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lokischocolatefountain · 1 year

Text

Separation

Series Masterlist

Fandom: Narcos

Pairing: Javier Peña x Reader

Rating: 18+ (*slaps the roof of this fic* This bad boy can fit so much smut, angst and fluff in it)

Word count: 8.4k words wtf

Summary: The last time Javier Peña saw his wife was almost three weeks ago in Steve Murphy’s apartment. He’d finally done it. He’d fucked up the only good thing in his life, driven her away with his neglect.

A/N: Why is it that whenever I write Javi, there’s angst? What is it about this beautiful pathetic man with big brown eyes (and big strong arms) that makes me want to hurt and comfort him? Also, if any of you want to be tagged the next time I post Javi (or just husband Javi) lmk and I’ll make a tag list.

The last time Javier Peña saw his wife was in Steve Murphy’s apartment, holding a sleeping baby Olivia Murphy on her lap as she consoled an anxious Connie Murphy. That night, he’d finally brought his partner home to his wife and child. Relieved, he went home only to find a note from his wife by his bedside informing him that she would be staying with a friend for a while. No explanations, no phone calls. Just a note.

That was almost three weeks ago.

Her side of the bed stayed untouched. Her bedside table was unusually empty without her novel of the week on it. When he reached out for her in his sleep, his heart craving the familiar comfort of her touch, he found it cold and empty. He’d wake up with a start, unaccustomed to an empty bed even though he’d spent all his bachelor life before her sleeping by himself. It was as though married life had been a cruel fantasy he was awoken from to be forced back into the reality of his lonely existence.

No matter how many times he longed to call her friend’s landline, he couldn’t bring himself to dial the number. She’d been by his side ever since he asked her to move in with him. Undying loyalty, a shoulder to lean on, a body to hold when he awoke from nightmares. She deserved a break from him.

The refrigerator sometimes had boxes of meals for him, his whiskey glass was chilled, her laundry done and dried for him to fold up. Dishes left in the sink for him to wash. He had a wife and she did come by the apartment but never when he was there too. She’d been like a ghost, slipping in and out and probably through walls without his notice.

Their anniversary came and went. Still no sign of her.

It wasn’t their wedding anniversary. It was the anniversary of their first date. That was not something they celebrated like they did their wedding anniversary but her absence made him remember and it fucking stung.

He’d finally done it. He’d fucked up the only good thing in his life, driven her away with his neglect. She gave him everything and asked for nothing. Not even the bare minimum. Her parents had begged her for a proper wedding and he couldn’t even give her that. She married him at the embassy and went home alone in the short white dress she bought herself from a regular store as he went off on some fucking raid that ended up failing anyway. She watched as her friends had weddings and baby showers and children while he kept her stuck in the same place in life.

And she was finally gone. After putting up with everything, she’d slowly disappeared from his life without him even noticing it.

Javi found himself outside her classroom. He’d walked into the English Literature department, opened her drawer and checked her schedule, ignoring the questioning staff with the same practiced authority he had as DEA agent.

For the first time, he took in the force that was Professor Peña in action. He knew she was a fucking genius. But to see her command the classroom’s attention was something else.

On one of their first nights together, he’d put his head on her lap and closed his eyes as she played with her hair and asked her unashamedly to read her book out loud to him. He had a reputation of being an asshole, of sleeping around a lot. There was an image of him being a callus man who hopped from one bed to the next. It couldn’t be further from the truth. He gave bits and pieces of his heart to every woman he slept with, he asked personal questions, kissed foreheads and comforted them over their troubles. He lied on the lap of the woman he would one day marry and asked her to read him a bedtime story of how Anna Karenina fell out of love with Alexei and in love with Vronsky. Javier may have been an asshole in others’ eyes, but on her lap, he was the man who kept his parents’ easy intimacy in the back of his head as he looked up at her and wondered if he could have something like that with her.

As she engaged the classroom in a discussion about Frankenstein’s creation, he witnessed everyone around him fall for her just as he did. He watched as she pulled them into discussions and got them involved in passionate debates amongst themselves about the nature of the creature. She was the perfect leader, knowing just how to steer the large group, get the stubborn young people to question their world views and lead them to answers to questions they didn’t even know they had.

She was a wonder.

If this was all he could have of her, he would take it. If she wouldn’t come home to him anymore, he would show up to her classes and sit in the back seat just to hear her voice and see her eyes twinkle with passion.

She didn’t notice him, her attention reserved for the students who asked questions and argued their points passionately. He had to wait until they’d all submitted their papers to her and had a little conversation to continue their discussions. He’d never seen students so reluctant to leave a classroom. He couldn’t blame them; he didn’t want to leave either. Only when most of her class had shuffled out did he have the courage to approach her desk.

He stood there, making no sounds, just fidgeting with his right hand as he tried to find the courage in him to speak to the professor who was counting the number of essays that had been submitted to her.

“Sorry, I have to get home now. Office hours are before class on Monday,” she said, not even looking up at him.

“Sure, if that’s the only way I’ll get to see you.”

She stilled mid-count, letting go of the papers as she looked up at him. She opened and closed her mouth, as though swallowing everything she thought to say.

“What are you doing here?” She asked, finally.

He shrugged and managed a half-smile. “Had to catch you somehow.”

When she said nothing, he continued, “Where do you go when you tell your students you’re going home? Because you don’t come to ours.”

He carried her papers, her handbag and her lunch bag to the jeep. As though he had to confiscate all her belongings to make sure she’d actually come home with him. As though he was afraid she’d slip through his fingers like the sicarios he chased.

Her hand didn’t cross the physical space between them. Her head rested against the glass of the window and her eyes were closed. She didn’t reach over to switch the radio on, didn’t ask him about his day, didn’t reach over to pinch his cheek or steal his aviators.

“Talk to me,” he said, his voice shaking as he realized he didn’t want to hear whatever it was she had to say. He wasn’t prepared for the harsh truths. All he wanted was to take her to bed and kiss her all over and hold her tight so that she would never leave. He wanted to cry like a little boy begging his dad to not leave for work because he would miss him too much during the day. He wanted to overwhelm her with his love, manipulate her mind into taking him back though he couldn’t admit to himself that at some point she apparently stopped wanting to keep him.

His hand was on her knee as he sat at her feet and looked up at her face expectantly for her to speak. It wouldn’t have taken him more than a second to get on his knees. He was no religious man. That stopped the day he buried his Ma. But he would get on his knees again and pray to her to stay, to be his benevolent goddess and forgive his sins for the nth time.

“I don’t know what I did, I really don’t,” his voice cracked as he confessed. “But it must’ve been something terrible for you to stop coming home.” It shamed him to discover that he had become the man he promised himself he would never be. One of those inattentive men who’d grown so comfortable in the kindnesses of their wife that they’re shocked when she decides she has had enough. Neglect killed love. And he had been neglecting her, leaving her alone most days and most nights as he traveled back and forth between Bogotá and Medellin.

She stared at him, her expressions indiscernible. She accepted his hands when he placed them on hers, the small action giving him hopes. “Whatever it is, I’ll fix it,” he begged, holding on tight. He needed her to believe him.

She shook her head and looked down at her lap. “It’s not— you didn’t do anything wrong.”

After relief came surprise. He hadn’t done something wrong this time? The relief was quickly replaced by worry. If he was the cause of her running away from him, he could handle that. He could change himself, fix whatever within was wrong to make her come home again. But it was something else, someone else…

“What is it, then?” He asked, cupping her cheek and gently directing her to look at him instead of her lap or the walls. “Is it work? Are your parents doing well back home?”

“Nothing, it’s nothing.”

He inhaled and rubbed his eyes. “It can’t be nothing. You left me. You packed up your bags and left. I think I deserve an explanation.”

She let out a sigh. “I’ll come back then.”

His hand curled into a fist and his jaw clenched. So that was it? All he had to do was ask? Her easy compliance made him want to throw something at the wall.

He got off the ground where he was knelt at her feet and began pacing across the room.

He expected some resistance when he barged into her workplace uninvited and demanded that she come with him. He expected— no, hoped for a fight for it would give him answers for her sudden disappearance. But she just walked with him to the parking lot, no questions asked. And now she just agreed to move back in. All because he demanded answers.

“Fucking tell me!” He yelled, his hand fidgeting at his side.

“I don’t want to fight,” she said, her voice too calm for the gravity of the situation. Like this didn’t fucking matter.

Oh, you don’t wanna fight? You don’t wanna fucking fight? You fucking ran off and you don’t want to—

“I don’t either, but you’re making it very hard to not do that.”

He heard her take in a deep breath before he heard the unmistakable whispers of sniffling. Great. Fucking amazing. Now, he’d gone and made her cry.

Her sounds of despair were enough for his rage to evaporate off him. He rushed back to her side and pulled her to his chest, forcing comfort upon her in the hope that it would serve as a salve to whatever wounds he’d ripped open. To his relief, she didn’t push him away. But she didn’t pull him close like she always did when he embraced her. Things had changed and he hadn’t even noticed it happening. All he could do now was hope that whatever this rift was between them, he could patch it back together.

—————————

Even in the blistering heat of Bogotá, Javier chose to keep his wife pressed to his chest when he slept. She was disgusted by their sweat combining and their clothes sticking to their bodies, but she indulged his need for closeness. She knew he loved with his body and she accepted his love, in all its sweaty sticky mess.

So he had no choice but to interpret the chasm between them on their marital bed as her rejection of his love.

As soon as he brought her back home, he had to leave for Medellin. Any hopes for setting things right had been crushed when he had to leave from work straight to the other city. He’d called home before he left, informing he would be gone for a long time once again. She didn’t say much, just hemmed and hawed before asking him to be safe out there. No exaggerated smooching sounds to make him laugh, no promises of what would be awaiting him when he came back home to her, no I love you before she said goodbye.

Over ten days after the call, he was back but without any of the feelings of satisfaction he usually had when coming home to her. Instead, there was just dread. She met him at the door as usual and wrapped her arms around him, but she separated without a kiss. The cracks in the foundations of their marriage ran deeper than he’d feared.

“Hey,” he whispered awkwardly when she finally opened her eyes. She stilled, her head jerking up as though surprised he was there.

“Hey,” she replied, her voice groggy from sleep as she shuffled under her blanket.

“I missed you so much, mi amor…” he said carefully, afraid that anything he might say would snap the last thread that held them together. His hand slowly crept into the space between them, an offering to share the littlest bit of marital comforts.

“Missed you too, Javi,” she conceded, not taking his hand but settling for playing with his fingers. He allowed her to lead, giving what little contact she took from him and taking back only as much, afraid to cross any lines.

Her nails were uncharacteristically unkempt. The woman he knew did not tolerate chipped nail polish, wiping all her nails with acetone when the paint began chipping off. Almost all her nails except her pinky had chipped paint now. Her thumbnail was bare.

“May I paint your nails?” He asked, hopeful. She nodded and he left their bed in search of the box in which she kept all her manicure tools and paints.

When they sat together on bed as he took the pink off her nails, they were closer. He handled her hands with care, refusing to scrub too harshly even when the pieces of glitter clung to her as stubbornly as he did. Manicures were something she got done from salons, but she painted her own nails just as often. She said it calmed her.

He then brought the glass file to her nails, reducing them to a shorter oval shape the way she liked them. Any longer and she found it hard to use her typewriter. He made sure to file the edges in the same direction, recalling that she’d told him filing in opposite directions was not good for nail health. He repositioned her hand in his, turning it left and right as he evaluated his work. Satisfied with the shape, he brought his lips to the finger, his eyes remaining on hers the entire time to check for any signs of rejection. He pressed little kisses from her fingertip to her wrist, relishing in the shy smiles she rewarded him with.

He repeated his work with the other nails and then used the little wooden stick she had to push her cuticles back in preparation for the paint. The shower would wash it off soon, but he still slathered some moisturizer on her hands, using it as an excuse to massage her hands. He pushed the excess cream beyond her wrists and up her arms.

He kissed the back of her hand and looked up at her, her eyes clouded with sleep and something else, her plush lips parting as his own traveled up her arm. “You feel so good, baby, so soft,” he praised, making her shudder. When he reached the sleeve of his t-shirt that she liked wearing to bed, he pulled it down, exposing her shoulder. As he neared her neck, she cradled his head in her hand, guiding him by his hair to place kisses where she wanted them. His lips went willingly, loving her up in every spot she took him to. She was all sweat, citrus shampoo and the jasmine of the lotion he’d rubbed on her. He breathed her in, her scent being his choice of drug.

She pulled him back from her neck, gazing at his lips before closing her eyes and leaning forward. He brushed the tip of his nose against hers, making her giggle. He smiled before leaning in again but kissing her chin.

“Javi,” she whined as he kissed along her jaw and the corners of her lips and even her nose, refusing to press his lips to hers.

“Yeah, baby?” He asked, feigning innocence. But she knew him too well to believe the act.

“Jodón.”

“Tell me what you want.” He demanded, craving the feeling of being wanted. He needed to know that she needed him just like he needed her, that she wasn’t just capitulating to his desires, that she desired him.

“Kiss me.”

He found himself grinning as he took her face in his hands and tilted his head, unhurried in how he grazed her lips with his. She took initiative, pressing her lips to his. She consumed him, not like a starving woman but like one ready to savor each second of her meal. He let one hand wander down her back, caressing her through the thin fabric but not daring to slip it under her t-shirt. He needed her to take this at her pace, unaffected by his greed and desperation to have all of her. It was fantastic how just a kiss from her could make him feel his heart beating for her.

He’d kissed other women before her and he enjoyed all those times. But with her, it was different. It wasn’t the first step in fucking, wasn’t a means to an end. When he kissed her, he wasn’t a lonely man trying to imitate a deeper intimacy he’d never had merely to quell his yearning for connection. In her lips, he found not just the thrill of desire, but the safety of home.

The first time he kissed her, every other kiss ceased to exist and she’d become the only one. Everyone he kissed after that first kiss left him unsatisfied. None of them tasted like her, didn’t send jolts of electricity through him, didn’t make his heart leap out of his chest.

She mewled into the kiss as his tongue danced with hers, giving in to her exploration of his mouth as she pulled him closer to herself. Taking her sounds as encouragement, he tangled his hands into her hair. He poured a month’s worth of longing into the kiss, asking with each sigh and moan ‘Can you feel how I yearn for you? Can you not feel how you broke me when you left and put me back together with just this kiss?’

She pulled back first and he found himself panting, taking in the air he didn’t know he was depriving himself of. He pounced back, needing her more than he needed oxygen. He took her lips between his, pushing her head into the headboard as he pulled her into a heated kiss. One hand roamed his shoulder and then his arms, up and down and driving him mad as the other rested over his heart. He brought a hand to hers, trapping hers over his heart. He felt lightheaded as she staved him of air, but he happily drowned in her. He needed her to feel him, feel how his heart beat to her tune, how it missed having her head rest on it as they slept in each other’s arms.

“Please, Javi. Need you…” she broke off to whisper. He placed one last kiss to her lips before he slid down the bed, pulling her to the edge before pulling her shorts off her. He dove in and licked her through her panties, savoring the taste of her wetness on the cotton. Her hand found his hair and tugged gently.

“You have no fucking idea how much I’ve missed having you, querida…” he said, placing a kiss between her legs.

“I miss you so much, Javi…”

“No, you don’t know,” he insisted, angered that she would claim to have missed him after she left him. If you missed me so much, why didn’t you come back? He pressed his thumb on her clit, pressed a bit harder than she liked and she whined.

“I’m sorry!”

“You left. You walked out on me, didn’t tell me shit and I was fucking miserable,” he confessed, passing on the hurt right back to her. She mumbled a few more apologies, but nothing would be enough until he got to take her again.

“Gonna let me show you how much I missed you, baby?” He asked, placing kisses on her belly. “Gonna let me make love to you?”

“Yes, yes, please. Need youuu—” she cried as he pushed the cotton of her panty aside to lick her.

“You need me?” He asked, licking her again. God, how he missed his favorite taste. “Did you miss my cock like I missed this pussy, baby?”

She nodded, but that wasn’t enough for him. He needed to know from her lips, needed her to scream for the entire city to know how she missed his touch. He pushed her legs back together and pulled her panties off before setting it aside. He wrapped his lips around her and sucked on her clit, exacting the sweetest little sounds from her.

“I need to hear you.”

“Missed you, Javi. Missed your cock,” she confessed, tightening around his finger as she did. He wished he had his cock inside her as he made her tell him how much she missed it. He would pull more confessions out of her with a promise of an orgasm and he knew she would say anything he wanted.

“You have ruined me, mi amor. Can’t make myself cum just as good anymore without this pussy. Hate my own fucking hand.” He praised before he lapped and laved at her core, licking her up as he made her wetter and wetter for him.

“I sneaked your panties out of the laundry hamper, took it with me to Medellin like a fucking creep,” he confessed, unsure if her cry of his name was the work of his fingers or the confession of his depravity. “The pink one with the stripes, covered in you from when you touched yourself, when you kept this cunt to yourself and kept me away. I needed to smell it when I wrapped my fist around my cock and imagined I was fucking you.”

She clenched around his finger and that sent a rush through him. “That make you feel good, Cariño? Knowing you’ve turned me into a fucking pervert?”

“Javi, baby please…” she cried as he busied his lips once again with her cunt. He would’ve left her pussy lips for the lips that cried his name so prettily but she kept him down with her hand on his hair. She fucked herself on his fingers, gasping when he added a third one to stretch her out further.

His idle hand traveled up her body, its every nerve ending enjoying having her tremble beneath him once again. He took his time, roaming everywhere, feeling every inch of skin that he would soon trap under him as he fucked her for the first in a long time. This was the longest they’d gone without each other ever since they decided to pursue what they had for real. Even with his job being the way it was, he managed to come to Bogota every now and then to have her.

She wrapped her legs around him, trapping his head with her thighs as she dug the heel of her foot into his back. He growled into her cunt as she thrust up into him, fucking his mouth and his fingers at the same time. She still wanted him in between her legs if nowhere else and if he had to, he would fuck her into staying with him forever.

A few more minutes of licking and sucking and she was pulsating around his fingers, her thighs setting enough pressure on him to make him fear that she might crush him. With a cry of his name, she came for him, coating him in her juices. He drank up all of her, not showing any restraint.

She pulled him up by his hair and he obeyed, kissing her lips to bless her with her deliciousness. He dipped his tongue into her mouth, meeting her tongue as she moaned with her own taste. He placed his hand over her collarbones, smearing her all over the place before he crept up and held her neck as he relished in the vibrations of her moans.

He gasped into the kiss as she wrapped her hand around him through his boxers. He grabbed her wrist and held her in place, keeping her from stroking his cock. It’d been too long since he had her and he wasn’t going to waste this morning by coming in his fucking underwear.

“Let me have you, baby,” he begged, dipping down to her neck to lick up her cum that he had smeared over her. He wasn’t going to let any of her go to waste.

“Yes, fuck!” She reached into his boxers and took him out, painfully hard and already leaking precum. He licked and sucked the skin until it was marred from his attention.

“Wanna be on top, please,” she begged and he rolled them around, acquiescing to her. She sat up on him, her knees planted on either side of him before taking her t-shirt off to reveal her pretty tits. Before he could reach up for her himself, she took command in taking his hand and placing it on her breast.

“Missed this so much, Javi,” she said as she stroked his cock. He kneaded her breast in his hand, enjoying having the ample flesh in his hands.

“Need to be inside you, please,” he breathed, trying as much as he could to clear his thoughts for if he focused on her hand around his cock and how gorgeous she looked on him, he would burst in an instant.

She obliged, adjusting herself over him before living him up with herself. She let him inside her wet heat, just the tip, before pulling back up. He groaned at the loss of contact, biting down on his lip as she repeated the motion, giving him just a bit of her pussy before pulling away once again.

He grabbed her hand and squeezed. “Don’t fucking tease. I haven’t had you in the longest time, darling. I need—ssss” he hissed as she took him in once more.

“I’m not teasing,” she gasped silently as she allowed a little more of him inside her. “So big, Javi. Haven’t stretched me out like this in s-so long,” she praised as she swallowed him bit by bit. “So fucking thick, gonna ruin me.”

“That’s right, baby… You love this cock, don’t you? Can’t go for anyone else ever again. I’ve made you mine,” he said, moving his other hand to her clit, moaning when she rewarded his touch by gripping him tighter.

“Mmmm love your cock,” she moaned as she struggled to take more of him even though he’d gotten her nice and wet with his fingers and mouth. Poor thing needed time to get used to his girth again after having gone such a long time without him.

“You are so beautiful like this… Look so fucking sinful trying so hard to take all of me, sitting on top of me like that and letting me touch your tits,” he praised as he played with her nipples, pinching and tugging and rolling between his fingers to make her tighten around him. She might have been on top, taking the reins, but he still had control. He knew her body like he knew the communas where he chased men, knew every shortcut, memorized every path, knew where to go to corner and capture them. He could elicit every desired response from her by touching her in the right places and saying the right words. She belonged to him, body and soul, and he enjoyed using every inch of her body to remind her to whom she belonged.

He let her set a slow torturous pace as she adjusted to him, groaning as she finally swallowed him to the hilt. It was pure bliss to be surrounded whole by her, to feel all of her wet, velvety heat. He felt her all over, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head and it was everything. She was everything.

It was sweet torment to be exposed to the cold air of the fan only to be swallowed back up by her hot cunt. He needed her so fucking bad, needed her not just for the carnal pleasures that sex brought but the feeling of home when he found himself buried in her— he needed her to devour him whole and keep him right there, inside her, all hers and nothing else. Only the Javier that belonged to her was worth existing. Everything else he’d become in over three decades of life was insignificant.

Inside the walls of their home, on their marital bed, there was no world outside. She brought him the delusions of safety and he luxuriated in it, allowing himself to forget everything that wasn’t her. The world was just her tight cunt, her tits under his hands and the filthy sounds from her lips as she slowly went from a woman in control to a writhing, moaning mess. He met her halfway with his thrusts when she struggled to keep up on top of him. He sat himself up and pulled her to his chest, giving in as she stole his lips. It was hurried and sloppy as they explored familiar territory, still as excited as the first time they kissed each other. Practiced lovers, savoring the familiar comfort of each other’s lips yet excited to find something new each time.

“Don’t ever leave me,” he begged, holding her face in his hand and making her look at him in the hopes that she would see just how much he meant it. “I can’t, without you… I— I c-can’t, mi amor— Please…”

“I w-won’t,” she managed to stutter out as she grew breathless.

“Promise me,” he demanded even though what he wanted to do was beg.

She opened and closed her mouth, unable to form words as he set a relentless pace, taking over as he thrust into her and thumbed her clit.

“Fucking promise me!” He growled, forcing himself into her in hard, merciless thrusts.

“Aaaah! Ja—”

“You’re mine. You’re fucking mine, get it? This isn’t— We aren’t just da-dating. I’m your husband. You can’t just leave like that.” He forced himself deep and inadvertently hit her cervix. She jolted in his arms and let out a pained cry, letting him know his mistake and he pressed a kiss to her cheek in a silent apology.

“Sorr— hnnng! ‘m sorry Jav—”

A tear slipped down her cheek and he kissed it, tasting her. He breathed her name the way a dying man would call for his god in desperation. He prayed her name, each syllable a request of Save me, never leave me, breathe life into this wretched man.

She pulsated around him, collapsing on his chest and relying on him to hold her up as she reached her peak. She was deadweight in his arms and he held her tight as he reamed into her, her back arching and her hair cascading down her back, shaking from his hard thrusts. She took him along with her, erasing his world and making herself his everything. She had dragged him to the peak of the world and now she was pulling him down and he went with her willingly, taking everything she gave him, getting lost in her body. She was like a breath of air after drowning for eternity, she gave him life, gave him meaning even though she’d been the one to rob him of it.

He wiped her tears and kissed her all over, showering her with all the love he had for her. But it wasn’t enough. No matter how much he poured out, he couldn’t show her the depth of his feelings for her. No words compared, no kisses came close to the place she had in his life. No matter how many times he told her he loved her, she would never know just how much.

“Te amo, Javi,” she broke off from their kiss to whisper. He collapsed on the bed and brought her down with him. He pecked her lips once and then twice before setting his gaze on her eyes.

“Si me amas…” he paused to take a breath. “¿por qué me dejaste? ¿Por qué?”

She looked down at her lap and fidgeted with her rings as she spoke, “Y-yo no quiero perderte.”

He shook his head as he said, “No me perderás. Yo soy tuyo.” He took her hand and placed it on his chest over his heart. “Tuyo.”

She scoffed, her hand curling over his chest. “More Escobar’s than mine at this point.”

“What?”

She shook her head and looked away, avoiding his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to— I shouldn’t complain.”

“No. No, you talk to me. What is this about?”

“We’ll fight if we talk about it. Like Steve and Connie.”

“Do you…? Do you want to leave…? Like Connie did?” He asked, unable to steady his shaking voice. Three weeks with her gone was hell enough. If she wanted to take off permanently, he didn’t know what he would do with himself. Hunting the hijo de puta had become his purpose in life over the past few years. But he now had another important purpose, a woman he’d made promises to. Promises he was insistent on keeping.

She shook her head.

He sighed as he tucked her hair behind her ear, needing to see her without anything in the way. It was fucking frustrating, not knowing what worried her so much that she couldn’t even talk to him about it, that she chose instead to run away from him. But he had to be kind if he wanted her to open up.

He began by caressing her cheek with the back of his hand. Gently, like soothing a wounded child. “Baby… If you don’t tell me what this is about, how am I going to fix it? Hmm?”

“It can’t be fixed,” she said, same as that day.

It took him a moment to know how to answer her.

“When I asked you to marry me, you asked that I give you all of me. Have I not kept that promise?” He asked, knowing that he had so far. No matter how ugly, no matter how broken, he brought home all of himself. To her credit, she accepted him just as he was.

She nodded and said, “you have.”

“Now I’m asking. I want everything, too. Whatever you’re hiding from me that has you worried will make us fight. Is it about my job?”

“I’m sorry,” she said as she nodded, head hung low as tears spilled out.

“No, no, nothing to be sorry about. Just talk to me. What about my job?”

“S-scared.” His chest tightened at the trembling of her voice. Relationships were not something he was comfortable with after he left Lorraine and it was alright for his dangerous new lifestyle as an agent in Colombia. There was no one else he was putting in danger because of his line of work. But then he had to go and fall in love.

It was one of the reasons he proposed to her as soon as he could. Being his wife offered her more legal protection than did being his girlfriend. And knowing that she was it for him, he saw no point in waiting. But she was still afraid for her safety.

He reached out quickly to reassure her.

“I’m here, okay? Our home is safe. Those bastards won’t dare touch you here, won’t dare touch a US federal agent’s wife. I got you,” he whispered into her ear and rubbed her back, hoping to help her relax in his arms. She didn’t. She just tensed.

“‘m not worried about m-myself,” she said softly. “Ever since Steve got kidnapped, I—”

He took in a deep breath and pulled her in closer even though there was no gap between them. What was he supposed to do? Tell her he was safe? Lying wasn’t something he was ready to do in their marriage. Even if he did, she wouldn’t believe him after she had to comfort a panicking Connie. He had the same job as Steve, faced the same dangers. It could be him next. And he might not be lucky enough to come home.

The CNP guys were in much greater danger than he was as an American. Call it gringo privilege. But he couldn’t make promises. He couldn’t promise that a jump from the roof wouldn’t end up terribly. He couldn’t promise that he would never catch a stray bullet. He couldn’t promise that a crazy motherfucker wouldn’t target him for the bragging rights over nabbing a US agent.

Small town sheriff Javier Peña hadn’t thought of all this when he signed up for this job in his mid twenties. There was just an opportunity to run away from a town that hated him— a town he hated more for how it smothered him from all sides as he grew and grew yet it remained small, insignificant. It was his chance to do something great, to be the good guy fighting big bag guys and he took it. He hadn’t been warned that he’d one day be sat holding his sobbing wife, speechless because he couldn’t make the most basic promise— to fucking stay alive.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered, the tremble in her voice tugging at his heartstrings.

“No, no. I’m sorry.” Sorry I can’t give you more. Sorry I made you cry. He pulled her into his arms and sat on the couch, cradling her in his lap more for his comfort than hers.

“I shouldn’t complain. I know I married a man with a dangerous job. I signed up for all this, but… ‘m so scared, Javi. I can’t sleep at night. I wake up from nightmares and I lose you every single time. I get scared when I get a call because what if—” she stopped, breaking down into sobs.

There was nothing he could do to fix this, she was correct. The thing that was causing her all this agony was his whole life.

“Do you want me to quit my job?” He asked, regretting it the minute the question left his lips. What if she said yes? What if that was the only way to fix their marriage? He would quit. There was no question about that. But that would mean that almost a decade of his life’s work would be worth nothing. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself. Resentment would break anything they had left between them.

Please don’t ask that of me.

She shook her head and he had to keep himself from letting out a huge sigh of relief.

“Do you know I have students who— I shouldn’t tell you. I’m not on the field like you and I don’t know all the things you know, but I see everyday how he’s fucking ruined lives. I want you to catch that motherfucker. You’re in this fight and I’m not letting you leave it without crushing his blood empire. I just don’t want us to be collateral damage. I can’t bear losing you whether it is to divorce or a bullet. I can’t—” she brought her hand to her lips, biting on her newly shaped nails.

He swallowed, tugging her hand away from her mouth and giving it a kiss. “I can’t make promises about the latter,” he said softly, unable to look her in the eyes as he said it. He didn’t want to know what he did to her with those words. “You know I can’t. But when I die, whether it’s tomorrow or 40 years from now, I’ll die your husband. I don’t do divorce. You might think it’s not a big deal for me, the guy who left his first fiancé at the altar. But trust me, you’re a catch and there’s no way I’m letting you escape”

She laughed and nuzzled into his neck. He rested his head on hers and pressed a kiss to her hair. “I’m not joking. You should be very scared, baby. As far as I’m concerned, I’m it for you. Won’t let you leave no matter what you do.”

“Yeah?” She laughed, her eyes glinting with tears but also something new. Her lips quirked up in a mischievous smile. “What if I slept with a bunch of guys?”

He raised an eyebrow, reeling the unhinged jealous little man in his heart to join her in whatever this was that made her smile through her tears. “Good for them. Best pussy they’ll ever have. I mean, I will beat them to death for touching you. But you’re still my wife. Not divorcing you.”

“What if I fucked Steve?” She challenged, raising an eyebrow.

He knew what she was doing. She was making it personal, putting a face to the act and making said face a very familiar one. But he wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

“Last thing he’ll ever do in his life. I’ll kill him and Connie will help me hide his body.”

“Mhmm? What if…..?” She trailed, looking into the distance as she stroked her invisible beard. “What if I let someone else knock me up?”

“You bitch!”

She gasped and shoved at his chest. “How dare you call me a bitch!?”

“How dare you even think of letting another man do that?”

“I won’t actually do that!” She defended, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m just trying to get a raise out of you.”

“And you did,” he supplied, making her scoff.

“How about…? Okay! What if I fucked Escobar?”

“Shit, I would tell everyone!” He laughed. “My wife? Getting that close to that piece of shit and living to tell the story? Yeah, I’d be on the rooftops with a megaphone. Oh and I’ll kill him. Of course. Goes without saying.”

“Well, you were gonna kill him anyway. What will you do to him for touching your wife?” She asked, twirling his overgrown hair around her finger.

Was this…? Noooo! He was just joking, but she seems to like the idea of him killing men for wanting her.

“Baby, what’s wrong with you?” He asked, laughing. She surprised him every goddamn day.

“I don’t know, you tell me,” she licked her lips and drew shaped on his chest with her index finger. “There should be an explanation for why I signed up for all this.”

“You like this, don’t you?” He asked, lowering the register of his voice the way she liked as he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “You want me to possess you, to hurt anyone who would want you that way I have you. You like that I can be a dangerous man.”

She shivered, but quickly stabilised herself, looking very blasé as she spoke, “Huh, that answers my question. I always wondered what kind of idiot would be with Escobar. I guess women just like to fuck a powerful man. And money. She’d gotta be in it for the money.”

“She married him before he got rich, actually. And it’s not just women who are attracted to powerful men,” he added, letting her know just how much he liked when she was in a position of power.

“Men too? You’re gonna tell me you want to fuck Escobar?” She asked, making him laugh. He pinched her bum, making her squeal and attempt to get off him. He pulled her back in immediately, not ready to lose contact.

“When I came to your class, I sat in the back the entire time. I enjoyed seeing you in your element, leading the discussion, getting a big room full of people to listen to you. And your ass in a pencil skirt. If I was your student, I would wank off every day thinking of you” he groaned, his cock twitching inside her at the mental image.

“Oh my god!” She exclaimed before hitting him playfully.

“Whaaat? I feel bad for those fuckers in your class, having to talk about Frankenstein’s monster to impress their hot little literature professor.”

“Don’t sexualise my job!” She looked positively scandalised. Like he’d suggested that she let him fuck her on the streets.

“Uh huh? Now you know how it feels? What was that you asked me for your birthday?” He teased. “On yds, the little interrogation fantasy. You’ve been begging me to tie you up and interrogate you.”

She hid her smile from him, covering her face with her hands, but he pried them off to see her looking so sweetly shy at being reminded of the depraved things she wanted him to do to her. “You don’t have to do it,” she said, shy and quiet and she played with her rings.

“Mmm thank you baby, but I’m gonna make your dreams come true. Just be happy I’m not CIA. Cause CIA has some terrible interrogation methods. They’ll fucking waterboard you.”

“Oh my god! Okay this isn’t fun anymore,” she said, getting off him, but he pulled her right back onto his cock, laughing as he caught her expression.

“Let me go!”

“No, no sorry. I shouldn’t talk about the CIA in bed, they’re such a turn off.”

“You think that’s why I’m trying to escape?? Javi, women don’t like talking about waterboarding with a dick inside them.”

“Okay, okay, I know. Just stay in bed. I have today off and I need to be inside you,” he said, rubbing her back in an attempt to coax her into foregoing her household responsibilities for a lazy day in bed with him.

“I have work to do. Papers to grade and clothes to wash. Oh and some pervert,” she said, poking his chest a few times. “has been stealing my panties so I have to go wash them before he gets to them.”

“Oh please, it was just one pair,” he lied, looking away quickly but it wasn’t enough for him to get away with it.

She squinted her eyes at him and he relented. “Fine. It was three. Pink one with the stripes, blue lace ones and a white cotton panty.”

“Pervert!”

“Or I’m just really in love with my wife. You should see the sweet side of it. You don’t know how other guys act on the field. It’s like as soon as they’re in Medellin, they aren’t married.”

“Uh huh?” She said as she tilted her head, her tone suggesting that she wasn’t convinced by his words. “And I’m supposed to be grateful that you aren’t sleeping around? Pendejo!” She punctuated her curse with a slap to his chest.

“That’s not what I meant!” He defended, taking her slapping hand and giving it a kiss.

“Sure, Cabrón.”

He laughed, amused at how adorable she was when angry. He pulled her down to lie down with him, her head on his chest and his hand in her hair. Mornings like these had become so rare. Even without their period of separation, they didn’t have quality time together. Work always called, always overwhelmed and left him with very little to give as a husband. Being too tired to do anything else, he couldn’t even take her out anywhere for dinner. But that would change tonight.

“I made dinner reservations for us. Are you free tonight?”

He’d booked it a while back, but he didn’t know if she would want to go with him after she left. And he didn’t want to promise her a date night before he knew for sure that he would have the day off from work. She did not take it terribly when he had to calculate on her for work, but something told him it wasn’t good for a marriage to keep breaking promises.

“Hmm, I don’t know. This pendejo said he’ll paint my nails and did a half assed job. I might have to book a nail appointment for the night,” she teased, making him laugh. He’d completely forgotten that their activities were preceded by his request to paint her nails.

“I’ll finish the job now,” he said, getting up, but she pushed him back down and trapped him in a loving hug.

“Later. I just wanna stay like this a little longer. Feels good…”

��I like when you hold me like this, mi amor,” he confessed, his voice softening as he opened himself up to allow himself to bask in the euphoria that holding her to his chest brought him.

“I- it calms me down. I need to hear your heart beating. I wake up from bad dreams sometimes and I can’t fall back asleep if I don’t lie down like this.”

He froze. He had no idea she had nightmares. “You never told me.”

“Didn’t want to worry you.”

He said her name softly, making her look up at him from his chest.

“You have to tell me these things,” he said, moving her hair out of the way so he could have an unobstructed view of her. Her features were soft, her eyes open, vulnerable.

“You have a lot on your plate already… I don’t want to be one of your problems.”

“Jesus,” he swore before sighing. “You’re not- I’ll never think of you as a problem. I understand why you worry. It’s not unwarranted. I would never ask you to hide your feelings for me. I thought we talked about these things. You’re the one who’s always telling me that we should communicate about difficult things. What happened to that?”

“Do you remember when I made you choose? Either date me for real or stop coming over for anything other than sex?”

He hummed in response, encouraging her to continue. They'd been fooling around for around two months back then and one night when he was dressing himself to leave, she forced him to confront how he’d been treating her— he’d been giving her mixed signals, pulling her in and pushing her away. He’d act like her boyfriend one minute but get distant the next and she was understandably annoyed.

“And you said you wanted to date me but you warned me that your job was dangerous and that attachments were a weakness. I didn’t want to be your weakness, I still—”

He shook her head, interrupting her mid-sentence, “I was talking out of my ass, I was just scared. And it’s different now. We’re—”

“Yeah but when I think of you strapping a gun and badge on yourself to go out and get shot at by those malparidos, I want to stop you,” she choked on her words, getting up off his chest and hugging her knees to her chest. “I told you I could handle it. That day and the day you asked me to marry you. But, I can’t. I can’t handle it. Ever since Steve was kidnapped- and I know you said he wasn’t in any real danger, but fuck! It was terrifying to see Connie like that and I couldn’t help but worry and put myself in her place. And I couldn’t stop thinking about every terrible thing that could happen to you and I just wanted to lock you up at home. So I left- because I don’t want to be your weakness. But I can’t be brave, I can’t be strong.”

It broke his heart to know that behind the scenes, behind her easy smiles and her strong shoulders he leaned on everyday, there was so much fear. So much insecurity. There was shame too. Had he been more attentive, he would’ve known without her having to tell him, without her having to run away.

He sat up, pulled her close and placed a kiss on her head. “You are brave and you’ve been so strong, putting up with more of my shit than you need to… Sometimes I think I won’t get through this with my soul intact if it weren’t for you. So never think that you’re my weakness.”

She listened, her eyebrows furrowed and eyes never leaving him. She bit down on her lip, pulling at the skin with her teeth, something she did when anxious. He reached over and thumbed her lip, not wanting to wait until she started bleeding.

“I… I’ve put you in a difficult position, but I would never ask you to hide your fears for my comfort. And you leaving definitely did not make me stronger. Just scared the hell out of me. I thought I’d done something so shit that you’d left for good.”

“Sorry I left… I just—”

“I’m sorry you couldn’t talk to me. Not like that would’ve solved anything,” he scoffed, rubbing his eyes. “Nothing short of stopping that bastard is going to solve this.”

“I know, I know…” she sighed.

“I’ll get him,” he affirmed, taking her hands in his. All the things he’d done since he landed in Colombia, all the things he’d lost because of that man… To think he might lose her too… It was chilling. He’d lost friends, made enemies, became the guy everyone called an asshole for not cutting corners, for not putting up with anything that wasn’t right. He’d lost so much, but she wasn’t going to be one of them. He wouldn’t allow it.

Javier Peña wouldn’t rest until Escobar was history.

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californ1asnow · 6 months

Text

All Too Well - Mike Schmidt x Reader angst

part two here Reader has trauma from neglectful parents that leaves her constantly in the, “I can fix him mentality,” paired with obvious daddy issues. Slight trigger warning for physical abuse?

Word count 2k+

loosely based on the song, “All Too Well,” by Taylor Swift

Hurt no comfort

Subtle static hums in the background, enveloping the room in near-silence. The moon, having ascended to its rightful spot in the night sky, bathes Mike's house in a gentle, luminous glow that seeps through his curtains. Your body is entwined in the embrace of silk bed sheets, lying in quiet anticipation beside him. The familiar sensation of his gentle breath tickling lightly against the nape of your neck.

A month has passed since the nightmarish ordeal of Mike's former job. Through it all, you have stood by him with everything, and that loyalty has persisted since the aftermath. After his departure from Fredy's, Mike's night terrors have taken a darker turn, far worse than anything he had experienced before. You've attempted to gently coax the truth from him in the past, but he never divulged the full extent of his nightmares. It didn’t really matter to begin with, instead what truly matters is ensuring his sanity once he wakes up from these tormenting dreams.

You’d met Mike a few years ago after moving into the house next door. Looking for a new babysitter, he had offered you the job of watching Abby while he was away, and you agreed without hesitation. Gradually, the three of you formed a tight-knit bond, uniting through shared experiences of lacking any parental figures. Abby particularly admired you in various ways, given the absence of a strong female role model in her life.

Your relationship with Mike is, well, complicated. Sometimes the both of you would swear your bond is entirely platonic, absolutely nothing but friends. Defending swiftly against Abby’s claims that you two are secretly in love. However, the stolen gazes and lingering touches beg to differ. The line that marks the difference between friendship and romance is hazy, leaving you to wonder about the true tone of your relationship. Neither of you had crossed the physical line that tread into a more amorous kinship, so you could argue that there aren’t any subtle intimate undertones. But, your current situation doesn’t help that defense.

Your gaze is fixated upon the ceiling, circling through the darkness. Mike’s arms are wrapped securely around your waist, like an anchor thrown to sea, cementing you to your spot next to him. He’s recently ditched the need for his nature sounds, instead opting to listen to your heartbeat in an attempt to fall asleep.

It started right after he left the security job, claiming that he was done trying to relive the same dream every night.

“How are you going to fall asleep then?” You had asked him, brows furrowed and questioning.

He stopped for a moment, pondering your question intently. That thought hadn’t crossed his mind yet, and now that you mentioned it he couldn’t think of a tangible way to do it. Frowning, he looked back up to you with a shrug.

A soft sigh escaped your lips. It was troubling enough having to watch Mike struggle the past few years with his sleeping, and knowing it’s going to get worse made you uneasy. You glanced away from him before speaking, “You know, I read somewhere about how listening to the heartbeat of someone you trust helps calm the fight or flight response in your brain…” Words trailing off in a futile attempt of masking your embarrassment, your cheeks flushed pink.

From that suggestion, it became a nightly routine. Although you lived next door, you had been spending the last few weeks laying in Mike’s bed. Letting him drift asleep to the sound of your steady heart, with his head pressed comfortably against your chest. Once you were sure he was asleep, you’d slip away either to his couch or back into your own bed at home. You couldn’t complain about it though, the warmth in your stomach that rose from his touch wasn’t something you necessarily wanted to give up on. You’d forgo everything if it meant he could be happy.

Just as you were about to make the move to leave, you feel him stir next to you. The sound of frantic mumbling pulling you away from your thoughts, and when you turn over to face Mike you find that he’s contorted with panic. Eyes still shut, he’s trashing in his sleep, beads of sweat dotting his forehead. The hand closest to your own starts to twitch wildly, and you begin to realize he’s having another nightmare.

Waking him up during one of his nightmares is essential. You know how much it torments him to relive the same traumatic memories repeatedly night after night. Your gentle touch is the only lifeline connecting him back to reality. With a soft grasp of his shoulder, you nudge him lightly, whispering his name. “Mike,” your voice is gentle, attempting to lull him peacefully awake, “it’s just a dream, wake up.”

Mike’s eyes snap open wide, dark with terror. Frantically, he searches the room for danger, still stuck temporarily in a flashback. His chest rises and falls heavily, breath ragged and uncontrolled.

Hurriedly, he shoots up into a sitting position, ready to defend himself against a potential threat. Your heart breaks into a million pieces seeing him so upset. “You’re home,” you tell him, a hand reaching out to grasp onto him.

Suddenly, the weight of your mistake dawns upon you. In a swift motion, his fist hurtles towards you, and you barely manage to dodge it, swiftly ducking to avoid the blow.

The rate of your defense isn’t fast enough compared to his attack, and you catch the tail end of his clenched fist. A yelp of pain sounding from you, immediately bringing Mike out of shock.

When his eyes finally adjust to the darkness, he sees you sitting on the edge of his bed, back turned to him. His gaze snaps down to his hand, still closed in a shaking fist. Regret instantly flooding his system, he calls out your name nervously. Without turning around, you wave him off dismissively.

He moves off the bed, crouching down in front of you. Staring up at you from his position, he can’t see your face that’s burrowed behind hesitant hands. Warm fingers wrap gently around your wrists, asking for permission to move them. “Please,” he begs, “let me see, I’m so sorry.”

Instinctively, you let him pull your hands away, revealing the damage he had accidentally inflicted upon you. A dark crimson trickles down your chin, flowing from the split of your bottom lip. Mike’s thumb gently glides across the swollen skin, his touch feather light.

He fully sinks to his knees, a muffled sob wracking his body. He can hardly bring himself to face you, to face what he did to you. Accidental or not, he inflicted pain onto you, something completely opposite from what he’d promised to do.

Your eyes well up with hot tears seeing how upset Mike is. You let a gentle hand grasp at his chin, tilting his face upwards so that he’s forced to catch your gaze. “Mike,” your voice is as tender as you can will it to be, “I’m okay, I promise. It was not your fault.”

Broken apologies fly from his mouth, ignoring your statement completely. His mind was too focused on the bruise that’s sure to form rather than what you have to say.

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice trembling.

“Stop,” you tell him softly, trying to get him to calm down.

“I’ll fix this, let me fix this. God, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I’m not angry with you, it’s okay.”

You pull him up from his spot on the floor. Shaky arms wrapping around his middle, all the while he’s protesting against the idea of you being close to him again.

“It was a nightmare, you were just having a nightmare. I shouldn’t have grabbed you so suddenly, I should’ve known better. Please stop blaming yourself.” Your voice comes out more timid than you would have liked it to. Deep down you knew he never would have done that consciously, but you couldn’t stop the anxiety from overtaking you completely.

Your need to take care of Mike in his frantic state is more overbearing than the one to help yourself.

He knows this too, and whether he’s doing it intentionally or not, he’s been clinging to that notion for the past few years. He’d let you just close enough that you’d give him the comfort he wanted, but pushed you away when you became too attached. Keeping you at arm's length was enough to satisfy whatever comfort he’s been deprived of most of his life.

But now he realizes how much of a mistake it all was. You are hurt because of him. Because he’s been too wrapped up in his own issues to see how any of this could have affected you in the slightest. And now that it’s glaringly obvious, he can’t stand to keep you dangling like this.

He mutters your name regretfully, causing you to break your hold and look up at him. “You need to leave,” his voice is weak, strained from crying.

You shake your head in disapproval, “Mike I don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“You can’t be around me anymore!”

Silence. That’s all you could respond with to his raised voice. Mike had never yelled at you, or Abby for that matter, and hearing it is startlingly different from his usual tone.

Years of repressed memories come back flooding you like a tidal wave. All of the moments you locked yourself away in your room because you couldn’t deal with the screams of an angry parent anymore, it hit like a ton of bricks.

Your immediate action is to pull the pieces back together and fix everything. You could do that.

You must have done something wrong if he’s yelling at you, right?

“Wait, wait, wait,” desperately you start to plead with him, “I did something wrong. Don’t do this, please.”

“Just go, please.”

“No, I can’t. There has to be something-“

“Go.”

His volume is lowered but his words cut just as deeply. You know there’s no point in arguing now, his mind is clearly made up.

Solemnly, you get up without another word. Gathering what little you brought over, and you leave without saying goodbye.

—

You could just barely hold yourself together enough to walk through the front door of your house. Knowing you were secure behind your walls, free from the gaze of any onlooking neighbors, you collapse entirely against the wooden floor of your home.

Everything replayed in your mind on loop, from the moment you woke Mike up to his last few words. The confusion, anger, resentment, and sadness fueled the hot tears running down your face.

You feel like a tiny child again, curled up in a ball sobbing as silently as your body allows you to be. Left to be wondering why it’s always your fault that people are upset, and how you can change it so they aren’t.

You think about your relationship with Mike, wondering if it’s truly over now. All you ever wanted to do was help him, so why did it feel like you’re the one being punished?

It was as if you were stuck in that position on the floor forever, caught in a web of remembrance. Every aspect of your so called friendship with Mike questioned intently in your mind.

You think he might have tried calling you a few times the days after that incident, but your phone was set to silence and you couldn’t bring yourself to look at it. Despite the burning urge to check up on him and Abby, you kept your distance.

Time had moved too slowly when you needed it the most. Healing wounds won’t close when they’re constantly torn open the second you step outside the house and spot Mike’s across from yours. The best you could do is to keep busy with work and avoid staying home as much as possible. You made sure Mike couldn’t catch you in person to talk, and with your phone rejecting his calls it had been months since you last heard from him.

Guilt gnaws at the back of your mind. It shouldn’t take a fight like this to undo years of close connection between you two so quickly. But you felt like there was no other option, he had told you to leave him and you did.

The only thing you’re left with is your hurt and his memories, forever replaying in the back of your mind.

#mike schmidt #mike schmidt x reader #angst #hurt no comfort #Mike schmidt x reader angst #fnaf #five nights at freddy's #taylor swift #all too well #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt x y/n #josh hutcherson

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stanlees-stuff · 9 months

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"Cc we're sorry, just .... please don't be scared, I promise we won't hurt you..."

based on @kix-mm's story here

DAMM, I never knew I needed gt throuples in my life till now!! decided to draw one of the scenes in the story. AAAH THE STORY WAS SO GOOD!! The amount of love they have for each other is just so fricking sweet!! and how much you can tell A and B cherish C and want them in their lives

anyways kix is a really good writer, bye >:]

#g/t #giant/tiny #gt community #gt #gentle giant #g/t drawing #g/t fluff #giant tiny #g/t community #gt fearplay #fearplay #hurt/comfort #g/t comic #g/t angst #gt angst #polyamory #honestly reading it made me feel all giddy inside

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moonstruckme · 3 months

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I sent a request a while back before I knew about you closing your request. (Sorry about that.) But maybe apocalypse Remus and reader finally reuniting with the others? Or dealing with the full moon approach while separated from the pack and all the reader wants to do is help, but Remus doesn't want to hurt her? Or maybe they get attacked again, and they get away just fine, but the reader gets hurt in the process or something. Idk something angsty just sounds so good rn 😅

Thank you for requesting love, sorry for the wait!

cw: blood

apocalypse au

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

You’re off gathering more twigs to feed the fire when you hear a series of explosions. Your head snaps in that direction, time seeming to stop with your heart. In the next second you’re dropping the kindling, sprinting back for the campsite, because if someone’s found Remus, if they’ve gotten through his protections—

You only make it a few steps before you see he’s already racing toward you, barely glancing behind him to shoot a nonverbal spell at the three—no, four, five—bounty hunters chasing after him. You scramble for your wand to help, knocking a couple off his heels before Remus barrels into you. He apparates without hesitating, and a scream tears from your throat, pain searing through your side.

You and Remus grip each other tightly, rolling to the ground. The place where you’ve landed is quiet, but you can hardly tell with the desperate ringing in your ears and the sound of your own panting breaths. Remus rolls off you, inadvertently putting pressure on the blazing pain in your side. You cry out and put your hands over the spot, shielding it from further harm.

“Fuck.” He’s panting too, shoving his wand in the waistband of his jeans with shaking hands. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to warn you, I—are you hurt?”

Your brain is all static, speech beyond you, but in a breath there are hands covering yours, pulling at the edge of your shirt. Your shirt, sticky with blood. You moan.

“You have to let me see,” Remus is saying, fighting to get your hands away from the wound. “I can’t help if I can’t see it.”

Your shirt sticks and clings to you as he peels it off, the cool air somehow making everything worse. Remus curses proficiently. His touch vanishes. It’s a relief, and also not. You want to go curl up somewhere by yourself until this hurt goes away, and also you don’t want him to leave you.

He’s back a second later, taking your wrists in a gentle but firm grip to get them away from your side. You hadn’t realized you’d grabbed it again.

“You’re okay,” he promises swiftly, and you must really trust him, because you almost believe him despite the leaves growing slick with blood beneath you. “You’re going to be fine. Sorry, this is going to sting.”

You don’t quite process the words before fire sears your side. You choke on a sob, but the pain only spreads, moving inward like it’s eating you away to nothing. Remus shushes you, tiny, helpless placations rushing from between his lips.

“You’re okay, sweetheart. You’re okay. I’ve got you. Almost done now.”

When the burning ebbs, you’re honestly not sure whether this new feeling is only the lesser pain you’d felt before whatever Remus had done to you. But a few ticks go by, and the static in your head fades. You can hear yourself breathing. The breeze rustling through trees. You touch your side tentatively, and it’s whole.

Remus’ scarred hand skims it as though making sure of the same thing. You look at him, tears still clumped in your lashes, and he retracts his hand, glancing down to screw the cap back on the bottle.

“What is that?” Your voice scrapes on its way out. You clear your throat embarrassedly.

Remus looks over like he isn’t sure you’re talking to him. “This?” You nod. “Essence of dittany. There’s some powdered silver in it, but that doesn’t tamper with the healing.”

You nod again, swallowing. Neither of you feel the need to discuss why he has the potion so readily available. Remus turns away from you, burying it back in his bag. You realize for the first time that he even has it, must have managed to grab it before the bounty hunters go too close. You’re both lucky he’s so quick on his feet.

“Thank you,” you say, sitting up, “and, uh, sorry for…making it so difficult.”

Remus softens. He kneels beside you again, holding a different bottle in his lap as he draws a careful finger under your lashes, catching the tears hanging there. “I’m sorry for splinching you. I should have warned you we were going to apparate.”

“You were under duress. I think you can be excused some hasty decision-making.”

“You splinched away nearly half your middle,” he says, a bit of teasing in his voice. “I think you can be excused a bit of hysteria.” You can’t tear your gaze away from his amber eyes, and he doesn’t shy from it. “You came close to losing a few ribs. I don’t know what we would’ve done then.”

“You would’ve fixed it,” you say certainly, and Remus drops his stare, a bashful smile lifting one corner of his mouth as he unscrews the bottle he’d pulled out of the pack.

“Maybe,” he allows. “Here, have a few sips of this.”

You sniff at it tentatively.

“Don’t smell, just drink.”

You do. Then you gag, coughing. “Ugh, what is it?”

“Blood-Replenishing Potion. Have just a little bit more,” he instructs, watching while you do before taking the bottle back and twisting on the cap. “You really scared me, bleeding all over the place like that.”

“Sorry.”

He hums as he stores the bottle back in the bag, eyes going somewhere foggy and faraway. It may be the new familiarity of this particular look, but you know instantly what he’s thinking of: the other people he’s terrified for, who might not be faring so well without his help and ample medical supplies.

“How do you think they’ve managed to find us twice in under a week?” he asks, quiet enough that you wonder if he’s even talking to you.

“They didn’t.” You match his tone, soft and careful. “Those were bounty hunters, not death eaters.”

Remus grunts. “Same thing, under this government.”

“Those guys found us by chance,” you say with certainty you don’t feel. “James and Sirius have always had better luck than that. And they’re smart. If anyone stumbled upon them, they’d get away, too.”

His throat bobs, but he nods. “You’re right. They’re perfectly competent on their own, I just…I don’t like the idea of them out there without us to help.”

“Me neither,” you admit at a murmur.

Remus only looks into the leaves, gaze still distant. You give him the time he needs to collect himself, surveying the area you’ve landed in. It’s not vastly different from the forest you’d been in before, but some of the trees look different and when you listen you can hear a few birdsongs that aren’t the ones you’ve lived among for the past few days. The sun is just starting to dip into the horizon. It lights everything in a soft, glowy orange. You’ll need to gather kindling again if you’re going to have a fire, but for now you just take a breath. The sunlight tangles in Remus’ hair, making his skin look buttery smooth and romanticizing his expression into one of contemplation rather than hauntedness. Your heart throbs, a warm sort of ache. You wonder if he can fix that, too.

“I know it’s not the same,” you say quietly, embarrassedly, “but at least for now, we have each other.”

Remus smiles. It’s small and weary, but a smile nonetheless. “Yeah,” he says. “I’m glad for it.”

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seance · 1 month

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THE MUSKETEERS 10TH ANNIVERSARY REWATCH / fave episodes [5/?] ↳ SEASON 2, EPISODE 5 / the return

#themusketeersedit #the musketeers #perioddrama #perioddramasource #the musketeers bbc #athos #aramis #d'artagnan #porthos #tmrewatch*#edits #at this point you must have noticed all my faves eps involve #angst + hurt/comfort + the gang being supportive of each other #and that's why they basically all align with every canon divergence fic i've ever read #anyway love athos being an absolute menace #the ugly side of his trauma humanizes him so much more to my eyes honestly #especially next to d'artagnan youthful idealism #and you know i can't resist aramis being worried about his friends hip popping out and everything

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thomasbrodiesandwich · 1 year

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i just want all maze runner fanfic writers to know that i will NEVER get tired of reading safe haven everybody lives or newt lives or death cure fix-it aus. NEVER. if u guys ever doubt urself and think nobody is going to read that in this day and age, I WILL !! if u write safe haven newt lives au and u have 100 readers i am one of them. if u have 10 im still one of them. if u have 1 reader thats me. if u have no readers that means im dead. go ahead, write it and i will gobble that up and give u all the love !!

#thominewt #the maze runner #the maze runner fic #the maze runner fandom #thominho #newtmas #tmr fic #tmr thomas #tmr newt #tmr newt lives #tmr fix-it #im all abt that hurt/comfort #go write that nightmares + trauma angst hurt/comfort #i WILL read it i swear!#i'll just dig around ao3

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angxlofvenus · 10 months

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A Shoulder To Cry On Pt. 2

Requested By: @saturnsapothecary Genre: Hurt/comfort Ship: Side Characters x reader TW: Mentions of crying, physical touch, Distressing situations (not specific), hugging, mentions of kissing, sad Solomon, Word count: 805 words AN: Hi! This is the second installment in this, This one is sad just like the last one and has some depressing topis, please heed the TW and happy reading!!

Find Pt. 1 Here! (Demon Brothers edition!)

Diavolo

You can hear this man's heart shatter into a million tiny pieces

He just wanted to surprise you at the HoL but he never expected to see this!

Runs up to you and kneels in front of you, “What’s wrong, my dear?”

He doesn’t have much experience with consoling people but everything comes to him so naturally as he gently lifts you from the ground and brings you to your feet before asking you to accompany him to the castle

Once you all arrive, He’ll send Barbatos to start you a bath and will try to make your stay as comfortable and luxurious as you let him.

Unlike the others he actually can do something about your problem, He is the prince, One day king, of the Devildom- He has a lot on his plate but you will always be his top priority no matter what.

Barbatos

He had come over with Dia to attend a meeting with Lucifer, While the two conversed he decided to pay a quick visit to you, Not knowing what he would discover,

A soft gasp resounded throughout the room as light steps, almost like a ghost grew nearer and nearer.

His presence would almost dance around you as his eyes took in your being, Looking for signs of wounds or anything else that the naked eye could find.

Very slowly, a gloved hand would take your face, No words were spoken as he looked into your eyes, His hand would curve around your arm and gently rise your body up before creating a portal to lead you to the HoL, Sending a quick text to Lucifer and Diavolo of you whereabouts

He’d lead you to a couch in a private sitting room before disappearing for a couple of minutes, coming back with tea and a large box of things, He’d set the tea and other assortments down on the coffee table.

He would settle himself beside you at a comfortable distance, Just in case, Before pulling things out of the box, Tissues, A blanket, etc

He’d bundle you up and would start preparing the tea as he’d let you talk about the situation/anything you’d want to talk about

He isn’t allowed to fix tiny things with his powers, But he will always be there for you- no matter the outcome.

Simeon

Oh this sweet angel

He could probably feel your distress through the door

One of the only people to actually know what to do, He is an angel who not only is raising another angel but is also a very naturally nurturing person

He is by your side before you can even register that he’s there, His presence washes over you like the sun as he immediately frets over you in a soft tone

You get to your feet with his help, He leads you to the bed before tucking you in with a soft hand running over your forehead (He would also kiss your forehead if you’d like)

Sleep takes over your tired state as he whispers reassurances and praise to you, He is a warm soul and will help you in any way he can

Solomon

He was just returning a book he had borrowed when he saw you.

His entire body stiffens up as your own racks with sobs

“Mc..?” he says in a whisper, just loud enough for you to hear

You meet his eyes, Swirls of grey remorse float through his eyes as he tries to understand what he’s seeing

He lingers near the door as he watches you try to get yourself together, Unsure of what to do.

“I-How can I help?” Your eyes will meet his again as he searches for an answer.

Whatever you want at that moment, He’ll do. If you want to talk, He’s all ears, If you want comfort, His body will slowly unwind- muscles untensing, as your bodies melted together

He is in a world up against demons and angels alike, fighting over your attention daily. But if he can be there for you in these moments, Minds so close together, Him helping you, That would be enough.

Luke

“Mc!-” The boy would say cheerfully as he entered, Once he saw you though, Whole demeanor change.

A little gasp leaves him before he runs towards you, Immediately looking you over, “What have those demons done to you!?”

Please reassure him that everything is okay, This boy is jumping to conclusions as soon as he sees your face

He will hug you tightly as tears well up in his eyes, What can he do to make it better? He just wants you happy- You don’t deserve this!

Will invite you to come and de-stress at the Purgatory hall by baking with him.

Will definitely be over protective of you for a couple weeks after that

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thetarttfuldickhead · 4 months

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It’s a little unclear, in the end, how the conversation gets there, because all in all the Richmond dressing room isn’t the site of that many sex jokes, not since Colin came out and no longer feels the need to make them. But they’re still lads, yeah, and young, mostly, so the jokes still happen, even if it’s just gentle ribbing, and silliness.

So: somehow, one morning halfway into Roy’s first year as head coach, the topic turns to sex, of the rougher variety. Roy’s only listening with half an ear, he’s busy sketching out the new trick plays Nate’s dreamed up on the whiteboard, and he doesn’t really catch the build-up, but when Jamie’s name is mentioned his ears perk up without him even really noticing. It’s become instinct at that point, keeping track of Jamie (even as Roy does his best to give all his players at least some semblance of equal attention).

“We know that Jamie likes it rough, though,” Zorro says, and the rest of the group oh:s and ah:s either knowingly or in surprised glee.

“Eh?” Jamie sounds startled by the assertion, but not particularly put off. (He never really is, as long as he gets attention, Roy thinks with an internal scoff that’s far fonder than he’d ever admit to.) “What makes you say that?”

“You told us!”

Out of the corner of his eye, Roy can see Jamie shake his head. “I don’t know what you’re on about, mate.” Still not bothered, but clearly not understanding what Zorro is getting at either.

Isaac throws him a disbelieving glance. “You don’t remember, bruv? It was when you first came here, before you started going out with Keeley.”

“Yeah,” Colin interjects, “You’d only been here for about two weeks, I think, but you came into training with these marks and bruises, and it turned out you’d hooked up with a girl the night before, but you hadn’t known she was a professional dominatrix before you got to her place.”

Hoots and titters at that, delighted and amused but not unkind.

“Exactly,” Zorro says. “And you told us you’d just gone with it because you have to try everything at least once, and it hadn’t been bad.”

Ah. Roy remembers now. He’d already been absolutely fed-up with Jamie’s attitude, the arrogance and selfishness and incessant need to put others down, and the striker’s total lack of shame and casual smugness about the marks had rubbed Roy entirely the wrong way. Not because people should be ashamed for liking that sort of stuff, of course (Roy wasn’t), but there was such a thing as common decency and unspoken rules about not parading around the dressing room like you were in a fucking porno or some shit and—

If Roy was honest about it, he’d mostly been pissed because it was Jamie, and everything Jaime did pissed him off back then (though, to be fair, most of what Jamie did back then was fucking shitty, so it’s not like Roy was wrong to be pissed. Most of the time).

“Oh.” Jamie’s voice is soft, suddenly. Small, in a way that has alarm bells going off like air raid sirens in Roy’s head. “Yeah. Um.”

The realisation hits Roy a second before it does the rest of the team, and his ears are already filling with a terrible ringing as the room falls silent behind him. He can feel himself grow rigid with rage, and with cold, curdling shame.

“Shit, man,” Isaac says eventually.

“Jamie, I’m so sorry.” It’s odd, the way Colin’s earnest, unhappy voice seems to be coming from so very far away.

“What?” Zorro, still not getting it, and then he does, and Roy, at a great distance, can hear his face crumpling. “Oh shit, Jamie, I didn’t mean—“

“No, don’t worry about it, man. It was a long time ago, yeah? It’s fine.” It’s a heroic attempt at sounding casual. Might have succeeded, too, back before they all knew Jamie as well as the do now.

Roy doesn’t stick around to hear the team offer their comfort and Jamie try to wave their concern away. He walks into the coaches’ office, and the only reason he doesn’t slam the door as hard as he can is because he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself.

“You all right there, Coach?” Beard looks up at him from behind his book, brow creased in quiet assessment.

“Oh my God, what happened?” Nate jumps down from the desk he’s been perched on. “Did someone die?”

And Roy wants to tell them to fuck off. Wants to punch the wall so hard it stops his mind from spinning. But he’s been talking with Dr. Fieldstone about that, hasn’t he, how his maladaptive coping strategies are tripping him up, and fucking over the people he cares about in the process.

So he takes a deep breath. And he doesn’t look at them when he starts talking. “Back before Ted came here Jamie came in with these bruises all over his chest and back one day, and he told us he’d had sex with a fucking dominatrix. And I believed him, okay? I just… I fucking believed him, even though it was weird fucking bruises for— That’s not the fucking point. But because I thought he was an arrogant fucking prick and I fucking hated his guts, I told him— “ He trails off, looking up at the ceiling. Uselessly, his cheeks are burning. Maybe his eyes are, too, if he’d let himself feel it. “I told him I’d be happy to pay to see someone give him a trashing. Give ‘em extra if they knocked a couple of his teeth out so he’d shut up for once.”

Beard doesn’t say anything, but he leans back in his chair with a look on his face that lets Roy know that, yeah, he’d fucked that one up good and proper.

“Oh,” Nate says. “So it was his dad who— That’s— But— I mean, that’s not good, obviously, that’s awful, but it’s… It wasn’t you who hurt him, Roy. And I mean, you and Jamie have said all sorts of thing to each other. Done all sorts of things.”

And that’s true, isn’t it. And mostly Roy is happy enough to write it off as tit-for-tat, old foolishness and bygones, Jamie a prick and Roy sometimes an idiot, and they’re both better now. And he doesn’t know how to explain to Nate and Beard how knowing that Jamie looked up to him ever since he was a kid, knowing that he never took that poster down, even after that, after everything, makes his casual cruelty and failure to protect Jamie all the harder to bear, even if he hadn’t known at the time that there was anything to protect Jamie from.

“Coach—“ Beard begins, but is interrupted by a knock on the door, and before Roy can tell whoever it is to fuck off, Jamie sticks his head into the office. Must have made his escape from the rest of the team, then. “Sorry, Coach, are we getting started or what? The lads— “ He catches sight of Roy’s face and his eyes widen. “Jesus, Roy, what happened? Are you all right, man?”

Under other circumstances, Roy might have found it remarkable how quickly and effortlessly Jamie makes the switch from Roy’s respectful star player to Roy’s friend, his entire demeanour changing as he moves into the room. As it is, Roy doesn’t say anything, but he must have made some sort of noise or moved some sort of way, because Jamie’s face twists in alarm, and then he’s across the floor and gently but firmly pulling Roy into a hug. “There, it’s all right, man, I’ve got you, lad, it’s all right.”

Roy blames all the fucking therapy he’d been doing for the past eight months for not pushing Jamie away but instead allowing the other to hold him, and allowing himself to hesitantly wrap his arms around him in turn. Fuck Nate. Fuck Beard. Fuck the team. Fuck anyone who thinks they get to have opinions on that.

He’s got an inch on Jamie, but Jamie’s broader, solid and strong. Steady, as he puts a hand on the back of Roy’s neck, murmuring nonsense that Roy knows is supposed to be soothing, and which maybe is. Mostly, it’s reassuring to have Jamie there, whole and hale and safe.

“What’s going on? Is Phoebe all right? Did something happen to your sister? Keeley?” Jamie is starting to sound a little freaked out, and Roy realises that he can’t just stand there mutely forever and let the fears grow in Jamie’s mind, he needs to fucking say something, explain.

He’d rather never say another word.

Tough fucking luck, Kent. “Do you remember what I told you when you said you’d had sex with a dominatrix?”

The way Jamie stiffens tells him that, yeah, Jamie does. “Roy—“

Roy tightens his grip, not wanting Jamie to pull away. “Don’t fucking tell me it was fine, because you were a nightmare for the rest of that day, you were absolutely fucking horrible to everyone.” Worse than usual, lashing out—not that Roy had known it at the time, or had thought it anything more than Jamie being a fucking prick for no other reason than to be a prick.

For a few moments, Jamie doesn’t say anything. Then he lets out a long sigh, relaxing into the embrace and pressing his face against Roy’s neck. “Yeah, okay,” he mutters, “it was all shit, mate. I mean, all of it was, it wasn’t just you— But, Roy, listen… “ And now Jamie does pull back, just enough so that he can look at Roy. His eyes are tired, but the set of his jaw determined. “You fucking hated me, right? Back then, I mean. You hated me, ‘cause I was a prick, and I hated you, ‘cause you were a bitter old cunt.”

There’s no fucking denying it, is there. Roy gives a sharp nod. “Yeah, but—“

“No, let me just— I’m not saying that makes it all right, yeah, I just— You hated me, okay. But, would you have said what you said if you’d known what really happened?”

Roy’s lips twist into snarl. “What? No! Of course I wouldn’t fucking have— “ He might have ached to put Jamie’s head through a wall several times a day, but he wouldn’t have stood by for Jamie’s piece of shit father—

“See?” The little twat has the audacity to look triumphant at that, as if he’d scored a particularly neat goal. “That’s what I’m saying, yeah? Even when you hated my guts, you wouldn’t have said that, if you’d known what was going on. But you didn’t know, ‘cause I didn’t want you to, or anyone to, and I’m an amazing actor, yeah? So, like, it’s not fine, but it’s… Don’t beat yourself up over it, man. You didn’t know.”

It’s absolution, the kind Roy doesn’t think he deserves and the Jamie is far too quick to offer. But Jamie is also right: Roy hadn’t known. Wallowing in guilt won’t do anything to change the past, or help Jamie now.

“All right,” Roy says. “But that was still a shit thing to say and I wish hadn’t done it. You never deserved any of what that arsehole did to you, and if… fuck it, when I made you feel like I thought otherwise, that was my fucking bad, and I’m sorry.”

Jamie nods. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, man.” And there’s a tremulousness to his faint smile that makes Roy think that for all his claims to the contrary, it had still been something Jamie needed to hear.

It does Roy’s fucking head in that Jamie’s been up to see his dad several times since he got word that James Tartt is in rehab. But they’ve argued about that already, bitterly, and Roy has very reluctantly admitted that it’s not his call. All he can do is offer Jamie whatever support he needs, whenever he wants it.

Clearing his throat, Roy gives Jaime an awkward pat on the shoulder before carefully extricating himself fully from the hug. “We’re still on for dinner with Keeley tonight?” He’ll make Jamie’s favourite dish, he decides. Throw in some dessert.

“Yeah, of course, yeah.”

“Good.” He jerks his head to the door. “Go on then, tell the lads to get on the pitch, and we’ll be there in a minute.”

“Yes, Coach.”

As the door shuts behind him, Roy turns on Beard and Nate who – wisely – don’t say anything.

“I don’t want to fucking talk about this,” he tells them sharply. “I don’t want you mentioning a fucking word of it ever again.” Because maybe he’s gotten to a point where having a fucking breakdown and hugging it out with Jamie in front of them isn’t the end of the world (even if it’s a near fucking thing), but if someone tries to make him discuss it, he’ll need to start head-butting people, and he’s been trying to stay off that since he became manager, because it just isn’t a good look, is it, and he’s trying to be better about that sort of thing.

Nate and Beard glance at each other. Roy doesn’t really care for the knowing look in their eyes, but they merely offer a nod and a yeah, yeah, of course, sure in reply, and that will have to do.

In this messed up world, a lot of things would have to fucking do.

“Right,” Roy says, already moving to follow Jamie. “I’ll see you on the fucking pitch.”

---

A/N: This was supposed to be the fourth of the stand alone ficlets I call The Locker Room Conversations, but it got quite a bit darker (and less team focused) than I usually do for those, so I’m not sure. I’ll sit on it for a bit, maybe fiddle a little, and see where I put it when it goes up on AO3 eventually.

If you like the idea of the team uncovering sad truths about Jamie’s past and are into heavier angst (and more of the team taking care of Jamie), I highly recommend checking out i should be the poster kid for this shit by anotherlongstoryshort / babytarttdoodoo

#well-intentioned ribbing lead to unhappy revelations #and references to earlier abuse #and roy having all the emotions about it #there’s also a very long hug because a girl’s gotta get her kicks somehow #james tartt sr is mentioned and his own warning #hurt/comfort #angst #roy kent #jamie tartt #roy & jamie #afc richmond #a team of himbos #who mean well even when they get it wrong #fic #my stuff

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originalaccountname · 3 months

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I am a simple fanfic reader. I see any variation of "Creepy Mori Ougai", "Mori Ougai is his own warning", or "Bad Person Mori Ougai", and I just scroll past

#i am having a bad time looking for skk angst can you tell #free my man he did none of that #he did a bunch of other things though #keep tagging it because i will still leave anyway at the first hint of that you will not gain a reader #this is valid for any tag that targets mori's ~evilness~ or the author stressing their dislike of him in particular #yes i am trying to filter all of those out and yet tonight i've encountered 5 fics in a row that had custom ''fuck mori'' tags #I JUST WANT SOME SKK HURT/COMFORT PLEASE 😭#apparently i talk sometimes

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skyward-floored · 11 months

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Different, Yet Similar

I woke up a few days ago with this fic in my head and for some reason I was able to write it out really quick, I don’t know how that happened XD I also decided it was the perfect opportunity to try out a slightly different writing style, and while I don’t think I’ll stick with it, it was an interesting experiment anyways :)

————————————————————

“So... how did you guys all meet your Zeldas?”

Wind is the one to pose the question, said while looking around with curious eyes at the rest of the Links. Most of who now have varying expressions of surprise on their faces, the question unexpected.

“Why do you ask, sailor?” Time asks, his single eye watching him curiously. Wind shrugs, fiddling with one of the power bracelets that has taken permanent residence on his wrists. They’re good for fidgeting with, he’s found.

“I’m just curious if any of us met ours similarly or not.” His mouth turns up into a grin. “I mean, I met Tetra after she got dropped by a giant bird and got stuck in a tree. I’d bet none of you guys met yours quite like that.”

Snickers ring through the camp, though a few of the Links give the sailor mildly concerned looks as well. The nonchalance with which Wind speaks of the antics he and his princess get up to sometimes worries them.

“Was she okay?” Hyrule asks in concern, and Wind nods, waving him off with a small flick of his wrist.

“Totally fine. Tetra’s tough, it would take more than a fall from a giant bird to rattle her.”

“A giant bird?” Sky asks eagerly, perking up a little. Wind doesn’t perk up in return though, rather he cringes at the excitement in Sky’s voice.

This isn’t a giant bird like the kind Sky is used to.

“Not a nice one,” he replies, thinking back to the crimson bird that was Sky’s best friend. “Ganondorf was using the bird to kidnap girls he thought might’ve been Zelda. Tetra had been grabbed, but she got dropped because her pirate crew managed to score a hit on the bird... the Helmarok king. He wasn’t nice,” Wind finishes more quietly, an unusual dark thread of anger in his voice.

Then he sighs, and shakes off the memories, looking around at the other Links in curiosity.

“So? How’d you guys meet your Zeldas?”

“Um... which one?” Hyrule asks hesitantly, scratching his neck. He’s in the rather unique position of knowing two princesses by the name of Zelda, a fact which often confuses his traveling companions. “I kinda have two...”

“Do both,” Wild says from where he’s seated nearby, and Hyrule nods.

“Okay. Well... there’s not really much to tell, honestly. For the first Zelda, I just met her after I defeated Ganon. He’d captured her, and after I defeated him I got her out and took her back to the castle.”

Hyrule laughs a little then, and looks up at the sky, constellations just starting to come into view.

“We were both a mess when I got into the place where he’d been keeping her; I was dirty and bleeding in multiple places, and Zelda had basically been living in a dungeon for a few weeks. It wasn’t exactly polite company,” he chuckles.

The others laugh a little at Hyrule’s story, though some of them wince in sympathy at the mention of his wounds. Fights with Ganon were never easy.

They’re all aware of how powerful their greatest foe is.

“How about your other Zelda? How did you meet her?” Sky asks, and Hyrule suddenly blushes for some reason, fidgeting with his bracers.

“Well um, she’d been cursed into a long sleep by an evil wizard, so when I first saw her she wasn’t even awake,” he admits. “But after I woke her up, that’s when I actually met her.”

“And what happened then?” Legend asks with a teasing smirk, having noticed Hyrule was still blushing.

The traveler’s cheeks darken a little, but he admits to nothing. “She said thank you for waking her up.”

“And how did she say thank you?” Wind asks with a mischievous look in his storm-tossed eyes.

Hyrule blushes even darker, but still admits to nothing— though the face he’s making says an awful lot. The others really don’t need to know about the kiss he received in thanks for waking the second Zelda: he knows he’ll never hear the end of it if they do.

Hyrule manages to meet Wind’s gaze without faltering, crossing his arms with a firm look.

“With her mouth, of course. How else would she say thanks?” he says a bit haughtily, and Time decides to intervene before poor Hyrule’s face turns any redder.

“I met my Zelda in a fairly simple way,” he says, and the other Links turn to look at him, abandoning their pursuit of getting an answer out of Hyrule in favor of listening to what Time has to say. Their unofficial leader rarely gives them details of his adventures, no less his version of the princess they’re all so familiar with. “I was... about nine, I believe, maybe ten.”

He sighs, shaking his head as he thinks back to when so much of his life had abruptly changed.

“I was instructed to go see her, but they didn’t want to let a mere child in at the gate. So I snuck into the castle to talk to her, and succeeded, more than once. The guards hated that a ten-year-old could get past them without being seen,” he says with a chuckle. “They weren’t terribly good at their jobs.”

“That’s a little like how I met my version of the princess,” Twilight says thoughtfully, a hand on his chin. “‘Course I didn’t sneak into the castle, I was trying to sneak out.”

“Why, were you in the dungeon?” Legend scoffs, and Twilight smirks.

“That’s exactly it, actually.”

Legend’s face turns to one of surprise, and more laughter rings out from the Links, especially from Wild.

“I was wondering when you were gonna tell them you’re an escaped convict,” he grins at his mentor, and Twilight swats at him with a look both fond and annoyed.

“I’m not an escaped convict,” he says with an eye roll. “The enemy had overtaken the castle, they’re the ones who threw me in there. I committed no crime.”

“Mmm, I’m pretty sure some of the stuff you’ve done counts as crime,” Wild cuts in again, a grin twitching at his lips. “What about the time you blew up that old—”

“Somebody else’s turn,” Twilight interrupts, putting a hand over Wild’s mouth, much to his annoyance. He’d rather wanted to be the one to tell the others about that particular incident.

“Smithy? How about you? You’re pretty good friends with your Zelda, right?” Twilight asks, ignoring the clamor of the others to elaborate.

Four nods, and a bright smile stretches across his face at the reminder of his closest friend.

“You’re right, I’ve known Zelda as long as I can remember,” Four begins as he sets aside the dagger he’d been sharpening, eyes warm. They suddenly dim a little though, and he clears his throat. “I think the first true memory I have of her was at my... a family member’s funeral.”

The other Links still as the smithy speaks, Twilight relinquishing his hold on Wild so they can both better hear. Four looks down at his hands as he thinks back to that day, but then a bit of a smile returns to his lips.

“She came because the family member knew the crown fairly well. We were the only kids there, so we ended up talking a lot... That’s when I really got to know her, and we’ve been close ever since,” he finishes quietly.

“That was similarly to how I met mine,” Sky says after a moment of silence, his voice soft. Four nods at him to continue, and Sky returns it with a bit of a smile. “I knew Zelda a little before, it was impossible not to on Skyloft. There’s not all that much space... but that was the problem when the sickness went through...”

He trails off, then shakes his head as if to clear it, hair falling in his face as he takes a steadying breath.

The memory of the death of his parents isn’t one he likes to linger on, even if it inadvertently led to him becoming friends with Zelda.

“Anyways,” Sky continues, clearing his throat, “I ended up living in the Knight’s academy before I was old enough to attend, and since Zelda lived there with her father as well, we played together all the time. It was inevitable we’d at least become friends.”

“You became a bit more than just friends though, or so I’ve heard,” Warriors says slyly, and Sky blushes as the laughter returns. The captain’s attempt at lightening the mood has succeeded.

“We... haven’t officially become anything,” Sky says simply, and the rest of them shoot each other knowing looks. It’s no secret that Sky is head-over-heels for his Zelda. It’s only a matter of time before something becomes official.

Sky looks back at Warriors then, the captain still chuckling a little over the reaction to his comment.

“You haven’t told us how you met your Zelda, captain,” he points out, and Warriors’ laughter peters off, a fond look replacing the mirth in his eyes.

“Ah, you caught me. Mine is complicated though,” he says with a slightly distant tone in his voice, and the others settle in to listen again. Warriors has mentioned more of his Zelda than some of the others, but not everything they’ve done or been through.

And while he speaks of her with nothing but professionalism, there’s a fondness in his eyes that a few of the Links have picked up on, one that speaks of a deeper bond.

One that nobody’s called him out on yet, but it’ll only be a matter of time.

“I only sort of met her the first time,” Warriors begins, leaning back on the log where he’s seated. “The war had just started, and things were... complicated, to say the least. Messy. She disguised herself to keep her identity safe, so I didn’t truly meet Zelda for quite some time.”

“But when you did?” Wind asks eagerly, and Warriors chuckles.

“It was worth the wait. But I got to know her while she was disguised, so in a way... I already knew her,” he says with a bit of mystery, and Time smiles from the opposite side of the fire.

Time still remembers the day Sheik shed her disguise and revealed herself to be the princess. Warriors was so shocked he’d said something rather idiotic, and Artemis had laughed at him a bit nervously, and then the two of them had gone off to have a long overdue conversation about her true identitiy.

Time won’t bring it up though. He’ll let Warriors keep a few of his secrets yet.

“That leaves... Wild and Legend left who haven’t said anything,” Wind says after a moment, counting off on his fingers.

The two look up at their nicknames, but Wild has a slightly uncertain look in his eyes, and Legend seems oddly stone-faced. Wind looks between the two, and debates for a moment which one to ask first.

Hyrule beats him to it.

“Champion, do you... remember meeting your Zelda the first time?” Hyrule asks a bit hesitantly. The others quiet at the question, and look as one over at Wild.

They’re all aware of Wild’s memory problems, but nobody except for maybe Twilight is truly aware of the extent they reach their blank grip into the champion’s mind. He still doesn’t remember much of his old life, merely a handful of memories recovered here and there that snatch him out of the life he’s currently living, then return him just as abruptly.

But meeting Princess Zelda is not one of these.

“Nope,” Wild says lightly, somewhat in opposition to the serious mood that has fallen over the heroes. “Not at all. I have no clue how we first met... knowing what she thought of me, I probably accidentally insulted her.”

The heroes chuckle good-naturedly, and Wild waits for the sound of their laughter to fade before continuing.

“No, I don’t remember how we originally met. My first true memory of Zelda isn’t when I met her... whenever that must have been.”

A soft smile parts his lips.

“It... was her voice. Back when I was still asleep. Calling to me, urging me awake once the shrine had finally finished healing me. She guided me when there was nobody else, told me my name, and though I didn’t even remember hers... that was when I first met Zelda.”

Twilight gives his shoulder a squeeze, and Wild lets him, a look full of several conflicting emotions settling on his face.

Warmth is the one that shows itself the most though, and a ghost of a smile flits across Twilight’s face when he sees it.

“How about you, Legend? You’ve been pretty quiet,” Four asks, changing the focus to give Wild some privacy. The prickly veteran tugs his cap tighter over his hair in response, hiding a few more strands of the pink that’s still fading away.

“She called to me too,” he says, voice oddly emotionless. “Woke me up in the dead of night and asked for help, with nothing but her voice.”

Something flickers in his gaze, but it’s gone so quickly nobody can quite catch what it is.

“She guided me to the castle, and I managed to find my way to where she’d been imprisoned in her own dungeon by the forces of darkness. I freed her, and that’s where I met her,” he finishes.

“That’s it?” Wind asks in confusion, a slight tilt to his head, and Legend nods.

“That’s it.”

It’s short and to the point, and while some of the heroes nod, the others that are more aware of how their veteran works pick up on the holes in the story.

The Hero of Legend may seem sharp and fearless, but even he has weak points, moments where he has felt neither like a hero nor strong enough to ever be one. These moments he’s purposefully left out of this story, important though they may be.

These are not moments he shares freely. And especially not during what’s supposed to be a lighthearted answer to the boundless curiosity of the youngest member of their group.

“See sailor? None of us met our Zeldas the same way you did,” Legend says with a smirk, easily changing the subject, and Wind hums, looking around at the heroes as he fidgets with his bracelets again.

“That’s true. But there’s similarities between all of them,” he points out, “and some of them are really similar, like yours and Wild’s.”

“Hyrule’s second one was a bit like Wild’s too,” Twilight points out. “Just reversed.”

“And Twilight’s was kind of like the old man’s,” Hyrule mentions with a bit of wonder to his voice, and that sends the group into a flurry of comparing and contrasting the differences, debating the finer points and wondering if the similarities mean anything.

Four though, hangs back from the conversation, not as willing to discuss things. As he looks around the clearing, he notices he’s not the only one either, and he slips around the fire to where the veteran has retreated, watching the others in silence.

Sky sees him go, but doesn’t comment. He knows what the smithy is doing.

“Hey,” Four greets as he settles down, and Legend doesn’t look at him.

“You need something?” the veteran asks with a sharpness in his voice that threatens to slice Four into pieces. The smithy ignores it, well used to Legend’s prickliness, and continues to sit, watching the others keep on with their loud discussion.

“No. I just didn’t want to keep listening to... all of that,” Four says with a slight smile, watching as Wind lunges across Warriors’ lap to grab at Wild for some reason.

Legend doesn’t reply, face still stony.

Four doesn’t directly look at him, but he watches the veteran from the corner of his eyes, seeing how tightly he’s wound, how his expression is set in a way that seems to be solely for the purpose of keeping it from cracking into something vulnerable.

It’s a familiar look, one that Four’s seen on his own face. There’s a part of him that’s like that, sometimes, but that just means he knows somewhat of how to deal with it... whether Legend wants him to or not.

“It was my mother,” Four says suddenly, breaking the silence.

Legend looks over at him, a flicker of surprise joining the crease on his brow. He appears rather taken aback, and Four waits for his reply.

“What was?” the veteran asks. Four looks up at the sky for what feels like a long, long time before replying, and Legend almost wonders if he’s ever going to speak.

“The funeral where I met Zelda,” Four continues, voice full of a bittersweet pain. “It was my mother’s.”

Legend stares at him a moment, unsure of how to reply.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Four continues, still looking up. His eyes are a reddish color, hints of green and blue peeking through that allude to the emotions he’s keeping a steady control of. “I just wanted you to know... you’re not the only one who didn’t meet Zelda under the... best circumstances.”

Four continues to watch the stars, and Legend swallows, his stony indifference cracking despite his best efforts.

Legend doesn’t like to admit it, but despite how carefully he closes himself off, sometimes he’s just as expressive as Wind— what he doesn’t say actually saying more than anything he admits to. And it looks like Four, dealing with a similar pain, has seen right through him.

The veteran is silent for a long time, listening to the others laugh and carry on, and Four sits beside him in equal silence, waiting for as long as Legend needs.

“My uncle,” he whispers finally, and Four squeezes his shoulder.

He doesn’t say anything more. And he doesn’t need to.

#weird ending but everything else I tried was worse XD #linkeduniverse #linked universe #all the links #lu legend #lu four #linked universe fanfic #lu fic #writing from the floor #hurt/comfort #I hate naming fics YEECH #legend angst snuck in here it wasn’t originally about him

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strawberryspence · 1 year

Text

sit with you in the trenches

Steddie Week / Day 4: Hurt/Comfort ( @steddie-week )

Eddie paces around the small living room. All the lights are open, every single one. It’s the only thing that gives him comfort.

The television is murmuring softly in the background. The man is still going on and on about the names of the victims of the fire.

Eddie wrangles his hands, waiting to hear the worst news of his life.

“Hanes. Hanewood. Hawork.”

Eddie pulls on his hair, a breath of relief caught on his lungs.

No Harrington. Steve’s fine. He’s just late. A day late. His “stickler for a schedule” boyfriend has been missing for a day and Eddie can’t even do anything. Can’t do anything because if he does anything it would raise questions.

There’s a crunch of gravel outside that makes Eddie jump, immediately opening the trailer door. There it is. The beamer.

Eddie freezes on his spot, a sound in between a sob and a cheer escaping his mouth. He watches as Steve comes out of the car, but the side door also opens, and— who?— Eddie squints. Robin Buckley comes out.

“Hey, Eds.” Steve greets him, his voice cracks, as soon as the lights hit him. Eddie gasps.

Steve’s face is swollen. Swollen is saying it lightly. His left eye is swollen shut, his lips busted. He’s still wearing the damn Scoops Ahoy uniform.

“Oh my god, swe— Steve.” Eddie pulls the door open, but his eyes stray to Robin who’s glued beside his boyfriend’s side.

Steve pulls her closer, “Eddie, you know Robin, right?”

“Yes.” Eddie trails slowly.

“We were in the fire together and she didn’t want to leave my side. But then, I wanted to go see you.” Steve says, “She’s safe.”

Robin nods earnestly, “I am a lesbian.”

“Oh.” Eddie whispers, blinking before saying, “Oh. Come in, come in.”

He opens the door wider for the two of them. They both stumble inside the trailer like conjoined twins, falling immediately on the couch.

“What happened, sweetheart?” Eddie asks, though he is afraid to hear the answer.

“There was a fire.” Steve answers, “I saved Robin and a few other people. Hence… my face.”

He moves to get an ice pack for his face and blanket for Robin. Eddie doesn’t fully believe it, but it doesn’t really matter right now.

He’ll ask tomorrow and Steve will tell him the same thing. Eddie will learn the truth by himself, in a few more months, a floating cheerleader in front of him.

“Here,” Eddie sits beside him, putting the ice on his boyfriend’s eye, “Robin, do you need anything?”

Robin stares at him with owlish eyes. So different from the girl he had band practices with. He always had his inkling that she might be one of them, but he never thought he'd find out this way.

She shakes her head slowly, accepting the blanket and wrapping it around her arms, “No. This is good enough. Thank you for letting me stay."

They all sit in silence for what could’ve been hours, and Eddie doesn’t really believe in God, but he thanks some kind of deity for letting his boyfriend come home safely.

“I am sorry.” Steve breaks the silence a few minutes later, taking the ice off his eye.

“For what?”

“For being late. For making you worry.” Steve says. Eddie turns to Robin to check on her, but she’s dead asleep on Steve’s lap.

“Does she know we’re dating?” Eddie asks.

Steve smiles shyly, “Yeah. It was a big bonding moment. She thought I was talking about her, leading to her coming out to me and then I told her about my wonderful, metalhead boyfriend.”

Eddie smiles, brushing his hand through Steve’s hair as he lays on his side with a sigh of relief.

“You did good, baby. You just adopted your first lesbian.” Eddie jokes, making Steve crack a smile.

“Does anything hurt? Why didn’t you go to the hospital?” Eddie asks.

“No.” Steve says immediately, like he hates the prospect of going to the hospital, “I just— I just wanted— wanted to see you. I know if I went then you won’t be able to come.”

Eddie smiles fondly, “Alright, Stevie. Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you guys wake up.”

Steve hums in response, but he’s already drifting into sleep, falling deeper into Eddie’s arms.

Eddie kisses the crown of his head, pulling him closer to him. The relief of having Steve here beside him, safe and alive, is something he will never take for granted again.

Tomorrow, Eddie will shower him (and Robin) with love and care. But right now, he tightens his embrace around him and let’s the relief sweep him off his feet.

#That’s how Wayne finds his son and his boyfriend and a random girl all tucked and tangled in each other's arms sleeping peacefully.#steddieweek2023 #day 4: hurt/comfort #steddie pre-season 4 #steve harrington x eddie munson #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie headcanon #dae writes #steddie angst #daeheadcanons

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lokischocolatefountain · 11 months

Note

well if you are taking requests, itd be great to see more touch starved joel, joel who is so afraid of hurting you in bed but bruises you anyways, joel who flinches when you yocuh him after nightmares but then comes closer when you pull away.

I love this request 🥺🥺 You are very right and Joel Miller is a touch starved man and deserves to be fed. So, here you go

Our Normal

Fandom: The Last of Us (HBO)

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Rating: Mature (Mention of violence, sexual situations)

A/N: I loved writing this and I hope the anon who requested it has fun reading it 💜 Also, I have a Javi request that was sent before this but the man was being so uncooperative so I had to ditch him for Joel for a while.

Joel was never a physically affectionate man. His love is shown through acts of service for the people he loves, through protecting them from everything in the universe. That changes when he becomes a father in his early twenties. Sarah is just so little and so fragile and he needs to hold his baby girl because if he doesn’t, he might just explode. He gives her hugs and kisses and cuddles. She always gets kisses on the forehead and cheeks when he tucks her in.

When he loses Sarah, his world is effectively over and touch is no longer about affection. People don’t yet know how the infection spreads, so they keep from touching each other. Someone approaching you might be infected. If they touch you, it might be over. Touch is no longer a hug from his daughter or a pat on the back from his brother. It is deceiving a young man with a fake injury and begging him for supplies before putting his hands around his neck and strangling him to steal his car. It is a punch to his face, a kick to his stomach and an arm putting him in a chokehold.

With Tess, it is different. It is a squeeze to his shoulder when he wakes up from yet another nightmare of his child, still a toddler, asking him why he let her die. It is a quick fuck on the ground in the woods to relieve some tension. It is her slipping into bed with him and holding him because they have both agreed they need this without any words being exchanged. It is more than anything he has ever had with other women in his life. But it is never spoken of, it never means anything more, it just is.

He is in Jackson and life has become normal yet he cannot adjust to it. After two decades of leading a life that is anything but normal, the comfort of three meals a day, a roof over his head and certainty that he’ll wake up the next morning is frightening. He knows he will never adjust. Everyone else seems happy living this normal life, but it is something he will never accept. People hug and kiss and marry. Tommy holds his newborn in his arms and kisses his wife’s hand like it’s normal, like the last twenty years didn’t happen. He wants it too. It shames him to want, but oh how he wants to touch you, to hold your hand and cup your cheek and graze your finger when you hand him something. But he cannot give in. If he allows himself to slip into such comforts, he will not survive when it is taken away from him again. If he accepts it as normal, it will mean that he will have moved on from the loss. The loss of Sarah, of his…Tess.

He touches you once. It is a necessity. It is during patrol and you were about to step on a trap someone left to catch animals. He wraps his arms around you and pulls you back, but he keeps his hands on you for longer than necessary. You thank him a little dramatically for “saving my life” and he smiles. For the first time in a long time, it isn’t because of something Ellie said. He lets you go, grunts and walks along on the patrol route. His hand is twitching nervously by his side because holy shit he just touched you. When he lies awake that night, he recalls the roughness of your skin, thinks about whether it used to be soft before all this. Whether he would’ve liked your skin soft just as much he likes your now rough skin.

Someone in town in teaching pottery to pass on important skills so that nothing dies when one person dies. Ellie forces him to go with her even when he tells her he doesn’t give a shit about making goddamn pots. He stops complaining when he sees you’re also there to learn, even though you are more advanced than he is. Pottery doesn’t come to him naturally and Ellie laughs at him for spinning his wheel too fast and touching the clay too hard, making the thing collapse on itself. You laugh too, but then you help him. You place your hands on his and show him how to mold the clay. You show him how to trim the edges with the fancy tools. You place your creating next to his and Ellie’s in the kiln and shake his hand to congratulate him on his shitty bowl that would’ve been shittier if you hadn’t helped. He wonders what it would be like to slot his fingers in the space between your fingers.

It goes from joint patrols to joint pottery classes to joint drinks at the Tipsy Bison. You touch his arm, you place your hand on his, you brush your shoulder against his and it takes him a longass time while to realize you are flirting. He hadn’t been the subject of it ever since he became a single father wearing T-shirts covered in snot, baby food, mysterious sticky substances from Sarah using his shirt as tissues, Sarah’s blood— He panics, he flinches when you touch him. He apologizes, mumbles something about Ellie needing dinner and storms out of the place. He forgets to pay for his fucking drink and learns you decided to pay for him with more coffee than you’d planned on exchanging with the bartender.

He apologizes the next day, offers his private stash of old whiskey he found somewhere to make up for the coffee you’d lost because of him. But you surprise him, offering not just reassurance that it was alright but offering your understanding, telling him you were sorry for whatever you did to unintentionally trigger him and that if he told you what it was, you would never do it again.

You have your fair share of terrible days. You find him after patrol and ask to exchange your music cassette for some of his liquor. He gives it to you for free and you down half the bottle. You tell him you are afraid of being alone that night and he doesn’t have to ask questions to know that it’s something serious. He lets you stay. He holds you in him arms even though having contact without another person kills him. He realizes it kills him because he likes it and knows he doesn’t deserve things he likes. Not when his baby has become nothing in an unmarked grave he should’ve joined her in.

He never intends to have sex with you. It is no longer as much of a need as it used to be. He is older and his body has been through too much. Sex isn’t the need. You are. Holding your hand in his trembling hand isn’t enough. Touching your cheek when he kisses you isn’t enough. His hand on your lower back. Your hand in his hair, your head on his chest as you hugged— it wasn’t enough. No matter how much you gave, he wanted more. More and more and more.

You invite him to your bed and he goes. He knows he shouldn’t. He doesn’t deserve whatever you’ve given him so far and definitely doesn’t deserve what you were going to give him next. He is afraid but he wants it so bad, wants you so bad. You are sweet, gentle, like you know he has a strange relationship with touch. You take your time when you get on your knees and nuzzle into his thighs and wrap your pretty lips around his cock. He tries to keep his hands away. He knows he should because if he got to touch you when you had his cock in your mouth, he would wrap your hair in his fist and fuck into your mouth, use you for gratification.

He digs into your thighs with his nails when he has them spread apart and his head between them, his lips devouring you like you were his favorite taste before the luxury of tasty things ceased to exist, like he was getting to experience his favorite taste after two decades of deprivation. He holds you in a death grip, leaves behind bruises and apologizes for them when he realizes what he has done. He tends to you, apologizes repeatedly, is gentler the next time.

He doesn’t sleep next to you. If he manages to fall asleep, he wakes up wishing he didn’t. Sleep without nightmares is a rarity. He could jolt up from bed or lie looking peaceful while his brain tortured itself with memories, both real and false. He doesn’t want you to see him in his most vulnerable moments. He doesn’t want to burden anyone with his anguish. He doesn’t want to look weak. He is supposed to be strong, be the protector, be the capable man you can rely on.

He wakes up after yet another nightmare and lies in bed, unprepared to face you as the weaker man he believes himself to be. You make him coffee and bring it to bed. You drink it with him. You hold his hand. He flinches, the effects of his nightmare persisting. So you pull away, allowing him his space when he pulls you back in. He doesn’t know what he wants, doesn’t know if it is right to want you like this— being there for him, comforting him, giving him a shoulder to lean on. He shouldn’t, but he leans anyway. You don’t ask him to talk about it and he appreciates it. You don’t need to know the gory details to know he’s hurting. You don’t need to hear the turmoil in his head to hold him to your chest and let him cry.

Maybe not talking wouldn’t be enough in the normal world. But that is a world they will never have again even if the cordyceps ceased to exist at once. So he adapts in love like he adapted to holding a gun in hands that held hammers and nails with nails painted by his little girl.

He grows used to it, but he still flinches sometimes. You flinch sometimes too. You learn each other’s boundaries, apologize when they’re crossed. Sleep still eludes him and he remains starved of touch, but he satiates himself as little as he could without overwhelming himself. His hands sometimes tremble when he touches you. He could never fall asleep in the same bed as you. It isn’t normal, but it is the normal he has with you and you are both content in it.

My Masterlist

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