e-reader.
Spencer: You know I could just call you and your phone would ring
Y/N: That’s like cheating
Y/N: Turn around
Spencer turns around and is greeted by the young woman who brushed past him before. She smiles up at him and Spencer can’t help but grin back at her. He didn’t really give much thought to what Y/N looks like, and he can only hope that she didn’t think too much about him in that way. Spencer has to stop himself from that spiral, and remind himself that it’s not a date.
“You’re Y/N?” Spencer asks, hoping that he doesn’t sound too nervous.
“Yes, and I really hope you’re Spencer,” she says, “you’re nothing like I pictured,”
Spencer’s face must have shown his shock because Y/N’s hand comes up to gently touch his upper arm in an attempt to quell his worry.
“No, nothing bad, Spencer. You just text like a grandpa so I figured you were a lonely old man. I’m just surprised that you’re pretty...young is all,” Y/N finishes her voice climbing up a couple of scales making her nerves evident.
Spencer nods in agreement, used to people thinking he’s older than he actually is his entire life. He supposes that’s because of his intelligence coupled with his social ineptitude.
“Well, judging by your texting, I predicted that you would be around my age, or younger,” Spencer says he’s always had difficulties keeping conversations going, yet right now his mind is swimming of different things he can tell Y/N.
“So you ready for your first Book Buddy meeting?” Y/N asks. The corners of her mouth turn upwards in a playful smile. Spencer likes her smile and grows disappointed that the only time he’ll be able to see it is when they meet together. As much as he is technology adverse, he wouldn’t mind being able to see her smile through her emojis and snarky messages.
“I’m still not too sure what we’re supposed to do, but at least I’ve got you to show me,”
“Come on Book Buddy virgin,” Y/N says winking at Spencer as she walks past him to the staircase that leads to the store’s basement.
Spencer tries to ignore her comment, but even with his brain power he can’t stop his ears from turning pink. He’s always blushing around people who listen to him, especially when those people are so enthralling to watch.
In the basement, there’s shelves and shelves of books lining the walls. A couple of couches and sofas are tucked in the corner with a table and lamp. The soft light is warm and inviting. Spencer’s eyes can’t help but to scan the various titles in the collection. Y/N flops down on the couch and taps the seat, signalling for Spencer to sit next to her.
Sitting down next to her, Spencer wonders how much space he should put between them. He doesn’t want to sit so close and have her think he’s only here to make a pass at her. Nor does he want to sit so far away, because the scent of her peppermint and eucalyptus perfume threatens to mesmerize him.
Y/N brushes her hair from her face with her right hand, that’s adorned with a ring and a couple gold bracelets. She looks over at Spencer apprehensively and he tries to give her a comforting smile back, but he’s afraid that he just looks awkward. He suddenly is very aware that his breath tastes like stale coffee and his hair is wild, pointing out in several directions.
“So Spencer,” Y/N says, “usually we meet in a big group to do these Book Clubs, but this year the store decided to do this Book Buddy thing. Reading and picking out books for someone can be a very personal thing, so I’d like to get to know you a little bit better if that’s alright?”
Spencer’s eyes steady the woman before him. She looks over at him, her eyes never breaking from his. Psychology shows that holding eye contact is a sign of confidence, for a litany of reasons, Spencer has always had difficulties maintaining eye contact. He sighs loudly. It’s almost a mix between exasperation and confusion. Even though Spencer has spent a good portion of his adult life surrounded by very forward people, he still feels slightly nervous when he comes across those types recreationally. Especially when those types seem to have smiles so contagious that they throw every scientific study on germs out the window.
“You want to know about me?” Spencer repeats. He can feel his ears flush, and is thoroughly reminded that he hardly knows who he is.
“Yes, I want to know all your salacious stories Spencer,” Y/N says with a sly smile.
Spencer chokes out a strained laugh before he tries to think of an answer. He can’t remember the last time someone wanted to get to know him. Or maybe he does, and just wants to pretend that those memories died with her. But he can’t, because they are painful and real.
“I’m an FBI Agent, uh the Behavioral Analysis Unit specifically. We track down serial killers and other time sensitive cases,” Spencer says, used to giving the speech about his job on the rare occasion he does talk to another lonely soul at a random bar in a city.
He looks over at Y/N, ready for the reaction he usually gets. Sometimes it’s pity, other times it’s awe. But it all tastes the same with a shot of whiskey.
“That must be an incredibly exhausting job, Spencer. It takes a special kind of person to do that,”
That’s strange, Spencer thinks. Her words aren’t full of pity or awe, but almost understanding. It’s strange, but Spencer likes strange things, after all.
“It is,” Spencer says. He doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence with useless words that he knows are stale and meaningless. Somehow the silence doesn’t feel awkward.
“How long have you been in the FBI?” Y/N asks. She’s curious, but cautious to proceed and Spencer appreciates that.
“Since I was 22. I’m 34. I’ll be 35 soon,” Spencer says, still not fully believing that he’s spent nearly 13 years at the BAU.
“22, that’s a baby. I didn’t think that the FBI would recruit that young,”
Spencer grimaces, realizing that sooner or later this conversation would arise. He figured it would have come up when he got through the books in an hour or two. Spencer hates having to tell people about his intelligence. He never wants to make someone feel inferior about themselves because of his brain chemistry and genetic lottery.
“I’m kinda smart. Technically I’m a genius but I really hate that term. The idea behind intelligence testing has a very sexist and racist background. Besides, I don’t think true intelligence is accurately quantifiable,” Spencer tells her, repeating his speech usually reserved for arrogant detectives.
“That sounds like something a genius would say. You’re a humble genius. That’s a rare breed, Spencer” Y/N says, that contagious smile turning up the corners of her mouth and threatening to take over Spencer’s.
“I think that’s a compliment,” Spencer says “what about you? Tell me about yourself?” Spencer says, trying to remember the points of the conversation books he used to read as a kid in hopes of making a friend.
“Let’s see, you already know the boys. I don’t have any siblings and my mom lives in Florida, so we don’t see each other too often. I’m a Funeral Director in Alexandria, took it over after my dad passed a couple years,” Y/N says.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Spencer responds. Y/N smiles again, clearly a little tense to be talking about a sensitive topic.
“So Second Cat, I take it you’re a Poe fan,” Spencer says, holding to help ease into a more pleasant conversation.
“I like his short stories the best, but Emily Dickinson poetry will always have my heart. There’s something so ordinarily beautiful about the way she writes. She was so brilliant. And her and Susan, that’s a tragic love story,” Y/N finishes. She plays with the hem of her jacket absentmindedly almost like she wants to say something more.
“I first read “The Tell Tale Heart” when I was around 5,” Spencer starts, he rests his elbows on his knees to tell a story and he can’t help but feel a little excited when Y/N leans in a little closer to listen in, “I checked it out from the library and brought it home to read. Now it just so happened that I got a chemistry set. I will not incriminate myself but I may or may not have used the set as the directions intended,” Spencer says, holding up his hands in innocence.
Y/N scams him with a calculated stare, it’s not mean or judgmental, but cautious and careful. It’s like she’s deciding if she can trust him or not. He supposes she does when she winks back and says, “I’m sure that’s true Agent Reid,”
“It’s actually Dr Reid, but I’ll get there another day,” Spencer says quickly, eager to get back to his story, “so the chemistry set had some chemicals, the kind that won’t hurt kids. But I stole some sodium chlorate from the local gardening store and a pack of gummy worms from the Mini-Mart. Then I got back home and took out the chemistry set. I drop some of the sodium chlorate and gummy bears into the test tube and it starts to glow!” Spencer says, his voice gets excited when he remembers the experiment. There’s very few happy moments of his childhood, and this is one.
Y/N, listening to him eagerly, wears an excited expression as Spencer continues with the story. He’s forgotten what it’s like to have someone so interested in what you have to say.
“How does Poe fit in?” Y/N asks. Spencer’s fingers make a “1” as if to tell her to be patient.
“So I do the experiment and there’s pieces of molten gummy worms in my hair and on my clothes, but then I hear my mother walking up the stairs so I panic,” Spencer says, he’s an animated storyteller and Y/N is a captivated audience. He tries to not pay close attention to how her eyes hardly leave his or how they seem to be looking at him with wonder. But it’s hard to ignore that when you’ve never been looked at like that before.
“I scramble into my bed and shove the experiment under the bed, and it’s still smelling like burnt chemicals and gummy worms, mind you. And I pretend to read, but I’m reading The Tell Tale Heart, which you know is about a man who’s trying to cover up a terrible deed but literally shoving it under the floor. You know I think my 5 year old mind exploded that day,” Spencer says, he leans back so his head rests against the wall.
“It must have made quite an impression on you at what 5? How on Earth did you read Edgar Allen Poe at 5 years old? I didn’t read that until like Freshman year of high school,”
“I told you I was kind of smart,” Spencer replies, hoping that it would suffice.
“Yeah, but like a child prodigy that must have been very lonely,” Y/N says in a voice that tells Spencer she knows a thing or two about being intensely lonely.
“No one ever says that,” Spencer says in a hushed tone, “no one ever gets that it’s a lonely thing being a genius,” he finishes, putting air quotes around genius to show his discomfort with the term.
Y/N nods, “I’m not a genius by any means, Spencer, but I was an only kid. Part of me thinks it’s my fate to lonely,”
“I’m an only kid too,” Spencer says, “when I asked my mom why they didn’t have anymore kids she just told me why mess with perfection. I know it was meant to make me feel better, but part of me wonders what it would have been like to have a built in friend,”
“Tell me if I’m overstepping, I tend to do that, but do you want kids?” Y/N asks, she twists a ring that’s wrapped around her finger over and over like it’s a bad habit. She looks at him, expecting an answer, from the corner of her eye.
“I did,” Spencer says in a quiet voice, terrified that he’ll reveal too much to this enticing woman with eyes that never seem to want to look anywhere, but his.
“So did I,” Y/N tells him. Her voice mirrors his in it’s guarded, yet scared to reveal too much tone. Spencer is too busy hiding his own worry to recognize Y/N’s.
“I was thinking,” Spencer starts, determined to end the stale silence that settled between them, “of what book I thought you’d like. It’s actually a personal copy of mine. I had know clue how these things work, but I thought we could write notes in the margins. You know our thoughts and ideas about the book,”
Y/N gazes over at Spencer intently, as if she’s trying to think of how she’ll respond. Spencer notices the way Y/N pauses to think before she speaks, he tries to subdue the profiler training that ebbs to the surface, but he can’t control what his instincts tell him. He knows that Y/N is holding something back, but then again, so is he and who is he to judge.
“You’re okay with writing in a book?” Y/N asks, “I know that could be touchy for some,”
“Most of my books have little writings in the margins. I always thought that a book is a love letter from the author to the reader. You get to see inside their mind and to me that’s incredibly personal,” Spencer says, rubbing his palms that grew sweaty on his pants. It’s useless, because they just slide off.
“Well, you’ve convinced me, I brought a book too, but it doesn’t have notes,” Y/N says, “but if this works out, I’ll do it next time?” Y/N asks him, the hope in her voice apparent.
“I’d love nothing more than that, Y/N,” Spencer says, wanting nothing more than to reach out and brush his fingertips against Y/N’s. Her hand keeps on creeping closer to Spencer’s, he thinks that she’s trying to send him a signal, but Spencer feels too wounded, too raw to take that first big leap.
“So,” Spencer starts, he decides to clasp his hands together to avoid this new predicament, “what book did you decide on?”
“Never Let Me Go by Kazuo Ishiguro, it’s one of the few books that is perfect,” Y/N says, putting emphasis on the “perfect,”. Spencer thinks that he can grow to be eager to wait each week for the hour or so he’s able to watch Y/N speak with such passion and love.
“I’ve heard about, but I generally read technically books and other that it’s mainly just books that aren’t in English,” Spencer tells her, he rummages through his bag, looking for his book for Y/N.
“Close your eyes please,” Spencer says, he hides the book behind his back, he smiles as Y/N’s absurdly contagious smile grows.
“Come on Spencer, I don’t like being teased,” Y/N whines, faux pout and all.
Spencer grabs her hand and guides it to the cover of the book, The Goldfinch. He lets go of her hand; his practically stinging from the way her fingertips pressed up against the back of his hand, even though it was only for a couple of seconds.
“The Goldfinch” Y/N says, “ooh how on Earth did you know I love Donna Tartt?”
“Lucky guess, I suppose,” Spencer says, a surge of confidence bolstering him enough to wink at Y/N.
Spencer watches as Y/N flips through the pages of her book. Spencer read it a couple of weeks ago and loved the way the author intertwined the mystery to create a riveting story. Spencer checks his watch, realizing that nearly two hours have passed since he and Y/N sat on the couch.
Just as Y/N goes to say something, Spencer’s phone rings, ripping him from his modest paradise. He gives Y/N an apologetic look and mouths “work” as he steps away from Y/N.
“Reid,” he says, he forgot to check the caller ID, a little too excited to finish this call and get back to Y/N.
“Is that seriously how you greet your favorite person in the world?” the voice, presumably Garcia asks.
“Garcia,” Spencer says, unable to hold back his slight annoyance.
“I know it’s time off, but I guess like male serial killers don’t respect women, they don’t respect our time off either,” Garcia quips.
“I’ll be there in 20, I’m out and I’ll need to get my go bag,” Spencer tells her, preparing for the inevitable.
“I know exactly where you are, Spencer. A little birdie told me you’d called him in panic. I really hope your lady friend appreciated your lavender shirt,” Garcia says. Spencer can hear the click of keys as she talks.
He rolls his eyes, but knew that this was to be expected, “Later, Garcia,” he says, hanging up the phone call. Spencer walks back over to Y/N, whose face is buried in the book. She twirls a pen in her right hand, like she’s thinking about what she’ll write in the margins.
“I’m so sorry, Y/N, but I have to cut this short, work emergency,” he explains to an Y/N understanding Y/N, who nods her head.
“Don’t worry, text me that you got home safe, please,” Y/N tells him, looking up at him with genuine worry in her eyes.
“I promise, Y/N. I’ll see you soon,” Spencer says, grabbing his book and making his way up the stairs. He reaches the top flight when his phone buzzes.
Y/N: I mean it :)
Y/N: It was nice meeting you officially….
Spencer reads over the messages as he walks, replaying the interaction in his head. It’s strange to have someone care if you make it home say. The only people on Earth, besides Spencer’s mother, that care if Spencer makes it home are the people that risk their lives with him as well.
Spencer shoots a quick message back.
Spencer: I promise and I hope you like the book, it’s very special to me.
Y/N: I’m sure I’ll love it! Now go save the world :) :)
Spencer smiles to himself as he reads the message, amazed that her contagious smile can make its way through the string of code from his smartphone. As he drives off, Spencer thinks about the way Y/N actually listens to him or the way her hair sees fall perfectly into place. He thinks about her laugh and the way she almost makes him feel safe in the short time he’s known her.
But all those good thoughts amount to nothing, when the biggest thought on Spencer’s mind revolves around the shiny ring that sits on her left hand on the finger between her pinky and pointer finger.
A wedding ring.
-TAGLIST- (Comment to be added or if I forgot to add you)
@thatsonezesty13 (I'm trying what's wrong with this tag)
Thank You For Reading
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kenmasgothgf · 5 hours ago
Iwaizumi x reader
A/N: Was this me trying to convince myself Haji was here to make me sleep? Yes. Yes it was.
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“What do you think you’re doing?”
Your phone nearly fell from your grasp as your boyfriends voice echoed through the other wise quite room.
“Geez Hajime, you nearly gave me a heart attack!” You whisper yelled.
He peeked at you through half lidded eyes, huffing, before grabbing the phone from your grasp.
“Haji!!” You whined.
Iwaizumi turned his back to you, plugging your phone into the charger so you couldn’t reach it. Once he turned back, you met his tired eyes for a second before he pulled you into his chest, giving you a chaste kiss on the forehead.
“Now go to sleep. No more talking.”
You wriggled further into his chest finding a comfy position. Breathing in his scent your eyes fluttered close.
“I love you Haji.”
You were met with a comfortable silence as your limbs became heavy and your brain drifted into dream land. Just before you fell into a deep sleep you heard Iwaizumi reply.
“I love you too.”
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Author note II: it’s currently 1am and this hasn’t been edited so... enjoy. Too the individual who requested; I’ll get on it tomorrow morning!!
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ohhmydyosfics · 5 hours ago
(Markhyuck) 72cm
It's a second-hand patchwork style couch, it's on sale, and, most importantly, it looks hideous. That's all Donghyuck cares about before pressing Add to Cart.
(or, Donghyuck gets a couch too big to fit through his bedroom door, and it's all somehow Mark's fault.)
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blueeyesatnight · 8 hours ago
Not Qualified for This: Recovery
Title: Recovery
Pairing: Javier Pena x est. Reader / Dad!Javi and Wife
Word Count: 2700
Rating: Mature
warnings: the sexysexy and some self loathing, a hurt/comfort
A/N: based on this request also this exists in the "Not Qualified for This" universe, more on Masterlist.
Forgot The Links, Dammit.
Javi Masterlist Author Masterlist Taglist
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He noticed things before tonight, but he hadn't said anything.
You and Javi had a relationship based on the knowledge that there was a deep unseen trust of one another: you trusted him to do what he said he would and barring that he would do what he thought was right. Left bereft of both of those he would do what he had to.
You got it….you were the same.
If Petey had been a fully planned, cognizant decision on your part you'd have put her off for years. You just….
When had you taken a breath?
Got married the day after you'd gotten a positive test. You and Javi had a lot of moments throughout the wedding where he almost shouted it.
In fact it started before.
It was one in the morning when he knocked on the door of your hotel room (scandal, but as was pointed out frequently over the next few days a better scandal than the incident with Lorraine). You bleary eyed opened the door and he rushed in it, grabbing your face, kissing you, tasting of a hefty amount of tobacco.
"How are you sleeping?"
"It's the middle of the night."
He glared at you, unamused, "I mean with the--"
He ghosted his hand over his own little tummy in a curve and pointed to yours.
Could he not say baby?
You yawned, "I mean it doesn't stop me from sleeping."
"Christ, stopped me."
He looked wired. Like he hadn't slept a wink.
He flattened his hands over his pockets looking for cigarettes to remember he had smoked them all already, "I had to wait for my mom to fall asleep, and I thought she'd be up all night, Jesus."
"Why would yo--"
"She was guarding my goddamn door with a loaded shotgun I wasn't joking!"
You snorted, “She’s little.”
“She’s not fucking afraid to put me over her knee and beat me, I tell you that.”
You smiled and reached out to smooth his cheek, “You...ok? Cold feet?”
He let out a breath, “That’s a lot to process.”
You nodded, “Yeah, I couldn’t get a doctor’s appointment until today...I’d have broken that to you sooner if I could have.”
“Why didn’t you tell me you were worried?”
You shrugged, “I just didn’t need you doing this every day until you had an answer, you already went through that with--”
“Oh fuck, you aren’t my mother’s Bible Study group, you don’t have to compare yourself to Lorraine.” He ran a hand through his hair. He looked like he had aged a decade.
“I’m not doing that for me, idiot, I’m doing it for you. Took you what, ten years to recover from Lorraine?”
He snorted, “Recover.”
You rolled your eyes, “Well you explain what--”
He pulled you against him and kissed you hard, frustrated and wide awake and trying to tell you something. At the end you were smiling, sleepily but ear to ear, and he ran a hand from the back of your neck down your spine, “I just realized it wasn’t where I was going to end up. I was so fucking relieved she wasn’t the one I…”
He shook his head against you, “No. You’re the right one, bonita. But...fuck. I can time it can’t I? Jesus.”
He patted his heart, “You’re going to give me a heart attack.”
You put your hand over his, “Well you got a few hours to recover before your mom prances us all over Laredo.”
So it was: wedding-- food. After wedding breakfast with the families? Food. Honeymoon? (In Vermont, Javi looked doubtful at the snow that was already fucking there) Food.
Then there was a little window: you two announced when two things happened. His mother could reasonably tell people it was a honeymoon baby and everyone could pretend Javi wasn't a whore. And Javi had come with you to an appointment ("It's not that I don't trust you, bonita, but…." "Once bitten, twice shy. I get it. I'm not bothered Javi.") and… heard it. Heard the heartbeat.
He wouldn't admit to crying he just… he was going to go get the car, pull it around.
And if nobody saw him get into the driver's seat, hands shaking, and stare at the steering wheel blankly while a tear rolled down his cheek...all the better.
So then everyone brought food.
You two found a house.
People brought food. Javi's mom seemed hellbent on feeding you. She came over damn near daily with something. It gave Javier a complex: were you eating enough?
"Fuck it, sweetheart, you're eating for two just take the plate."
You were enjoying the attention.
Then it all… shifted.
One day Javi's mom didn't make it over. It was a turn. A bad turn.
The cancer was coming for her whether or not anyone liked it.
You didn't mind that the attention diverted.
Javi would look at your belly and just say, "I hope she makes it."
You didn't want to make any kinds of promises about anything.
You two were still moving in, his mom was dying, you were pregnant for the first time and you two ate whatever was around. Nobody was watching.
Javi was a stress smoker and drinker, but not eater. He started pushing his plates to you as his mom got weaker.
He didn't eat for two days after she died.
You knew because by the third you threw a banana at him and cried demanding he fucking eat.
He realized he must have fucked up if you were that worried.
Tried to recover.
Tried to smoke less.
Eat more.
And there was food to eat: people brought plates.
And then everything calmed down.
You two made it into a routine.
A routine with dinner every night. Well. Most nights. And when he missed it he apologized with cake.
And then Petey was born.
And there was a procession of plates again.
And he didn’t fucking notice anything for a while.
Because life was new and strange and different and he kept having to remind himself that it was never going back.
He had called Steve, actually. One of the only people he knew with a kid that he didn’t hate. And Steve had laughed and went “Yeah, it never goes back. It’s just different all the time.”
And so in a fog Javi had kept trying to find his way through every day.
And he didn’t notice that he had fucking missed something until he saw your favorite skirt in the trash.
He liked it himself.
When he went to go and see why it was there but pulled it out and it was….fine. Intact. No holes. No stains. But when he had pulled it out he saw more: a blouse (the blouse, actually, the blouse he’d damn near torn off you the first time you fucked) and some pants he recognized from Colombia and some bras he had been reasonably fond of (until they got in the way but that wasn’t their fault or anything, he had no problem with them existing).
He figured something larger was happening.
He walked into the house.
Petey was on a little jumping swing in the kitchen doorway just hopping up and down, up and down, giggling a little. Then she figured if she swayed the whole swing went back and forth but there was nothing she was in danger of hitting (well, the doorframe but how was he going to fix that?!) and you weren’t there.
You weren’t there.
You were in the bedroom.
Petey was blowing bubbles and right as rain so he just...followed the slight gasping sound coming from the bedroom. Like exasperation.
When he crossed the threshold you were sitting on the floor in front of the joint closet surrounded on all sides by clothes and wearing your old bathrobe.
Fuck he should get you a new one. This one looked beaten.
But you were half crying and he had to leave the robe off for now.
You sniffled and bowed your face down...actually shifting so you faced away from him, "I'm in no mood Javi."
He felt his face tighten, his jaw twitch, and the serious voice came out, "What's wrong?"
"Fuck that, something's wrong."
Your shoulders shook. He shrugged off his jacket, tossed it on the bed, and crouched down so he was at least on your level.
After a moment he tried to reach out and touch your arm, "Bonita?"
You flinched.
Like he was going to fucking hurt you.
Then quietly slumped, "Don't….I don't…."
He could hear you trying not to cry but just failed and he tried reaching out for you again, this time aiming for the back of your neck.
You seemed to settle once his hand was there and after a moment he rubbed his thumb in circles. It worked on you after a kidnapping and also after whatever the closet had done to you.
It took a long minute but you started breathing evenly.
He dared to inch closer to you, "Want to tell me?"
You fingered the pile of clothes.
"They...they don't fit me. I didn't...she got some of her lunch on me and I came to change and my maternity pants were in the wash still and nothing...nothing fit. Like fit. Even on the off chance it buttoned I look like an overstuffed sausage…"
Your voice wavered and you explained, "I got on the scale, I hadn't done that since before she was born, and then I just stared at my stomach and I just…."
You hid your face in your hands, too embarrassed to even look at him, "I'm sorry. I didn't realize. I just---"
He pulled you into his lap, you crushed against him so hard he fell from a crouched position to flat on his ass but he pulled you against him and slung both arms over you tightly.
"Don't." He insisted, mouth against your temple, "Don't apologize to me, as far as I'm concerned you got not one goddamn thing to apologize for."
Your sniffle turned into a snort, "You are not about to tell me that Javier Pena doesn't like a tight stomach or a nice ass? Perky tits?"
"If you think I married you for your tits you clearly never saw Darlene's, she could use them like a shelf. Not a flimsy shelf eit--"
"Do you really think that's helping?" You snapped but he snorted, "Don't get pissed at me, bonita, you started it… you forget. I didn't marry you for your perky tits. Don't get me wrong...I like 'em."
He fingered the seam of your robe, gently coaxing it open, and even though you tried to clutch it shut he kissed you and you got distracted and he snuck both hands in anyway and they cupped them.
Despite yourself you arched into his hands.
You'd been having terrible weird dark thoughts all afternoon as shirt after shirt and pant after pant piled up around you and then you'd seen a number on the scale you were unprepared for. You'd had these waking nightmares of catching Javi tongue deep in some intern from the office or finding Lorraine in bed with him. You'd seen her around and despite having two kids (you thought? Was it three? It was worse if it was three) she had tits by her eyeballs and well manicured hair and looked impressive.
You didn't own a single pair of pants that didn't make you look like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.
And your stomach….
You'd never looked like this before.
Soft and gooey.
And Javi just looked better. Suits worked on his shoulders and sure he had a little tummy himself but he was just so…
He was going to figure it out. Figure out you were not pretty anymore and he'd move on.
Except that he….
He was moving his head from your mouth to your breasts and sucking on them gently. He was careful not to linger, he'd been surprised by the milk before, and he pushed the whole robe open. It was just you and one ratty pair of pajama bottoms under him.
His mouth moved against your stomach and he kissed it, nibbled on it, and even when you tried to move him he growled and pushed your hands away with a stark, "Tell me to stop or let me have my fun, hon. I'm in no rush and you look like you could use a little unwinding."
"You don't have to--"
"I mean I want to. Do you?"
Fuck yes.
He pulled down the bottoms enough to give him room and when you arched your hips he grabbed two handfuls of your ass and dove his tongue directly into you. You were biting on your hand progressively harder as he pulled every trick he had.
And he moaned in delight when you started shaking, the little pre-eruption jitters, and squeezed your ass to encourage you.
He was lapping you up like sweet fresh cream as you yelped while avoiding a loud scream.
Petey must have heard the yelp because she mimicked it. You both stilled. But when the bouncing sound of her little feet started up again Javi pulled at his belt and the buttons on his pants and groaned as he came back into you. He sank his forehead onto yours and kissed you to keep you from screaming as he quickened his pace and the sensitivity he'd left you with started carrying you over again.
He rolled off of you with a howl of annoyance and came on his own fucking pants which were now obviously off of the possibilities for him to wear to work tomorrow.
Javi wasn't an overly sentimental man. He touched you to show you what his head had in it. He'd been as hard, as enthralled, as invested as he was that first night where he nearly fucked you thoroughly on his bathroom floor.
He could keep a poker face sometimes, but not with his pants off. He fucked with honesty-- even bitter honesty. He had grief fucked you while you were pregnant, nearly crying and screaming his whole way through it, raw from losing his mom and staring down the barrel of a baby. When he'd been like that he would turn you over a chair, fuck you from behind so he didn't have to see what pity you might have had for his rage and even...even so he couldn't see if you were faking it. You weren't. You hadn't. But he gave you a pass.
So you knew as he rolled back over, kicked off his soiled pants, and laid his head on the belly you spent hours hating -- spent hours imagining he hated-- you knew he was telling you the truth.
"I love you, bonita. And I don't care if you look different. You're mine. I get to keep you. And I'm not letting go."
You smiled weakly from the good fuck and the hard afternoon, "You really don't mind it?"
You poked your tummy aggressively and he flicked your hand from it, defending it, kissing the spot you had jabbed as if healing it.
"Do you mind mine?"
He snorted, "Well, I see it like this. Mines just beer and lazy but were our daughter's first home. She made herself comfy. And I don't care if you gain a hundred pounds--"
"It's not quite that bad--"
He put a finger on your lips, "Buy new pants. New shirts. Buy whatever you want. Nothing's worth you sitting on the floor in this Muppet skin crying your eyes out. Nothing. I promised myself I wouldn't ever be the reason you cried, and I'm aiming to keep that."
He hugged into you again and kissed a pucker in your skin.
Something….melted in your chest. Or disintegrated. Dislodged.
He was right.
Fuck those pants. The world had plenty of them but only one of him.
And he seemed so damn comfortable you hated to move him from this spot he'd nestled into that ticked his mustache into a smile.
A/N: Nonny, I started from your request but somehow projected myself on here, if you need me to rinse and repeat and go again YOU ASK! I think there's a haiiiiir OOC Javi here, I think he really is more Don't Say It, Show It but when he has to say it it like...squeezes out of his throat. Like when he told Steve to protect himself. Said it like a punch.
@radiowallet @ordinarymom1 @pulplorrd​ @paperbag33 @writerdee1701 @kesskirata @elegantduckturtle @the-feckless-wonder @seasonschange-butpeopledont @heresathreebee @ellie-darling @elegantduckturtle @leias-rebelion @fictionalbitch @givemethatgold @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @theravenreads @sugarontherims @amneris21 @brandyllyn @dihra-vesa
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neilsvodkatonic · 10 hours ago
Thank you! Alright, if it’s possible, can we have a Neil piece where the reader, his gf/partner, has had a really bad and stressful week and just wants to calm tf down and focus on herself. (If possible) There is smut but the sweet and nurturing kind and Neil is just a gem throughout because he wants to make her feel better and show him he loves and cares for her? Just saw Tenet a few days ago and basically died for Neil & *sighs* this whole month been hard personally 😅🤦🏽‍♀️
Neil × reader
One shot
Word count: 1.9k+
Warnings: soft smut. And lots of comfort and care
Authors note: who knew I can actually deliver. Not me. Lmao. Here you go. Thanks for the request. Asks always open for yall. The pandemic has been hard and I hope this makes your day a lil better
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A day, in general, has 24 hours but today feels like 2400 hours of exhaustion. Your brain is a dashboard of pain, all your organs demanding simultaneous attention that can not be provided. You sit at your desk, watching the clock as the seconds hand completes another round, the clock striking exactly 5:50 pm.
Another 10 minutes and I'm out of here.
Yes it had been like this since the moment you stepped foot into the building today.
It had gradually progressed from 9 hours to go, squirming through the 8 hours and 50 minute journey to land on this hopeful 10 minutes countdown.
You raise your head from the files again, past all pretenses but the needle hasn't flinched. An exaggerated sigh emanating from somewhere deep in your soul, you watch for any spies that may report you to corporate. And when it seems like everyone is either busy working or packing, you stand up for a second right where you are, your butt thanking you for the 2 minutes of pressure relief. Shoving literally everything you could find into your duffel, you zip it shut, your surprise evident at the 5:55 on the clock.
So time was proceeding. Couldn't be happier really...
Your mind already conjuring up images of Neil, you close your burning eyes, praying that he be home. You almost reach for your phone to check in but the cacophony around suddenly gets louder and your heart is filled with delight. Yes, delight.
"Its 6 pm!", you shout at your colleagues, all of them clapping as if surviving this day made all of you recipients of applause. As they get ready to leave for the day, you're already first at the elevator, your fingers ceaselessly pushing at the caller button until the lift arrives. Sliding into the already brimming cubicle, you stand at the edge of the door, the smile on your face wider than ever.
You look down at your shirt, the coffee stain flurrying back bad memories from this morning. The spilt beverage, the lack of an extra pair in your bag, the wet discomfort all day. God! You almost say it out loud, the exasperation unable to be contained.
5 minutes later you're in your car, the broken stereo blasting out white noise as you drive over to your apartment. Finally having some time, you dial up Neil's contact, the phone ringing for a long minute before he picks up.
"Hey, babe. Where are you?", he says, a tinge of worry leaking into his tone.
"I'm sorry I missed your call. It's been entirely horrifying all day. I just went through mishap after mishap surviving somehow."
"Hey now my little survivor. As long as you're doing good at the end." The relief and smile is evident in his voice.
"I love you.", you say, your entire posture turning to mush at the warmth of his concern. "I cant wait to be home with you now-"
"Oh, I'm out right now but-"
"Oh you're out?", the disappointment flooding through your body is hard to keep out of your voice. The static breaks the words he says in reply and so you just answer with an "Ok.", hoping it's sufficient and then cut the call.
The rest of the car ride continues in silence, your mind finding annoyance even in the humming of the AC. But its too hot to stew in the closed box and so you let it go.
Its nearly 6:30 when the traffic permits you to see the familiar edifice of your home. Jamming the key into the lock, you shabbily turn it over and over, your mind elsewhere altogether, the door ultimately giving in to your frustration. Slamming your duffel into a corner of the room, you let the sadness flood you, rubbing your eyes to extract whatever part of your exhaustion that you could
You open your eyes, all your senses meeting with something they were too tired to notice seconds ago. The entire living room was bathed in a flickering yellow glow, the fragrance of lavender oil wafting across the floor. Lavender was your favourite by far and the aroma surrounding your body, you already feel your jaw unclench. There is some clattering ensuing in the kitchen, which stops abruptly so that your boyfriend can come out and wrap you in his arms.
"I thought you said you were out."
You bury yourself in his chest, all your worries melting against his hug. You exhale loud and long, the tension in your shoulders aching to leave you alone.
"Oh, I just thought you had a busy tiring time. Since you know you were so occupied all day. And I just went shopping to get you something special.", he runs his hand over your back, kissing the top of your head. "Didnt I say that when you called?"
"Oh shit! I guess my reception was weak- never mind..." You loop your arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss as he gildes his fingers gently through your hair. It feels like a burden lifted off you, his soothing hum calming your nerves, as he walks you mid-kiss, baby-stepping, to your couch.
Dramatically toppling back on his heels, he lands both of you onto the cozy fabric of the sofa, your laughs echoing in the silence of the night.
"And it looks like your shirt had almost as bad a day as you did?", he chuckles lightheartedly, your eyes rolling at the honesty of the joke. Softly capturing your lips in another kiss, he begins to unbutton your shirt, his hands running lightly along the exposed skin.
"Let's get you in some warm water baby.", he coos softly in your ear, his seated torso gently lifting you up as he carries you to the bathroom.
"My strong baby.", you mumble through another yawn, your arms clasping his neck as your rest your head against his shoulder. He sits you on the parapet beside the shower, those autonomous responses working up at the low lying hiss of the tap. You giggle, a little delirious, goosebumps showing up as he carefully peels you off the rest of your garments.
"You ticklish?", he asks, an amused smirk colouring his lips. Tired you was never in the mood for serious talk and so thus ensued the longest 10 minute tickle fight of your life, both of you ending up in a wet bundle in the tub. His drenched t shirt clings to the lining of his torso, his arms still wrapped around you as he reclines against the back of the bath. You slowly roll the cloth off his stomach, leaning low into the rising water to kiss him along the line of his abs, pushing the fabric upward until it was off his head.
Directing his feet with the precision of a trapeze, he turns the tap off, the tepid water easing the wrinkles in your face. Pressing you close to himself, his fingers tracing lazy patterns into your thighs, he let's you lie there, enjoying the distant melody wafting over from the living room.
"Oh, I could just sleep here forever.", you sigh, your cheek resting on his chest, your arms flaccid on the glass rim of the tub.
"Yes, love.", he says softly, kissing your wet hair, as he brushes his legs against yours. "But we've got some exclusive (y/n)'s spa night lined up for you." His voice sounds more British than usual, his tone making you chuckle and press a loving kiss against his wanting lips.
"You sound snooty.", you tease, swimming your feet in the cooling water, your mouth travelling from his lips to his neck, along his jaw. "Is kissing part of my spa day?", you ask earnestly, your lips still hovering inches from his.
"What day is that not a part of?" Hardly finishing the sentence, he attaches his lips back to yours, your moan softly vibrating through your body. His arms find their way to your waist, his teeth lightly grazing along your collarbone. Theres a quiet, tranquility to your movements, a gentleness to the rhythm that clenches at your heart.
You reach lower along his abdomen, your fingers trailing closer to the place he needs your touch. Your tongue trailing lightly along his lower lip, he pulls back to look into your eyes, the apprehension catching you off guard.
"(Y/n), you're tired. It's ok if you dont want to. Let's relax-", he stammers, caught up between the desire and the obvious siren at the back of his mind.
"But isnt this relaxing too?", you whisper, your hands softly stroking against his hardness. His breath hitches in his throat, his fingers grabbing at your skin as you proceed with your intentions.
"I wouldn't call it relaxing. But if you say so...", he sighs against your lips, his thumb sliding along your hip bone to land against your clit. You let out a whimper, your body going rigid as the pleasure hits your brain. Bracing yourself against his shoulder, you push your hips against his cock, the friction massaging against the water.
"Let's go slow, baby.", he says, soothing his hands against your back, his lips finding their way back to your neck. Your need overriding any coherent thought, you run your hands through the wet blonde strands at the back of his head, tugging a little harder as you kiss him with a renewed hunger.
"But I want this.", you say, your hips already setting the pace you want him to set inside you. "I want you." You look into his eyes, your hands pressing into his chest as you watch him groan, grinding his pelvis against yours.
"Well, it's too hard to resist you when you are like this.", he groans, his hands grabbing your waist as he holds you afloat in the water. Lining his cock along your entrance, he is past the tease today, entering you slowly, your hips sinking lower in the water as he fills you completely. Throwing your head back, you moan in pleasure, your ragged breaths mingling in the space between.
It's a slow sweet rhythm he sets, exploring your skin with his hands, his lips, almost reverent, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Your hands holding the cool ceramic, you try to brace yourself as wave after wave of ecstasy hit you, his thrusts hitting deeper, just right.
Theres no time to warn him, no time for the words to come out, your orgasm reaching its peak as your feel your entire body shiver with pleasure. Clasping on tighter, your hands losing themselves in his disheveled hair, your moans are enough to draw it out of him as well. Your hips still thrummimg to your orgasm, you feel him come with you, your pulsing core pushing him over the edge. He groans in your ear, his hands holding you against his chest as you both ride out the delicious consequences of your evening.
"Ok that was tiring.", he sighs, his hands still running through his hair, trying to come off the sensual high. "And nothing close to what you needed." You look at him, play-acting a moment of contemplative thought, the furrows deepening on his forehead.
Easing his tension with your fingers, you watch his eyes as they dance about, a tiny brooding flicker still burning in them.
You turn over in his lap, resting your back against the chest as it slowly rises and falls with each breath. Wrapping his arms around your bare waist, you settle into his embrace.
"Actually, I haven't felt this relaxed in days. Neil-time is better than spa-time."
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onlyonewoman · 11 hours ago
Loneliness, to be left on his own by idiots with yapping mouths and stupid ideas, has been a relief but this absence of Xiao Xingchen is not the same and it’s humiliating to just lie – or try and sit – here and yern. For a voice, a touch, a scent… Yes, Xiao Xingchen’s entire being has made an impact on Xue Yang’s life. In a way, it’s a life created by the daozhang that he now doesn’t want to handle anymore.
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sammycutie · 13 hours ago
Wilbur... My beloved I simp for that smile 🥺💛🧡
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I can imagine Wilbur being such a sweetheart when you’re not feeling your greatest.
When you’re feeling so out of it or when you were in an argument with your parents/close ones he’d pull you onto his chest... rubbing your back and whispering “I love yous” or “Everything will be okay I’m right here” just holding you close to him...
Maybe putting your favorite tv show on or wrapping you up as he goes and gets you your favorite snack
And when he comes back he just picks you up and cuddles up to you holding you close to him not letting you go
Playing with your hair or just giving you head scratches
Maybe when you feel like crying some more he would just hold you and rock you side to side softly holding you close and kissing your tears away nuzzling your cheek.
Making you feel loved and reassuring that he’ll be there for you no matter what happens.
He maybe sings to you softly as he rocks you side to side making your heart melt
Or forehead kisses
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telennarre · 15 hours ago
World Eater
Chapter 9: Gambit
Rating: M
Chapter Summary: On the cusp of negotiating a ceasefire, Adora blows it all to hell with a desperate blitz, teleporting onto Horde Prime’s citadel with an elite team, directly in front of his throne in a frantic gambit to cut his invasion off at the neck.
“That sounds like a straight up lie!” Adora said, tone so biting it made Catra flinch. “You’re smarter than this, Catra. ‘Some sort of enemy’ they’re fighting? That’s what got you to believe she was trying to help?”
Catra faltered. “I don’t…no. No, that’s not what—“
“Horde Prime conquered the entire planet except Bright Moon in three days. He would have finished us off too if it weren’t for Micah and Shadow Weaver and all the princesses and the entire Royal Guard coming together. We just barely turned their advance into a prolonged siege. And that was from one warship he sent down to us—he’s got thousands up here! Horde Prime doesn’t need help with some made up enemy, that woman is just using you to try and get us to surrender.”
A fresh onslaught of emotions attacked her. Lied to? Used? Again? How could she let this happen? How could she not see it coming? Why did everyone do this to her? Shadow Weaver had done it so many times, shown just a bit of compassion or tossed a morsel of approval here to get her to bend, and then…
Catra released Adora and slid off her, eyes staring through everything. Adora sat up and rubbed at her wrists, sending a pitying look in Catra’s direction. Catra turned away, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” Adora said. “I shouldn’t have made it sound like you were stupid for believing it. I have no idea what you and Glimmer went through up here, and that may have…” she glanced over at her and Catra could feel her staring at the wounds at her temples where Horde Prime had probed.
“Lonnie, Rogelio, and Scorpia aren’t dead, but they’re down and out,” Adora said. “But Entrapta’s bots are still tying up Prime’s forces. Shadow Weaver and Micah are slowly whittling down their mage. He’s a lot more powerful than we expected, but they’re getting through him. And once they are, we’re taking the Emperor out and ending this.” Adora stood and extended a hand down to her. “Come on. I can’t let whoever ‘Taline’ is go and distract them. Help me. Please?”
Catra looked up and saw the guarded, hopeful look Adora was giving her. She bit back the urge to put herself down for being so naïve, and took Adora’s hand, reveling in the look of relief and happiness that passed across her face when she did.
Read the rest on AO3 || Chapter 1
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rissa · 15 hours ago
Title: home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling
Author: rissa/westallenkiss ao3
Rated: Teen
Summary: Carlos survived because the fire inside of him burned brighter than those around him.
TK does everything that he can in order to make Carlos feel better, it may not work, but Carlos is so thankful for him.
Author Notes: yup, here i am to fix this mess. they really left out carlos' feelings after his house burnt down. so here is my angst. i hope i fixed it for everyone. also that joke tonight was really unnecessary just sayin'.
It was 3:45 am in the morning when TK and Carlos ended up at Owen and Mateo's place. It didn't matter where they went although as long as they were together. They survived and that was what was important but nothing could have prepared them for it. Carlos lost everything, literally everything he ever built for himself moving out of his family house, and all the new ones he started to make with TK were now gone too. TK didn't even need to think about that, he didn't have to because he only cared about how his boyfriend was feeling. They would have to make new memories, find a new place of their own, and make it theirs.
"Carlos?" TK questioned his name in a soft murmur as he was following him to the bathroom, he hadn't said anything since they arrived.
"Hm," Carlos barely even answered as he looked at himself in the mirror. His tear-stained cheeks and the black soot from the fire making it look 10x worse. He literally shuddered at himself and almost instantly turned on the water to start washing his face.
"I know you're not okay, but I need you to just keep talking to me tonight okay if at any time you feel sad, please." TK put his hand on his shoulder and noticed he looked pretty wrecked himself as he made a bit of a face.
Carlos looked at his boyfriend through the mirror, "I don't want to talk about it,"
"I can't let you keep it bottled in," TK pressed a kiss to his cheek.
"I'm really tired, TK." Carlos whimpered and could feel the tears willing to fall again. God, just when he thought he was finished. He looked away from the mirror and TK staring at him and lifted his shoulder for TK to get off of him. "I'd like to take a shower get this smell off of me for good." He then said kind of coldly.
TK took a deep breath and gave Carlos a simple nod, "I do still have some clothes here, let me at least set you up with some sweats for afterward." TK ran to go and get it and came right back and Carlos was already in the shower. TK bit his lip in thought, he wanted to say something, but afraid if he did Carlos would snap and he really didn't want to irritate him anymore. He just wanted to be there for him even if he was slowly starting to push him away. He knew why he was but he wasn't going to let him get this way. Whether he would admit it or not, Carlos needed TK more than anything right now. "I'm going to use the downstairs bathroom to wash up myself, babe. I left the sweats here for you." TK decided on staying as he ran downstairs.
"How's he doing?" Owen asked startling TK.
Nearly jumping out of his skin, TK rolled his eyes right afterward, "How the fuck do you think he's doing?" TK groaned rubbing at his temples. "Because of you our house burnt down, and not just burnt down, it's fucking destroyed. Every last bit of Carlos' house do you think he feels?" TK's anger was coming out again, he really couldn't bear this anymore. It was one of the worse days ever for him.
"We had to do what we had to do, this was also on Gabriel, we really do need to apologize better to the both of you. We didn't think it would be this bad, we didn't know he would set the fires ..." Owen admitted but that was enough. TK had to clench his fist and push past his father before he did something he would regret. "Please be careful, TK. I'm really sorry."
"Sorry is not good enough right now, I don't think I'll ever be able to fix Carlos," TK mumbled as he slammed the bathroom door shut and immediately turned on the shower to get himself clean. He finished up as quick as he could just wanting to get into bed with his boyfriend and keep reminding him how sorry he was. He just wanted to hold him too and be the one to protect him for as long as he possibly could.
As soon as he was done, he wrapped the towel around his waist and headed back upstairs to change just because he forgot his own change of clothes right on the bed. He rolled his eyes at himself all the way up the stairs to find Carlos already in bed. He was sitting up, the covers tucked around his torso. There was a soft smile on his face upon seeing TK, "Did you forget the clothes on purpose?" He smirked a little too.
"No." TK made a face, "I was just concerned you didn't have anything, I forgot about myself." He admitted too.
"Ty, come lay down, forget the clothes," Carlos mumbled a bit patting the bed beside him.
TK obeyed dropping his towel and quickly got under the covers. "Carlos, I--"
"Shhh, I heard you yell at your father for me, thank you," Carlos spoke above him. "My father got an earful too, don't worry."
TK shook his head taking Carlos' hand in his as he adjusted against him, resting his head against his beating heart, "I am worried. They really were a bunch of selfish assholes, they caused a fight between us, they made your house burn down, it's not okay and I am constantly thinking about how they could possibly think they could do this without consequences." TK looked up a little pressing his lips to Carlos' chin to calm himself down.
Carlos gripped TK closer to him, his strong arms wrapping tightly around him and breathing in his freshly shampoo-scented hair. It felt really good to breathe that in rather than what he was still smelling from the fire. "They didn't think about it, but my father did mention they didn't think about the fact that Raymond literally outsmarted them and did what he did right under their nose, so they were also played..." Carlos swallowed still very angry about it but he couldn't even be angry anymore. He just didn't know he felt. Sad and angry at the same time was just making everything hurt, literally.
"Are you okay though?" TK was still looking up, still wanting an answer.
Carlos shook his head, "I'm not going to cry over it anymore, I have had enough for one night."
TK shifted bringing himself to lay on top of him, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, nose, then lips, before gently leaning back to straddle him, "I'm sorry but I hate the fact that you thought it was important to apologize to me that you didn't have a fire extinguisher in the bedroom, out of all things in the world that was the only thing you said to me...and I can only wonder why you thought it was necessary to apologize to me about that like you thought I was disappointed."
Carlos bit his lip, making a bit of a face, maybe he was scared he disappoint TK but that's because all his life he was afraid he was disappointing his parents. His family, his aunts, uncles, he always felt like he was doing something wrong. When he became a cop, his father was finally proud of him for something and then dating TK, he finally had someone in his life he could protect and love endlessly and he couldn't if he didn't have everything perfect. "I'm sorry, I'm not perfect," Carlos muttered.
"I didn't say you have to be perfect, Carlos." TK growled at him almost, "I'm just saying you didn't have to feel as if you let me down, you didn't, not in the least. I was a firefighter before a paramedic, it was instinct for me to be in control of that situation but with the alarm system not working before you decided to twist my arm you didn't really seem to care about it not working because you could have protected me if any big bad guy came through with your gun that I know you also had in nightstand right next to the lu--"
"Don't you dare say it," Carlos couldn't help but let out a soft laugh knowing TK was trying to lighten up the mood but he also made a very valid point and he tried his hardest to keep himself from wanting to cry but not because he was upset anymore but because his boyfriend was entirely too perfect for this world? "You are the perfect one, Ty," Carlos breathed. "I not only lost my house but knowing that I was lost in those last few moments before your dad and Billy came in...all I could think about was dying...and if I jumped and you didn't make it because I jumped first...god, TK, why did you want me to jump first?" Carlos was about to lose it all over again.
"Instincts, I would have been fine, I've jumped out of buildings before, besides, I knew you would have been able to catch me." TK half winked as he slipped himself back down to lay next to his boyfriend again, draping his arm around his torso as he gently trailed a finger along his hip bone. He squirmed and moved closer to him.
"I love you," Carlos said the three words breathlessly which he had just been holding in the entire night and it was nearing 5 am in the morning now.
"I know, I know, I always know." TK looked to him with that look that he had reserved just for him, "I will always love you, Carlos." TK added with one more kiss to his face before a yawn seemed to want to come out too.
"My house may be gone, but I still have my home," Carlos murmured and hid his face against TK's pillow and the crook of his neck.
"We'll find a new home to call our own and we will make new memories, we will have everything we ever wanted and if there is something in your house that you want that was important to you will find something just like it...I know it won't be the same but..."
"I don't need that, it sucks that it's gone, it really fucking sucks, but I'll get through this, I will because you're safe, you're in my arms," Carlos took a deep breath.
"I'm home," TK promised, nuzzling him completely and murmured softly against him.
"Thank you for everything, TK. I. truly don't know where I would be if it wasn't for you and I might keep apologizing just like you keep apologizing to me, but as long as we have each other and know each other, I think we'll be okay." Carlos took another deep breath to notice that TK was already falling asleep on him. He shifted slightly to allow him to rest comfortably on him before he heard a little murmur from him...
"Mmhm, go to sleep I promise, I'm gonna love you forever, Carlos Reyes," TK mumbled right into his slumber and it was everything Carlos needed and more to be okay if okay was finding it in himself to take one day at a time with TK to find a new place to call home, but tonight Carlos learned that home isn't a is a feeling.
your thoughts and comments are my favorite. i hope i have given some kind of peace before the finale where they just might brush off literally everything with their dust storm, literally.
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shmaptainhotchner · 20 hours ago
Take Care of the Rest [Aaron Hotchner]
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Pairings: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader
Characters: Aaron Hotchner
Words: 1K
Summary: Aaron knows how to make one of the worst feelings in the world just a little bit better
Warnings: reader who deals with chronic acid issues, descriptions of pain (but the whole fic is fluff)
A/N: Okay so this is a very self-indulgent ficlet that I low (high)-key wrote for myself (I've suffered from acid reflux and very bad heartburn that comes with it for over 2 years), but all of the things reader is experiencing and what she does to get through it are things I've drawn out from my own life so it's heavily based on personal experience, but I hope that if anyone who's got similar issues reads this it might offer a little comfort :)
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The pain bubbling up in your chest felt familiar and you almost cursed right then and there, knowing that whatever was happening was completely your fault.
That didn’t stop you from trying to eat because dammit you were starving, you hadn’t eaten anything all day and consequently hadn’t taken any medication.
But the more you ate the more the pain grew and blossomed, like a knife to your chest every time you breathed. Like fire down your throat every time you swallowed.
It got to the point where you just couldn’t take it anymore, it was too much but you just wanted it to stop. You wanted it to stop because you were so hungry, you needed to eat but you couldn’t.
Clattering your fork on the plate you pushed it aside, the frustration evident in your actions as you placed your head in your hands, tears pricking in your eyes.
The clatter caused Hotch to look up from his own food, noticing your distress with a frown.
“(Y/N) is everything okay?” he asked carefully and you shook your head at your husband.
“I can’t eat it, Aaron, I-I can’t,” you choked out a broken sob, clutching your chest as if that would rid you of the pain.
Quickly, he stood up and went to the medicine cabinet, grabbing a few pills before coming back to your side and bending down slightly so he was more at level with you.
“Come on open up,” he said gently and you obeyed while he placed the two tablets in your mouth and you struggled to chew them and swallow them down, their chalky texture not something you had to deal with in a while. “That’s it,” he said, pressing a soft kiss on your cheek as if to wipe away the tears.
Over the course of the time you had struggled with this ailment with no cure besides dealing with it when it came, you had developed somewhat of a ritual to help it get better and it seemed as though your husband had been paying attention and caught on to how he could be of service to you.
Coming back to the dinner table with an ice pack, he helped you out of your seat and moved you to the couch, getting you to settle yourself between his legs, your back pressed against his chest, but sitting up straight.
“Focus on staying comfortable okay?” he said, “I’ll take care of the rest,”
You gripped into his arm and nodded while he pressed another kiss to the side of your head, laying the cool pack on your chest before slipping his hand up your shirt to press into your sternum, using that pressure to rub up and down the bone, somewhat alleviating the pain (you honestly just suspected that the pressure distracted you from the other feeling but it worked well so why not).
Hotch could tell your breaths were shaky and shallow, but you were still wincing slightly in pain.
“Try a slow breath in for me?” he asked. “I don’t want you to pass out,”
You nodded again, trying what he suggested, and seeing as it was working you focused on continuing that along with feeling the cold compress and his hand on your chest.
“Can you...Can you talk to me?” you asked. “Distract me?”
“Of course,” he murmured, his hand repeating its pressured line and giving you some relief. “I’ve been thinking about taking some time off, maybe we could go out of town?”
“Yeah, I-I’d like that,” you smiled. “Where are you thinking?”
“Well, we could go visit my mom in Manassas,”
“Which is forty minutes away, be a little more adventurous Aaron,” you chided.
That made him chuckle, but he tried to keep himself still for you.
“Keep breathing sweetheart, that’s it,” he hushed before continuing. “Then why not Seattle? I have some old friends there we could visit. Go see the Space Needle, maybe do some hiking?”
“What happens if you get called out to work?” you asked.
“We’ll be in the woods, there's no cell reception,” he joked, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck. “I’ll be off the grid,”
“You wish you could do that,” you rolled your eyes. “My Aaron Hotchner couldn’t stop working even if he tried. I bet you’re profiling that bowl over there right now,” you teased, taking the risk to take a deeper breath and noticing the pain had subsided.
“You feeling better?” he asked.
“Much,” you nodded, turning around to face him properly, your arms wrapped around his neck and legs draped over each side. “Thank you for taking care of me,” you whispered.
“Anytime honey, that’s my job,” he laid his forehead against yours and you couldn’t help but sneak a quick peck at his lips.
“I hope you weren’t joking about that vacation,” you murmured.
“Not in the least, that would be cruel,”
“Good, cause maybe we can just spend it right here,”
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If you enjoyed this ficlet please consider reblogging or commenting! It's the best way to give creators exposure and motivation!
tagging some mutuals who might enjoy:
@itsalonglongwaytobasingse @writingtoforgetreality @wifenumberfour @rumblelibrary
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ceaselesscow2011 · 20 hours ago
Amorous Wonders
Fandom: The Magnus Archives
Summary: Gerry and Michael have a fun, relaxing time at the aquarium, and the pining they do finally pays off.
Ships/Characters: Gerard Keay, Michael Shelley, GerryMichael
Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, Nonbinary Michael Shelley, Fluff, Panic  Attacks, PTSD, Happy Ending
Read this fic on Ao3!
Check out the amazing art piece that @corvidtowers drew of Gerry and Michael at the aquarium gift shop!
Check out the beautiful piece @chromaticmelody did of Gerry and Michael looking at fish!
Super special thank you to my wonderful beta @smallmediumproblems who, without her help I would not have been able to do this!
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elizabeethan · 20 hours ago
Steal Away: 2 / 5
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When a bank robbery with his brother goes horribly wrong, Killian Jones learns to heal with the help of a fiery blonde who happened to get caught in the crosshairs.
A Modern AU
Based loosely on the movie Hell Or High Water (and so I tag @captainswanmoviemarathon)
Read on Ao3
Read The Rest
Read my Other Stuff
A/N: So this was supposed to be a one shot, but it’s, like, 24k words so I thought it would be best to split it up. I’m probably going to post one part a night for the next week or so, though.
This part is rated T as well, mostly for language and car sickness :) (I’ll let you know when we get to M hehehe)
thank you as usual to @the-darkdragonfly​, @donteattheappleshook​ and @xhookswenchx for letting me ramble about this for weeks, and to Kay for beta-ing <3
It happens quickly. 
 Her sense of humor, her taste in music, the adorable way she snorts when he hits a pothole while she’s sleeping… it’s impossible for him to avoid the feelings that stir in him. It’s almost embarrassing, the speed at which he begins to recognize his feelings, but it’s not as if he plans on sharing them at any point. 
 The fact is… he likes her. She’s cute, and funny, and undeniably sexy, and he knows that if she wasn’t here, he probably wouldn’t be either. He would’ve been arrested right off the bat, or shot in the bank himself, or drowning in a bottle of rum beside his brother’s grave. If it wasn’t for Emma Swan and her insistence to stay in his life, he wouldn’t be on his way to Maine to pick up the only remaining person in his life who means something.  
 Although, perhaps that isn’t true, because after a day on the road, he’s discovered that she’s starting to mean something, too. 
 He doesn’t know enough about her to dignify a crush, but he also isn’t stupid. He knows that he’s infatuated with her. He knows that he’s finding it hard to keep his gaze off of her. He knows that her stunning green eyes play off of the gold of her skin and her hair in such a way that makes his heart race. He knows that, based solely on what she’s told him so far, he’s desperate to know more. 
 She doesn't have a family. She spent much of her childhood homeless and running away from abusive foster placements. She was abandoned as an infant, left in the woods at only a few hours old. She’s been through hell and back, and she still manages a blinding smile.
 Her ex boyfriend is the reason she’s here with him, he thinks. She says that he screwed her over and that she wants nothing more than to get away from him and from the place that reminds her of him, and Killian thinks this all happened at a rather convenient time for her. She told him yesterday, when he was panicking over his brother’s demise, that she could tell that he was there in that bank for a good reason, and he’s taken to assuming that she has a good reason to assume that. 
 They hardly know each other, and yet he feels as though he’s known her his whole life. He knows so little about her, and yet, he can read her like she’s an open book. The term kindred spirits feels naive, and yet, that’s exactly what they are. 
 “Are we gonna stop in Chicago?” she asks excitedly as she watches the Welcome to Illinois sign pass them by. 
 “Definitely not,” he laughs. “It’s far too north for where we’re headed.” 
 “What, and Maine isn’t?” she snorts, shaking her head and pointing out a bird that flies by. “What’s up there, anyway?” 
Immediately, his heart starts racing and his palms start sweating at the thought of telling her the true reason for their trip. It dawns on him that, when they arrive, he would have to tell her anyway, lest he abandon her in town before he arrives at the lawyer’s office. 
 Of course, Emma has experienced her fair share of abandonment at this point in her life, and while he hardly knows her and shouldn’t care, he wouldn’t dare contribute to the trauma that comes with the feeling of being left behind and forgotten. 
 Bloody hell. 
 “You don’t have to tell me,” she says after a long moment of silence. 
 He clears his throat, drawing his focus back to the highway before him. “It’s alright, love. I just… it’s a sore subject, I suppose.” 
 “We share a lot of those,” she jokes, smirking at him and making his heart race. More gently, she reasons, “which means you should know by now that I won’t judge you.” 
 “Aye,” he agrees immediately, because he does know that. “Aye, you’re right. It’s, um… my child.” 
 He catches her balking, her jaw dropping and then snapping shut in quick succession before he needs to focus back on the road. “You have a kid?” 
 With a nod, his grip on the steering wheel tightens. This vehicle is better than the last, the clutch not sticking like the one in the truck had, but it’s so small and cramped that he doubts they’ll be able to sleep comfortably in these seats tonight. He’d best pull over soon so that they can find a place to sleep. “I do,” he confirms. “A daughter. She’s eight.” 
 “How old are you?” she asks in shock. 
 He narrows his eyes, shifting his gaze to her briefly and suspiciously asking, “how old are you?”
 “I asked you first,” she says seriously, as if she truly doesn't want to disclose her age, and he begins to panic. She looks old enough, but the potential that he’s just kidnapped a minor on top of everything else begins to assault his thoughts. 
 “Please just tell me I didn’t kidnap you,” he begs, his heart racing. 
 “No,” she rolls her eyes. “I’m 23, and much more mature than you.” 
 With a sound that’s somewhere between a snort and a sigh of relief, he nods. “Aye, love. I’m sure you are.”
 She sits in silence, staring at him expectantly, and he knows that it drives her mad when he smirks and begins to laugh. “Don’t be stupid! Just tell me how old you are!” 
 “I’m… I’m 31.”
 “Oh,” she says, chuckling beside him. “So you’re not that much of a cradle robber. Just a regular old bank robber.” 
 “Oy!” he shouts in offense, staring at her in shock. “Sensitive subject. And what makes you think I’m trying to rob your... cradle?”
 She snorts and shakes her head. “Please. I saw the way you were staring at my ass at that last rest stop.” 
 She could’ve chosen a more opportune time to say that, perhaps when he wasn’t taking a sip of coffee. It’s rather uncomfortable coming up his nose. “Love,” he says through a cough. “I’m not— that is, I meant not to—”
 “It’s fine, Killian,” she tells him, giggling softly and playfully. “A girl likes to feel flattered, especially a girl who feels like a—”
 Her jaw snaps shut and her eyes grow wide, the emerald catching the rays of the sun and throwing glints of gold. “Like a what, darling?”
 “Like… um, like I could eat everything on the menu at McDonalds. Is it time to stop yet?”
 “No,” he laughs, although he finds that he struggles to say no to her and mean it, even after such little time, and he indicates his intent to change lanes and moves towards an exit. “We only stopped for breakfast a few hours ago.”
 “Well, I’m starving,” she tells him, shooting him a soft smile. “And if I don’t stretch my legs in a minute, they’re gonna fall off.” 
 “You need to stretch your legs? Your feet are currently on top of my dashboard. Is that not enough of a stretch?”
 “Your dashboard? I’m pretty sure I witnessed you stealing this car.”
 “From a scrapyard,” he mumbles, giving her a shy smile as he exits the highway. “What do you want for lunch? Or should I say brunch? It’s barely eleven.”
 “We crossed time zones, you ass.”
 “What do you want?” he laughs. 
 She hums playfully, pretending to ponder his question seriously and says, “a prime rib, cooked medium rare, with a side of garlic mashed potatoes. Caramelized onion and mushroom sauce on the steak. And some green beans, for balance.” 
 Shaking his head and laughing along with her, he says, “chicken nuggets and fries it is, darling.”
 “You need to pull over,” she says suddenly, breaking almost an hour of silence between them during which he was certain she was asleep. After their early lunch, he decided to keep driving, anticipating that she would take over in a few hours. 
 “Emma,” he sighs, “we only just stopped two hours ago.”
 “I’m not asking,” she demands. “I’m telling you that if you don’t pull over,” she puts her hand over her mouth, her retching and gagging preventing her from saying anything more. 
 “Jesus,” he mumbles as he pulls into the breakdown lane, barely stopped and still in gear when she thrusts the door open and loses her lunch all over the ground. He can’t ask her if she’s alright because she hasn’t stopped vomiting, so he checks his side mirror and opens his door, walking around the front of the car to meet her. He stands behind the door and places his hand in her hair, massaging her scalp as she shudders violently. “I didn’t realize you were prone to car sickness.” 
 She groans, shaking her head and resting it against the window at her side. “I think your driving has gotten worse.”
 He hums, continuing his ministrations on her scalp as she catches her breath. “Was it the chicken, love? I knew that stuff was crap.”
 “No, it’s your crap driving.”
 “Do you want to take over, then?”
 “No, I want to sleep.”
 “Come on out and get some fresh air, would you?” She whimpers as he pulls the door open a bit more, and he takes her hand to help her out and around her sick. “It’s alright, love, come here.”
 She breathes deeply as she stands, and only remains in front of him for a moment before she falls forward against his chest and into his arms. “Sorry,” she whispers into his sweatshirts wrapping her arms around his waist and holding herself close to him. “For delaying the trip.”
 “You needn’t worry about that, love,” he soothes, and he focuses on moving his hands along her back and hair in the same way she had his. “A few moments while you find your bearings won’t hurt. Are you alright?”
 She nods against him, a sound coming from her throat that makes him squeeze her tighter. He can’t stop himself from pressing a kiss to the crown of her head, the need to comfort her interrupting any reasonable thoughts in his head. She whispers, “yeah,” so softly that he kisses her again. 
 “During lunch I found a small campground that takes cash. It’s only another few hours; can you make it that far? We can use the tent and the camping mat instead of sleeping in the car.”
 “Luxurious,” she jokes softly, maintaining her firm embrace around his middle. “That sounds perfect.”
 She’s relentless in her jokes at his expense as he struggles with the tent. It’s dusk, and there’s a decent canopy of trees above him, and, as she points out often, he’s getting old. He struggles to see the small pieces and determine what goes where, and she’s hardly any help as she sits in the car laughing at him as she claims to be recovering from another spell of car sickness. 
 “You could try helping me, you know,” he finally mumbles as the structure collapses again and he’s met with her symphonic laughter. 
 “Need a newer pair of eyes, Captain?” she asks in good humor, standing and bounding towards him confidently. It’s almost miraculous how quickly she’s recovered, and yet her nausea seems to keep coming back. 
 “Very funny, love. Come and tell me where E connects to G.”
 It’s impossible to ignore the way the full moon shines against her hair, almost white in the dim light of the night sky. The gentle waves flow freely as she releases the tie from around her locks, rubbing her palms over her face as she settles into the warm cocoon of the sleeping bag. She gives him a soft, gentle smile as he zips the tent’s opening securely shut, taking his place upon the ground between her and the door. “Where’s yours?” she asks, gesturing down at her sleeping bag and camping mat.
 He shrugs and then nods towards her. “Someone stole it.” 
 Her eyes widen in surprised embarrassment and she asks, “this is yours? What about-- weren’t you and… I mean…” 
 Smiling as he lies down on his back, he turns his head to face her and says, “I was meant to travel alone, actually.”
 Just as he thinks she’s about to match his position and lie back herself, she stirs and begins tugging on the sleeping bag until she’s out of it. She shakes it out in front of herself to straighten it and then feels around in the dark for the zipper, pulling it around the puffy fabric until it’s fully open before her. Turning towards him, she gives him another soft smile and dramatically opens it like a parachute, draping it over the both of them. “There you go,” she says with finality. “We can share.” 
 “You don’t have to do that, love. It’s summer anyway.” 
 “We’re sleeping outside, and you're taking a second, unexpected person on your trip across the country, who also happens to frequently demand pit stops. The least I can do is share your sleeping bag with you.” 
 “Well… thank you, lass. That’s very kind of you.” 
 “I just can’t part with the mat, sorry. The ground is way too hard.”
 He laughs as he turns to his side, silently agreeing with her that the ground is mighty firm as he grimaces. “You can’t spare it for an old man with old bones?” 
 She shrugs, laughing softly as well as she rolls to her side to face him head on. “You're not that old.” 
 “So I'm only young when it suits you?” 
 “I didn’t say you were young.”
 He hasn’t laughed this much in years. Before he met her, he hadn’t been so close to a woman in almost a decade. He’s forgotten how soothing the gentle touch of another can be, and he’s been hard pressed to ignore how especially soothing she is, in particular. “You do have quite the sense of humor, love.” 
 “All in good fun,” she smiles. He catches her gaze shooting down at the hem of the old sleeping bag, her fingers fiddling with some thread that has pulled away from its place. “Will you tell me something?” she asks in a whisper. 
 “What is it?” 
 She clears her throat nervously, continuing to avert her eyes from his, and asks, “will you tell me about your daughter?” 
 With a hum and a sad smile, he bites his bottom lip and nods, the memories of his love flooding back into his mind, as if he’s ever been able to prevent them. “Alice,” he says. “She’s just turned eight a few months ago. I missed her birthday.” 
 “Why? What happened?” 
 He notes the way that her fingers continue to play at the loose threads, and he matches her actions just beside her. “I was with my mother; she was dying and had no one else while Liam was in jail. I wanted to bring Alice with me, but… her mother wouldn’t allow it.” 
 “I’m sorry,” she says immediately. He hears a rustle against the mat her head lies on and lifts his own gaze to meet hers. 
 “Thank you.” 
 “When did you see her last, then?” 
 He gulps over the lump in his throat. “It’s been well over a year.”
 She sighs, and he doesn’t think he imagines the minute amount of space that she closes between them. “You must miss her terribly.”
 “Aye, I do. Everyday.”
 “Is there… I mean, is there a reason it’s been so long? I’m not trying to judge you, I’m sorry, I just—“
 “It’s alright, love,” he interrupts, noting the sudden shift in her demeanor as she realizes the nature of her question. “Her mother was rather… controlling, I suppose. I believe she used drugs and alcohol for much of Alice’s early life. I don’t have any reason to believe she used during her pregnancy, but I cared for Alice from birth when Eloise fell off the wagon. I even named her, after my ailing mother. But a few years later, she got clean and started to take over. She took Alice to live with her; became upset when I came around. And eventually, the way she would scream at me when I tried to visit made Alice upset, so I stopped coming around as much.” 
 She’s quiet for a moment, and he wonders if he’s taken things a bit too far. If he’s opened up to her too much. He fears this for what feels like an eternity as she lies beside him, her warm breath washing over his nose as he thinks the worst. That he’s upset her, that he’s offended her, that he’s made her think of the trauma of being abandoned herself as he describes the way he abandoned his own daughter. And his fears are confirmed when she sniffles softly before him and moves her fingers from the frayed threads to her eyes, wiping tears away. 
 “Emma,” he whispers into the darkness, “I’m sor--”
 “That’s so terrible,” she interrupts sadly, and he bows his head in shame, knowing already that his actions are deplorable. Until she whispers, “I’m so sorry.” 
 “Sorry… for what?” he asks in shock, speaking almost at full volume, a contrast to their whispering tones. 
 “You just--” she sniffs once more, “--it’s obvious how badly you want to be in your daughter’s life, and you haven’t been able to. That’s got to be the worst feeling… I can’t even imagine not being allowed to…”
 Clearing his throat, he takes a risk by reaching before himself to wipe a tear from her soft cheek with his thumb, almost desperate to comfort her as she has him the entire time he’s known her. “It’s alright, love,” he whispers. “I’m going to get her back, with your help. I wouldn’t be here, on my way to her, if it weren’t for you.” 
 She sniffles and laughs at the same time, adorably embarrassed at the sound that escapes her, and asks, “what’s changed now? With you and her mom?” 
 “She died,” he answers simply. If she had begun to relax slightly into his hand, she stiffens at his words. “She relapsed, mixed drugs and alcohol… her body couldn’t handle it.” 
 “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “That must’ve been hard, too.” 
 “Not much,” he answers too quickly. She draws her brows together in question and he continues, “I’m sad for Alice; she’s lost her mother. But she never really had her much. Eloise was never a very devout mother. It always seemed like she was in it for the image, or only when it suited her. I don’t think she ever really wanted a child.” 
 Emma nods gently, the small gap between them getting smaller when a gust of wind shakes the tent and she slides closer to him. “Was she, I mean, was Alice a surprise?” 
 “Oh, aye, very much so,” he laughs softly. “El and I weren’t ever a couple, we just met at a bar and… well, we were only together once. It was sort of a low point for me.” 
 “I get that,” she nods again. “Sleeping with the wrong person, I mean. Not that… I mean, not that Alice was a mistake or anything, of course.” 
 “I know what you mean,” he consoles in a whisper as she again worries that she’s offended him. She should know that she couldn’t possibly say the wrong thing, because despite how short of a time he’s known her, he knows that she can do no wrong in his eyes. 
 “Will you tell me about her? Like… What was it like when she was a baby? Was it very hard?” 
 He hums and nods, agreeing, “it was hard, yes; I was mostly alone. But it was so worth it.” 
 “It was?” she asks softly, almost insecurely and making him narrow his eyes in thought. 
 She hasn’t told him anything, but he isn’t a fool. He means every word of what he says to her next, and says it in hopes that he can give her solace. “Aye. As hard as life has been, I wouldn't change anything because it’s how I got Alice.” 
 In a move that surprises him almost as much as it doesn’t, she moves as close to him as she can and tucks her head into his chest, just below his chin, and wraps her arm around his waist. “That’s a good point,” she murmurs into his sweatshirt.
 “Are you alright, love?” he asks, accepting her into his embrace and letting his hand run along the length of her spine over her own sweatshirt. He reminds himself that he doesn’t truly know her, so he can’t assume that this isn’t like her, but it feels profound. 
 She nods against his chest, pulling herself impossibly closer as she seems to seek more warmth and a firmer embrace. “It’s weird,” she starts, her voice muffled. “I barely know you, but it feels like you're my friend.” 
 “I am your friend,” he agrees with a smile. “And you’re mine. I told you I wouldn’t be here without you.” 
 “I wouldn’t either.” 
 “Of course not. I’ve been driving most of the way.” 
 She snorts, nuzzling her nose into the crook between his neck and his shoulder and squeezing around his waist. “Yeah, that’s why I’ve been puking nonstop.” 
 “Would you like to drive tomorrow, then?” he laughs. 
 “Alright. We’ll need to leave quite early. Just another two days to go, I think.”
 “Okay,” she yawns, falling asleep in his arms feeling, he hopes, as safe as he does.
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deviant-writes · 21 hours ago
bc @redrose-arrow and @captaincrackhead asked for it
Fandom: Ranger’s Apprentice
Genre: Angst/Hurt No Comfort
Relationships: Will-Alyss, Will & Pauline
Warnings: Referenced Major Character Death, fire
Pauline has to break the news of Alyss’ death to Will.
Read on AO3
           Will knew something was wrong the moment he opened the door.
Pauline didn't cry. She was always composed, always calm, always ready- but the tears in her eyes were unmistakable.
She didn't hide them as Will let her in, his heart clenching and heavy.
"What is it? Is Halt- Horace- Alyss?" his ramble faltered. He could see in her posture that he was right. "Is... Is she okay?" he asked, hesitant.
Slowly, Pauline shook her head, and Will thought his heart stopped.
"She was in a fire," the Courier began. "She made it out, but there was a little girl trapped inside, and you know how she was."
Was. Not is. Was.
"She..." Will didn't know how to finish that sentence.
"She died, Will. Her body was never found." Pauline's voice broke, but he wasn't able to focus on that novelty.
His shoulders started shaking without his consent. As hard as he tried, he couldn't stop the sobs that escaped him.
Soft fabric and warm arms surrounded him and he sobbed into her arms.
"I'm sorry," Will cried, "I'm sorry,"
They'd fought, before she left. About this very possibility. Will's chest ached. He should have been there! This was his fault, wasn't it?
He was drowning. Grief and guilt- it swallowed him. It was his fault she was dead. But it was even more the slaver's fault, Ruhl's fault. He had burned her, and Will would make him burn. He took his pain and with it lit a blaze of rage.
She didn't try and tell him it was okay. It wasn't.
Maybe it would never be.
But he would have justice.
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officialcharactersimp · 21 hours ago
Hello!! I was wondering if you could do wanda comforting reader after a tough mission where a city was destroyed and reader feels guilty? No pressure on this request, you could push it back if you're busy! Thank you <33
Clown Car
A/N: I wrote this with my friend’s help while tileworkers were jackhammering the bathroom. No further comment on circumstance. I’m SO excited to be getting another request!!! Keep ‘em coming!! I love that shit!! So much!! P L E A S E spam my inbox!!! Also aftercare is not just a smexy thing and I will die on this hill.
CW: Self-punishment/self-blame issues; reader has a concussion
You aren’t sure how it all happened. One second, you were fighting, and then you woke up in a hospital bed in the tower. Now Wanda’s driving you home as you both sit in silence.
She’s filled you in on what happened after you passed out, but you didn’t really listen, because only one thing matters: the city is gone. You failed. People are dead.
And it’s your fault.
Of course, Wanda didn’t say that, nobody did, but you’re pretty sure they’re all thinking it. If you weren’t so careless and stupid as to get knocked out, you could’ve helped. You could’ve stopped this. But you didn’t. And that means it’s your fault.
Once you’re home, you lay on the bed, curled up, facing the wall, staring. You want to be alone, but it’s a small apartment, so options are limited. You do your best to ignore Wanda as she goes through the motions post-mission aftercare. However, eventually she comes and sits beside you.
“Y/n, can you drink some water for me?” she asks gently.
“You need to stay hydrated. You took a nasty hit,” she says.
“So it will help you heal faster.”
“Why would I want to heal faster?” you roll to turn away from her
“Why wouldn’t you?”
Because I don’t deserve to. You think to yourself. Although it’s silent, Wanda can hear it.
“Now, that is not true, don’t think like that,” she chides.
“It is true. If I hadn’t gotten hurt, those people would still be alive!” you practically shout.
“No, they would not,” she says in her blunt way.
“They would not still be alive. Y/n, we were so outgunned and outmanned. There was no way that you not being hurt would have changed the fact that we lost. We lost, not you,” she says, putting a hand on your shoulder. “We told everyone to evacuate. Anyone still left there knew the risk.”
“No, no buts,” she says. “At least, not until you have some water.” Reluctantly, you sit up and take the cup from her. After a few gulps, you set it down.
“I feel so stupid,” you say.
“You are not stupid, dear,” she says gently, pulling you close. Finally, the tears fall. Between the guilt and the adrenaline, they hadn’t yet, but Wanda’s patient & tender kindness coaxes them out, like releasing a pressure valve. “There there, my love, it will be okay. You are okay. We did what we could, and so did you. There is nothing more to do after that,” she says, running her fingers through your hair as she soothes you. “Can I help you get cleaned up? Bruce said you are concussed and will need help for a while.”
“I’ve had concussions before, Wanda. I’m-” you cut yourself off as you stand, seeing stars and already starting to wobble. “-fine,” you finish with a defeated sigh as she loops one arm around you, helping you walk towards the bathroom.
“You were saying?” she asks, helping you to sit so you can take off your uniform, then running the bath.
“Oh, be quiet,” you mumble, closing your eyes at the bright lights. Wanda dims them knowingly, and you thank her.
You get in the tub and let her wash your hair while you inspect your body for wounds. All in all, aside from the getting-slammed-into-a-concrete-wall, you seem pretty alright. A pleasant surprise. When you’re clean and dry, you put on some pajamas and lay back down in bed. Wanda lays down on the other side of you, holding you close to her chest.
“I’m glad I have you,” you say quietly.
“I’m glad I have you too, my love,” she presses a kiss to the back of your head. “Though I do have to say, missions were a little easier when I wasn’t constantly worrying about what silly injury you were going to get next,” she laughs a little. 
“Hey!” you smile a little.
“Bouncing off of walls, running through traffic, punching an alien barefisted…” she ticks off a few of the many injuries you’ve received. “Next time it will be getting into a clown car the wrong way.”
“If you find a clown car, let me know,” you say. “I’m tired.”
“Go to sleep, dear. I’ll be right here if you need anything,” she squeezes you a little tighter as you close your eyes.
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