#sometimes i stay up at night and fantasize about my death

[acriminalmind]

Better than your Mother

Stepfather!Reader x Stepdaughter!Natasha

Summary: Natasha is better at certain things than her mother.

Warnings: smut, legal age gap, stepcest, daddy kink, praise, dirty talk, fingering, vaginal, oral, masturbating, spanking, pet names, cockwarming, multiple orgasms, studying naked, character death, eavesdropping

Enjoy!

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It was a Friday night when you were working in your home office. Some last-minute emails needed to be sent out before the weekend, and as the good employee you are, you offered to do that. Your wife was out of town for the month because of work. You loved her, you do, but sometimes you want something else...someone else.

The day you were introduced to her daughter was a day you would never forget. Her beauty was beyond measure. At the time she was 19 years old and left her hometown a year ago to go to college. When the both of you shook hands you could have sworn you felt an electrical shock. Each year Natasha started to look more beautiful. When she was visiting her mother and you, you had to hide the tightness in your pants. Sometimes it felt like she was flirting with you, but you threw that idea out of the window as fast as possible. She was your wife's daughter forsakes. Slowly but certainly forbidden thoughts about your stepdaughter started to capture your mind again. When you were fucking your wife, her mother, you started to imagine her underneath you. How would she feel around your cock? Would she be better than her mother? The spicing up of your adventures in the bedroom didn't get unnoticed by your wife, but she thought it was because of her, boy was she wrong.

The time ticked and when it was 10 in the evening you had finally sent out the last mail. You leaned back and stretched your back while cracking your knuckles. There was nothing on your calendar for the weekend, so you could finally relax and recover from all the hard work you had been doing lately. Standing up you headed to the kitchen where a bottle of whisky was waiting for you on the counter. Before you could open it the bell rang. As far as you knew you didn't expect anyone, especially at this time on a Friday night. Peeping through the hole in the door you saw the person you had been fantasizing about at work today. It even got so bad you had to leave a work meeting to masturbate in the bathroom. You opened the door and she looked at you with an unknown look in her eyes. "Hey, Y/N. I'm sorry for showing up unannounced this time of day, but me and my roommate had a huge fight and I don't want to be around them tonight so I wondered if I can stay here for the night and maybe the weekend if that is okay with you of course!" "Of course, Natasha! This is still your home. Please come in, it's freezing outside." You took a step to the side so she could walk in.

When the both of you arrived in the kitchen you offered her a drink. The both of you sat at the counter in comfortable silence for a while before you broke it and asked her about school. "It's going well. I love the courses and most teachers are lovely. There is one course that I do have a little trouble with though. Economics is killing me and the extra lessons from my teacher aren't helping me." "I'm sorry to hear that Economics isn't working out for you like the rest. Maybe I can help you. I'm pretty good at it." Her eyes lit up at you anwer, "you would? Thank you so much y/n. You're a lifesaver!" She jumped up from her seat and hugged you tight. The hug felt so great. A little too great. You felt yourself getting hard so you pushed her softly away before she could feel it. "I need to finish up some last-minute work, but tomorrow I'm all yours. Make yourself comfortable, I see you tomorrow morning." Before she could answer you walked away, back to your office. The moment you were seated in your chair you zipped down your zipper and pulled out your throbbing cock. At the thought of Natasha, you started to slowly masturbate, imagining it is her hand pleasuring you.

Natasha was secretly listening to your soft moans on the other side of the door. She had set her eyes on you the moment she met you. The feeling she got from your handshake had left a permanent mark on her. Over time Natasha fell more for you and she knew you had feelings for her too, she just had to get you to act on them. She flirted with you whenever she was near you or innocently touched you. The effect she had on you was clear to her, just like the erection you just walked away with. Today was the day she finally was gonna stake her claim on you. Silently she walks away from your office door and heads to her old bedroom. She got rid of her clothes as fast as she could. Standing before her mirror she looks at herself while sensually sliding her hands over her body. "God, I look so hot." The thoughts of you and what you're gonna do to her make her dripping wet in between her legs. With a fast but silent pace, Natasha walked to your bedroom. The first thing she did was open your wardrobe and feel all your clothes. They smelled like you. When she found the drawer with your boxershorts she took one out and put it on before walking to the kingsize bed in the middle of the room. Natasha laid down on her back in the middle of her back with her head on your pillow. Her eyes closed and she started to fantasize about you. Images about you fucking in your and her mother's shared bed shoot through her head. Her hand slipped under the fabric of your underwear towards her wet pussy. Two fingers slipped in between her fold with ease. Load moans left her mouth. And so did your name.

-

With a loud moan, you came into your fist. After wiping your hand clean with a handkerchief you made your way toward the kitchen, but when you walked by your bedroom strange noises could be heard from it. Putting your ear onto the door you could hear moans and someone calling your name. Not someone. Natasha. Carefully you opened the door en peeked through the small crack. What you saw made your jaw hit the ground. There she was, half naked in all glory spread out on your bed with her fingers deep inside of her. A small puddle of her wetness had leaked through your boxers down onto the sheets. The room smelt like pure sex. The hardness in your pants that you had just gotten rid of had returned. "O, y/n, yes right there." Her eyes were closed while she was moaning out your name. Hearing her say your name like that was like a wet dream. High squealed moans filled the room and you noticed she was getting close to her release. That just wouldn't do. Silently you crept into your bedroom, locking the door behind you. With each step you came closer you felt your body getting hotter. When Natasha reached the edge and was about to fall off of it someone ripped her fingers out of her throbbing pussy. Her eyes shot open and she looked right into yours. "What do you think you're doing, young lady?" Slight fear overtook Natasha's body at your statement. Did she read you wrong? Didn't you want her? Those thoughts left her mind at your next words. "I didn't give your permission to cum, did I?" You took her wet fingers into your mouth and sucked them clean. "God, you taste so good. Even better than I imagined." Without any warnings, you placed yourself on the edge of the bed and manhandled her on her stomach onto your lap. She could feel your bulge against her stomach. One hand was placed in between her shoulder blades while the other slid your boxers off of her. "You're a bad girl, Natasha and bad girls get punished until they're good girls. You're not allowed to touch your pretty pussy without asking me anymore and you're definitely not allowed to cum without my permission. I want you to count. Every time you mess up I start over. Do you understand, baby?" This was a dream coming through for both of you. She was right, you did want her. "Y-yes, y/n." "You know, How much I love hearing you say my name there is another name you should be calling me since I'm married to your mother. From now on you can call me...daddy." "Yes, daddy." God, hearing her call you that definitely did something to you. Your first hits had a pattern in it, but after eleven times you changed it, which made her make a mistake. After 50 spanks you had finally stopped. Her asscheeks were burning, while her pussy was throbbing. You carefully placed her onto her stomach on the bed. "Wait here, sweets. Daddy's gonna grab something for your sore ass." You came back with some creme and sat on her legs. With care, you massaged her butt while applying the creme. It didn't go unnoticed by you that she was dripping wet, but before you took care of that you wanted to attend to her red ass. Aftercare is important. "You did so good for Daddy, baby girl. Taking your punishment so well. Relax and let me take care of your sore ass. After that, I will take care of the feeling in between your legs."

-

When you were done cherishing her reddened skin you riddened yourself off your clothes, placing them folded neatly on the nightstand. Taking out a condom from the drawer, you put it on and rubbed some lube onto your thick shaft. Walking back to Natasha, who is still laying on her stomach on the bed, you took in her beautiful body. Kneeling on the bed with both your knees on the outside of her legs you placed your hands on her asscheeks and spread them apart, her wet pussylips in sight. Bowing down you licked a stripe in between her folds. A moan escaped her mouth at your unexpected action. She wanted to push her ass up, but you kept her down. "Stay still, baby. Let Daddy do all the work for now." Her hands were gripping the sheets, knuckles turning white when she felt two of your fingers enter her. She felt so warm around your fingers, you couldn't imagine how good she would feel around your cock. Twirling and scizzoring your fingers around in her tight hole you slowly open her up. Her little whines made you feel euphoric. "Your hole feels so tight, baby girl. Has anyone ever taken you from behind?" No one has. She had a few sexual encounters over the years, but nothing did it for her. Most men pushed in, thrusted a few times, and after they came left, thinking she automatically came too. "No, daddy. They only wanted to took me from the front and they didn't even make me cum. They lasted only seconds and left." Hearing her say that she had others didn't surprise you, but it still made you a little jealous. It somehow made you feel a little better that they had never made her cum. You were planning on changing that. "Oh, poor baby. Those college boys are not good enough for a princess like you. Let me show you how a real man does it." Deciding she was stretched out enough you pulled out your fingers, making her whine, and licked them off. "Baby, one day I'm gonna make you masturbate above a bowl so I can drink more of your delicious juices." You layed flat on top of her, leaning on your forearms, which were placed on each side of her head, for support so your full weight wasn't on her small body. With one hand you brought your cock in between her cheeks. Her eyes shut when you started pushing in inch by inch. After she had time to adjust you started thrusting. It was slow but firm. It was perfect so she thought. The tip of your cock brushed against the right spot. Each time it reached it a moan left her mouth. Being worked up from her punishment and not being able to finish her masturbating session she soon reached the edge. "D-daddy. Please, can I cum? I need to cum." You kissed the back of her head, "Good girl, asking for permission. Cum for me, cum for daddy." Before you could even finish your sentence she came, drowning your cock in her juices.

After you slipped out of her you got rid of the condom and layed beside her. With newfound energy, Natasha crawled onto your lap, "You didn't cum, daddy. Let me return the favor." Before you could answer she sunk onto your cock and started riding you. Her nails dug deep into your chest, you were sure they would leave marks behind but you couldn't care less at the moment. Her breasts bounced up and down and the only thought in your mind at that moment was that you wanted them in your mouth. Taking her hands from your chest to place them on your shoulders, you sat up and started sucking hickeys on her breasts. "Baby, look at you. You are so beautiful, but you look even better with my marks on you." Her mind was empty and the only thing she was thinking about was fucking you. Hursting your hips upwards, you match her pace. Her walls were gripping you tight and you felt yourself getting closer and closer. "Please, daddy. Cum for me, cum in me. Fill me up with your seed." "You want that, princess. I'm gonna stuff you full with my cum and make sure you stay full from now on. You're my beautiful little cum dump." "Oh, Yes, daddy. Fill me up. I want your seed deep inside of me. Please, cum for me, daddy." It didn't take long for you to release. Feeling her walls being painted she reached her second orgasm. When you were back from seeing the stars you kisses her with passion. "You did so well, baby. But I didn't give you permission to cum a second time, did I?" Her eyes widened. You hadn't. You grinned at her while stroking her face.

-

Remembering what she had told you earlier this evening you had come up with the perfect punishment. You were seated in your office with Natasha on your lap with your cock stuffed deep inside of her while you help her study economics. Every time she moved you would spank her pussy until she learned. After an hour of studying you closed her book. "You know, you are better at economics than your mother. I believe in you that you will pass your test, baby." You place your strong arms around her and bring her back against your front, cuddling her up against you. "I-Iove you, daddy." her voice is trembling. You take her jaw in your hand and turn it to the side so can look at you over her shoulder, "I love you too, baby. So much. I want you, only you. But before that, I have to take care of some things. I want to give all of me to you as you give all of you to me." You bring her into a kiss, tongues battling for the upper hand while you slowly slide down your hand to her clit. 

It's wrong. Both of you know it. You cheated on your wife and she betrayed her mother. But how can you stop something so strong as love? That evening the both of you slept peacefully in your and your wife's cleaned bed. Both still very naked and Natasha snuggled against you.

-

The morning after you were woken up by a heavenly feeling. Pulling up the sheets you were met with the sight of Natasha sucking you off. When she looked up at you she had a look of lust in her green eyes. She played with your balls and made sure to swallow every drop of cum when you spurted it in her mouth. "That was a lovely surprise to wake up to baby," you said when she crawled back up while kissing your body in the meantime. She pecked your lips and stood up from the bed, walking seductively towards the bathroom. "Are you coming, daddy? Or am I have to shower alone?" She asks sweetly before she disappears into the attached bathroom. It takes you a few seconds to process what just happened but when it does you jump up and join her in the shower, soon pushing her against the glass and fucking her again. Rough. And while the steam covers up your sinful act both of your phone screens fill up with missed calls and unread messages. 

[Y/N, mom here. I hope you're okay. I heard about the plane crash and I'm so sorry. Please call me back.]

[Natasha, your father here. I know we don't have the best relationship but after hearing this news I don't think you're supposed to be alone. I'm coming over. See you in an hour. Love you.]

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Onto the Next!

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Check this out.

#natasha romanoff x male reader #natasha romanoff #criminal minds #fanfic #natasha x y/n #natalia romanova #natasha x reader #black widow #marvel #natasha romanoff smut #male reader #smut

[hotxcheeto]

May I request separate vi and ekko finding their soulmate? Like a soulmate au with first words spoken to each other, attached strings or stop watches on their wrists counting down

━ 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Vi x Fem!Reader

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Cursing, injuries ( vi ), mentions of scars and cuts ( vi ), flirting, mentions / light descriptions of death ( fake ), maybe a mention of blood?

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - sorry this took so long! at this time I don't write for Ekko but here this is! hope you enjoy lovely !

REBLOGS ARE EXTREMELY APPRECIATED

Everyone had one, since the time they were born, they had clocks on their wrists that displayed the exact time.

It wasn't a watch though, now that would be a bit funny.

No, it counted the years, days, hours and even seconds until you met the person you were supposed to live your life with. Sometimes your clock would stop, those were the saddest cases up until it would reset one night and change to fit with another who had lost their person.

The world worked in mysterious ways as your father always said, tapping your wrist at the time that counted twenty years until you'd meet them.

Well, that was then and now was now. Winter coming over Zaun while you laid on your balcony overlooking the city. The snow seeping through the cracks and creating a rather beautiful scenery. It was peaceful, drinking some warm tea that you'd practically traded your life for, even if it was just a box of tea packets it was all worth it in the end.

You expected a knock on your door, or maybe your neighbor coming out at that exact time and somehow you'd lock eyes and it would everything you dreamed of. Maybe an accidental walk in from someone coming in from the wrong apartment since your lock did suck most days.

You could've fallen asleep there fantasizing about it knowing you hadn't had much time left until you met them, staring at the view of the old mining city hearing the loud talk of the people below and the sun quietly setting above you.

It was perfect.

BANG

You jumped as a body slammed into your metal rails, choking on air from it hitting their gut, looking at you with blood falling from their mouth.

"What the fuck?" You had spilt the tea all over the ground and your glass shattering, seeping through to the other porch below and a few pieces of the cup falling away. "Sorry." Was all they said, eyes slowly shutting before their grip on the guards fell short, going to fall backwards.

Out of instinct you reached forward and grabbed their wrists, keeping them from splattering onto the bricks below and letting the enforcers clean up their remains.

"Oh you've gotta be fucking kidding me."

0:0:0:0:0:0

All zeros smacking you in the face back to back while you held onto the stranger dangling over the busy street below. Out like a light as you pulled them over the railing and to rest against you, dragging them inside.

If it was anyone else, you would've left them. But it was your person, and though you hadn't met them, you had grown quite the attachment to those little numbers on your wrist and who they were linked with.

You noticed as you layed her down on your couch that her face had been badly bruised, body covered with every color that you could imagine existing.

It wasn't what you were expecting, but you'd have to deal with it.

The stranger slept for quite some time as you continued to clean them up, having unwrapped her hands and cleaning up her bloodied knuckles. Feeling her begin to shift under your touch, light groans passing by her lips going almost unnoticed by you as you held her fingers softly and brush the rag over them.

"Stay still." "What?" She was dazed and confused, eyes shooting around the room before looking at her bare wrist that you held in your own smaller hands, cleaning her up. Her clock reading all zeros which didn't help the shock and adrenaline that flooded her when she realized she wasn't anywhere familiar.

"I didn't think I'd meet my soulmate when they slammed into my balcony, but I wasn't going to let you fall to your death in front of my eyes."

Vi watched you clean her up, setting her now cleaned hand down, knuckles now visible in all of their ruined glory. Scars and even fresh cuts littering her flesh creating little lines that were criss crossed over each other like an abstract pattern on an expensive painting in the middle of a museum that would only be found in Piltover.

Vi wasn't one to feel scared, but when you looked at them she was afraid that you'd think the same that others did. Other people who looked like you, that were pretty and kind, they were always scared or put off by her.

You weren't supposed to feel fear about meeting your soulmate, but it made her sick to her stomach whenever she thought about it.

But then you picked her other hand and began to clean it, rinsing out your rag and beginning to run it along her knuckles as lightly as possible. Focusing on your task instead of on her watchful gaze and making sure not to hurt her anymore than she'd already done herself.

"What's your name?" "Y/n." You didn't ask her, as you weren't sure she wanted to tell you, not that you minded. Pulling away from her to grab your roll of bandages.

"Vi." "As in Violet? Like the flowers? Or do you prefer the color?" You questioned making her chuckle a bit as you wrapped her hands once more.

"Whatever you prefer Sunshine." "I do love me some flowers. And that would've been a better introduction." You winked to her, Vi sitting up when you began to clean up your medical supplies and take them back to your tiny bathroom.

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?" She grumbled, fully swinging her legs over the side of the couch, holding her bruised waist that you knew you could nothing for after taking a glance at it.

It would have to heal on its own.

"Fight. You should see the other guy." She laughed it off, staring at you as you emerged from the bathroom coming back to her. "So why did you slam yourself into my balcony?" "Trying to get back before I passed out or bled out." You snorted.

"Mission unsuccessful."

She sent you a playful glare as you plopped down beside her on the sofa, crossing your legs in front of you.

"Well it's nice to meet you soulmate." You then stated, intertwining your fingers together in your lap. "Not what I imagined, but I'll take it."

"So..." She trailed off, looking at you while you only smiled, admiring her slightly messed up face. Blush rising to her cheeks causing her to flush and look away. "You can stay if you'd like, it isn't getting an earlier and it's looking pretty dark out there."

She glanced at your glass balcony doors before letting out a groan.

"Yeah. Thanks."

"Well, we're destined to be together, so I'm assuming you're not a psycho murderer."

She shrugged. "Only on my days off."

"You can take my bed, I'll take the couch. You need it more than I do." She hurriedly tried to shake her head but you were already up and pulling her off the couch. "Speaking of, time for bed." "No– you don't– seriously–" "Then you want me to sleep with you? Because you're going in that bed."

Wide-eyed Vi stared down at you, hand on your hip and an eyebrow raised waiting for an answer to come from her lips.

"I should warn you, I'm a cuddler, Sunshine." She joked not expecting you to pull her into a small, loose hug in case she wanted to get away. Standing up on your tippy toes with your hands planted on her broad shoulders to whisper,

"so am I."

Yeah, neither of you would change it for the world.

Well maybe the part where she drooled all over your shoulder.

#arcane vi #arcane vi x reader #vi x yn #vi x y/n #vi x you #vi x reader #vi arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane netflix #arcane #nevy writes

[lesbianwriter]

Do you wanna write a third part to the Villain x Vigilante story? I wonder what Vigilante’s backstory is 👀

Part one | Part two | Part three

“Where should I start?” Vigilante asked. She smoothed a corner of the blanket and pushed the heart shaped box of strawberries closer to Villain. “Do you want anything to eat?”

Villain’s appetite wasn’t back yet.

It had disappeared sometime between when Hero had handcuffed her and dragged her kicking and screaming to the date and when Thief’s blood splattered on the wall. Now, on a date with her childhood crush—it wasn’t going to be coming back anytime soon. Instead, there was a gaping hole, as if her stomach had been carved. Everything and nothing all at the same time. A void where anybody could reach in and wiggle their hands in the emptiness that was there. 

She would sooner starve to death than eat the chocolate covered strawberries. It was too romantic and too wrong.

A lot had changed. Neither of them were the same little kids that they knew before. But, deep down in the part of her heart that she’d tried to bury for years, Villain still cared, and she wanted to know what had happened to her friend and she wanted to listen to her talk like they used to and be friends…more than friends.

Scorning herself for wishing for unfeasible fantasies, she shifted on the ground, the discomfort forcing her mind to focus on the situation.

Fantasizing about the impossible only led to hurt.

Being everything she wanted to be, trying everything she wanted to try, it was impossible. Villain had to accept that long ago when she first started her training. Her trainers had told her that was no room in her mind to fill with anything but her job. Otherwise, she’d be a traitor to her bosses. They were her strings and she was the puppet. And they’d certainly turn their noses up at her being on a date. 

Vigilante scooted closer to Villain. To both their surprises, Villain didn’t move away. “Remember when you moved?”

“Yes.”

“It was like you had ripped a piece of me away and taken it with you—I missed you that much.” Vigilante continued. She ate a strawberry and then held one out to Villain between two gloves fingers, eating it herself when Villain refused. “My parents weren’t paying attention to me…they cared more about their corrupt jobs than making sure I was happy, so, I tried to go to you because you cared about me. I ran away from my parents.”

Villain exhaled heavily, shaking slightly from the cold. Vigilante wrapped her arms around her and sighed into the warmth of the other’s body. “Is this okay?” She smoothed her hand along Villain’s waist before resting her hand atop the other. Her head leaned on Villain’s shoulder.

“Are we going to talk about…about it?” Villain breathed. It. The crush, the rumors. The night air helped her stay stable, but there was that part of her that screamed. It yelled to the skies about how she was making a mistake by even allowing those words to tumble past her defenses.

What if it was a mistake to trust somebody with her emotions again?

“Was it true?” Vigilante’s eyebrows tucked together as she looked up at her. Her expression softened as Villain’s hardened. “If it was, I wouldn’t be upset at you. I’d be upset at myself for not being with you when I had that chance.”

“I don’t mind you hugging me.” Villains deflected, looking away at the thousands of lights coming from skyscraper windows and the yellow glow from apartments.

Mercifully, Vigilante continued. “I’ve done other things along the way and picked up this career as a vigilante—and that’s why I changed my name—and I continued to search for you, praying to any magical being that would listen that you’d be safe.” Villain swallowed back what she wanted to say. She blinked to keep from crying. “Why did you become a villain?”

“My parents died in a crash while I was still in school; I had no job, no money…nothing. I was hurt and I was angry and…I was offered the job by one of the teachers.” The words stung. Every one burned her tongue like acid, and admitting it aloud…it hurt. God, it hurt so bad, and it made her want to run away. 

What she did wasn’t right. She was unable to pack away her grief and anger how other, stronger people were able to. Knowing that didn’t change much; she accepted long ago that it wasn’t good or right or ethical, but I was what she needed at the time and still needed.

The guilt was bad, so bad that she couldn’t look in a mirror anymore and sometimes struggled to get out of bed, but she had no way out of her job. The offer was a trap, one that she had walked into. 

“You aren’t alone anymore.” Vigilante tightened her hold, keeping Villain from bolting. “I love you so much, and if you’d want to, I think we should go on another date.”

“…will you kidnap me and force me to go if I say no?”

“Probably.”

Getting forced to go on dates wasn’t anything that Villain had foreseen happening in her future, and she blamed Hero for sparking it.

“I had a crush on you when we were kids…I’m scared of liking you. I don’t know whether to think it’s real or it’s a cruel prank.” The waterfall sprang from her body, the ache in her voice raw and unfiltered. She couldn’t contain it anymore. She just cracked. “How do I know that—“

Vigilante placed her hand on Villain’s jaw. She leaned in closer, her breath warm as it fanned on Villain’s skin.  “I want to kiss you so bad. Can I?”

“I—“ Villain felt a massive rush of heat in her face. “You’re not joking…”

“No, I’m not.” Vigilante smiled faintly, her lips ghosting Villain’s lips. 

Villain gasped for air, suddenly incapable of inhaling enough.  “How do I know?”

“By trusting me.” 

“Sorry to be in the way, ladies, but I’m afraid I can’t let you do that.” Supervillain interrupted, his voice cutting through the moment like a cleaver.

#vigilante x villain #my writing #writing snippet #heroes and villains #sapphic #wlw #lesbian #villain x villain

[okimargarvez]

ABOUT TIME

Original title: About time

Prompt: what if after 16x9.

Warning: spoiler for 16x9.

Genre: romantic, angst.

Characters: Penelope Garcia, Luke Alvez, (Tyler Green, Tara Lewis mentioned).

Pairing: Garvez.

Note: oneshot 87 in Garvez collection. 

Legend: 💏😘. Song mentioned: E ti vengo a cercare, Tiziano Ferro (Franco Battiato).

GARVEZ STORIES

ABOUT TIME

I should change the object of my desires, not settle for small daily joys

I'm standing outside the hospital where Tyler Green has spent the past two weeks, teetering between life and death. But today something finally moves. We took Sicarius and saved Rossi.

I know perfectly well that I shouldn't be here, that I'm making yet another mistake, but my feet, my heart, my mind... Everything led me here, to her. As soon as we were sure Dave was safe, she ran to Tyler. Just because she felt she owed him, so she told JJ. That she would have closed, or at least stopped their contact, certainly for the time of the trial. And about after... Who knows.

The thought of them not being able to be together didn't make me feel any better. I don't think I have a chance, but if I did, I would never want to be picked because my rival isn't available. Winning because the opponents have all withdrawn. No, I would like Penelope to choose me because she wants me, she loves me. But the thing is, she's falling in love with someone else and that has changed her. I can't say for the better, although she has always been a goddess to me.

But she is no longer the same woman I fell for. The fault, if any, is not only Green's, but also the pandemic. In those three years after our one date, we saw very little. When the world seemed to go back to normality, we started dating a little more... but only for Sergio. And so, I found out I'm allergic to cat dander. Would it ever stop me to start a lifetime with her? Rhetorical question, since antihistamines exist and even if they didn't… no.

It's really absurd, how many times have I fantasized about her coming to my house, to keep Roxy company, maybe while we were out on a case? And I came home and found them hugging each other, asleep on the sofa. Undecided whether to wake her up or stay to contemplate her all night, until the last moment, before the sun made its appearance. And sometimes I would go further, dreaming of her eyelids lifting, a few seconds to focus on my face, an embarrassed smile that suddenly turned malicious, as she placed both hands on my neck, dragging me down, me happy to please her.

But I don't even know what her lips taste like, and I can be sure that I will never find out. Perhaps I should have been more proactive enterprising during our date. Not in words, but in gestures. I should have kissed her right under her house when I picked her up. Make it clear how things were, what was at stake on my part. Instead of letting things go, and pretending that I was okay with hearing her imagine meeting her soul mate, who knows when, who knows where.

I don't know if it's Tyler and if she's already thought that. I can only speak for myself. And as far as I'm concerned, I should have told her explicitly that there was no point in looking for my twin soul, because I had already found the right person and right at that moment she was in front of my nose. And it will stay that way, no matter what. In these three years I have never even made an attempt with another woman, although I have had some opportunities. But for what? To treat her like Lisa? No, better to be alone.

It hurts to see how strong JJ and Will's love is, I don't mean I'd rather think them apart, I'm not at that level. But that's exactly what I want, what I feel is missing in my life. What Tara and Matt, with whom I'm in constant contact, didn't understand (given the amount of people who tried to get me to know) is that I don't miss a woman by my side. But one in particular. And it's her or nobody.

A few days ago I had the umpteenth proof of it. If I haven't stopped loving her while she's been telling me unwanted details about her sex life with Tyler, when will that happen? I no longer hope for it, on the contrary, what am I saying, liar! I never believed it. I never even wanted to. No, I like to wallow in my grief, complain to Roxy about how unfortunate I am. Poor Luke. Too bad the only one I would like to console me is always… her. Penelope Garcia.

And it wasn't just for cowardice that I didn't venture further three years ago. No, it was because I can't lose her at all. Even as a friend, or whatever role she puts me in. I can't imagine my life without her, it takes my breath away just thinking about it. Yet despite all my efforts, despite all the bitter pills I've swallowed, I'm still losing her. She stopped responding to me, flirting with me, snapping back, which is kind of the same thing. She said, in that restaurant, that she finds hard to talk to me without using the provocation filter. And it’s half bullshit, because in these seven years we have had several profound conversations, I was the first one she told about her stalker. Maybe I'm still the only one, knowing her...

But that's the problem. I don't recognize her anymore. The Penelope I love is the one who was super nice to Lisa, despite the embarrassing situation (because even then a little cloud with all the unsaid was hovering between us). The one who always worried about her absence, partly because she loved her, directly to her, partly because, I'm sure, she thought about how it could reflect on me. Current Penelope, on the other hand, didn't give a damn when I tried to tell her to stop talking about her and Tyler; she ignored my pleading tone, my watery eyes, whatever. I didn't think she could ever be that selfish.

She killed me. And that hasn't changed anything, in what I feel. It hasn't wavered my love for her even for a second. It is always there, that proudly stands as one of the 300 before facing the Persians. Like I know I will still love her when she gives in and accepts Tyler's proposal, and I will try to endlessly dilate the one dance she'll allow me, during their wedding.

How much bullshit can be processed in a few minutes outside a hospital. Actually, it must have been at least half an hour and I can't figure out why the heck I haven't entered yet. What's the point of staying here? I should go home. Both Simmons and Tara would recommend it to me. I had the opportunity to really let off steam and I threw it away. I told Dr Lewis everything but being careful to avoid every detail that could give a face to the mysterious woman who had stolen (and broken) my heart. She probably understood, since she's not just a profiler… but maybe not, because her condition wasn't the usual one. Even her heart was in a thousand pieces that evening. We both got really drunk. It hasn't happened to me since… before entering the academy, I think. I hope it worked at least to her.

I look at my cell phone, hoping what? A text from her now? That a new case arrived? Neither option is realistically possible. I sigh, pulling it into my back pocket and making a decision at the same time. At least one. I turn around, and head to my car. I tried. I gave her half an hour, perhaps I should say that I gave fate, rather than her, the opportunity to prove something to me. But nothing happened, and Penelope will never know that I stayed outside the hospital where Tyler is being treated, completely alone, in the cold, hoping to see her appear.

And then, then what was I going to do? Stupid dilemmas that no longer make sense to wonder. I reach the car, but precisely because of my fingers are numb from the low temperature, my keys fall out. As I bend down to pick up them, I hear the sound of heels on the asphalt. I don't want to delude myself. Too late.

I carry on as if nothing had happened, ignoring that perfume which, although mixed with anxieties and fears, remains unmistakable. -Luke?- she called me by my first name instead of my last. This is already a victory, I can say I am satisfied, thank you very much. Can I go home now? I catch all the shades of uncertainty in her tone and not a single note of happiness to see me. I sigh and turn in her direction, leaning against the car door. -What are you doing here?- wrinkles on her forehead. She didn't do her makeup. Did she cry for him? Of course she did, what a stupid question. And for me, for me has she ever done it? When she thought I died in the explosion, did she shed even a tear at the thought of never seeing me again, except in a coffin?

All the techniques I've learned in years of military service and as a federal agent go to hell when I'm with her. There remains only a pathetic man unable to formulate a meaningful sentence. -Uh… I wanted to know how you were… and…- it came out like this, even if I should have asked her about Tyler, since he's the one in trouble. But I don't take it back, I was sincere. My priority is her.

She always has been, even on those occasions, like after the accident in which Walker lost his life, where training would have led me to focus on something else. And yet, one moan of pain from her was enough for me to abandon a half-blind JJ and run to her. As well as I stood by her side, coaching her on how to dab Tyler's wound. -Oh.- amazement again. How is it possible, after everything I've shown her since we've known each other, that she's still surprised to see me worrying about her? Is she really that naive? -I'm…I'm fine.- lie, like the first time I caught her crying in her office over Reid. She called me friend, but she won't let me near her. I thought I had knocked down all the walls, but instead there are some bricks that want to prevent me from reaching her.

I don't know what it was. The anger at seeing that I was always stuck at the starting line. The pure black (not green) jealousy of imagining her at another's bedside. Maybe all together. Before she even has time to think about it, I push her against my chest, hugging her, while a little voice in my head repeats over and over to enjoy this moment as much as possible, because it will be the last. Penelope instantly transforms from a rigid body to the soft and warm one of the woman I love. She sinks into my chest, and I let her pour all of her tears into my sweater. I will never wash it again. I'll hold it to me on nights when sleep won't keep me company. I remain silent, one hand in her hair and the other on her back. She looks so small and fragile now. I keep my grip firm as I whisper a question that is actually a statement. -You love him, don't you?- she tries to wriggle out of my arms, but I can't bear to look into her eyes as she kills me with the bullets I've personally provided for her.

I must have probably hit some bare spot, because I feel the change in her. -No.- she finally replies, but I can't believe her. If she denies her feelings for Tyler, the situation is even worse than I guessed. I let her go, but she doesn't go away. -No.- she repeats. And she seems really convinced of what she is saying. Indeed, she seems… sorry. And now I'm the one confused. -I worry about him, that's true. And we have an…- she meets my gaze and this time she notices by herself, without me having to point out anything, how little I want to hear her repeat what a great sex they had. -But I wouldn't call it love.- she stares at me, she literally pierces me and looks like she's waiting. For my step? What should I do? Damn, if I only knew what was the right thing to do! -Remember that talk about finding the right person, that we had during our date?- I hasten to nod, but I refrain from adding the obvious, I've never stopped thinking about it. -Here- I'm shaking, I'm fucking scared that she's going to say that she's realized she's found it, and that it's Tyler. It wouldn't make sense, since she just admitted she doesn't love him, but… -I know it's not him.- Penelope looks me in the eyes again, and she seems to be looking for something, but she can't find it. She sighs.

I'm afraid she'll leave, give up. Then I make what I usually did, like a last-ditch attempt to continue a conversation. I say any shit to keep her attention on me. Well, this time it's not technically bullshit, but a rhetorical question, but it carries the same weight. -How can you be sure?- and my voice becomes soft, falters. I hate myself immensely.

She shivers and it takes a moment to understand that it is not an emotional reaction, but a physiological one. Penelope doesn't have the patience to wait for me to wake up, anyway. -We could… we could keep talking about it… I don't know, in your car? I'm freezing.- and the coat she is wearing is too light. Such a drop in temperatures wasn't expected. I nod and hastily open the door for her. Penelope comes aboard without my help. I reach her. I'm quivering with joy, because for the first time she didn't take the opportunity to run away, but she chose to stay and face it head on. I see reflected in her pupils the Penelope that made me fall in love. I know she is still there. -Thank you.- a weak smile. -Tyler asked me to leave Quantico, the team… all of you, and start a life together, away from here. To come back just for the trial. Just the two of us against the world.- she doesn't look at me and I struggle to recover from the blow.

-Whoah.- I exclaim, shaking my head. The boy is not joking. He played hard. And how can you blame him? -And you…- luckily she keeps to tell.

-At first I almost said yes.- I swallow. -I don't know if you know… I had a chat with Emily, very nasty.- she stares at her shoes. -I deserved every single word, I know. I jeopardized one of the most important cases FBI has ever handled… I just wish at least someone would believe me when I say I didn't do it on purpose. Everything suddenly became bigger than me. But I didn't mean to.- her hands are constantly moving, despite the confined space in which we are. -And I know that I've been a bad friend, for everyone, not only since Tyler appeared.- I start to retort, but I'd be partially lying, so I'm silent. -I tried to work on myself, during the pandemic, I thought I had reached a balance, instead I went from one extreme to the other.- the cabin welcomes her first sob. Heartbreaking. -Oh, Luke!- before she finishes saying my name, my hands are already on her. -I became the anti Garcia. Selfishness incarnate!- I'm not willing to stand motionless while she insults herself.

-No, it's not true…- beyond the fogged lenses, her eyes challenge me. -Ok, let's say you've begun to think a little more about yourself, and this isn't necessarily a bad thing...- nothing, I can't bear to be mad at her or say something that might hurt her, not even when she herself asks me to.

A few tears slip through my fingers. She shakes her head. -Luke, you... you've always been too good to me. Do you think I never noticed?- I'm shaking. -You've always been my shadow, since you walked at the BAU, you've always been there for me, ready to hold me up every time I was about to fall... that someone to go to when I want to cry... and more.- know that she has noticed it causes me a wave of immense happiness. It wasn't all in vain. However, it doesn't last long. Because if she knows, how should I interpret all those behaviors that I have attributed to her naivety? -And I paid back you with snarking… but always hoping that you knew… how much I really care about you and how much I love you.- I know she means it affectionately, so I have no illusions.ù Her tone, her gaze suggests it. I hand her a tissue, to break the gloomy atmosphere that has been created. -Penelope- she looks at me in silence -what did you answer to him?- she seems initially disappointed that, about all her touching speech, I remained stuck on that trifle, that she thinks it doesn't concern me.

-I say I can't.- my lungs start pumping air again. -And thereby, it had no longer sense... to be together.- she shrugs, lost in another past. JJ once mentioned one her ex, another IT, that had proposed to her. It ended bad. Is this the fate of anyone who tries to approach her romantically?

I block her, forcing her to look at me again. -He didn't agree to proceed more... calmly?- why the heck am I carrying on this discussion, this is what her eyes ask me, but I know the answer well. I'm not thinking about her and Tyler at all. No, I'm… asking for a friend. Very close.

She sighs, as if her body is about to collapse, abandon her. Who knows how exhausting it must have been, the conversation with what she believed was her boyfriend, who had just re-emerged from the darkness. And I came to give her the coup de grace. -We didn't even considered it, because it wouldn't have mattered. I've been single for years and… that's okay. If he's not the right… and I know it's not, why should I delude him? I will never be able to love him the same way.- I nod. I no longer know how to get out of this situation and suddenly I would like to be alone.

-Should I... give you a ride home?- I expect her to nod. In any of my fantasies, Penelope would have done it, or she would have replied that wasn't needed, she could take a taxi, she had come here with her Esther, there was always the subway…

Instead she denies. -No.- her face still bears traces of the salty drops she poured, but her expression is serious and determined. I'm scared. -Luke, I don't think the fact that you, only you, came out here waiting for me... is a coincidence. Nor anything that would do a simple worried colleague.- she grabs my hand. Here we go, is this really going to happen? -Stop me or deny me, if I say something that seems incorrect to you.- but I even struggle to breathe. I'm in apnea. -Nothing you've done for me can be described as simple kindness. Especially the way I kept your at distance.- she has hit me. -So… when Tyler came up with that proposal, I realized two things. The first, that it wouldn't have been right to accept, and the second, that I could only say yes to one person.- her sweet gaze is not enough to convince me that she really means me.

Not entirely. But now... -Then why did you say that there was definitely something between us, but not like that?- finally, after three years, I get rid of this weight. I still have one clarification to make. -And what did you mean with "not like that"? As much as I've racked my brain, I haven't found a sensible solution.- Penelope giggles, but only from embarrassment.

-Uh, that night… everything was so weird, and the silence certainly didn't help. I know you tried your best to get things going, while I… I gave it a clean break, because it seemed like the easiest route. Because when you ordered two glasses of wine… both for you… I kind of had a vision, and I realized that I would really risk it all, with you, leave my whole heart in your hands and it's… something I've never done before, never, in more than forty years.- I have always adored witnessing her ravings, and now I'm the subject, and also the love (because it’s this) that she feels for me…

I caress the palm of her hand, I contemplate the lines drawn on her skin as if I were a fortune teller. -Me neither.- I whisper. -I've never given my heart to anyone either, not voluntarily… but it was yours anyway, ever since I've known you.- she gasps. We're competing to see who shoot biggest, and I don't give a damn who will win.

-Well, then you know how dangerous it is. How scary it is.- I nod. She leans her head on my shoulder, and it's not exactly the most comfortable position in the world, but inside I'm salsa dancing.

-Penelope?- I call her, after what seems like a century. She lifts her eyes to me. -Do you think that now can I…?- she senses what I can't say out loud, pulling me towards her, until our faces are practically stuck together. She gives me the last spur with a killer look. Hurry up, or do you really want me to change my mind? But it's her again, my Penelope. In any case, I decide not to risk my fate.

Her mouth fits perfectly on mine. Her fingers wander through my hair, my hands on her cheeks, as we moan in pleasure as we pass to the following step. -About time.- she exclaims, parting to catch her breath, before the next round.

Now I am sure that her lips will always be my personal paradise. And that she will be the place where I feel really safe. Things I've always known and that's why it hurt so much to see her deny my every step in her direction. Too much waste.

But now that doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that I know that she knows that I will be there for her through this process, that no matter what, I will be there, because this is my destiny. And she will be there for me, whether she decides to stay at the BAU or another job. No more secrets between us, and not even bricks.

And I'll come looking for you, because I feel good with you

-

Note: this story is based on my what if instead.

#garvez #criminal minds #cm #penelope garcia #luke alvez #penelope x luke #luke x penelope #garcia x alvez #alvez x garcia #penelope garcia x luke alvez #luke alvez x penelope garcia #garvez fanfiction #post 16x9

[belog-grada-crna-princeza]

june 7th, 2023 in belgrade

Here's the thing. I was so dishonest, so full of sh*t. I built this world of make-believe. Maybe I wasn't dishonest. Maybe I was just a writer. Maybe all writers are liars. Anyway, I wrote a play, a script, characters, roles. Or were they assigned to me? I don't remember. Sometimes I (would) feel like a piece on a chessboard. I became obsessed with control. If I can make my own world and choose what comes in and out of it, maybe I can win this game. Except no one ever told me the rules. Every move I made was a losing one. Every move I made put me in a worse position than before. Everyone else was advancing and I would spin around in circles like a peg top. At first, interesting, exciting, new. But soon, I would be out of tricks and they would move on. I can entice everyone; I can't keep anyone. When the show is over, what's left is just me. So I invented more plotlines. More twists and turns. Better costumes, better lies. I became so good at it I even kept the truth from myself. It was always like staring into a fast flowing river. There would be glimpses here and there but nothing tangible, solid. Nothing I could make sense of. All those smoke and mirrors transformed into the weirdest f*cking symptoms. I would get this electric feeling in my stomach, like there was lighting inside of my body. I would get aches and pains but all my scans always showed up normal. I would stay up late at night haunted by memories I wasn't sure I didn't make up. It was all fragmented. I wanted to break all my mirrors and cut on my skin with the pieces to see if I bled. I was convinced there was no blood in my veins. I was filled with nothing, with air, with emptiness. A walking contradiction. An entity. But not human. I've been in therapy for years, you know? I was so resentful, so fed up. More clever, sneaky lies. I can't possibly be fixed, can I? She just believes my masks. Hell, I believe my masks. I would fantasize about her ripping off my face and looking directly at what lied underneath. No pun intended. I don't really know what eventually got through. It's the paradox of armour like mine. (My whole life is a paradox, if it wasn't obvious by now). It seemed heavy, big, strong, but it collapsed from the smallest speck of dust. I was bare, unprotected, exposed. Instead of building even higher walls, I lay down on the battlefield ready to bleed to death. And then it hit me. And I was euphoric. I AM BLEEDING!!!!!!! You can understand how exciting that was. I can bleed. I can die. Which means: I can live. There is no light without darkness and there is no darkness without light. It should've been obvious, right? But it wasn't, not until then. I had divided my world into absolutes. Good and evil. If I wasn't clean, pure, perfect then surely I was disgusting, horrifying, beastly. But for the first time, none of it was true. I bleed like the rest of them. I am killable, mortal, ordinary just like the rest of them. Which means, for the first time ever I was actually capable of being something more. You won't get it. Not until you feel it for yourself. I cannot explain it to you. But I look at the grass and the birds flying and the sun rising in the morning and it's filled with so much meaning for me now. I don't need another world. I am not afraid anymore. Not even of death. It's not self-destructive like before. It's peaceful. I don't tell fibs, I don't need to. I don't hide in the shadows. I don't need to rule the world anymore, or to hide from it. I can only love it. I can only be a part of it. To you maybe it was obvious. But to me, it's a revelation. I love my scars and I love remembering the war. Not because I won. Because I lost and it destroyed every illusion I had created and because the truth is more peaceful if you let it in. You can't explain it. You just live it.

#journal #personal #journal dump #journal thoughts #Thoughts #therapy #self reflection #life #honesty #masks #beloggradacrnaprinceza

[lavendertales]

Sacrifice (Javier Peña x f!reader)

Part 20 of Lay It On Me series**

summary: you and Javier share the most intimate night of your lives where you both come clean about everything. But paradise won’t last long.

word count: 4.6k

WARNINGS: mentions of self-harm, suicide and death. cunnilingus, unprotected piv, vaginal fingering.

AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!

gif: @javierpcna​ 

series masterlist | AO3 | playlist 

The war going on in Colombia was nothing compared to the war that was raging inside of you.

For years, the great wall you had built around yourself to protect you from any harm had been doing its job wonderfully. You guarded yourself, taking strictly what you needed and lived in peace behind it. There was no pain, no struggle, nothing.

But when Javier began to take it down, brick by brick, you began to feel like a ghost of your true self.

The years you had spent chasing the bad guys and trying to make justice had toughened you, made you do things you never dreamed of, and life had certainly not been kind to you. So you crushed your own kindness in return because why would you show empathy when no one’s ever showed that to you? And again, it worked out. You never felt the need to search for more, especially after his death. You were convinced you already had your shot at your one big love and now that it was gone, so were you.

As you laid in the comfort of your own bed, cuddled up at Javier’s warm chest and his arms wrapped around you, you felt at home. You felt more like your old self than you ever did in the past twelve years, and for once, it did not frighten you. It was rather shocking, really, how secure you felt and how little it scared you. Words came pouring out in a natural and easy way as you finally allowed Javier in, taking an intricate look at what your life used to be like.

“I wanted to tell them,” you began your confession sometime after two a.m. “I wanted to be honest with them, they were my family. So I said I liked boys and girls too and they said they… refuse to raise an abomination, a sick and broken child. There was a lot of crying and yelling… and they kicked me out. They didn’t even let me pack my clothes. The only place I could think of was my uncle’s house, many blocks away. And he took me in. He let me stay with him until I finished high school. Once I finished, I signed up for the Academy. I wanted to do some good. I wanted to… help and do the right thing, to… defend those that couldn’t defend themselves. That’s when I met him.”

You stopped for a moment to take a breath in, fondly remembering the very first encounter you shared with your ex-boyfriend. Javier, on the other hand, noticed the change in your facial expression, and braced himself. It was an extremely sensitive subject and one that he personally wasn’t sure he should even hear.

“He was—“you began, but he grabbed your hands and held them in his.

“You don’t have to tell me,” he cooed. “Really.”

You smiled bitterly, grazing his cheek with your cold fingers. “I know. But I want to.”

And that alone meant so much more to Javier than he could ever tell you.

“His name was Spencer. He was two years older than me, and… he had such a presence. It was pretty much love at first sight. He was one of the kindest people I have ever known, so respectful and charming and hilarious. He was my first love. My first everything. And, uh… I was pretty sure I won the lottery. It couldn’t have been better than that. I loved him in ways that… I would have never thought possible. The kind of love you read about and scoff because it sounds so fucking ridiculous to even fantasize about it, but that one was very much real. We talked about getting married once I’d finish the Academy, right away, because otherwise the right time would never come. That’s what we wanted to discuss the night he—”

You stopped, allowing yourself a breather in order to recollect your thoughts.

“The right time didn’t come in the end.”

Javier didn’t dare interrupt you; he listened in a trance, gently rubbing his thumb over your hand as you kept your bittersweet smile on your face.

“When he died,” you resumed, “he took a huge chunk out of me. For a year, I was… dead. I was a walking dead. I did things robotically and I sank into a deep pit of hopelessness and guilt. And I promised myself I wouldn’t ever let myself get that close. I had my one great, big love, and I was convinced I would never again be able to pull anything like that.

“Things only got worse when I got a call from my mother, with whom I haven’t spoken since the day she kicked me out, to tell me that my father was dead. She told me it would be better if I didn’t come to the funeral, but I did anyway. I stood in the back. Then a few months later, my uncle died. Stupid hit and run. Again, went to the funeral and stood in the back like a pariah, the black sheep of the family. And a few months later, my best friend from the Academy died as well. By that point I was living in mourning clothes and the pain grew so much that I barely felt it anymore if it makes sense. I became numb, unfazed. So I shoved it down and moved on.”

Javier had a very tough time processing images of you being forced to hide at your own father and uncle’s funeral, forced to suppress all of your grief and pain, and that sole thought ached deeply, touching nerves he himself had considered long forgotten and buried.

“And this—“you briefly pointed to the scar right above your sternum. “This didn’t come from someone else.”

Javier furrowed his brows, but then it finally came to him. He opened his mouth to protest, to say something, but you allowed for no such thing.

“I was drunk, and… got emotional, and thought it would be best if it would all… end.”

“No, it wouldn’t…”

His voice was trembling, and he soon discovered his own hands had gotten colder, as a result of his body stiffening under the crushing weight of your confession.

“Instead I started to do—this.”

You dug your fingernails into your wrist and Javier lifted your hand to take a better look at it in the dim light. He instantly remarked tiny marks all over it, scars of different sizes, and it all made even more sense, much to his sorrow.

“Sometimes to calm myself,” you explained. “Other times to hurt myself, to let myself feel something temporarily before shoving it back down again. But when I started with the DEA, I felt really good. I could actually do something and focus on something else, a greater cause. And I thought that there is nothing anyone can use against me, ever. So I used my past to my aid and worked ten, twenty, fifty times harder than anyone else to make sure no one ever dares hurt or talk back at me.”

That was the one time you felt proud of yourself during the night, and Javier could feel it, too: from the smug smile on your face, to the way your eyes locked with his and your confident grip over his hand. He revealed a hesitant, yet bright and proud smile as well, which somehow managed to soothe you and made you feel comfortable at last.

But that could not have prepared you for what followed.

You knew that Javier’s past and emotions were even more closeted than yours, reason why you never asked and you never really hoped to know anything more. Life had clearly taken its toll on him as well and his years spent with the DEA had toughened him beyond imagination.

“My mother died, too,” he cooed, momentarily focusing elsewhere than on you.

You let him talk and process at his own speed and needs.

“I was still a teenager. It hit my dad harder than anyone would’ve thought. And it hit me hard too, but I didn’t realize it for years. She was gone too soon, too brutally, and I was angry... for years. I still am. And you would think that having a big family would help, but it only made me even angrier and more suffocated. You know the bullshit everyone says about ‘time will heal a broken heart’? It never fully heals.”

“Oh, how I know that.”

You chuckled despite knowing better, but Javier did the same.

“It never goes away,” he continued.

“It does stay with you. But it gets a little easier.”

For a while, you both allowed silence to reside contentedly in between the two of you whilst you both took in the words the other confessed. You sat there, comforting each other with your mere presence, fingers intertwined and nothing else to be said.

“You’re not alone, you know?” Javier broke the silence after a while.

You smiled shyly.

“I can be there for you, whenever you want me. If you want me. I can be your family.”

That was all that it took for the wall to come down completely. You stared for a little while at Javier, unsure of the seriousness he had intended to let slip, and soon realized that he had fully meant every single word. You felt yourself get emotional, so you leaned in to kiss him, deeply and slowly, taking him in for the first time in months.

And then it hit you: it’s been months since you got the chance to feel him, to be with him in the most intimate way you could think of.

Javier was perfectly aware of that, too; he kissed you right back, arms wrapped around you so that he flipped you on top of him. You straddled his lap, the feeling of his hands roaming nervously on your back, boldly teasing the skin beneath the clothes, driving you over the edge. You broke the kiss only to remove your shirt and for Javier to do the same, leaning back in to kiss you and cup your cheeks. Your body naturally curved under his touch, and the raw emotions that still ran high between you two amplified every other need you might have had, which was crystal clear from both your movements.

The hot air nearly stuck to your fully exposed skin as you rushed to sink onto him, desperate to feel him, but Javier grabbed you by the wrists, looking needy at you. “Wait, cariño, wait.”

You frowned, utterly confused. You were not about to believe that Javier Peña was turning down sex. But he hadn’t called you any pet name since he not-so-accidentally let it slip the first time you two hooked up and the effect that had on you was even more maddening.

“Sit on my face,” he whispered.

You were already out of breath, nervousness and neediness running high and wild within you, and his demand only made your heartbeat go faster.

The thought of having him buried in between your legs was more than enough to make you spiral out of control, so you listened to him. You watched him lower himself so that you could grab hold of the headboard, your thighs on either sides of his face, and you slowly sunk onto him, into pure bliss and ecstasy.

The first flick of his tongue earned him a loud moan from your side. Your fingers held onto the headboard so tight your knuckles turned white. He had a slight stubble and it tickled your core in all the best possible ways. His tongue latched in and out of you a few times, then licked your folds ever so expertly and steadily whilst his hands held your hips in place. You found it hard to sit still; it was impossible. When it came to his mouth, you were not able to handle it properly, so you rocked yourself back and forth, happily noticing he let you ride his face. You got wetter and wetter even as his mouth seemed to collect every ounce of juice you had to offer, smearing his mustache and stubble. You couldn’t hold on any longer and your hips rocked the rest of your body faster, the impending need to cum overwhelming you.

“F-Fuck—J-Javi—Javi—”

You were unsure where you thought you were going with that, but you could feel it. You could feel what you were trying to say, but your body was seemingly set on fire as you rode atop his face, coming with a loud moan of his name, forgetting anything else.

You slowed down your rhythm, but did not feel settled down. You needed more. And Javier was nothing if not consistent and giving. He rose from in between your legs, reaching in to kiss you and giving you your own taste as you wrapped your arms around his neck, allowing him to top you this time, legs around his waist, fully knowing that was one of his weak spots.

“Fuck, if you do that I’m not gonna last,” he said, nibbling at your jawline.

“I don’t care, I really don’t care…”

Your hands moved down to his pants to unzip them, and Javier moved away for an excruciatingly long moment to remove them and his boxers altogether.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he checked.

“You’re not seriously asking me this right now.”

“I just want to make sure—”

“Javi, I’m lying here naked, legs spread for you, and I—please. Please, I need you. I want you.”

It’s the “please” that took Javier out with a big blow. That word alone made it impossible for him to focus any longer, to think rationally. You had begged for him only once before, only this time it felt so much more impactful. He guided himself inside of you, moaning and cussing with that very first thrust.

“Fuck, I—I forgot how fucking good you feel—”

He thrust again, and again, his forehead pressed onto yours as he started moving a little faster, breaths ragged with each additional thrust he was giving towards his and your climax. And he was right: he couldn’t last long. He didn’t care, though. He needed to feel you as deep as possible, to cum with you and inside of you, so he buried himself balls deep, stretching you out for him, throbbing and aching at how heavenly you felt, especially after so damn long. There was nothing rushed about that moment. It felt like there is all the time in the world at both of your disposal, and he wished nothing more but to use it accordingly.

“F-Fuck—fuck, you f-feel s-so—like heaven,” he muttered in between thrusts.

Javier smiled in that blinding ecstasy, leaning down to press a chaste kiss over your lips, grunting each time his hips collided with yours.

You smiled as well, pulling him in for a sloppy kiss. Javier thrusted faster and mere seconds later, he came with a loud moan and your name stuck on his lips, and you just lost it. You came just as loudly, your nails pressed into his flesh, holding onto him as he rode out both your orgasms.

If there was any heaven, this must be it.

“Javi—”

You closed your eyes, smiling when you felt him pressing light kisses on your jaw, neck and your breasts, taking a nipple in his mouth and twisting it gently between his teeth. Your nails sunk deeper into his back, and you pulled him in closer—if even possible—an unbearable desire of feeling him as deeply as possible overcoming you.

“Shit, this—this makes up for that time you—didn’t let me cum,” you said out of the blue.

Now you had Javier’s undivided attention. He rose from in between your breasts, frowning back at you.

“What did you say?”

You didn’t realize it yourself until just then and when you did, you felt slightly embarrassed to reminisce about it.

“N-Nothing, it was—”

Javier thrusted inside you again, attempting to weaken you that way rather than verbally. And it worked.

“Tell me,” he commanded.

“That t-time—in the—conference room in—Medellin.”

Javier remembered not a moment too late. The day Trujillo died, when he felt so overwhelmed with everything and you indulged into him in the conference room before he went on that mission, allowing him to slam himself into you without anything expected in return, so selfless and accommodating.

“You didn’t cum?”

He stopped moving, still inside of you, and frowned further. He appeared to be genuinely distressed, which you didn’t understand.

“What’s the big deal?”

“It is.”

“You would really have such a big ego that—”

“No. I want you to feel the same amount of pleasure that you bring to me. I want you to feel exactly how I feel, all because of you.”

Speechless, you watched as he pulled out of you, raising your hips in the slightest. Goosebumps ascended on your skin as you felt his palm against your core and you gasped involuntarily. His eyes found your surprised ones and he smiled.

“Got one more for me?”

You instantly knew what he wanted from you and what he was referring to, so you nodded all too ecstatic.

Javier’s index and middle finger boldly entered you, curling into a delicious motion in their quest to hit your g spot and move as pleasingly as possible. A new set of moans escaped your mouth as you jerked your hips to meet with more of his hand, unable to see Javier’s satisfied smile upon witnessing you squirming under his careful ministrations.

“Javi—Javi—oh—”

His name became an anthem for your pleasure, and he took the highest satisfaction in that knowledge. The pace of his fingers was neither fast nor slow; it was sufficient for you to feel another climax approaching, hitting you hard as you came on his hand, his name on your lips and at last, body and soul all his.

Just as much as he was yours.

Javier crawled back on top of you only to kiss you, sweetly and softly, peppering a layer of kisses on your nose and forehead as well.

“Happy fucking birthday to me,” he muttered somewhere at your chest.

You rose mid-way, staring accusingly at him. “It’s your birthday today?”

“Yeah.”

You punched him in the arm, finding it rather infuriating when he chuckled in return, not making a single grimace.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Did you say it when it was your birthday?”

That shut you up temporarily, but long enough for him to cuddle you back in bed, your head resting on his chest. “You suck,” you told him still upset.

And Javier chuckled again. “I sure do.”

You blushed, suddenly remembering to use the bathroom before you could drift to sleep. Once you returned, Javier was already half-asleep, which made the next part easier.

You snuggled up to him again, listening to his heartbeat, peaceful for once, and laid there for a while before you mustered up the courage to come forward with the words you had been dreading for over a decade, but ones that had been on your mind for months now.

“Since you didn’t mention that it was your birthday,” you spoke as silently as possibly, a knot in your throat, “I didn’t get you anything. But… this moment right here… I’m guessing it’s more than enough. I’m hoping it is. So… I—I love you, Javier.”

You pursed your lips together and closed your eyes, waiting for sleep to wrap you in its snug arms.

Javier opened his eyes for a while, smiling momentarily, not willing to break the moment. He knew it’d be better if he didn’t mention a single damn thing, but simply enjoy it as it was.

In an exclusive premiere to yourself and everyone else, you arrived late at the embassy the next morning. It wasn’t your fault, really; all you wanted was a quick breakfast and a shower, but once Javier cheekily showed up in the shower, pressing lustful kisses on every portion of skin he saw, having you tug at his wet hair locks as he went down on you and dripping right on his mouth, time had become a futile device which was on no one’s side.

“Where the hell were you? You’re late,” Steve scolded you just as you rushed through the door, hastily arranging your shirt.

“I know I am late, Murphy, but I’m here now.”

Steve opened his mouth for additional scolding, but once he saw Javier rush inside the office as well, tugging at his tie and looking around disoriented, he scowled, staring back at you unimpressed.

“What?” you questioned.

“Tough morning?”

“Not really, no,” you smiled.

You sneaked a glance at Javier and despite both of you being half an hour late, he couldn’t help but be happy for the two of you if it meant you finally resolved all of your issues.

The office was busy and buzzing more than usual, and Steve updated both of you on the case, as well as the other reason why everyone seemed so tense.

“There are some new rules around here,” he said. “Crosby announced them the second he arrived at the office. Apparently dating around here is now prohibited. Anyone caught will be kicked out of the DEA without the possibility of being hired in another of its offices.”

Javier frowned whilst you chuckled in spite of the seriousness, which caused the two men to stare at you, utterly dazzled.

“I’m sorry, it’s just… don’t you think this is so fucking hysterical? I mean, it’s like someone knew that – that we finally got our shit together and—did whatever it is that we’re doing – “

“Being together,” Steve added casually.

“—and now there are rules against it? Come on. Also, I’m the only woman here. The only other woman, Julia, is our secretary and I’m pretty sure she hates all of us.”

“Hate-fueled sex is one of the hottest ones you can have.”

You rolled your eyes at Javier and so did Steve.

A moment later, Javier leaned in towards you. “Murphy’s the only one who knows. No one else does.”

“Chris and Daniel,” you replied immediately.

Javier’s mind circled back to the night Steve’s outburst forced him and you to talk things out and finally admit to everything that the two of you had been withholding from each other. But there was no way, Javier thought. Absolutely no way.

“No,” he said out loud. “Neither one of them would say shit about it.”

“I trust them as much as you do, but—I don’t know. I don’t wanna blame them or anyone without conclusive evidence.”

“Maybe it’s nothing and we’re looking too much into it.”

“Right. Because our lives are filled with luck and good vibes.”

Javier noticed the distress on your face in a heartbeat but refrained himself from making any gesture towards you. It seemed that ever since you had that damned conversation, Javier couldn’t help himself when it came to you. It’s like all he wanted to do was to be with you and there for you. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced, and for once, he didn’t want to fight it anymore. He was carrying enough fights in his day-to-day life. He wanted something that was his safe space.

He wanted you and him to be home.

“Listen, Javi, we gotta go through the plan for today. Feistl said he’s got an informant who might be able to lead us to Miguel.”

“Alright. I’ll go call Christina Jurado, see how she’s doing.”

You headed first to get another cup of coffee, bumping into Bill Stechner. He was one of the most theatrical and excessively polite men you had ever met, and that only made you be more cautious around him. There was simply something about him that screamed bad news, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on it.

“Quite the busy morning, isn’t it?” his booming voice reached your ears.

You reluctantly poured the coffee in your mug as you rolled your eyes discreetly, purposefully sitting with your back against him.

“What’s up, Stechner?” you finally faced him acidly.

“Feisty. No wonder you got so far.”

“Okay, I’ll bite. What do you know about this new set of rules?”

Stechner examined you carefully before flashing a rather dreadful smile at you, although you were fairly certain he meant it as excessive politeness yet again.

“You know, tighter rules can be good in order for us to actually do our job.”

“Hm. Okay. And you want us to catch the godfathers, or let them slip through our fingers?”

“I am offended, agent. I only have the agency’s best interests at heart.”

“Of course you do.”

Stechner leaned in towards you in the most unpleasant way you could’ve thought, but you didn’t back down. You stared at him even as he whispered to you, “But you know what really an issue is? There are many places which the public might deem as safe, when in reality, the walls have ears. And sometimes… they hear an unexpected and heated exchange between two agents who are supposedly resentful towards one another, on presidential premises. I can’t imagine that would end well for either one, especially if they happened to be non-Colombians.”

Any bold comment abandoned you as shock replaced any other emotion you might have displayed. It became increasingly difficult to pretend otherwise, so you frowned as deeply as you could whilst staring him down.

“Whatever the hell you think you’re playing here—”

“I am not the player. I am merely an employee of the people.”

He walked off, leaving you dumbfounded and legitimately scared. You tried to compose yourself before rushing back into the office to find Javier. There was nothing else you could focus on, nothing else that could have distracted you or occupy your mind besides that conversation. Despite the presence of the new president, Ernesto Samper Pizano, that night you had spent at the parliament under the former leadership hadn’t changed. That night’s events hadn’t changed, and the sudden thought that you were listened in during that heated exchange—you felt sick to the core.

Luckily in the conference room there were only Steve and Javier and you stared at them both gravely. Javier eventually remarked the look and puckered his brows.

“What’s the matter?”

“I need to talk to you. Alone. Now.”

You didn’t leave any room for arguments or discussions. Seeing how restless you were, Javier followed you immediately back into your office, closing the door behind you. But even with that, you didn’t feel safe.

“What’s going on?” he asked again, approaching you this time.

“No, don’t. I don’t know if it’s safe.”

“What?”

“We have a big problem. Uh—those rules they implemented—I think they are for us.”

“Fuck, really? Who ratted us?”

“That’s the thing. No one did. But I just spoke to Stechner and he—he has us on tape. The night we were at the—the parliament, for the thank you dinner with Gaviria. They taped the parliament. So he knows—”

Realization hit Javier like a speeding truck.

“He knows about us.”

You nodded, genuinely concerned. “He knows about us.”

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[axwalker]

Creep 2: I don’t care if it hurts

HIGH SCHOOL AU

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC  (Lexie O’Brien) Book TRR

MASTERLIST HERE

Synopsis: Drake and Lexie are star-crossed lovers. Her father hates him and forces Lexie to stop any contact with Drake. Lost and heartbroken, he “bullies” her for two years until he discovers the truth of Lexie’s behavior.

A/N 1 This came up to me after I got an ask from @nestledonthaveone​ to write a fic based on the song CREEP.

I used to hear this song when I was a teenager, so when I read this ask, I immediately wanted to write something angsty but situated in high school.

A/N 2: Because they’re younger than usual, I decided to change my  FC. 

Words: 4,110 

WARNINGS: Parental abuse, domestic violence, toxic love.

THIS IS NOT YOUR USUAL MARSHMALLOW DRAKE. He was abandoned as a boy, he’s tortured and he doesn’t know how to express his love. His behavior is not excusable.

This is a dark love story. If you’re not comfortable with it, PLEASE do not read it.  

ALL MY FICS ARE 18+

TAGS ON THE COMMENTS

As this is darker than usual; I’m only tagging the people who commented in the previous chapter. If you want to get on or off the list for this fic, please do not hesitate to ask!! 

DRAKE

Even if she never looks at me or speaks to me again, she’s mine. Even if I’ve been a horrible jerk to her for two years and she pales every time I pull into the parking lot on my motorcycle, she is mine. Just seeing her with him enrages me, so I walk straight toward my usual seat, directly behind Lexie, and slam my textbook down onto the desk.

Startled, Rys looks up at me, “Hey, Walker. What’s up?” 

It’s not the first time he tries to make a move on Lexie. Last time –two years ago, we almost killed each other. Pretty boy might be an entitled ass, but he knows how to fight. Maybe he thinks Lexie is game again after all this time. He couldn’t be more wrong. 

 “Don’t you have a class this period?” I ask him. Liam cocks his left eyebrow, adjusting the straps of his backpack. 

“I fail to see why that concerns you, Creep.”  

My smile is murderous. “Get the fuck out of here before I break your face, pretty boy.”

I think he has a death wish because he looks at Lexie when he talks, “See you after class, Alexis, when your watchdog will be busy mowing my lawn.” Finally, he just shakes his head and gets out of the classroom. I resume my daily routine. Staring at the back of Lexie’s head, tracing the curve of her perfect neck, my cock getting hard over her perfect cherry scent. 

“So that’s what you like,” I say, leaning forward to speak an inch from her ears. “You like them with blond hair and pink polo shirts. Prospects for Cambridge or shit. A huge trust fund. Don’t you? A brat like you needs someone who can spoil her. I bet you’d introduce him to daddy, wouldn’t you?” 

She doesn’t respond. She never does. Her eyes stay stubbornly on the front of the class where the teacher has started writing today’s lesson on the board—my hands fist in desperation. I’m dying for her to talk to me. To look at me. Anything. “Too bad, Lexie. I’ll scare every single one of those fucking entitled boys off. You’re going to sit alone in your house on prom night, crying into your designer sheets like a baby. And I’m going to enjoy it.” 

The only sign that she hears me at all is the quickening rise and fall of her shoulders. Even that tiny display that I’ve upset her is agonizing, floods me with self-loathing, but I can never stop. She ripped out my fucking heart, and I can’t deal with the consequences of that alone. I can’t let her go. I’ll never let her go. This toxic feeling is the only thing left between us. My hands shake with the urge to take her in my arms, to stop the trembling I caused. To protect her from everything. Even myself. I’d love to move my fingers up into the silky, brown hair that reaches the middle of her graceful neck. I don’t have a lot of money; most of the cash I earn as a handyman goes to food and fixing my dad’s cabin, but I’d give every last cent for her to turn and lock those soft brown eyes on me, just one last time. Sometimes when I jerk off, all it takes is fantasizing about Lexie looking at me, giving me one of those shy smiles, and I lose it. One stroke. Maybe two. Done. I can’t breathe without having her close. And I can’t breathe with her close. It’s a strange condition, this obsession, but she’s an addiction that I just can’t give up. 

How could I? She’s intelligent, strong, and so damned gorgeous. Once upon a time, I thought she had a good heart too. But that was before she broke my pathetic heart only because I’m poor. I’ve been hurting since then, and I need her to hurt too. To know what it feels.

“Do you actually think that dumb rich boy would be a good choice for your first time, Lexie?” I grip my desk so tight it nearly breaks down, just thinking about her being kissed –touched by someone else. “At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with Rys for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my rundown cabin door, begging me to fuck you as we both know you’d like.”

A pretty blush is starting to climb her neck. I have to take a deep breath to keep from kiss her pink cheeks. But I think if I got to touch her skin, my wall of bullshit would crumble. I’ve only fucked one girl. Since seeing Lexie for the first time freshman year, there’s been no one but her. I want no one else. She owns my cock as sure as she owns my heart. How easily she’s forgotten about both leaving me in agony. 

“Stop,” she breathes. I freeze. Did she just speak to me? It’s the first time in two years that she’s even remotely acknowledged my existence. 

“Lexie,” I managed to say. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. That’s all it took. One pleading word out of her mouth, and I’m done. 

“Just stop,” she says again, turning her head slightly. “Please.” 

I fall back in my chair, my heart thundering on my chest. If we weren’t in the middle of class, if I didn’t feel like a monster, I would pull her into my arms right now. I’d hug her until she stopped struggling, then beg her to hit me, bruise me, make me pay for every shitty thing I’ve ever said to her. But before long, the class is over, and she’s leaving the classroom to get out of here. To put distance between us as quickly as possible—and I have no choice but to watch her because I feel physically ill. Still, I manage to get out into the student-packed hallway, my plan to apologize for being crude and a jerk and torturing her for so long. 

My head is telling me not to apologize, though. It’s telling me she deserved it for being such a snob, for breaking me, for valuing money and status like everyone else. My damned heart is telling an entirely different story. It’s insisting there is an explanation for her behavior. Am I going to apologize or not? The decision is taken out of my hands when Lexie opens her locker, and the little gift I left before class falls down. It’s a picture I cut out from our last yearbook. In the photo is a gorgeous smiling Lexie above the caption Most Likely to Succeed. Except I’ve crossed out the caption and added my own. Most Likely to Be a Trophy Wife. Watching her read it, I almost get sick right there in the hallway. Usually, she’s perfectly composed, not betraying a trace of emotion where I’m concerned—a real Ice queen. I’ve always thought she honestly didn’t care. Today, though… she’s not pulling it off. Something is not okay with her, and I don’t like it. She has to bite down on her bottom lip to stop it from quivering as she puts the photo back into her locker, out of sight, her bright eyes finding me briefly, massacring me where I stand. Betraying with one single look how much she has been affected by my actions. Christ. She hasn’t been indifferent at all.

Before I can react, before I can call her name, she’s gone, vanished into the crowd of wild students excited to be leaving for the day. And I know what I have to do. I have to see her. To apologize. To get an explanation for everything. Tonight. I’ll return to her house for the first time in two years.

LEXIE

I’ve known this was coming all day. Sitting on the couch in my living room, trying to make myself as small as possible, I watch my father pace. He rants, gesticulating noisily. This isn’t new, my father’s rage threatening me. But it’s going to be worse than usual. Business has declined for him and it’s put his temper on a trigger. Dad’s new wife, Nancy, hates to be on a budget, and she’s been spending his money like crazy all over Paris --where she’s now. When dad gets home from the office, he’s rarely in anything but a horrible mood. A tornado eating up everything in its path. Completely terrifying. At least dad’s temper makes me forget what Drake told me today, the ugly words he said to me, the boiling anger in his eyes when he looks at me. 

“Are you even listening?” The slap across the face comes as a shock because I’d momentarily disappeared into my thoughts, but the sting quickly brings me back to reality. 

“Yes, sir,” I say, my ears ringing. “I’m listening.” 

“This C on your algebra test is going to drag your whole average down.” He’s waving the test in my face. “What a disappointment you are, Alexis. Your teacher shared my disgust.” I nod solemnly, but I’m listening for the rain outside. “I guess you’re your daughter’s mother after all. A poor Mexican girl who could barely count.” It’s not true. My mom learned English and Greek by herself, and she was a great Spanish teacher in Portavira, but my father would rather die than acknowledge how smart she was. 

“Don’t talk like that about her,” I retort.

My father snorts. “I beg your pardon?” He takes a step towards me, and I can see the threat in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” I hate to be such a coward, but I know what he can do to me.” I’ll do extra credit. Something to bring my grade back up to an A.” I wet my lips. “Even if I can’t manage to raise the grade, it’s not going to show up on the college transcripts I sent off with my applications.” That’s the reason I let my focus slip a little in algebra. The finish line is in sight for everyone, and we’re just waiting to find out where we’ll be accepted for college. It’s a wonder I’ve been able to maintain my focus this long in any class, considering Walker sits behind me in every period, brooding making me feel … something. At the reminder of him, I want to close my eyes and dream about him. I replay that night in my garden when he kissed me two years ago, so tenderly and passionately, when he spoke to me so sweetly and honestly before he became the second villain in my story. Someone I dread, as much as I crave the sight of him.  

At least that’s one thing us poor motherfuckers have going for us. We know how to fuck. If you went out with that punk for a while, you’d eventually give in and come slumming it one night, wouldn’t you? Knock on my trailer door, begging me to ride you right. 

Should I be ashamed of the way my body reacted to those words? I grew uncomfortably damp in the hard plastic chair, the center of my body clenching, seeming to beat like a heart. His breath on my neck made me shiver, head to toe. Even the way he scared off Liam Rys did something to me. Aroused me. Deeply. It got so bad that I broke the rules and asked him to stop. I can still hear him saying my name in that tortured way after. That shocked, uneven sound. Lexie. And whether I’m ashamed of myself for it or not, I know I’ll think of it when I touch myself tonight. His voice, his hands, his eyes obsess me. 

“College?” My father snorts, tearing the test in half. “You’re not going to college.” 

This grabs my attention. A horrible feeling is making me cold. “I’m…what? What do you mean? I applied to nine different schools. I have a four-point five GPA.” 

For the first time, I notice his red face is about more than just rage. There’s…humiliation. I’ve never seen him display that emotion. 

“None of the American colleges that accepted you offered scholarships.” 

“I’ve been accepted?” I gasp, sitting forward, heart pounding in my chest. “Where? I didn’t see the letters—” 

“All the mail in this house goes through me, Alexis. I read them. And you failed to get academic scholarships. You failed. Not that I’m surprised.”

 I don’t point out that his refusal to let me participate in any extracurricular activities is more than likely to blame for that. I’m too worried about what he’s saying, what this means. The blood is draining from my head, making the room spin around me. 

“Okay, I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry. But…we have money. We can pay tuition, can’t we? Or colleges in Cordonia are almost for free. I can go to any of them; I don’t have to go to NYU.” I have to get out of here. I have to get out of here. This is my way out. College is the escape route. I counted on going back to New York, but I can stay here and go to college in Cordonia City. 

“Listen to you, so quick to spend my hard-earned money—spoiled brat. And of course, you can’t go to college in Cordonia. What for? To end up being a schoolteacher like your mom? A housewife as Nancy?” He laughs bitterly. “No, you’ll stay here, and I’ll help you find someone suitable to marry.” 

I shake my head. “There’s financial aid, then. Loans or I can get a job and go to college in Portavira…” 

“You want to leave, just like her, don’t you? You’re all the same.”

 I don’t even flinch when he yanks me to my feet, shoving me into the wall. In fact, for the first time, I took him right into his eyes. And I can see the violence burning on them has nothing to do with me. It never had anything to do with how I behave, my choices, how hard I worked in school. How welcome I made Nancy feel or cooked a roast. It’s about him and his self-loathing. It’s his sickness. Not mine. I can also see that he was never going to send me to college. Because he wouldn’t be able to control me from a distance or stop me from sharing what I’ve been subjected to since my mother died. Not like he does now. He wasn’t physically abusive all the time. Especially not when his new wife is around. But she traveled often, and then he’d push me. Shove me. Slapped me several times. I’ll graduate at the top of my class for nothing. He knew I would all along. 

That’s when I realize I’m free. I don’t have money, but college is free in Cordonia. I can work, save a little and go to college in one or two years. I’ll be a writer; it’ll just take more time than I thought. “Go to hell,” I whisper. 

He steps back, giving me the momentary satisfaction of his shock. “What did you say?”

Liberated, I scream it this time. “Go to hell!” From the moment I sat down to have this conversation, I knew tonight would be worse than usual, but I’ve just bought myself a ticket to hell. Usually, I can retreat to the untouchable place inside of me as he unleashes his rage, but not tonight. He doesn’t stop at one or two slaps. He punches and kicks, and I’m present for every punch and kick. Every yelled insult. Finally, I start to get scared. I’m crawling across the carpet on my hands and knees, searching for a weapon I can use in my defense when I glance out the window and see Drake staring back at me, his face a mask of horror.

 Drake

 What I’m seeing just isn’t possible. It can’t be real. My head won’t accept it. Not until her terror-filled eyes meet mine through the window and the truth pounds on my chest, leaves no doubt that this is real life. Lexie’s father is beating her. Her mouth is bloody, one of her eyes beginning to swell, arms and legs visibly weakened. I can barely fucking process it before my body is springing into action, desperate to protect her. To put a stop to the worst thing I have ever seen. What the fuck. Scorching hot rage takes over. I kick in the front door and throw myself between Lexie and her father. His fist is raised, but it pauses when he sees me, his momentary confusion giving me the time I need to knock him out cold. It only takes one right uppercut from someone his own size, and he goes down, his blank, glassy eyes staring at nothing, mouth opened. It’s not satisfying enough.

Nothing will ever be satisfying enough. I want to kill him, destroy him, but my Lexie is struggling for breath behind me, and she’s all I can think about. Turning, I approach her, my heart threatening to jump off my chest. As gently as I can, I catalog all of the cuts and purpling skin. No. No. Who could do this to her? Who could lay a finger on her in anything but reverence? Get her out of here. Calling her name, I reach down to pick her up, but she flinches and hurries back, bringing her body up against the wall. 

“Don’t touch me!” Those words filled with fear rip the soul clean out of my body. My hands drop limply to my sides and two years come rushing back, hitting me in the chest like a hammer. Every word, every action. Everything I did to make her life harder when this is what she’s been dealing with at home? Fuck me. 

“Lexie…” My voice is as kind as I can. I feel broken. “I’m sorry. I came here to apologize. For everything.” 

She puffs a humorless laugh, testing her cut lip with the tip of her tongue. “Bet you weren’t expecting to see this.” 

“If I knew this was happening, I would have been here a long time ago. I would have stopped it. I swear Lex.” 

Her expression can only be described as stunned. Maybe even a little pissed. “You are not my savior, Drake. You are my enemy. You’ve been for two years, and I want nothing else from you now.”

 “I am not your enemy.” Those words barely make it out of me, my chest hurts so fucking bad. “Don’t say that.” 

Unsteadily, she uses the wall to try and stand. I try to help her, but she recoils, and it’s a dagger straight into the center of my throat. Nothing less than I deserve, though, isn’t it? Her distrust of me is entirely my fault. I’ve made her hate me. There has to be some way to fix what I’ve done. Please God, let there be away. But right now, my main concern is her physical safety. Knowing she’s been in danger all along is unbearable. I only decided to come here tonight a few hours ago. What if I didn’t? What if I arrived an hour later? The possibilities are going to haunt me for the rest of my life. From the floor, her father groans, shifting slightly. 

“We need to get you out of here,” I say, anxious to get her free of this place. “Now, Lexie. I need to get you somewhere safe.” 

She’s standing now. Leaning against the wall and cradling one arm to her stomach, regarding me warily. “How do I know I’m safe with you?” It’s so much worse that her question is honest. Not meant to hurt me. She honestly doesn’t know if I pose a threat. It guts me where I stand. 

“You are the safest with me,” I say thickly, cursing myself. Wanting to erase the last two years so badly, my hands shake. “Please believe me. I’d die before hurting you. I’d never, Lexie. I’d never do something like that.” 

Her father rolls over onto his back and slurs a few words before losing consciousness again. Still, the sound of the older man’s voice seems to scare Lexie, “I…maybe you can just give me a ride to…a motel maybe?” She pushes off the wall, her step uneven as she walks toward the stairs. “I need some things from my room.” 

It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her we don’t have time, but I’m just grateful she’s trusting me enough to leave with me, so I don’t argue. I just wait until she’s halfway up the stairs, then tie her father’s hands behind his back with my belt in case he wakes up before we leave. I have no problem knocking him out a second time, but Lexie has seen enough violence for one night. Cautiously, I walk up the stairs toward the light coming from a room halfway down the hall. This place is a far cry from my home. It’s elegant and clean, and tasteful, but it lacks any warmth whatsoever. It’s cold, like a museum. Turning the corner into Lexie’s room, it’s time to hate myself all over again. There is nothing on the walls, none of the expensive furnishings. Just four white walls, a bed, and a dresser that doubles as a desk. Several textbooks. She looks back at me over her shoulder as if judging my reaction, and I keep my features impassive, though I’m dying on the inside. 

“What can I do?” I ask. 

“How long do we have?” 

“As long as you need.” It’s physically painful not to pull her into my arms when I’m standing this close, and she’s hurt. Sad. Yet full of more inner strength than I’ve ever witnessed in another human being. I’m lucky just to be in her presence. I fucked up royally. And if she allows me back in, I’ll never do it again. It’s probably, definitely, too much to hope for. Being allowed back in. She doesn’t even look sure about having me in her room. Let alone her heart. I was trying to protect my own heart, but I lost it instead. 

 “Um…” She closes her eyes to focus, a familiar trait I’ve seen in class countless times. “There is a black bag in the hallway closet. Can you just stuff anything into it from the bathroom that looks useful?” 

Ask me to bring you a unicorn. I’ll find a way to do it. “Sure.” We work in silence, Lexie taking things out of drawers and adding them to the bag, which I’ve left open on the floor. I add toiletries from the bathroom, and once it’s zipped, I wait, watching her hesitate in the doorway. 

“Lexie?” Conflicted chocolate eyes meet mine. 

“I can’t just leave, can I?” 

“You’re not safe here, baby,” I say softly, trying to keep the residual rage at bay because it’s the last thing she needs. Not to mention she’s had her fill with negativity from me. No more. “How long…how long?” 

She shrugs, the saddest expression in her eyes. “My mom died five years ago. Ever since then, it’s gotten worse and worse. Although I never had a chance to talk to anyone about what happened behind closed doors, you know? I don’t think a person can evolve into a monster. It’s inside him.”

 “I don’t know,” I say. “I became one, didn’t I?” 

That gives her pause, forms a line between her delicate brows. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.” 

She starts to walk past me, stops, standing close enough to fill my nose with cherry. “He told me if I ever spoke to you ever again, he would hurt me. Ruin you, have you evicted. Make sure you never got hired again. I didn’t mean to…hurt you. Or hurt your feelings, if that’s what happened.” 

That revelation destroys me, sets me on fire. “Jesus, Lexie. You were protecting me? And I…I tortured you for it?” I twist the neck of my T-shirt, trying to calm down, but it doesn’t work. I’ll never be calm again “I’m so fucking sorry.” 

She glances at the doorway, then back at me, eyes closed again in that way that says she’s thinking. “All I want from you now is a ride out of here, okay? And on Monday morning, you’ll stop.” She opens her shining eyes again. “No more bullying, Drake. If you’re really sorry, you’ll do that for me.” 

Fuck. I couldn’t say one more single shitty thing to her if my life depended on it. Put me at gunpoint, and I’d rather get shot at than torture this girl for one more second. But I’m highly, painfully aware that with an end to the bullying comes an end to the possessiveness. No more scaring off guys who show interest in her. No more getting close enough in class to count the hairs on her head, to smell her sweet fragrance. And to tell the truth, I’m pretty fucking worried I don’t know how to give those things up completely. I don’t think I can physically do it. This addiction with Lexie isn’t something I can cut off. A leg would be easier to sever. But my hesitation is causing her eyes to worry. If I don’t agree to, essentially, let her go… she’s not going anywhere with me. And that means her safety won’t be guaranteed. I need it to be. More than anything. 

“No more bullying,” I say, finally. A moment later, I follow her out of the room and down the stairs, trying desperately to count the hairs on her head before I no longer have the chance.

#tw domestic violence #toxic relationship #tw bullying

[not-me-simping-for-blasty]

Wrong Number, Asshole - A Bakugou Katsuki Soulmate AU

All Parts

Part 11:

“So, what, you’ve just known about your soulmate for over a week? And you didn’t tell me!” Your best friend huffs, slouching into the booth across from you. 

The café you had decided to meet Selene in seemed abnormally loud today, but even through the noise you could hear her frustration. And you understood it too- she’d been listening to you fantasize about your soulmate for years now, so much so that it must have gotten annoying. But she listened anyway, and apparently you repaid that favor by not even telling her when your tattoo appeared, nor when you actually met him. 

You couldn’t help it though. As much as you wanted to gush about it to everyone, another part of you wanted to keep it a secret. You didn’t wanna share Bakugou yet, as selfish and ridiculous as that sounded.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry; but honestly, it was just super surreal. Like I didn’t know how to talk about it.” You meet her eyes, grateful to see that even through her frustration, Selene still just looked happy for you. 

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Had to give you a little shit, but really I’m excited for you.” She takes a sip of her drink, leaning forward on your elbows. “Can I see the tattoo?”

You pale.

It really was an ugly tattoo. Messy and scribbly and poorly drawn, and odd even  as far as soulmate tattoos go. Every other person you’d known with a soulmate tattoo - which, granted, wasn’t many- had a name. Even your soulmate himself had your name! But you didn’t. You had his phone number, and no matter which way you thought about it, you couldn’t figure out why that was.

“Yeah, it’s uh, on my collarbone.” You unzipped your jacket, pulling it to the side to reveal the tattoo. 

“It’s- it’s, um, not what I expected.”

“That’s what I said. It showed up on my birthday,” You shrugged. “Wasn’t there the night before, but when I woke up it was just sitting there.”

“Why a phone number?” She questions, poking at the mark with a gentle finger. “And why does it look like-”

“Like that?” You chuckle, pushing her hands away and zipping your jacket up once more. “I have absolutely no idea. I’ve never seen anyone else with a phone number before; even Bakugou has my name.” 

“Um, who?” 

“His name’s Bakugou. My soulmate, I mean.”

“Wait- you talked to him? And you still didn’t tell me? You bitch!” Selene throws her head back, a laugh tumbling out of her lips. “I thought you’d just been hiding the tattoo, I didn’t know you were hiding him too!”

“Shut up- you’re being so loud!” 

“I can’t help it! This is just so exciting!”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Y/n,” You watched your friend straighten, a wicked smile crawling across her lips. “What’s that look about, huh, does somebody have a crush?”

You can feel you cheeks and ears flushing, but you don’t say anything. Selene just stares at you, wide manic grin across her face that just seems to make you blush even more. It’s a stalemate until she reaches across the table, poking at your red cheek. You break.

“God, fine, maybe- I don’t know, okay!” You huff, looking down to avoid her eyes. “We’ve talked like everyday since my tattoo came in, but I still feel like I don’t knowing anything about him!” 

“Huh-”

“He’s so, like, dodgy- about everything I ask him. It was like pulling teeth just to get his name! And it’s not even his full name! Just his last.” You pulled at your jacket, sinking into your seat. “Bakugou just like, avoids everything I ask him! I’ve told him about my quirk, and what I’m studying, but he won’t tell me anything! He just like gives me a two-word answer or calls me a name- which is fine, I actually find that part funny- but still. He gives me nothing. Absolutely fuck all nothing unless I literally beg for it!” 

“Woah, okay, breathe, Y/n. ” Selene holds a placating hand towards you. “Look, I’m sure he has his reasons. I mean, they’re probably shitty reasons since he’s like a 20 year old gu-”

“21.”

“Yeah, okay, since he’s 21, and definitely immature, but they’re still his reasons.”

“Who the fuck cares about reasons? I mean we’re literally soulmates. We’re gonna know everything about each other eventually, so I have no idea why he’s being so cagey! Actually, now that I think about it, it’s really kind of irritating!”

You gasp suddenly, not realizing how involved your rant had gotten. Apparently you were more upset than you realized, or at least significantly more annoyed.

You think back to how you felt yesterday- after you’d read Sunshine at the end of his text. You were light and airy and happy, but all of that seemed to have faded. God, what you wouldn’t give to feel like that now.

Selene waves a hand in front of your face, up and down in front of your eyes until you meet her gaze.

“I get that. I understand where that would come from, but all that really matters is whether or not you like talking to him- do you like talking to him?”

“Yes.” You say simply, surprised by how easy the conclusion was to come to. “I do.” 

“Then don’t stress, sweetie.” Selene pats your hand. “Tell me about the things you do like.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Your smile is small, timid, unsure, but you find the words come easy. “I like that he’s funny- and that he swears a lot. And that might be even more funny, because sometimes I’ll look at my texts and I swear it’s like there’s a 12 year old on the other end.” 

Selene just smiles, nodding to urge you on.

“I like that he gets super shy if I say anything nice to him- it’s like he freezes up and just swears everywhere and types in all caps.” You feel your cheeks heating up as you speak, but that doesn’t stop you. “I like that he’ll text me if I don’t text him- and that he responds fast when I do. And I like that he’s blunt- there’s less words for me to get anxious over that way.” 

“Alright. I’ve decided.” 

“Excuse me?”

“I like him for you.” She shrugs. “And I have good opinions so don’t argue.”

“But he still-”

“Yeah, I get it. But at the end of the day he’s still your soulmate, right?” She leans forward, tapping your forehead. “So stop overthinking it. You wouldn’t have that tattoo if he wasn’t supposed to be good for you.”

“Yeah.” You feel the sudden urge to hug her, overcome with yet another reason why you loved her so much. “I was being sort of ridiculous wasn’t I?”

“No, not ridiculous. It’s a valid complaint.”  

You nod.

“He does need to start telling you more, especially if you’re already telling him about you.” Selene brushes her hair back with an errant hand. “But I also think you tend to fixate on reasons to leave instead of looking for reasons to stay- and I’m not gonna let you do that this time.” 

You just look up at her, finding nothing but Selene’s gentle smile. 

It hits you then that she’s right. You did always search for the bad instead of making your own good. With relationships. With friendships. Even with school- but she was right. You couldn’t do that this time. It wouldn’t just affect you, it’d affect Bakugou too. 

“Hey, I love you, you know?” You suddenly tell her.

“I know. You’re my ride or die, bitch, of course you do.” She laughs. “Now c’mon, lets go actually order, and you can let me read through all those texts you were talking about.”  

“No!” 

She just laughs, grabbing your hand and dragging you towards the register.

--/--

Later that night you’re sitting with your phone in hand, nerves making a tangled mess of your insides.

You were stalling.

There was a part of you, a big part of you that just wanted to ask him. Ask him about his full name, and his quirk, and his job, or his school if that’s where he was- about his life, and just not take no for an answer. Wanted to needle and pry and be annoying until you had one fact about him to match every one you’d already given him about yourself.

But there was another part of you too. Another part that wanted to see him call you Sunshine and keep him happy instead of possibly irritating him. And that part was screaming just as loud.

You groaned, setting your phone down once again, and rolling onto your side. Your eyes caught on to the TV. You’d switched it on earlier, hoping the background noise of the local news could help settle your nerves, but it didn’t work. As of now though, you were quickly held captive by the footage you saw.

On screen was a recap of a battle that had occurred a few days ago- and it didn’t look good. The villian was terrifying; a black, oozing mass of tar that seemed to swallow people and objects whole. It was running a rampage through the city, it’s undeniable strength completely unchallenged by the police force- until suddenly? An explosion. Multiple explosions. Big, loud, noisy explosions and chaos and bright light until the villain was shot clean through with a grenade blast. The villain fell, engulfed by a cloud of smoke and debris.

You watched as the smoke cleared from the camera footage, only seeing the vaguest outline of a man before they were jetting offscreen by the force of their own explosions. 

“Burgeoning pro-hero Dynamite yet again saving the day, and then quickly leaving the scene.” The newscaster announced, voice drowning out the sound of the disaster footage. 

The scene switches as the fight recap footage ends. The usual roundtable of reporters is shown instead, and they quickly begin discussing the fight.

“It’s not altogether surprising,” A woman says. “In fact, it’s almost better if he leaves, don’t you think? I mean, surely no one’s forgotten what happened in Hosu right?”

Another reporter winces. “Yep, definitely not. Even a year out from the incident it’s still hard to see him in the same light as before.”

You shift on your bed, suddenly scared half to death by the loud sound of your phone hitting the floor. 

Fuck. 

Even after the quick break, you still couldn’t decide what to say to him. 

Luckily, he didn’t let you worry about that for much longer. 

#katsuki bakugou #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugou katuski x reader #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #bnha fic #mha fic #bakugou soulmate textfic #bakugou soulmate au #mha soulmate au

[murderdaddymayhem]

Trapped - Mark Hoffman x Reader [NSFW]

Hoffman has feelings for Strahm's fiance. Now that Strahm is dead, you struggle with returning those feelings just for the night.

Set in between Saw V and VI. Please visit the ao3 link for full tags.

“Hey. You left something by the coffee machine.”

You look up, and see Detective Hoffman holding your engagement ring. “Oh,” you smile. “How do you know it’s mine?”

“I guess I look at your fingers a lot,” he jokes, tossing it to you. You slide it back on.

“Do you? How’s this one look?” You playfully flip him off, and he manages as much of a chuckle as the stoic man ever could.

“I’ve sure seen that one more than the others.”

You return the ring to your finger, sliding it on and sitting back down at your desk.

“We’re going out for drinks tonight,” Hoffman mentions, “Wanna come?” You normally wouldn’t join the rest of the officers after hours, but you had been making more of a solid effort to go out and enjoy yourself now that the initial sting of Peter’s death had subsided for you. You tilt your head. 

“Is Lindsey gonna be there? Matthews?”

“Yeah. Sing, Tapp. Everyone’s going.”

“Sure. I’ll be there,” you nod.

“Great.” He looks like he wants to say something else, and eventually closes with, “Don’t work yourself too hard.”

You look down to the paperwork on your desk, and back up to return with a quip, but Hoffman’s gone. You spend longer than you should looking out your door, mindlessly counting the number of steps it takes him to get back to his own office as if you hadn’t already memorized it.  

Mark sits down at his desk. He’d always had a thing for you. He’d been jealous of Strahm, not only in his stellar reputation with the guys, but of his pretty wife and his perfect life. Mark may have seemed like the handsome hero everyone dreamed of, but in reality, he was a pitiable alcoholic whose sole personality trait was mourning.

If you ever did return his feelings, it would probably be because you pitied him for the loss of his sister, which hurt more than the bindings John had put him in that first day of initiation. He only wanted one thing, really. Maybe two, the first being justice. True justice. As for the second, it's not viable to have you in the position he's in, but his tendency to run from his emotions is being put to the test by your acceptance of his invitation. 

 When you get to the bar you and everyone at the station frequent after work, Hoffman’s sitting there. Within a half an hour, it’s become apparent the others aren’t coming... and were never coming.

“You invited me out under false pretences,” you say, accepting your drink of choice from the bartender with a nod. “Why?”

“I told you, the others didn’t show.”

“I work for the FBI, and you’re a detective. You’re honestly trying to lie to me?”

Hoffman considers this, purses his lips. “Not very well thought out on my part, I guess.”

“What, did you want to talk to me about a case?” you ask. “Something about today’s paperwork?”

“You know I don’t want to talk about that crap. I wanted to ask you how you were,” he corrects you, taking another generous sip of his second double vodka of the night. “All these months later. Treat you to a night off.”

“Oh,” you nod. “Right.” You’re quiet for a moment. “I’m okay. I haven’t really said it out loud yet, but I think I am.” You debate opening up, but you know he’s also lost someone, so you take a chance. “I feel bad when I forget him.”

“Yeah. I know how it feels to forget. My sister was a huge part of my life, and I never thought I could. And I can’t. Difference is, I try to forget.” You stay quiet, ruminating on the reminder of Mark’s dead sister. He didn’t talk about her often for that reason you suppose, but everyone who knew Hoffman knew he was the way he was because of her death. “You’re not wearing your wedding band,” he mutters, starting in on his third drink.

“I lost it,” you whisper.

“Like you lost it by the coffee machine today?”  

You avert your eyes down to your lap. “Maybe you’re not the only one who tries to forget.” Silence passes between you as you explain. “Looking at it opens up old wounds. Keeping the past in the past is my way of dealing with it. He’s gone. If I think about how awfully he died, how scary his last seconds were, it’ll be like it happened yesterday... and I’ll have to start the process again.” You shove your hand down into your pocket, unwilling to study your bare ring finger any longer. “The past is as tangible as the future, detective. If I can’t feel it, it’s not there.”

“You think denying it’s gonna help you in the long run?”

You frown, looking up at him. “Nobody’s denying anything.” Blinking as if in slow motion, Mark gets up and tosses money down for the two of you. He takes your arm and leads you out of the bar, into the cool night air. Confused and more than a little angry, you jerk your arm away. “Why did you invite me for drinks?”

“I wanted to offer my condolences. Again.”

“Bullshit. It’s been 4 months and you haven’t once said you’re sorry he died in one of John Kramer’s sick traps. I know you two weren’t close, but why wait this long? What do you really want?”

“I don’t want anything.”

“Look me in the face and tell me one thing tonight that isn’t a lie,” you demand. Mark turns to you fully.

“Okay. I want to fuckin’ kiss you.”

You hesitate. That was the opposite of what you were expecting. You try and find words as Mark stares at you with that dark gaze, those eyes that seemed to linger in your mind now that you were lonely and no longer trapped under the weight of a lacklustre partnership.

“So? What’s stopping you?” You can never tell what’s going on behind those eyes; he guards his feelings and he guards his secrets. You know he has more secrets than the average man, but he’s a detective. How bad can they be?

“You want me to kiss you?” he murmurs. “Tell me exactly what you want me to do.” He advances, walking you back against the brick wall of the alley no doubt filled with the scum John had him abduct for his games. “Huh? You want me to kiss you how you’re used to? Kiss you like it’s an obligation? Like it’s what people expect me to do?” Your eyes start to prick with tears as Hoffman brushes your hair out of your face. “You want me to tell you I love you like a man who’s only true obsession is a serial killer he couldn’t begin to understand?”

“Hoffman, Peter—”

“Don’t say his name,” he mutters, “You’ll cut the wound wide open again, sweetheart.” He presses his lips against yours, and you feel your body release all of its tension. He kisses like Strahm’s antithesis—like he knows what he’s doing. He’s rough and he’s present, nothing like how you’d imagined the cold detective would. Peter had tried, but as much as he wanted to be, he hadn’t loved you as much as that damn case. Hoffman adversely seemed to care about anything but, even though he was in charge of it. You used to think everything was a façade for Hoffman, that appearances were everything. Façades have to crumble sometime.

  By the time you had arrived at his apartment with him in the passenger’s seat, the full effects of the detective’s four double vodkas had set in. He tries to maintain his sense of self until the elevator, then down the hall and into his place.

“Shit,” Mark grunts, sliding your jacket off, “I want you.”

“No you don’t.”

He licks his lips. “Wanna bet?”

“You’re drunk, and we’re colleagues,” you mutter. “You’re gonna walk into work tomorrow morning and you’re not going to be able to look me in the eye.”

“What, after taking you on every surface of my apartment?” he mutters, lips dipping dangerously close to your neck. “Your pussy isn’t gonna shock me. Yours isn’t the first I’ve seen, but it’s sure as hell on my list.” You try once more to push him off, and he tries to stand wearily. His brown eyes blink a few times, and he shakes his head. “Fuck. Sorry.” He lets go of you, backs off. You realize your mistake, and take him by his lapels.

“Are you?”

He looks back up at you, and through your shared gaze, he sees his own arousal reflected in your eyes. His lips are back on you, finally touching your skin, and his hands roam under your top, up to cup your breasts and paw for the hooks of your bra.

“Around the back,” you whisper against his lips. In his drunken state, Hoffman misinterprets this to mean you want to be turned around, and you find yourself pressed against the wall as his hands massage your ass. A moan slips from you as you try to reach back. “I meant the bra.”

“Fuck,” he repeats again, slightly slurred, and reaches up to take it off of you. It drops down one arm, and Mark turns you around again to take your top off and release the garment from your sleeve. “This is what I’ve been fuckin’ missing?” he mutters, half to himself. “God damn gorgeous.”

“Tell me more?” you ask coyly, wrapping arms around his neck. He growls, picking you up by the ass so your legs can wrap around his hips.

“You don’t even wanna know the shit I fantasize about with you,” he mumbles, grinding himself between your legs.

“Wanna bet?” you volley back his line with a grin, and he scoffs, working down your panties as you reach a hand forward to tease him through his business casual pants. The feeling of his bulge grounds you in the reality that yes, Mark Hoffman does want you back. He wants to fuck you in his apartment, and he wants to do it now.

“I’m drunk, but I’m not drunk enough to tell you that, honey.” He presses a soft kiss to the curve of your jaw and slides your panties off, dropping them and rubbing his fingers back up your thighs and beneath the plush seat of your ass. His fingertips are oddly rough, for a detective who hasn’t seen field work in three months.

“What’s your secret, Hoffman?” you ask, and he uses one hand to stroke up the column of your neck.

“Gonna have to fuck me to find out.”

The two of you move over to his couch, Hoffman attempting to lift you over. His state tells you this is a bad idea, so you just pull him by his tie over, and push him down on the couch. He seems to like your show of control, eyes roaming up and down your body as you stand over him. “This feels a little unfair,” you whisper, lifting a hand up to squeeze your breast. Hoffman tears his eyes away from the action.

“What does?”

“Look at you,” you gesture to his fully clothed form, “And look at me.”

“Oh, I’m looking,” he nods, reaching down to squeeze himself. You get between his legs on the couch with a huff, and take over, unzipping his pants and giving him a better squeeze through his boxers. You can feel how hard he is, how large his bulge has grown. He grinds up into your hand, makes no move to undress himself any further.

“You’re selfish,” you mutter.

“I never said I was a nice guy,” he replies.

“You’re a detective.”

“Gray area.”

“For what?”

“My hobbies.”

“Which are?” You sit back on your heels for a moment. Hoffman seems to realize he was about to let something big slip, and your curiosity only grows as he cuts himself off.

“Shut up, will you? And kiss me.”

“That’s my line,” you groan, unbuckling his belt and sliding it out.

“I stole it.”

“You steal a lot?” you probe, hoping to uncover that elusive secret.

“Like I said,” he mutters, face still stone cold. “I’m not a nice guy.” You moan as he pulls you down against him, and moves his hand down to uncover his cock in a smooth movement of his hand. He groans as it grazes against your thigh and up to your pussy, and you lean down to kiss him again. His large hands reach up to your smooth naked back, clutching your body to his as he deepens the kiss. Your breath mingles as you pull away, vodka in his and the mint of chewing gum in yours.

“Condoms?” Mark reaches beside him to the coffee table, and pulls open a packet. Reaching between you two and keeping you held up with the ease of a strong bicep, he doesn’t break eye contact with you as he rolls one onto his shaft—the feeling alone of his own hand on himself is enough to make him moan, but he keeps it together. You lift up to position yourself.  “You’re sure you want to do this?”

 “I’m ridiculously hard for you,” he replies, eyes half lidded and lips parted. “I think if you left me now, it would be the first time in my life I’ve cried.” You roll your eyes, and he sits you down on his cock. Your eyes roll back. He looked big when he first took himself out, but it was nothing compared to the feeling. He’s stretching you all the way to the base, hands tightening on your arms. He rocks up once, and you whine his name softly. “Can you move?” he whispers, slurring his words.

“Yeah.” You start to rock down, and his breath hitches. After a moment, he reaches his hands further back, feeling your ass and groping it before sliding them up to your lower back to guide your movements.

“So good,” he mumbles, “Never knew I wanted you... this fucking bad.”

“When did you figure it out?” you smirk, gasping as he hits deep.

“Today, at the office.” His eyes slip shut. “I looked at you sitting there, and wished your picture was on my shelf instead of all the bullshit awards I don’t fucking deserve. One thing that means something to me, that I don’t have to tempt fate to get. That’s all I want. That’s all I need. Just someone else. Just someone else.”

You can’t think of a response. To save him embarrassment in the morning if he, by some miracle, remembers this conversation, you don’t reply. You’re afraid you’ll scare him off if you reciprocate the sentiment, and you’re terrified you’ll offend him if you coddle him. Then again, he could mistake your silence for apathy. Even in his impaired state of mind, Mark seems to realize what’s running through your head. He pulls you down against his broad chest again to put all these thoughts you had no business thinking while getting fucked to bed.  

Still, he offers no tender explanation of his confession, no further apologies or bashful take-backs. He only increases his pace, grunting as you start to feel your climax build.

“I wanna feel you cum all over me,” he growls, “Fuck. Fuck, let me feel it.”

“Hoffman.”

“Use my name. Use my fucking name—”

“Mark.”

“Ah,” he hisses, trying to make himself last. “Good girl. Good girl...” You squeeze around him, riding him back and forth, your clit grinding against his pelvis and your ass slamming down into his thighs. He lets out sharp puffs of air, wrapping one arm around you and tightening it. You feel as though you’re as close to the distant man as you’ve ever been as he breathes your name into your hair, burying himself in it as he buries his cock the deepest it will go inside of you and stills.

You’re both almost there, and the formality between you dies.

“Mark—I’m gonna cum,” you breathe desperately, “Don’t stop!”

True to character, Hoffman doesn’t offer any verbal encouragement, but his body language is worth a thousand words. He bites your earlobe, reaching down to rub your clit in circles. The action makes you gasp, and you brace yourself on his chest as your orgasm finally hits in waves. His hips convulse inside of you as he finally lets himself finish with you, and your grunts and groans meld together into a harsh symphony of panted out breaths.

“You moan so pretty, babygirl,” he sighs. A warm flush rushes through your body at that, and you’re not sure why. This needs to stay a one night’s stand, not some workplace romance the two of you can giggle about behind closed doors. It would only be a liability to both of your careers in the force,  and you know Mark will agree once he sobers up in the morning.

“Stop thinking,” he groans. His voice is gravelly, sated. “Hey. Stop. More importantly, stop guessing what I’m thinking.”

You stare down at him, eyes dancing between his. Your voice comes out barely louder than a whisper. “What are you thinking?”

“Absolutely nothing. Which is what you should be thinking of too, after we both fell into bed together.”

He seems to grow uncomfortable with the close eye contact, feels as though you’re reading him like a book. He moves your head down, where you lay there on his softly rising and falling chest. His steady breathing makes you think he’s fallen asleep, but his eyes are wide open. He stares up at the ceiling as if he was staring up at Peter Strahm again, watching the walls close in on the agent and crush his bones as he himself sunk into the ground safely entombed in glass. He swallows, imagining how your bones must have crunched in on themselves as you crumpled to the floor receiving news of your husband’s death.

His fault.

John’s fault. Jigsaw's fault.

No.

His fault.

He thought acting on his feelings and sleeping with you would make him forget Strahm ever existed. Instead, it felt like Strahm was the one in that box, watching the walls close in on Hoffman as every shitty thing he’d done in his life came closing in on him. Hoffman feels his heartbeat pick up desperately, but talks himself down as he did every night. He listens to the rhythm of your breath, tries to meditate to it.

You don’t have the problem of hyperactive thought at the moment—you had taken Mark’s advice, and calmed down. It’s okay that you had moved on. It’s okay you had found comfort in someone else’s arms, and it’s okay that it’s Hoffman. Despite this, one singular question seems to bounce back and forth in your head as curiosity digs its nails back in.  

 Your finger traces a pattern in the rug below the couch... the pattern of a puzzle piece.

#mark hoffman #mark hoffman x reader #hoffman x reader #detective hoffman #detective hoffman x reader #saw #saw v #saw vi #saw 5 #saw 6 #costas mandylor #saw franchise #saw movies #slasher fandom #slasher fanfic #slasher x reader #saw fanfiction

[flightlessangelwings]

Run

Ezra (Prospect) x gn!reader

Word count: 4.5k (I don’t know what happened either)

Warnings: angst, pining, fluff, hurt/comfort, non descript smut, protective!Ezra, mentions of past abuse (nothing graphic, I tried to be as vague as possible so it’s not triggering but I needed a tragic backstory), mild violence, minor character death, happy ending

~

Run.

That was the only thought in your head as you sprinted through the vast desert planet that you had found yourself on. Run. Don’t stop. Keep going. Get away.

You don’t know how long you ran for. At least an hour had to have passed from when you took off. Most likely, it was longer considering how much the sun had moved in the sky. But you didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. You had to keep going. Even though at this point, there was nothing and no one behind you, you still couldn't stop.

You just couldn’t stop. You just ran. And ran. You ran until…

Because your eyes were too filled with tears and the adrenaline coursed through your veins, you didn’t pay attention to what was right in front of you until you ran smack into it. With a grunt, you crashed into someone and landed right on top of them. It was then that you realized just how exhausted you were, and you would have passed out on the spot if it wasn’t for a whimsical voice that ran though your comm.

“Careful there, gazelle. You could hurt somebody with that fervent tenacity.”

With wide eyes, you lifted your gaze from where it fell on his chest up to his face to find a handsome man with kind eyes and faint scars on his cheek. You also noticed the small patch of blonde in his hair that seemed to suit him. Quickly, you scrambled away from him and scooted yourself so that you sat opposite him on the ground, “I’m so sorry…” your voice was weak and hoarse from your exhaustion, “I wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“No harm done,” he replied as he got to his feet. 

It was then that you noticed he only had one arm, and you quickly looked away so you weren’t rude by staring. While your gaze was on the ground, a hand came into your line of sight as he offered to help you stand. You looked up to his face once more and you instantly felt calmed by his soft smile, but you made no attempt to move.

“I won’t hurt you,” he spoke in a reassuring tone as he held his hand steady in front of you.

A moment passed before you finally accepted and placed your hand in his and let him guide you up. “Thanks,” you mumbled once you were steady on your feet,

“Now what brings a beautiful desert rose such as yourself out here all alone?” he was direct with his question, since it was unusual for someone to be by themself on a desolate planet like this.

“I…” words failed you as your face twisted into a pained expression. You weren’t about to spill your thoughts to a complete stranger. He had to have noticed how out of breath you were, and you were obviously trying to get away from something, or someone, but he didn’t press when you didn’t offer an explanation.

“I assume I don’t need to disarm you or knock you back down,” he smiled at his words. When you shook your head and assured him you weren’t a threat, he introduced himself, “I’m Ezra. What shall I call you?”

You gave him your name and realized that your hands were still connected. Your eyes went wide for a moment before he gave your hand a quick shake and finally released you. Adrenaline still rushed through your veins as you tried to calm yourself down, and you found that your gaze lingered on the man you had literally just run into. He had scars on his face, but you saw a kindness in his eyes, and there was something about him that started to put your mind at ease.

“Are you in need of shelter?” Ezra asked, “My partner and I are set up not too far from here. I can offer you a safe place with us.”

You were taken aback by his offer, “You’d take me in just like that? No questions asked?”

“Well, I do have questions,” he put his hand on his hip, “But I can gather from your appearance that you’re in need of help. And since you haven’t tried to disarm me yet, I think it’s fair to assume you won’t cause trouble.”

“Thank you,” you breathed out as you slowly reached for your weapon, “Here,” you extended it out to him, “So you can trust me.”

Ezra eyed the weapon in your hand for a moment before he gently pushed it back towards your body, “The gesture alone tells me all I need to know,” he paused as he thought, “How are you so willing to trust me then, desert rose?”

You shrugged, “Intuition I guess,” you really didn’t have a choice if you wanted to get off this planet, but it was true that you had a good feeling about this man. After all, nothing could be worse than what you just ran from, so you took your chance with this stranger.

He led you toward the tent he and his partner, a teenage girl named Cee, had set up. She seemed more apprehensive of you, but she listened to Ezra when he explained what little he knew about you. Cee didn’t seem as convinced, but she relaxed slightly at Ezra’s words.

“Don’t worry birdie,” he assured her, “This one is not a killer,” Ezra looked at you with confidence in his eyes.

You wanted to ask how he could possibly know that when he hardly knew anything about you, but when you saw that it helped to put Cee’s mind at ease, you chose to keep your mouth shut. Instead, you thank them both for their hospitality and shed your gear. When you were down to your undershirt, you felt both their eyes on you. You knew they saw the scars and marks that adorned your body, but neither of them commented on it, which you were thankful for.

The next cycle, the three of you were able to leave the planet. You breathed a heavy sigh of relief as you watched it get further and further away. You were so wrapped up in your thoughts that you didn’t feel Ezra’s eyes on you. When you all finally reached the station, the commanders in charge there had good news: they were impressed with Cee’s wits that they offered her a job with them at the command center.

She was hesitant at first, but Ezra pulled her aside and told her that she should take the job, “No one is more deserving of a position like this than you, birdie,” sincerity lined his voice, “Besides, I’ll sleep better at night knowing you’re safer here than prospecting with me.”

Cee accepted the job, and you decided to stay with Ezra as his new partner. Over the next few months, the two of you journeyed to different planets together to dig and harvest any rare gems you could find. You actually found that you made a good team, and you worked well together. You also just enjoyed Ezra’s company, and you could listen to him talk for hours.

Ezra always had colorful nicknames for you. Sometimes it was Cactus, sometimes Flower, sometimes Oasis. But when the moment seemed more special or intimate, he used the special nickname Desert Rose for you, and that one always made your heart flutter the most. All of the names he used for you always alluded to the desert planet where you met, and something about how personal his nicknames for you were made you smile.

Together, the two of you ran at your own pace from planet to planet. It was refreshing for you to move like this, not like how you were on the run before.

Over time, you each grew fond of the other, and you found that your gaze lingered on the man when his back was turned to you. You wondered what it was like to kiss him, or to feel his touch against your bare skin. Some nights, you found that you fantasized about him while you laid alone in your cot. But, you were careful not to let your feelings show. You were afraid to let someone into your heart like that, even if it was someone like Ezra, who you grew to trust.

Sometimes, you thought you felt Ezra’s gaze on you when you weren’t looking, but you just attributed that to your own growing feelings. If only you knew that you were right. There were times when Ezra couldn’t keep his eyes off of you as he watched you handle the delicate gems in your hands. When you spoke, he always stole a glance at your lips. And he always caught when you looked so sad when you thought he wasn’t looking.

It pained him to see you plagued with such sorrow and pain, and Ezra wanted nothing more than to know what it was and take it all away from you. But, he chose not to press it. He figured you would tell him one day when the time was right. Ezra offered his own story to you so that you could know him better, and in hopes that you would tell yours in return. When you didn’t, he tried not to let the sinking feeling in his chest show.

After some time together, you and Ezra found yourselves on the most beautiful planet you had ever seen. The air was clean enough that you didn’t need your suits, which you both were grateful for. 

Ezra loved to watch you when you were unobscured by your helmet. He longed to reach out and hold you, but he kept himself back for fear of frightening or upsetting you. If he was to guess, when you first met, you had run away from someone you knew who had hurt you from the way your suit was intact, yet your body was riddled with scars.

Ezra felt the growing need to protect you the longer he was near you. He knew you were more than capable of defending yourself, and he saw it first hand once when a pair of bandits tried to rob the two of you. Between the two of you, you were able to fight them off and save your harvest. Ezra had never been more attracted to you then when you knocked the bandit on his ass.

The two of you engaged in idle conversation while you worked, as you always did. It felt nice to breathe in fresh air while you worked, but you felt Ezra’s gaze on you more often than not. Every once in a while, you’d glance up and meet his eyes for a brief moment before you looked away again.

When you reached out for one of your tools, your gloved hand brushed against Ezra’s and you both froze for a moment. He had moved at the same time, and your hands connected over the tool. Your heart pounded in your chest, and yet neither of you pulled away. You opened your mouth and were about to say something when a rustle in the distance caught both of your attention.

Just as you and Ezra stood, a group of men dressed in all black strolled out from the nearby forest. They were all armed, and they did not look friendly at all. You swallowed hard and you felt Ezra nudge you back so he could place himself between you and the intruders. 

“Stay behind me,” he whispered to you in a voice that left no room for argument, “Greetings gentlemen,” he addressed the group, “I’m sorry to say that this is our digsite, so I’m going to have to ask you to move on and find somewhere else.”

The man in the middle sneered as the rest of them looked at you in a way that made your skin crawl. “Oh we’re not here for a dig,” the man who appeared to be their leader said, “We’re here for that one,” he pointed right at you.

Your blood ran cold, and a fear pulsed through you that you hadn’t felt since before you met Ezra.

“I cannot allow you to have my partner,” Ezra replied without hesitation as he slowly reached for his own weapon.

The group laughed and pointed their guns at him, “Our contract says to keep our target alive, but it didn’t mention anything about killing you.”

You gasped as you jumped in front of Ezra before you realized your movements, “No,” you shouted at them, “Don’t hurt him,” you tried to sound tough, but your voice wavered.

The men didn’t appear moved by your display, “Someone is looking for you,” the leader said, “And the price for your return is worth more than this entire digsite.”

Ezra whispered your name as he leaned in close to you. You felt him move subtly behind you, and without needing to see him, you knew he reached for your gun. From there, everything happened so fast. He shot the leader from behind you, and chaos broke out from there. Ezra kept your weapon and you reached around for his as you both fought off the group of men. 

The fight seemed to happen in a blur for you as you were too wrapped up in your emotions and fear to fully process what happened. You acted on instinct as you and Ezra took down the attackers. One of the men tried to run off, and Ezra leapt after him while you kept your weapon pointed at the leader, who laid on the ground heavily injured.

Your eyes bored into him in a mix of rage and fear as you hovered over his body. He cowered as he choked on his own blood, and he knew this was the end for him.

“He’ll never stop hunting you,” the leader spat as he looked down the barrel of your gun, “You should have seen the look on his face,” he cackled darkly between heavy breaths, “There’s no place in the universe you can run, so count your days.”

His words made you waver, and you lowered your weapon as your body froze in terror. The man took the opportunity to try to launch himself at you, but a shot from behind you stopped him before he got off the ground. The action brought you back to reality and you spun around to find Ezra behind you with his gun aimed at the leader.

He stepped up so that he was next to you and he fired once more time to make sure the leader was dead. You only stared at Ezra with wide eyes; you had never seen him look this intense before.

Once Ezra was sure everyone was dead, he turned to you, “We must get out of here, cactus,” he grabbed your arm and led you back to your campsite. 

You barely processed that you had moved, too lost in your own head to notice the world around you. It wasn’t until you were back inside your shared tent and Ezra stood in front of you that you snapped back. You parted your lips to speak, but nothing came out, and you collapsed down to the ground.

Ezra called your name as he dropped down next to you and held your arm as tightly as he could, “Flower, talk to me. What’s wrong?” he couldn’t hide the concern in his voice as he tried to bring you back to him from wherever your mind went.

After several slow breaths, you calmed yourself down enough to meet his gaze, and he broke your heart to see how scared he looked. You knew you owed him an explanation, and you thought it was time you told him your story but, “I’m sorry, Ezra,” was all you managed.

He looked deflated; he wanted nothing more than to help you, but he also didn’t want to force it. All Ezra could do was be there for you in any way you needed, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do for you, “You have no need to apologize my desert rose,” he brushed his hand along your face in an attempt to comfort you.

You closed your eyes and leaned into his touch. After a heavy sigh you were finally able to put your thoughts together, “I guess I owe you an explanation now.”

“You owe me nothing but your company,” he used your name. Not any nickname he had for you, but your actual name. It always held more meaning whenever Ezra used your name, since he usually referred to you with one of the many affectionate nicknames he picked out for you.

Something about the way he said your name made your heart flutter. You swallowed the feeling before you shifted so that you sat more comfortably, “The day we first met,” you started as you dropped your gaze down to the ground, “You told Cee that I’m not a killer.”

Ezra sat down in front of you just shy of your touch, “I hardly think that killing bandits counts for what I meant, flower,” he shrugged off the notion, “I still stand by that.”

You bit your lip; his words pained you more than he realized, “What if I told you you’re wrong?” you looked up to meet his gaze, and you gasped when you saw the steel resolve in his eyes. He had a look the told you that he wasn’t swayed on his opinion of you, and you hated how he looked at you like you were something worthy, something you were not.

“I find that hard to believe,” he said, “But please tell me if you’re ready.” Ezra made no move to grab a weapon or put space between your bodies. No matter what happened in your past, he still trusted you, and there was not much that you could do to change his mind.

“I am a killer Ezra,” you sighed, “In fact, it’s the first thing I did,” you scoffed as you looked up and blinked away tears, “My first act in this life was to take one.” You paused to steady yourself before you continued, “My mother died giving birth to me.”

Ezra furrowed his brows, “That does not make you a killer…”

“Tell that to my father,” you snapped as you cut him off. You looked into his eyes and by the look on his face you knew he could see the tears in yours, “He blames me for her death. In fact, he reminded me of it nearly every day.”

It wasn’t often that Ezra was stunned to silence, but he found that he had no words. He guessed that you wouldn’t want to hear it anyway, so he stayed quiet as he scooted closer toward you.

You continued when you were ready, “It wasn’t so bad when I was a kid. He took care of me well enough I guess,” you wrapped your arms around yourself, “But when I got older he… I guess I reminded him of mom and he couldn’t take it. I’m a reminder of what he lost, and he always took his anger out on me.”

Ezra scowled as he realized where all your scars came from. It all made sense now: you had run away from your father when you first met after you couldn’t take his wrath anymore. It also explained why you trusted him so fast, he was your only hope at the time. In that moment, Ezra wanted nothing more than to hold you close and try to take away your pain. He hated to see you like this, and he silently cursed your father for what he did to you.

“I ran away so many times, but he always found me. I thought maybe since it had been so long this time that he wouldn’t find me this time,” your tone turned bitter when you added, “But I guess I was wrong,” you sniffled and took in a shaky breath, “And even worse, now I got you involved in my mess.” 

He couldn’t hold back anymore and Ezra pulled you in close so that he held you flush against his chest. His arm gripped you tightly in an attempt to protect you from your own past as he said your name in a steady voice, “Do not apologize for anything,” he spoke in a low but soft tone, “None of what happened is your fault, you understand? And I would protect you until my dying breath so do not feel guilty for my involvement.”

Your breath caught in your throat at Ezra’s words. You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze while you stayed securely in his embrace, “You’d what?” you asked breathlessly.

Ezra gave you a soft smile as his thumb rubbed comforting circles against your body, “I care about you,” he said your name, “And I would do anything to protect my desert rose.” 

You clung to his shirt as you searched his eyes for any hint of doubt. Your heart pounded in your chest when you realized you saw none, “I care about you too Ezra,” your voice was just a whisper. 

Slowly, he leaned in and closed the gap between your faces. Ezra paused as his lips hovered just above yours to give you the chance to pull away. It was only when you didn’t that he kissed you. 

The kiss was everything you fantasized about and more. Almost right away, you parted your lips for him to deepen the kiss, and Ezra took the invitation willingly. Emotions spiked as your tongues danced together and all the time you each had spent yearning for the other came to a head in this one kiss. You could feel the passion behind Ezra’s kiss, and you hoped he could feel yours just as much.  

You and Ezra spent the entire night in each other’s arms. You both felt like you had many cycles of lost time to make up for, and you certainly made up for it. He spent what felt like hours worshipping your body and left no scar unkissed. Ezra’s touch was unlike anyone else, and you thought you would burst when he finally slid inside you. He was rough yet tender, and you could tell how much he truly cared about you as he made love to you. It wasn’t even until your third orgasm that he gave in to his own pleasure.

When you woke up the next morning, you were still naked and cuddled up next to him. You laid there in the comfortable silence as you listened to his heartbeat in his chest. Ezra still had his arm wrapped tightly around you and even in his sleep, his grip never loosened. You smiled against his skin as you absent-mindedly traced patterns along his chest. You never allowed yourself any hope of happiness, and yet here this man was like the sun to light up your darkness. 

“Good morning flower,” Ezra’s voice was deep and raspy from sleep and you felt him place a kiss on the top of your head.

You were about to reply when a voice rang through the communicator on the table. It was a voice you recognized and you tensed in Ezra’s grip. He knew right away that the voice belonged to your father, and both of you jumped up and got dressed as quickly as you could.

As you grabbed your weapons, you tried to ignore your father’s voice. He tried this trick before: he would signal out with the sad father act, desperate to get his missing kid back. It had worked on others before when you were a teenager, but you hoped now that you were an adult that Ezra wouldn’t fall for it.

It would break your heart if he did. 

Ezra said your name as he charged up his own weapon, “Stay behind me, no matter what happens,” he met your gaze, “I promise you will be alright.”

Your eyes went wide as you clutched your gun, “Ez…” 

He squeezed your shoulder once before he stepped out of your tent. With a deep breath, you followed but you weren’t prepared to see your father just outside. You gasped as you froze in fear; all of your memories flooded back as you looked into his face for the first time in many months. He smiled and said your name as he opened his arms wide to you.

“I’ve been looking for you, sweetheart. I’ve been worried sick since you ran away,” your father’s voice sounded sincere but you knew how fake his tone was.

“Do not step any closer,” Ezra stood firmly in your father’s way however, and was not fooled by the tone of his voice. He blocked you from him with his body as he addressed your father, “I must ask you to leave,” there was a danger to his tone that you had never heard before, “My partner will not be going with you.”

You hated the way you trembled in fear from behind Ezra. You hated how weak you felt under your father’s gaze. Ezra must have felt how much you shook because he subtly reached behind you and squeezed your hand once before he hovered over his gun.

“Don’t watch, my oasis,” he mumbled to you, and you immediately buried your face into Ezra’s back. 

When it became obvious to your father that Ezra would not fall for his act, his demeanor changed. “You son of a bitch!” your father shouted as he lunged forward. 

Ezra was quick to react and shot your father before he took more than two steps. You yelped behind him but didn’t lift your head as you clutched onto the back of his shirt.

Once he was sure your father was dead, Ezra turned to you as he said your name in a softer tone, “It’s over,” he caressed your face as he tilted your head to meet his gaze, “You’re safe now.”

You looked into his dark brown eyes and all you could see was home. You had never felt like you truly had a place to call home before, but you found it for the first time in your life in Ezra’s eyes. “Safe…” you echoed in a hushed voice as you tightened your grip on him, “Thank you, Ezra.”

He smiled at you, “You've no need to thank me, my desert rose,” Ezra’s thumb brushed across your cheek as he looked at you with a tender expression, “Now when you run, you run because you want to, not because you have to.”

Without a second thought, you closed the gap between your bodies and kissed him desperately. All of your emotions poured into the kiss, and Ezra immediately reciprocated and mirrored your feelings. “I love you, Ezra,” you breathed when you broke away from him.

Ezra said your name in a soft whisper as he placed a sweet kiss to your lips, “I have fallen in love with you as well.” 

From that day on, you were finally truly free. And it was all because of the man who saved your life more times than you could count. You still ran sometimes though. But you never had to run away anymore, and whenever you ran, you always had your Ezra by your side.

~

Notes: I’m super nervous about posting this one since this is the first time I’ve written for Ezra. I had so many people read over this and I spent weeks picking at it so I hope y’all like it! Taglists are open so let me know if you’d like to be added to my Pedro characters or Ezra taglist!

#ezra prospect x reader #ezra (prospect) x reader #ezra (prospect) #ezra (prospect) x you

[starfall-spirit]

The Silver-Tongued Bride

STB Masterlist

Summary: Feyre has been selected as the High Lord's next bride, destined to die at the next fortnight's dawning. However, her intriguing retelling of Rhysand's favorite tale has just saved her life.

Until the next Death Dawn, of course.

Word Count: 2202

CW: Mention of sex.

Chapter I: The Bargain

Feyre

Feyre rubbed her arms against the chill of winter, cursing her own stupidity. With the sun setting, a biting wind had overtaken the forest she always staked out when it was time to report to the High Lord's spymaster face to face. Seeing as she was perched on a tree branch with thick foliage around her and she had yet to fully train her gifts, lighting Autumn's temperamental fire to warm herself didn't seem like a brilliant idea.

Though this forest was their usual meeting ground, Feyre never took up the same post twice, keeping the shadowsinger and general on their toes. Mostly the general, even as he rarely accompanied Az. The spymaster wouldn't be worth his name if he was caught off guard by a Wraith up a tree.

"Talk to me, Feyre," Azriel ordered.

She smirked as the male beside him scanned the area, still failing to spot me. Dropping down from the tree right in front of the general, I grinned. "Clever as always, Feyre."

"I've been labeled Az's best Wraith for a reason, Cassian."

She’d been employed to the High Lord and his shadowsinger for three years now and her informality with the pair had led to certain speculation among her fellow Wraiths, females who made up the most elite legion of Azriel's spy network. The gifted, so to speak, as they shared something of likeness to the spymaster’s travel and the whispers he received.

Feyre’s sister spies weren't entirely wrong in their assumptions. Cassian flirted and I had found myself fantasizing about one or the other—sometimes both—on a few lonely nights. But professionalism was always at the forefront, especially face to face.

"What have you got?"

She huffed. "Not much this week from my scout points. Any training camps have been quiet and there's barely a whisper on where Autumn's loyalties lie, but I think we should get our own soldiers in place and be ready for them to open the doors for Hybern's armada. If you could propose reaching out to the other solar courts at least, it may give us leverage."

"I didn't expect you to get much, considering the wards and network they have running. I don't want you anywhere near Hybern's territory, you hear me?"

Because she would. Feyre had been labeled Azriel's best because she was cunning, quick, quiet, and willing to go to lengths my sister spies wouldn't even take the time to consider. That dedication was what kept Nesta and Elain in pretty dresses day after day, after all.

"Archeron," Cassian warned.

"I hear you," she bit out. "Any news for me?"

They exchanged a look that had nothing to do with her attitude. Cassian took a step closer. "The High Lord will be selecting a Night Bride from your village in the next few months. Do your best to blend in. Pardoning you should be easy enough if it comes to that, but Rhys can have... bad days."

The dark ink beneath her sleeve and glove seemed to burn as thoughts of its creator and their time in Amarantha’s court began to surface.

"We'll look into Helion and Thesan's help with Autumn," Az told her, readying himself for flight. "It will be delicate. Their views on Rhysand's... Well, there will be some awkward moments. Hopefully they'll prioritize winning the war."

There was a reason no one crossed the High Lord. Not only was he more powerful than most—all—but the Bride Killer’s practice of beheading his wife every two weeks wasn’t exactly a warm conversation opener.

“What would make him stop?” Feyre breathed, half-fearing the wind would carry her question back to him. “What would end this cycle?”

Cassian snorted. “End it? Short of finding his mate there is no ending it, Feyre. Just stay out of sight, if you can. He hasn’t picked a Wraith yet, but you’re still nameless. The whole group, I mean.”

She raised a brow, caught between skepticism and surprise. “The High Lord doesn’t know the names in his top spy network?”

“He knows I make sure intelligence is up to par,” Azriel told her. “The minor factors are irrelevant, considering his own responsibilities. As long as you girls have my trust, you have his by default. Does anything else matter?”

“I was just curious, Az.” She bit her lip, finally delivering a question she hadn’t dared ask before, afraid of the answer. “I would be pardoned by your recommendation. Would my sisters?”

This practice of the High Lord’s—if she held immunity and they were killed by it she knew the guilt would consume her faster than the lives of the fae beneath the mountain ever did.

“Are either of them married?”

“A few males have offered courtship, especially Elain.”

He gave her a look of pity and the embers of hope snuffed out. “I don’t know when he’ll select your village or if he’ll even consider your home, but if you want to protect them then you need to tell your father to marry them off to the first lord who offers.”

“The last lord who offered received a well-earned injury for forcing himself on Nesta. They will choose their own husbands, in their own time.” Feyre had spent enough time being ordered about and she wouldn’t do the same to her sisters.

“Rush them or risk them, Feyre. Play matchmaker yourself if you’re concerned about honor, but remember where his eyes will turn soon.”

Passing over a pouch of gold and silver, he gripped Cassian’s arm, leaving her alone in the freezing woods. Following their example, she folded herself into that travel pocket unique to her kind. Something between a shadowsinger’s travel and the gift of winnowing.

She kicked the snow off of her boots before entering the foyer and straight into the main living space. Even living here this long, what they had regained upon the revival of their social status could seem like a fantasy. It amused her at times, thinking back to her sister’s original assumptions. Feyre was twenty when her work for the court began, my Wraith gifts under control. A month later she had earned that month’s worth of spiced food and thicker blankets.

Later came boots. Dresses. Coats for my father, though he hardly left the house with that bad leg. Saving for a long while, they managed to move from a hovel to a home.

Nesta dared ask me once what wealthy lord in our village Feyre was whoring herself to, turning Elain’s face red at both the implication and their sister’s inappropriate vocabulary. Feyre merely said there was no lord interested in the third daughter.

They pestered her for ages for the source of the family’s new income, perhaps wondering if they should be earning their keep, rather than risk their renewed status.

The first time Feyre entered the house smelling of faerie blood rather than an animal’s, they’re tongues were held beyond a, “So you’re… employed?” from Elain.

She received a mere, “That’s classified.”

And it was. Sometimes Wraiths used their gifts for simple scouting and gathering information. Other times there were things or people they needed to… handle. Quick and quiet was the policy and if Az didn’t want them at the Court of Nightmares, well, they handled it. Feyre’s only consolation in the beginning—staring into the pained eyes of her first kill—was that he worked for Hybern. He was not innocent. She would never need to kill an innocent again.

Kicking off her winter boots, she crouched in front of the roaring hearth to warm her frozen hands. "About time."

She stiffened at Nesta's snarky welcome. "You have every creature comfort, Nesta. The only reason I could think you might be lecturing me about how long I'm away from home is that you truly worry for me."

"A bit, seeing as half the time you come home looking like you've just killed someone. A day may come when they kill you. Then where will we be?"

"Budgeting and working, perhaps?" Feyre suggested. Finally turning to face her sister, she sighed. "I did receive news today that you need to hear."

"What?"

"Go get Elain." Reading Feyre’s grim expression, Nesta didn't question her further, retreating down the hall as Feyre shrugged out of her coat. She glared down at the ink revealed, particularly hating that eye in the center of her palm as she forced herself to consider Rhysand may be coming for more than a bride in these next weeks. She finally sank into a chair as her sisters took the couch beside it. "There have been proposals extended to the both of you."

They exchanged a look. "Marriage proposals, you mean?" Elain asked.

Feyre nodded. "The High Lord is moving east. It could be two weeks or two months, but he will be visiting—"

"How do you know this?" Elain interrupted her for once. “He never announces his selection ahead of his arrival.” 

She hesitated. "People hear things, within the court. Some of those people see me in passing and find their information convenient to pass along. I hear things of other sorts that tend to be equally important and pass that along. The point is, the High Lord will be visiting our village, that much is unavoidable. You two need to be married before then. Or at least engaged. It may deter him with singles present."

"Just us?" Nesta snapped. "Are you so brave as to face the Death Dawn, Feyre? Or just arrogant enough to think you'll survive it?"

Feyre sighed. "I'll be fine." Her sisters exchanged a glance that said they had no confidence in her claim. "What, he revived me just to kill me? I don't think so."

"Oh, don't get so cocky, Cursebreaker," Nesta sneered.

Oh, yes. Her sister was grateful Feyre freed her from that hell in The Middle, but she despised that it was her people had treated like a goddess when the three of them came home, whispering Feyre Cursebreaker, Savior of Prythian. It was her, wielding fire and ice and wind and water.

Above all else, she hated Feyre for the moment she slipped into her mind during an argument, no matter how many times she insisted it was an accident. Feyre knew exactly who had passed on daemati magic and she may just despise him more for that than for his long, long string of murders, Under the Mountain and above.

Three years had passed since Amarantha's downfall and Hybern was suspiciously slow in taking any war action. Then, that gave them more time to prepare. Still, she knew something big was brewing, by instinct more than any scouting and spying.

Her thoughts returned to the current conversation, seeing as Nesta looked ready to keep laying into her. Fortunately she was interrupted by an urgent knock on the front door. "I'll get it," she grumbled. A moment later, "Who the hell are you?"

"Where's Feyre Archeron?"

"Who's asking?"

"The High Lord's spymaster."

Feyre cursed. "Az, since when do you use the front door?"

"Since when do you keep vital information from me?"

"Vital information? What have I supposedly hidden, shadowsinger?"

His eyes dropped down and she pinned her left arm behind her back. The pair had been to see their High Lord, then. Azriel stalked across the room, pulling her arm towards him for inspection. Even in the height of summer, she had covered the scrawl of ink during her report meetings. "Only the Night Court uses ink like this," he remarked, back to that chilling calm he was known to keep.

"And? I'm a resident, aren't I?"

"You failed to mention you're Rhysand's little pet."

"I'm not his little anything." She grimaced, taking a step back as he released her. "We made a bargain... down there. The wyrm ruined my arm. It was infected and I was in that filthy cell. Fae healing wasn't doing anything for me in that hell pit. I had no choice."

He searched her face for a tic. A lie. Anything.

"No one was coming for me, Az. No one. I had a continent to free from that bitch, so I said yes."

"You didn't have to encourage him," Elain murmured. Feyre whipped around. "Did you see us down there? Did you see us, held by guards, watching you dance for him?"

Her cheeks suddenly burned, but she suppressed that humiliation as quickly as she could. She danced to keep breathing. When her mind was near tatters she danced to keep grounded—as grounded as she could. And remembering that, she found herself digging a deeper hole, wanting this over and done with.

"Just ask. I know you want to." Neither her sisters or the two Illyrians in the living room could bring themselves to say it. She chuckled. "I thought the bargain was for show, after leaving me be all this time. He got me in his bed after the second trial and the rest was void. Another male having his fun and leaving the rest behind."

"Rhysand doesn't just have fun and run, Feyre," Cassian told her, genuine worry in his tone. "There is always, always an agenda. He isn't anywhere close to through with you. Say your prayers tonight, sweetheart. Tomorrow you're his."

Previous | Next

~~~~~

AN: I rarely write over 1500 words so don't expect this often.

Tag list: Reach out to be added or removed.

@faeriequeensuriel // @pandavelaris // @s-uppertime // @goddess-aelin // @shallyne // @the-lonelybarricade // @reverie-tales // @acourtofwips // @jealousveronya //

@darling-archeron I assume you mean for me to tag you as a general Feysand reader, but don't be afraid to say otherwise.

#feysand #feysand fic #the silver-tonged bride #acotar #fanfiction #daddy rhys is on his way to get his wife #dark!rhys #spy feyre #rewrite #edited and fleshed out

[jaminjims]

heartbeat || p.jm

@jiminiestanposts requested: Hiii, could I request a top male reader x bottom jimin please?? Where the reader likes jimin but jimin doesn’t like him back. After a few months, though, jimin gets jealous when the reader and another member seem close, and this is when he realises that he loves the reader. Angst at the beginning, but fluffy at the end when reader and jimin get together😊 Thank youuuuuu!! 💜💜💜

a/n: ahh its been awhile hasn’t it? over the past few months sooo much has changed for me! i’m getting into the colleges i applied to (hallelujah) and i’m almost done with the college craziness (hopefully)! i’m so sorry this is posted so late, but my computer broke a few months ago and is still broken, so i had to write this using my phone (which was icky) but i hope my writing skills aren’t too rusty. thank you so so so much to the lovely jiminiestanposts for requesting and i hope this is what you were looking for bub! (also, i hope everyone has had a good holiday and is staying healthy!) 💖💖

pairing: jimin x male danceinstructor!reader

genre: angsty at the beginning, christmas fluff at the end <3

words: 2.1k

warnings: unrequited love (at the beginning), sadness, jealousy

~**~

Your hands were numb as you walked into the BigHit building. This winter has been grueling and even you can admit to being a baby when it comes to the cold.

You shrugged off your jacket and pulled off your hat once you entered one of the many dance practice rooms that BigHit had within its walls. Setting up the sound system was almost second nature as you were rounding the three month mark of being one of BigHit’s dance instructors. You technically weren’t supposed to be promoted as early as you were (you had been working as a back-up dancer for only a year before being promoted) but one of the instructors was on leave because his wife gave birth, and it quickly became apparent that the dance staff needed another set of hands for teaching.

But the other dance instructors didn’t look down on you for being promoted out of necessity, as did any of the other background dancers. They agreed that out of all of them, you were one of the most talented because of the sheer amount of power you held over your body and the dominance that you portrayed when you were dancing. Because of the talent you held, you were assigned to work with BTS themselves.

Today however you were working with the trainee’s because Miyoung, a fellow instructor, got sick with the flu and needed someone to take over. You were glad to help, but most of the trainee’s weren’t glad that you were teaching. You’ve been told that the way you taught was really hardcore and labor intensive, especially to people who don’t train with you often, but you just wanted them to be the best they could be.

The trainee’s didn’t see it that way.

So when the time came when you announced that practice was over, all of the younglings dropped to the ground and heaved out groans of relief. You could’ve sworn some even fall asleep.

It was then that Jimin decided to peak his head into the door of the practice room and smile at the scene. The trainee’s all scrambled to their feet to greet him but he just smiled and told them to rest. They made their way out of the room, thanking you timidly as they went.

Jimin started walking over to you and your heart skipped a beat. “Hyung! I thought we talked about working the young ones to death!” He laughed and you would’ve felt lightheaded if you weren’t leaning against the mirrored wall.

“If they wanna be as good of a dancer as you, Jiminie, then I have to be hard on them.” You laughed, still a bit out of breath.

Jimin just hit you on the shoulder and scoffed, “You are better than me 100 percent, hyung.”

You swore this boy was out to kill you.

Park Jimin was perfection in human form. While you wholeheartedly agreed that everyone in BTS was handsome (you had no qualms admitting it out loud) Jimin just did something to you that the other boys didn’t. His personality was nothing to look over, either. All Jimin had to do was be himself and you were there at his beck and call.

Ever since you had started working as BTS’ personal dance instructor, it was like a part of you that you didn’t know was missing fell into place. You had become fast friends with all of them, and there was a certain calmness you felt around them. They were like a family, and you were surrounded by that positive energy almost instantly and brought into their circle.

For a while you passed off your growing affection for Jimin as that. You were enveloped by the good vibes they gave off and that was how you rationalized suddenly wanting to be around Jimin. Hold his hand, make him smile.

But eventually you had to face the music. When your thoughts started to stray to him whenever you had any free time, or when you fantasized about kissing him, taking care of him, you knew what had happened.

You were falling head first in love with this man. (if you weren’t in love with him already)

Yet, you were also scared of what the implications of that were. You started to question yourself more. How does he feel about you? Is he even interested like you are? Does he feel the connection you do? There were so many questions and sometimes your feelings got overwhelming. There have been a couple close calls when you almost confessed just to get it off your chest.

But it’s not like you could just go around confessing your love to one of the members of the world’s biggest boy band.

You almost jumped when you felt a head on your shoulder. You looked down and got a face full of Jimin’s hair and you felt your skin burn where his bare arm touched yours.

He suddenly looked up at you with his big doe eyes and a pout on his face, “What’s on your mind? Are you ok?”

No, you were not ok and he was the reason.

You tried to sort through your thoughts as he looked at you like that, but all you could hear was your heartbeat all the way up in your throat. You were suddenly overcome with the strong urge to kiss him and pull him into a hug so you could protect him from the world. You battled with yourself as the both of you looked into each other’s eyes.

Screw it.

You pushed yourself off the wall (causing Jimin to stand up straight as well) and leaned down before you had the chance to chicken out (where this sudden braveness and affection came from, you would never know). Your lips met his soft ones as you grabbed his head in between your much larger hands.

It was sweet and soft, and you had no intention of deepening it if he didn’t want it. A few seconds went by before you felt his tiny hands push against your chest.

You leaned back and looked into his shocked eyes. Your hands were still cupping his cheeks as he struggled to make a sentence, “Y-Y/n I-“

You interrupted him; you had to let your feelings be known. It was unfair to both of you at this point, and you felt like you were going to explode. Besides, you were already to far over the edge to stop now. “I love you. I am in love with you, Park Jimin.”

His eyes widened even more than before and his mouth parted in disbelief. The room seemed to hold its breath with you as you waited for his response. After a few seconds he stepped back with a frown on his face.

Oh.

“I’m sorry Y/n, but I don’t feel the same.”

Oh.

He left the room, almost slamming the door behind him. In his place was the love that would never be reciprocated.

So much for not confessing.

~~

It had been two months, three weeks, and six days since you confessed. Not that Jimin was counting or anything though.

After the Confession of 2020™️, as he had dubbed it, he’s felt rather misplaced. He doesn’t really know how to describe it.

After he had left the practice room that day, Jimin almost ran back to the dorms. His mind was on overdrive and he didn’t even know what to think, let alone feel.

You loved him. Not like, but love.

He couldn’t fathom how you, the dancer that got promoted in a year (that was a record), the guy that fit in so easily with him and his brothers, the one who had such a deep voice it made something inside him tremble, was in love with him. He was angry at first; how could you just say something that monumental, just out of the blue like that? What was Jimin even supposed to say? The lack of regard you seemed to have for his feelings on the matter made him angsty and upset.

What made him stop and think was the fact that you had pretended like nothing had ever happened.

You went back to treating him like you did before and didn’t bring it up again. But, there was a certain air about you. You seemed sad, and if you were a little more distant than usual, Jimin pretended not to know why when it was brought up one night while BTS was having dinner.

But after thinking about this for longer than he would like to admit, he realized that you only had his feelings in mind.

You decided to not let your feelings get in the way of your relationship with the others. You acted like nothing happened because he had rejected you, and you didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable.

Jimin felt like an ass after he figured it out. Of course you would be that considerate, that’s just the type of person you are.

The kind of awkward ‘what happens now’ energy surrounding you both went on for a couple more weeks, but it was when Jimin saw you in the practice room, lights off, head down, and shoulders shaking that he realized maybe you weren’t as ok as you made yourself out to be.

He wanted to go in and check on you, apologize, do something to make sure you were ok.

In the end, he didn’t.

Maybe that’s why, months later, he felt an uncomfortable prickly sensation deep in his gut when he saw you leaning against Hobi-hyung, laughing with tears in your eyes.

Yeah, he just felt guilty. Nothing else.

Yet that same prickly feeling only amplified when he saw you hanging out with Hoseok, dancing with him, grabbing lunch with him. Jimin didn’t get it.

All he knew was that he wanted you here with him instead of his hyung. He wanted you to be laughing, dancing, and eating with him, not anyone else. All of a sudden you were the one that he was thinking about. What were you doing at the moment? Were you smiling? Suddenly he missed your smile. Were you happy? Now he wanted to talk with you, to make you laugh.

This was getting ridiculous.

It was Christmas Eve, but Jimin was anything but cheery as he saw you hugging Hobi in greeting, thanking him for letting you spend the night on Christmas.

Was it just him or could he see you blushing?

All of a sudden, without really knowing what he was doing, Jimin pulled you away from Hoseok and marched you both into his room. You were surprised at the action and a little concerned as you looked at Jimin’s agitated face.

“Hey, are you alright? What’s up Jiminie?”

His heartbeat sped up.

You frowned when he didn’t answer your question. You put your head to his forehead because he looked a little red. “Are you sick? You don’t feel like you have a fever.”

Jesus christ, was this what it felt like to you when he would do anything? He could barely hear you over the sound of his own heartbeat. He wouldn’t be surprised if you could hear it too.

Your eyes softened when you saw tears at the corners of his eyes. You whipped at them softly, “Hey, whatever is bothering you, you can tell me.”

It was quiet for a minute and just as you thought he wasn’t going to answer, Jimin inhaled sharply.

“I love you.”

You paused, short-circuiting for a minute as you processed what he said.

He stepped closer to you, “I love you, L/n Y/n.”

His lips timidly met yours and before you knew what you were doing, you were kissing him back, full of passion.

You put every once of love, sadness, everything into the kiss to try to convey what you couldn’t say in words. You put your hands on his cheeks and tried to push him closer.

Once the two of you parted for air, you looked into his eyes. “God, I love you so much. Park Jimin, you have no idea what you do to me.” Both of you were a blushing mess.

A very small part of you wanted to be angry at him. He made you go through all that heartache, for what? But you would worry about that later; right now, you just wanted to be close to him.

You pulled him into a hug and his small hands found their place at your sides, tugging you closer. Jimin giggled into your chest, feeling lighter than he has in the last few months. “Merry Christmas, Y/n.”

You kissed his head, a giddy smile on your face. “Merry Christmas, Jiminie.”

[end]

~**~

end note: for some reason i love this fic so much!! maybe it’s because it’s my slow progression back into writing for them, but something about this one hits me in the feels (in a good way). i hope you guys have an amazing new year (here’s to hoping 2021 is bounds better than 2020!!🥂) and christmas break. again, thank you so so much to jiminiestanposts for the amazing prompt! and i want everyone to know that i support them and that they are loved 💖💜❤️

masterlist

request something!

taglist: @boba-tea1206​

#bts x reader #park jimin x reader #jimin x reader #male #male reader #bts x male reader #jimin x male reader #park jimin x male reader #park jimin #bts #bts jimin #bts park jimin #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #park jimin fanfiction #jimin x you #i just tried to tag bts x reader for two minutes #only to realize the reason its not letting me #is because i already tagged it before #bts angst #bts fluff #jimin angst #jimin fluff

[tragedy-for-sale]

If I Wake Before I Die

Hello! Hello! Hello! Midnight Zone Fic here. Fat TW (mentions/references to self-harm, suicide, death)

If I should wake before I die, I beg you, brother, my life, will you take?

◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

Echo had taken Tech and Omega on reconnaissance, if it was Echo leading them around, Wrecker had figured they'd be gone for a while. He noticed that Echo needed to get out regularly, staying on Havoc for too long got to Echo's head, he started to feel trapped. So he'd take them on long 'missions.' If Wrecker was honest, he'd thought about talking to Tech about getting a window, a big one, would that help? Wrecker shook his head, no that's a stupid idea. I don't know how to help him. Wrecker let out a groan as he got up, walking towards the cockpit, giving Gonky a pat on the head as he did.

"If I punched a hole in the wall, Tech would get us a window, right?" Wrecker asked Hunter, who had been sitting down in one of the chairs, he was staring up at the sky. Wrecker didn't expect Hunter to turn to look at him, something was wrong. Something had been wrong all day.

"I, don't think that would be Tech's immediate reaction." Hunter spoke slowly. Wrecker was right, Hunter did not look at him and refused to do such. For as Hunter stared up at the night sky, he felt his eyes flooding with tears.

Wrecker looked down, "Yeah... Wanna go lay down?" Wrecker asked, sitting down next to Hunter, he turned his head away, shaking it. Wrecker made a face, "But you should, I'll wait up for them."

"Yeah." Hunter whimpered, frantically wiping his eyes. Wrecker's shoulders slumped when Hunter spoke. His voice was broken and he was shaking.

"Hunter, I can carry you, please, come on," He whispered, checking off a mental checklist: Make yourself small, speak softer, don't force them to do anything. He watched Hunter, "Please, let me hold you, it always works," He pleaded and at last, Hunter swiveled the chair to look at Wrecker. Hunter's eyes were bloodshot, flooded with tears. Wrecker smiled softly and held out his arms.

Hunter stared at him, Wrecker was always so understanding. It drove him nuts. Hunter tried to smile, but he wasn't strong enough to. He reached out his hand and grabbed Wrecker's before closing his eyes and nodding as tears poured down his face. Wrecker's smile grew as he stood up and pulled Hunter to his feet and into a hug. "I love you, buddy," Wrecker whispered, rubbing Hunter's back.

"I love you too-" Hunter cried as he buried his face, the pain in his heart only growing. Right now, Hunter knew, he had never loved Wrecker more, which is why this was going to hurt so much. Hunter kept his face hidden away, his cheeks grew hot and he could feel the world start spinning. He pulled out of the hug, hand on Wrecker's shoulder and then he just stared. Wrecker continued to smile at him. Of course he did. Hunter nodded as he begun to walk to the back room. He really did need to sleep.

Hunter held himself as he walked, trying desperately to calm himself down. But it was no use, there were days when his heart was heavy, but never had his heart ever been so heavy that it burst-

Hunter let out a loud gasp, catching Wrecker's attention. Hunter looked back at him as if he'd been shot, and then Hunter screamed. Wrecker jumped in shock as Hunter let out another loud scream and fell to his knees. Wrecker panicked but it only showed on his face for a moment. Only ever for a moment.

Wrecker ran to Hunter, immediately picking him up off the floor and into his arms then, to Wrecker's surprise, Hunter fought him. Hunter tried to push him away, this pain had grown too unbearable, he couldn't look at Wrecker with all this pain in him. It just made him feel guilty. "Leeme go, please leeme go." Hunter whispered as he tried to push away, but he so weak, he was too weak.

"N-no, no I'm not gonna leave you alone," Wrecker shook his head as he rocked back and forth slightly. Hunter let out a frustrated cry as he gave up, and just started crying. He burst into tears, no longer trying to hold it in. He didn't want this, he didn't want Wrecker here with him, he wanted to be alone, but he couldn't have that, so he cried.

"Wrecker," Hunter was out of breath, panting for air as he continued to scream, "Wrecker I don't wanna be here anymore..."

"I know," Wrecker held him tightly, still rocking slightly. "That's okay, Hunter, but you know I can't let you go." Wrecker spoke, voice barely audible over Hunter's cry that shook the whole ship. Hunter shook his head, 'can't let you go,' that undoubtedly made Hunter's pain worse, Wrecker didn't trust him and refused to abandon him, Hunter hated that. But as Wrecker held him, Hunter's anger never lasted. Now, Wrecker, he wasn't thinking of anything except what he could do to help Hunter. All he could do was hold his brother. It always worked.

But it wasn't working. Hunter tried to force himself away again but Wrecker wasn't going to let him, he couldn't let Hunter be by himself. For better or for worse, Wrecker didn't trust Hunter to be by himself. Not today anyways, all day, Wrecker could tell, his brother was about to shattered, and Wrecker wasn't about to leave Hunter alone with all that glass.

There were good days, when that black little slug hid, for months at a time this slug would sleep, but then there were days, these were the days Wrecker feared most, that this little slug would wake up. Sure, it was always there, even while sleeping, the slug was always there. But when it was awake, eating away at Hunter's heart, Wrecker worried. He worried that one day there wouldn't be anything left except this slug, and he would have failed, he would have lost his brother forever. But his brother would be right in front of him.

He was right in front of him. But this wasn't Hunter, Wrecker wished he could rip that little slug out of his chest and save Hunter from all the pain, but the thing is, that some days, it was easy to forget about. When Hunter's laughing, teasing and making fun, it was so easy for Wrecker to forget that Hunter was in pain. Wrecker hated himself for forgetting, forgetting that even while the sun is shining, there's a storm deep inside his little brother, and there was nothing he could do to save him. Except, love him. But recently, Wrecker was starting to fear, his love was not enough to save them.

"I'm not going to let you go, Hunter, kick me, hit me, please, but I'm not going to let you go." Wrecker promised, that was his promise. Never would Wrecker let Hunter go free into the darkness. Hunter continued to fight against him, using all his strength, but against Wrecker, his strength amounted to that of a child's.

Exhausted, Hunter resigned, he rested his head, taking a shaky breath, his cries softening. Wrecker grew less tense as he took a deep breath of relief. Hoping as a fool Hunter was done. Wrecker should have know, that Hunter would never be done crying, quite impossible would that be, for Hunter to voice all the pain that ripped him apart.

Hunter let out another sob, a softer one, "I wanna die, I don't wanna be here anymore," he babbled as he choked on his tears, gripping Wrecker's arm as if he died if he didn't, so why he didn't let go, Hunter didn't know. "I don't wanna be alive anymore!" He yelled, a sudden burst of energy ran through him as he let out a shriek and hit his head repeatedly into Wrecker's chest as he started to grow tired again. It was exhausting, convincing himself he wanted to live as if he didn't fantasize about his death.

Wrecker shook his head, no, no that wasn't true. Hunter, why do you lie to me? Wrecker frowned knowing he was the liar. And a hypocrite. But this moment wasn't about him, it was about Hunter. "No.." He muttered in a whisper.

"Please kill me, I know you can do it Wrecker, I know you can," Hunter pleaded. Wrecker's heart dropped as he fought every urge to drop his brother in shock. No- no Wrecker wasn't going to hurt him, he wasn't capable of it. But he was. Oh, Wrecker's known all his life, just how capable he was of killing his brothers. Now Hunter was too, and he was begging for him too, "Say we heard a noise, a-a big animal and we didn't have our blasters. So I never stood a chance-"

"Hunter!" Wrecker inturrupted, letting his tone get out of control for only a mere second before collecting himself again, "I can't do that, Hunter, I won't," Wrecker muttered, gritting his teeth as he shoved all that down and pulled Hunter closer. The two went quiet. For a long minute, perhaps they both worried their family would come through the door. Wrecker closed his eyes, listening to Hunter's breathing, it was shaky, but he was breathing.

After a long while, when Hunter's breathing shifted, Wrecker opened his eyes, looking at Hunter. Oh, Wrecker would do anything to make his brother stay, "Please don't ask me to hurt you, again" Wrecker didn't like that his brothers knew that his monstrous strength could ever be used against them. He would never hurt them, he would only ever love them

Hunter looked up, "I'm sorry, I know you love me, I know that Tech loves me, I know that-"

"Hunter," Wrecker interrupted him, "It ain't your fault, it ain't your fault that sometimes dying seems easier than living," He spoke, "I get it, you know we all do, there's nothing wrong with being sad," Hunter nodded as he listened to his older brother, oh he was exhausted. He had closed his eyes, not entirely worrying when Wrecker went silent, he'd start talking again soon, "Even if you never smiled again, we're always gonna love you, I'm always gonna love you."

Hunter opened his eyes, staring at the wall, "You promise? 'Cause I know I'm a lot I wouldn't blame you if you stopped-"

"Hunter," Wrecker cut him off, Hunter looked at him, a desperation in his eyes. Wrecker stared at him with a peculiar look before he fixed his smile and pressed his forehead to Hunter's,

"I'm always gonna love you, I promise."

◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥◤◢◣◥

#uh look I feel like we crashed landed #there's still a few bugs in the new system #anyway #I feel Hunter feels a certain of guilt for not being better #he feels guilty that sometimes he doesn't care #he doesn't care about anything except making the pain stop #but he so often forgets #his brothers remind him #death doesn't stop pain #love does #clones #star wars #clone wars #tcw #sw #bad batch #the bad batch #wrecker #Hunter #the Midnight Zone

[alexis-vaughn]

Plotted starter for @wickedgamc

Alexis hadn’t seen Thomas for a long while now. God knew what he was up to even if it in his case was probably wrong to assume that heavens or gods wanted any business with the devil, but Alex had never been a part of these bright sides as well since she considered herself a little demon as well. In fact she could think back with a smile when it was about Thomas. About that one night they shared as he spent the night in their mansion to finish some business with her father. Maybe they had been both a little drunk and Alex was definitely bored and not having a handsome man like him fucking other women in their home. No, she wanted it to be her or no one and sneaked into his guest room like she would often sneak around the house when she was younger. The mansion was her playground cause there weren’t many places she were allowed to go to anyways. Her father made sure that she wasn’t involved in any business. That she wouldn’t surround herself with “average people” or go to school, no Alex was like the little trophy he wanted to smile in the back and get her lessons at home. The girl that he wished would be a son. Charles never overcame the disappointment of not having an heir like he hoped and his frustration only made him more cruel towards Alex mother and herself. Alex always knew she wasn’t wanted, but sometimes when Charles put her in these nice and expensive dresses to greet the guests from afar, she couldn’t help but feel loved from him either way. Even as her mother died Alex never stopped craving for his attention. That her father would be finally proud of her and involve her in his business. But even in his last breaths he didn’t want to give her the lead and she only took over cause the rules made her the heir he never wanted her to be.

Now this was her place. Her men. Her money. And her horses. And with the start of her reign she wanted to change some things that had been long overdue. Including their tensed partnership to Mister Shelby.

He surely heard that Charles had died, but as he arrived she was sure that the sadness on his face wasn’t meant for her. No. This man had a broken heart. Poor him. Maybe she could lift his spirit?

“Mister Shelby.” She greeted him with a wide grin while the two men guarding her kept their eyes on him and then she offered Tommy her hand to kiss, like he had to around a duchess. “Long time no see, devil of Birmingham.” A short nod told her men to step away and give them some space, but instead of leading him inside she gestured with her hand towards the stables, her silky scarf wrapped around her shoulders to stay protected from the light wind that blew around their noses. “I appreciate your coming. My apologies that you didn’t get an invitation for the funeral, but it was a very private ceremony. Only family, you know? And we all know you wouldn’t want to see the old man rot anyways. Or did you fantasize about his death before?” Was that what gangsters did? Imagining the death of their enemies that way? Well she couldn’t properly deny that she didn’t imagine her father dying before as well, could she?

“See… since I’m your new contact now, I figured we should discuss our future business. And after I noticed the deep sadness behind your blue eyes as soon as you left your beautiful car, I wondered if it might lift you up if we join the horses. You still like them, don’t you sad boy?”

#Alexis x Tommy #wickedgamc

[shirtlesssammy]

6x02: Two and a Half Men

Then:

Sam Winchester’s back from Hell

Now:

A woman runs with her baby from an unseen assailant in her house. She gets herself and her baby under the bed and they stay as quiet as possible. She sees her dead husband on the floor and can barely keep it together, but does, just in time for the assailant to pull her out from the bed, leaving the baby to watch the carnage. 

Dean, Lisa, and Ben start unpacking their life in their new home. 

Sam checks out the murdered couple. The baby is missing.

Dean orders pizza for lunch, disregarding Lisa’s earlier promise to Ben that they’ll check the neighborhood out when they go out for lunch. 

Sam confers with Grampa Campbell about the case. Something weird is happening with babies. Sam doesn’t see it, but notices that the house has a security system that wasn’t set off by the invader. They have a lead. 

Dean wanders into the garage to find Ben messing around with a shotgun from Baby's trunk. He makes it VERY clear that Ben will never shoot a gun. 

Ben wants to do what Dean does. Dean turns on the ol’ John Winchester charm and yells at Ben to shut up about the gun. Ben backs down and walks away, dejected. 

Samuel has found another family that has the same security system --and fits the profile of the previous victims. Sam heads out to find them. 

Lisa confronts Dean about his altercation with Ben. She wants to know what’s up with Dean. If they killed what was after them, why is he acting like this? She gets that he’s trying to protect them, but he’s scaring her. 

Sam gets to the couple’s house only to find them already murdered. He follows bloody footprints through the house. 

The murderer pops out at him and they fight. Sam slices him with a silver knife, and the wound hisses. The assailant runs away. 

While Dean secures the perimeter that night, Sam calls needing his help on a case. Dean insists that he’s out. Sam tells him something so interesting that Dean meets him. 

Sam saved the baby!

The next morning, Dean hands Lisa a gun, tells her to salt the doors and windows, and takes off to work the case with Sam. 

First on the agenda: shopping for baby supplies. As they’re checking out, the baby starts wailing. Neither brother knows what to do --and here I want to question what the hell Dean’s thinking. Sam has an excuse re: no soul, but Dean, you’ve taken care of a baby before. Anyway, they keep looking at the poor thing like it has two heads. 

A nice woman comes up to coo over the baby and asks his name. Dean answers, “Bobby” and Sam answers, “John”. Yep, the baby is named Bobby John. She offers to change his diapers for them. Dean glances over at a security monitor and sees that her eyes are glowing. 

Dean declines. More specifically he says, “Give me the baby before I stab you in the neck.” Bold. The lady takes off running with Bobby John. Sam wrestles the baby from her while Dean full body tackles her to the ground. She plays the old lady card and security comes after Dean. He runs. 

Sam and Dean need to get off the road, especially since the shifter caught Sam’s license plate and is now a cop tracking the number.

At a motel, Dean changes Bobby John’s diaper and then hums him to sleep with Smoke on the Water. EVERY TIME I’m sorry to say this just makes my brain emit a low, steady brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

For Tender Dean Science:

Okay, I’ve rebooted. 

Sam - who has spent the whole time seated in front of research material - is impressed at Dean’s fatherly chops. But like, HE RAISED YOU, SAMMY. You must at least be able to logically analyze your memories? Dean chalks up his skillz to his recent experience parenting Ben. “I know he’s not my kid, but lately I’ve been feeling like...yeah, he is.” He’d like to raise Ben better than they grew up. In related news, do you ever want to just chew off your own arm???

Soulless!Sam informs Dean that moving Lisa and Ben from place to place is just as bad as their own fractured childhood. 

Sam pushes Dean to consider that his paranoid behavior is turning him into their father. I do like that Sam is helping my girl Lisa out with the traumatized man living in her home but DAMN, SAM. While Dean broods over his failures as both a father and a partner, Sam realizes that the dad in the recent deadly home invasion is still alive. He heads out, leaving Dean to dip his finger in whiskey and let Bobby John have a taste.

Bobby John’s dad is...not bereaved. His wife was cheating on him and got pregnant. (So apparently she deserved a gruesome death? Huh. Good to know, dude.) She denied she was cheating, telling him that he’d come back early from a trip and they’d had sex. It’s fun how the layers of trauma this cold open woman goes through just get worse and worse. 

At the motel, Dean’s relaxing on the vibrating bed when there’s a wet explosion from the crib. It’s not a poopy diaper! When he peers over the crib, Bobby John’s an entirely new baby. (He’s the baby on the diapers box and I really hope those parents got to keep that prop!) Sam calls with a new theory - the baby’s father is a shapeshifter!

Bobby John gets cleaned up just in time for a shady manager to knock on the door and demand to be let in. The shapeshifter cop from earlier bursts in just as Dean unlocks the door. He’s there to bring the baby to “our father,” whomever that is! They engage in fisticuffs, until Sam arrives and shoots the shifter.

Later, they’re driving off with Bobby John to find a safe haven for the little tyke. “I didn’t even know they had babies,” Sam says, of shifters. “I thought they were just freaks of nature - like, X-Men style.” Gurl, please. He refers to Bobby John as a monster, but Dean insists that Bobby John is just an innocent baby. If I had a dollar for every time this show danced around this point only to fuck off and forget it in the next episode, I’d have a lot of dollars. 

Sam suggests bringing Bobby John to the Campbells to raise, which Dean thinks is a monumentally poor idea. (I’m Dean/Cas endgame BUT imagine society if Dean had brought Lisa a shapeshifter baby to raise!!!) Sam “not all hunters” the Campbells, then says that Samuel is like Dean. This is...not the slam dunk argument Sam thinks it is. “I’m a freakin’ head case,” Dean rebuts and it is a SOLID REBUTTAL. Still, they head to the Campbell’s compound.

And it is a literal compound, with armed guards standing patrol at the metal gates. In the grim main building, cold Campbells circle Dean and Bobby John like sharks. All the Campbells look like they’re one step away from taking a knife to the baby. Dean refuses to hand over Bobby John to any of the “family.” Sam asks to hold Bobby John. Sam then immediately turns around and hands Bobby John over to Samuel and I CHEW MY OWN ARM OFF I HATE SOULLESS!SAM sometimes. Dean wants to know what the plan is now.

All the dark looks shot between the Campbells make me want to scream, and then weep. 

Dean’s worried about the Campbells wanting to study Bobby John (in the mad scientist way) and Christian Campbell laconically comments that Dean’s mind goes straight to torture. When Dean demands an explanation, it’s revealed that the Campbells know aaalllll about Dean’s torture time in Hell. 

The Campbells also fantasize about what a great hunter a shapeshifter will make. Samuel demands that Dean trust him, and then interrogates Christian about his baby-making failures with his wife. He offers Bobby John to Christian. “The crap I do for this family,” Christian mutters as he takes the baby. READERRRRRRRRRS, I hate him.

Outside, a dog yelps. Dean and Sam flee for the panic room with Bobby John while the Campbells load up with weapons. A shapeshifter arrives, wearing Samuel’s face. They tranquilize him after a fight, and try to take him prisoner. 

The shifter heads down to the panic room wearing Sam’s face, tosses Sam across the room, and then just...shimmers himself into Dean’s form. 

The shifter pins Dean against the wall, cutting off his air until he passes out. He then takes Bobby John and calmly walks out. 

Later, they all reconvene after the fight. Samuel reveals that the shifter was an alpha shifter, who spawned all the other shifters. “The lore” also says that an alpha can sense their babies anywhere. 

As Dean and Sam walk out to the car, Dean goes over the details of the hunt. He wants to know if Sam registered what the shifter at the motel had said about his “father.” Sam lies incredibly poorly, but Dean puts it all together. If Sam knew the alpha was on the hunt, then he would have known that he would come after Bobby John. Dean wants to know if he was using the baby as bait. Sam plays it off - he just thought the Campbell compound was the safest place. UGH DOUBLE UGH at all the terrible layers. 

Samuel has a brief phone call, complaining to an unknown boss about how hard it was to try to take the alpha shifter prisoner. 

Back at Lisa’s, Dean frets about the best way to keep Lisa and Ben safe. He acknowledges that he’s been acting like a prison guard. “You tell yourself you’re not gonna be something...my dad was exactly like this. All the time. Scared the hell outta me.” Lisa tells him that she knows one thing: 

She looks at him, and sees someone who wants to hunt. But she also tells him that he sees himself as “some bad, awful thing. But you're not.” She proposes that Dean head out to hunt with his brother, and stop by when he can. Maybe they can have it all!

Dean smiles a real, honest smile in the garage as he pulls the car cover from Baby. Smoke on the Water plays us through a truly gratuitous hot rod close-up of Baby. The curves! The headlights!

For I’m Just Gonna Give You Two the Room Science:

Dean is back in town!

Baby Quotes:

So either we've got monsters grabbing babies to make baby stew, or we've got a bunch of psychotic yokels grabbing babies to make baby stew. Either way, it's baby stew, which is bad

You think I speak baby?

I've never seen a baby monster before

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive!

#spn recap #dean winchester #sam winchester #Lisa Braeden #Samuel Campbell #Ben Braeden #spn 6x02 #two and a half men #supernatural season 6

[goldafterglow]

hold me in the meadows

Summary: You are Ezra’s dreamcatcher and he is your burrow.

Request: “The sleepy prompts!! Lovely! Can you do “I have had nightmares every night for the past three weeks and now they’re gone because of you, how did you do that?” with (can you guess??) EZRA” - the love of my life, @opheliaelysia

Pairing: Ezra (Prospect) x Reader

Word Count: 4.6k+

Tags: angst?, fluff, more metaphors that don’t mean anything, weird touching lol idk what the fuck this fic is, this is also not beta read so send the flood send the flu

Author’s Note: If you left a like or comment or reblog on Dissolve Me I’m telling you with as little shame as is humanly possible that I definitely reread it at least 3 times. Feedback means the word to me! also this was supposed to be a 500 word drabble and now it’s over 4.5k words if that tells you anything about me. I apologize in advance I think I’ve really outdone myself w/ my bullshit this time

Gif Credit: @pascvl; Also shout out to @pascalplease sorry I spammed you for nothing dsfgdsg

Ezra is staring at you.

He’d met you on one of those toxic moons, one of those deceitfully picturesque mirages where the dust glitters like lily petals but the air would kill you before you could think to appreciate it. You were a floater; a nomad with no place to call home, but you figured you liked it that way. Homes were permanent. They set lives and futures in cobblestone and trapped spirits in gated properties, keeping just about anything and everything tethered under the farce of security. Homes make paraffin casings around dragonfly wings and turn footprints to concrete. So you never had one, and you never wanted one. Ezra had found you amusing. You had found him to be better company than just yourself. So with great reluctance, you established a partnership. Not one forged in steel or bronze but something still fleeting, its true meaning always escaping your lips like a forgotten thought. It’s too much work to try and think about it anyway.

You had let him invite you to reside in his tent. It took coaxing, required copious amounts of golden honey spilling from Ezra’s tongue to get you to tenaciously stick to him, but you were no match for his silver tongue. He did everything he could to assure that this wasn’t a habitat, but merely a shelter - a thing that could be taken down and built back up somewhere else, anywhere you wanted. So you had obliged. He let you take the cot closest to the zipper door; you liked being closer to the exit, just a rotation away from being back on your feet. He tries to let you truly feel like if you wanted to escape, wanted to elope with liberty and run away from the loose bonds of the canopy, you could.

Three weeks of sleeping adjacent to him and you still don’t want to.

Ezra is used to temporary relationships. He has done his fair share of companion hopping, although he wasn’t really making an effort to do so. It scares him a little - why can’t he make anyone stay, make anything last? Partners passed him by, either to traverse on their lonesome or to stay with that greedy man in the eternal sky. Teams disbanded around him like glass castles shattering in his wake. Ezra, whether he liked it or not, was accustomed to transience.

He is not, however, accustomed to fearing that sharp brevity. Ezra is constantly on his toes around you, frequently wondering if he’s pushing you away or pulling you closer. You aren’t skittish, don’t constantly question everything he says or get offended by the sound of his voice, but he’s still scared of losing you. Every time he looks into your eyes he sees wonder, a certain fascination with life that he tries so hard to match because he wants to find things as beautiful as you do. As beautiful as you are. He wants to mis-quote your favorite novels that you force him to read so that you’ll scold him so affectionately and tell him that perhaps he had garnered a little brain damage from his previous escapades. He wants to trip over tree roots that have herniated through the soil so you can laugh at him, maybe lay there on the grass with him for a little bit. Just a little bit.

In your own mind, you are guarded. You try your very best not to get too personal, too deep, too much. Because you don’t like it when people can see your flushed, bloody insides. You just know that the moment you open your chest, someone will steal your heart right out of your rib cage and like the pass of a hummingbird, all of your secrets will be free to float in the breeze like the ashes of your lost quintessence; it’ll all be gone and then you’ll really be empty.  So how could you ever know what you mean to Ezra?

He knows what a truly locked up person looks like. He’s spent hundreds of cycles with people that don’t make a noise. He’s sat in bustling pods of people and felt like the only man in the room, like solitary confinement for his mind. No, you are not some warning-covered steel box, padlocked and duct-taped and glued shut so that even if he’s sitting right next to you, he’ll have nothing more than his own voice bounce to off of your walls and fly right back to him. You’re a music box, a gold-trimmed heart-shaped sound bottle, and he learns that if he winds you up the right way, you’ll sing so pretty for him.

He has spent so long talking, nonsensically making those arbitrary noises burst out of his throat until they lose all meaning, but finally, for the first time in so fucking long, Ezra gets to listen.

He listens to you tell him you think his hair is stupid and that sometimes he smells bad. He listens to you lament about barren dig-sites and wasted time, about how it’s so fucking hot in your suit. He listens to you fantasize about touching the trees, burying your face in your flowers and squeezing the moss in your hands. About drowning in the river so that your body is filled with the water and then rolling in the sand so that it all sticks to you and you have to dive back in to clean off. About feeling something.

Sometimes, Ezra just wants to hear something other than his own voice. And you’re the cold towel to his inflamed skin, refreshing and addictive. You’re much braver than you think, so much stronger than you give yourself credit for, because for once, Ezra can talk into the forest and know that there’s someone to listen besides the leaves. He doesn’t feel alone.

Every night, when the moon has turned its back on the narcissistic Sun and opened its arms to the thousands of other stars, each just a prick of light but understanding of their place in the tapestry of the darkness, the two of you retire to that tent. You both redress into comfortable clothes, backs turned on each other under the guise of respect, and climb into your respective cots. Ezra would turn off that shitty lantern that illuminated the enclosure, and your shadows would dissipate into the darkness.

Except Ezra’s shadows don’t disappear; they hide. They blend into the black and mold into one man-engulfing untamable beast to possess Ezra’s throat. And they manifest again in his mind. They poison that movie that plays once you slip consciousness, instills fear into his bone marrow until he doesn’t feel safe in his own body, his own thoughts.

These slumber illusions haunt Ezra. His right arm waves at him in his sleep, the souls to which he was the conduit bridging life and death haunt his diaphragm with toothy grins to mock him, screeching into his cavities. They remind him that he was never really alone because he has the suffocating embrace of those spirits that are sewn so tight to his eyelids. Every night he somehow manages to pull himself from the darkness only for his own demons to pull him back by the throat. He is always oscillating between consciousness and unconsciousness, being tossed around like a helpless rag with no hope of liberation. Nothing scares him more than his own thoughts.

And you know. You know all of it. How could you not? You were born a tumbleweed, wandering across desolation, so of course you’re a light sleeper. And you can hear Ezra’s choked cries, his tossing and turning as he drains himself of any sense of safety. But this man is a stranger to you. He is just a person you reside with, talk to all the time, nudge gently and tease and smile with. He is just the person that you wake up wanting to see, whose attention you always crave. A stranger.

So every night you turn your body to face the zipper of the tent and pretend that you can’t hear him cry. Pretend that you don’t sometimes cry with him. A pretty lavender lie that smells sweet, tastes sweeter.

You, in your cowardice, let him destroy himself. Watch as the bags under his eyes get bigger and greyer and the strings holding his shoulders up lose their tension.

Ezra, in his flawed cratered embodiment, is only human. And he had gone so long without holding anyone, without being held. He knows what he wants, knows who he wants. But he also knows how jittery you are, how fluttery your heart is, and he doesn’t want to approach it too fast lest he startle you and you fly off into the stars. But he can’t keep doing this, can’t live with himself when he knows he’s not the one in control but those horned, slimy creatures that claw at his maxilla with their venomous grins.

The lights are out in the tent per usual, so Ezra can’t really see you. His careful eyes can trace the outline of the curves of your body - or is it that his delusional eyes are envisioning some arbitrary glow around you, convincing him that what he’s seeing is real? Reality is a concept with which he is no longer familiar.

You, laying in your cot, decide that you just can’t take it anymore. You can’t stand to let this intruder of your life break you down the way he is without even trying. How dare he look into you, how dare he listen to you without passing judgement, how fucking dare he make you feel like a flower in bloom?

Ezra hears your breaths - they’re uneven. You haven’t gone to sleep. What are you waiting for?

“Ezra?” you practically squeak into the void. His ears perk up immediately; your cotton candy voice is enticing to him, flossing its way through his veins.

“What are you doing up, birdie?” Ezra asks softly, the air of his lungs floating on top of his words. He doesn’t mean to keep you awake, but he isn’t mad that you are. It’s stimulating his nerves enough to keep himself awake, and that’s something he probably won’t ever be able to repay you for.

“I-um….” Shit. You hadn’t expected to get this far. What would you say to him? How could you tell him that you wanted to help cleanse him, that you wanted to grovel in lime-coated thumb tacks with him and absorb his pain into your tissue paper skin? “I can’t sleep.”

Not a lie. Ezra knows you mean it. He just doesn’t know why.

“Well that won’t suffice,” he decides, outstretching his left arm blindly off the edge of his cot until his fingers brush against what he’s looking for: that goddamn lantern. With a little more fumbling, a weak but good enough orange glow is emitted on the floor between the two of you. You both catch each other’s pitiful gaze. You want to take care of each other, want to shield each other from the red sprites that nip angrily at each other’s hearts. Ezra holds his left arm out to you, tentatively. He’s never been more unsure in his life. He watches you glance at his arm, and then quickly to the side. You’re trying to decide if you’ll let him add another tether to you. If you’ll let him become something sewed so tight to your bleeding skin that to leave would rip you apart.

You slowly get up and walk over to his cot.

Ezra lets out a soft breath and his lips turn to a soft smile. He’s soft.

“C’mere, dandelion” he mumbles to you, and he hasn’t missed his right arm so much as in this moment. He wants to hold you properly, wants to keep you as close to him as possible. You’re hesitant, and he can tell. You’ve never been this close to him before, and you want to savor it. When your head finally touches his shoulder, it’s like a catalyst ignites underneath the two of you. You mold into each other the way the gods intended, like lake water seeping into the smallest of crevices of an empty river bed. Like the opposing poles of two magnets, like a key penetrating a lock. Like you were made for each other. Your arms immediately wrap around him, his neck now a fixture of your body, and his arm leads you to lay down on the cot. Without words, without that candid discourse that Ezra was so fond of, his face is buried into the warmth of your chest and he feels like you’ve cast an ethereal shield around him.

Ezra doesn’t need to hold you tight because you’re holding him tighter, like you’re trying to cling to something invisible and foreign before it can even think to leave you. Before it realizes that it doesn’t want you. Don’t leave. He can feel you breathe him in, face smashed against his wild hair, and he can’t blame you because he’s breathing you in too.

“Sweetheart-” he breathes, fanning against your skin in a way that sends a deep shiver down your spine and shakes your shoulders.

“Shh.” And for once in his cursed life, he’s speechless. There’s so much, too much that he wants to say to you, but his mind is shouting all of it at him at once and he doesn’t even know where to start. So he shuts the fuck up. He feels you. He feels your heat melt him until he can barely control his own muscles because they’ve gone limp, unable to perform a single contraction because his fibers are relaxed, are at peace.

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep.

When Ezra wakes, you’re still sweet and motionless around him. The lamp was still on, still shining pathetically on the ground. He doesn’t feel the need to look around or squeeze his lids closed in an attempt to wring the bad rest out of him.

Rest?

He thinks fucking hard. When had he woken up last night? When had his banshees infiltrated his thoughts and cried into the void of his packed mind? All he can recall are caramel dreams, whipped cream clouds and berry trampolines for him to jump high into the cotton candy sky. He thinks he might like it that way. Maybe every night can be like that, every morning can feel this transcendent.

He hears you moan quietly as you stir not long after him, breaths shuddering on their way out of your nose as you slowly come to your senses.

“Good morning, birdie,” Ezra finally says. He doesn’t know what to say to you, what he can say to you, without making you flip a switch and realize that it’s all a mistake, that he is a mistake. His eardrums smile as your sleepy whining settles.

“Morning, Ezra,” you whisper, throat not ready to talk yet. It’s okay; you’d rather hear him talk to you anyway.

“Did you…were you able to achieve some sort of comfort?” Ezra asks. For a second you’re confused until you remember what you’d told him last night, and you realize that you’re holding him the same way you were when you’d gone to sleep. He hadn’t woken up.

“Yeah, Ezra,” you finally say after letting yourself simmer in the silence for a second. “Thank you.”

He smiles wide against your skin, the blunt tip of his excitement the battering ram that beats against his racing heart. He’s given you something worthy of your gratefulness, and the feeling of being worthy light his chest with blue flames.

“It’s not my intention to blow you away, dandelion,” Ezra says, his nerves manifesting into his characteristic breathy laughs, “but I can’t deny how direly I want to just touch you.” You feel the air get knocked out of you as your diaphragm begins to spasm; what is he asking? You’ve thought about it before; god, of course you’ve thought about it before. To lay back as you let him study you, memorize you and then let you do the same. Analyze the sculpted marble of his body to remind yourself why you love it so much.

“Please.”

It’s barely a whisper, a secret told to the wind, but Ezra hears you. Ezra always hears you.

So Ezra’s fingers begin to wander along your skin. He wants to map out the scars on your body, wants to learn the shape of you so intimately that he could remodel you if he wanted to. He wants to know your body the way he knows when you’re disappointed or frustrated or amazed or confused. He wants to just know.

You feel the calloused pads of Ezra’s fingers put a little pressure onto that dip of your thoracic vertebrae, draw circles above your hip right under the fabric of your sweatshirt, caress your shoulder. He’s slowly exposing your skin to the humid chill of the dank enclosure, carefully making your top cover less and less of you, but you’ve never felt warmer.

As Ezra’s mind begins to really warm up and the cogs begin to grease themselves, his words begin to flow out the way you’re used to. The way you’ve learned to love.

“Sweetheart, I have had nightmares every night for the past three weeks and now they’re gone,” he blurts. Fuck. His hand stutters against the small of your back. He’s done it now, he’s really gone and blown it, because now you know he’s fucking broken and you’re smart enough to know when to avoid damaged goods. You have to know that if you were to take your hands and try and feel him you’d just get bumps and ridges and cracks. But Ezra is selfish, can’t help himself or his thoughts, so he keeps rambling. “It is not my intention to come off as presumptuous, but I just know it’s because of you. How did you do that, birdie? You never told me you were sent to me as a dreamcatcher.”

You can’t help but smile into his scalp a little at his words. You didn’t mind taking all of his bad dreams and refracting them far away into the space between the stars for him. A light, breathy laugh rolls off your tongue like a huff, because fuck, if you were going to be embroidered to something it might as well be him.

Your breath hitches again as the back of his hand runs flat along your stomach. It travels back around and up to the nape of your neck, tracing your shoulders and then over to your clavicles, paying close attention to the dips. You can’t help but wonder if this means as much to him as it does to you; it means everything to you.

“You’re right. I’ve been holding out on you all this time,” you say, and he can hear you smile through the roses of your words. He slowly and with purpose lifts his head from your embrace so that he can look up at you, maybe even catch a glimpse of that pretty grin of yours and burn it onto his lenses.

“I’m not confident that you’ll ever know how fortuitous I was the day I met you.” Ezra’s voice is low as he speaks, his drawl stretching and fraying the ends of his words, and you soak in every last syllable. You soak in the meaning of his words. He feels lucky to have you.

You look down at him, bringing a hand to run through his hair. That stupid blonde streak snatches your attention for a moment and you thumb at the strands. You want to tease him about it, mock him a little, but you don’t. The moon marine in your arms holds so much unbridled beauty, and it’s all yours to look at.

Ezra is all yours to look at.

Ezra’s hand travels up to your face, cupping your cheek while his thumb toys with the corner of your mouth in a way that makes you bite your lip through a smile. Throwing all caution to the wind, you turn your head and press a shy kiss to the heel of his palm. Ezra’s skin burns where you’ve sanctified him. His hand begins to crave your touch in other ways, he is craving something more from you, but he knows he does far too much taking. He’s already taken so much from you, has already stolen so many moments from you out of sheer gluttony, but it’s not always his fault because you’re so giving. He knows you were a little hollow from the start, knows you were a little frayed in the first place, but still you share your thoughts and companionship with him because whether you know it or not, you’re a little taken by this space mutineer. If you fled this little thing you’ve built with him, you’d be leaving the prettiest parts of yourself behind for him to keep taking care of the way a mother makes her son’s bed after he leaves for college because what if you want to come back?

But you haven’t left, haven’t abandoned him and in turn, yourself. You’re right here, letting him bask in your reverent lavender radiation, and as he looks at how you’re giving off your own intrinsic glow because the shitty orange light on the ground isn’t enough, he knows he hasn’t earned it. He doesn’t think this is a very fair transaction at all, but he’s too selfish to stop you from paying a little extra. You’ll let him keep the change.

Ezra wordlessly lifts his head, nosing at your wrist so that you’ll bring it lower and let him kiss the delicate skin there. He looks up at you with wide, eager eyes of adoration. His feelings for you are beginning to bubble underneath the surface of his silk-lined thoughts and he is willing them to stay at that low simmer because he doesn’t want to think about anything except how fucking gorgeous you look in the lamplight.

“I’m growing rather fond of the way you feel against me,” Ezra finally says. Everything is so foreign now, so new, so he tries to do the one thing you both know, the one routine you can both dance without needing to think about it: talking.

“I like it too Ezra,” you giggle. Not a long, flittery one, but a pass of air with a note under it. You’re a little nervous too.

“I reckon I could get accustomed to this,” he whispers. Your lip betrays you, curling itself to reveal your reply before you even say it. Your teeth capture your lower lip for the act of treason, but it’s too late. “But I’d just hate it if I made you feel like you’re bearing my baggage.”

“Ezra, you don’t have crippling baggage,” you insist. What is this man talking about? You were the one with issues. You were the one that had to be convinced to stay with him, you were the one that insisted on the right cot, you were the real coward here. You were broken. “Everyone has their demons. There is so much more inside of you. You’re so full.”

Ezra’s eyes go a little wide at your words. You didn’t think he was half a man? Some incomplete mosaic that would never find his missing pieces?

“You flatter me,” he chuckles; no, he giggles.

“Well…I just figured there’s no way a broken man could handle his broken partner the way you deal with me.” His expression melts into something more than pity and less than ignorance - confusion. The tap in Ezra’s tongue pops loose and his words begin to cascade from his lips like some majestic phenomenon, like holy water spraying the filth off of your brow.

“I need you to look at me, firefly.” His voice is more stern now, his words more articulate as he shifts up the bed slightly so that he’s eye level with you. He’s still on his side, his left hand is still gripping the flesh at your hip. “I don’t think you’ll ever truly comprehend how much you’ve done for me these past cycles, but this life is quiet and toilsome. You’re capable of recognizing beauty in things I wouldn’t have even taken note of in the first place, and I hang onto your every utterance whether you’re aware or not. It’s easy for me to sit here and tell you how bad I always want you because you fill my thoughts, pretty dandelion. And if someone came here and regurgitated your exact words to me, it still wouldn’t hold a candle to the way you sing when you wonder out loud. I don’t need to ‘deal’ with you, sweet rose. I want you.”

Your lip quivers a little; you know Ezra likes talking to you, he’s told you before. But you couldn’t help but assume Ezra just likes talking, period. That he liked having you around about as much as he’d enjoy the company of any other talker. To think that someone wants you, your passions and afterthoughts and pondering notions, meant more than anything you could articulate.

“Ezra-” you start, but you cut yourself off. You want to let his words turn into condensation on your skin, to form little rain clouds above your head so that they pour back down on you in delicate drops. You want to let him linger, to sit and hang above you like the sky hangs above the ocean.

You look straight at him, deep into his inquiring brown eyes as you both begin to breathe the same air, scents mingling between you like the heat between two stars. His nose is right up against yours and you can feel his lashes caress your cheekbone. He’s so close, but you want him closer, need him to move his hand or blink his eyes or do something, because you can’t take the nothingness anymore when you’ve got everything pressed right up against your face.

Ezra decides he wants one last thing from you.

“My rose, I don’t want to ask too much of you, but I suppose if that were true I wouldn’t have invited you to stay with me anyway. In the tent, of course. Not the cot.” Fuck, what was he saying? He lets out a soft laugh as he tries to reorganize his thoughts, a blushing mess under your gaze because he’s so used to knowing exactly how to get what he wants, but he’s really pushing your boundaries and bending your fence posts now. You’re turning him into a man who fumbles, a man who doesn’t always have to know what he’s about to say, and he doesn’t mind being a little less talk around you and a lot more touch.

Suddenly, he’s reminded of what he wanted to ask you.

“Sweet creature, could I kiss you?”

You don’t miss a beat in this soft ballad you’re playing with him, letting out a gentle “yeah, Ezra.”

You don’t like homes, don’t like to be told that you’re forever nailed to walls and wood. But maybe, as Ezra’s scruffy chin leans up to slot his lips against yours, you could build a tent in him. Maybe this leaky soul was your permanent, your unyielding, your perpetual.

As Ezra tilts his head towards you with a soft moan so he can kiss you the way you deserve, speak to you through the blinding sensation of his mouth telling you how he wants you, needs you, loves you, without using a single word, he is confident that his hollow cavities are beginning to be filled by your amber essence. He can tell you’re letting yourself finally take root in him, clearing out the wretched foliage so that you can curl up in the meadow of his soul and rest your bones within him.

Yeah.

You’re home.

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