My Love of Words.

  https://myloveofwords.tumblr.com/post/184628764812/masterlist  

[myloveofwords]

Can’t Find My Way Home. Part 4.

Reader Gender: Female (You’re Samantha Winchester)

Word Count: 2,866

Summary: With Samantha and Dean’s meeting done, let's see how well Samantha handles the Winchester custom of lying to those you care about...

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. 

                                                  The Bunker. 

I wake up in the passenger seat of the Impala. I feel the smile across my face as I glance down and see Dean's leather jacket draped across my body. 

I sit up and stretch, in a vain attempt to relieve the constricted aching of my limbs. I glance over at Dean and see the worry clearly etched across his face.

We sat there for a while, neither of us knows how to start up a conversation. What do I say to my biological father after eighteen years?

I clear my throat and try anyway "So where are we headed?" Without taking his eyes off the road he mumbles "Lebanon, Kansas." I eye him skeptically "Why?" Dean's mouth turns upwards as he talks "We're going home."

I look at him dubiously "You have a home? I thought you lived out of hotel rooms and the Impala." His smile widens "We do when we're on cases. When we're not on a case we head back to Kansas."

 I look out the windshield not being able to look at him "You still live where your mother died?" Dean shook his head "Nope."

I release the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding "Then where do you live?" He looks at me arrogantly and says "You'll see."

I huff back into the seat and fold my arms across my chest "Where's Sam and Castiel?" Dean moves his hand off the steering wheel and starts rubbing that spot on his arm again "Sam's behind us driving your car back and Cas. . . I've given up on trying to keep up with him."

I nod slowly running out of things to say. The rest of the drive is pretty quiet I ask a couple of questions, Dean answers them flatly, and we sit in silence again.

As we cross over into Kansas I am singing along to Metallica and smiling out the window. Dean looks over at me suddenly "You like Metallica?"

I nod as I continue to look out the window "Mom listened to it in her room a lot. She liked Classic rock, I guess it reminded her of you." Dean didn't respond, but I knew that pleased him.

Dean takes a back road into the woods and I mumble "Of course you live in the middle of nowhere." Dean simply smiles and nods. Intrigued now, I sit up and cross my arms on the dash looking eagerly ahead.

I suddenly see a big concrete mass with railings leading down to a single door "Seriously? Do you literally live in a hole in the ground? You're too big to be a hobbit." Dean smiles over at me as he parks the Impala "Just wait until you get inside."

I hop out the Impala and bounce my way over to the door "Why? What's inside? Maps of Middle Earth and walking sticks?" I stand patiently waiting for Dean to open the door.

I smile up at him innocently as he responds "Remind me to never introduce you to Charlie; she'd love you to death." 

Dean opens the door and motions for me to go in. As I make my way into space where my father apparently 'lives', a single phrase escapes my mouth "A bunker? You live in a bunker." 

Dean walks down the steps into the main room and lays his duffel on the mahogany table.

I walk around slowly, trying to imagine living here and trying to come to terms with how large this place is.

I walk slowly into the kitchen, noticing that it looks very commercial. I walk down many hallways stopping at every door I can find. I notice a door with a large hole in it and wonder what in the hell was trying to get out.

I walk into a room that looks like a storage room, and I eventually find a leaver that moves the selves and reveals a dungeon type room. Holy hell, we have a dungeon? 

I laugh inconceivably and walk over to the single chair in the middle of the room. As I get closer I see that the handcuffs have traps and sigils on them, well that's smart. 

I walk out of the room and close the door behind me sighing heavily, why is my family so weird?

I shake my head and move on; I open the door to one of the rooms and find a military-like bedroom. Everything is in its place, nothing but neat. 

Guns above the bed, a single picture of Dean and Sam on a dresser, and as I walk deeper into the bedroom I smile as I inhale deeply. 

It smells of Dean; a hint of leather, musk, and whiskey. 

This is my father's bedroom, I tilt my head as I smile wildly to myself. I hear Sam's voice ricochet across the bunker and I slowly make my way back to the main room.

When I am in the hallway about to get back to the main room I hear Sam and Dean's whispers. Sam sighs deeply and says "Dean you have to tell her. She has a right to know." I hear Dean's grunt as he hastily replies "Drop it, Sammy. It's my problem, I'll deal with it."

I hear Sam's condemning tone "Dean." Dean didn't say anything and I hear Sam's dramatic sigh "So how are you doing? With all this, I mean." 

Without a seconds hesitation Dean answers "I'm fine." I peek around the corner and see Sam's unconvinced facial expression "Yeah. Sure."

Dean lays down the book he was currently reading and says "What do you want me to say, Sammy? That I'm terrified? That I'm scared shit-less that I'm not going to be a good father? That she might die doing what we do and it will be all my fault?"

Sam doesn't say anything he just waits for Dean to finish then says "Dean, you were the closest thing I had to an actual father. I'm proof that you are a wonderful father. Everything bad that has happened to me I did to myself, and you were always there to help me clean it up. We'll figure this out, together."

I walk into the main room and clear my throat, Sam looks up and smiles at me "Hey there kiddo." I smile politely and say "Hiya Sammy." I walk over to the table and ask "What are we researching?"

Without looking up from the computer Dean says "There's an article about a woman mysteriously dying in her own home. I sent Garth to wrap it up, sounds like a simple haunting." I nod "Then why are you looking up spells? You don't need a spell to cast away a spirit."

I see Dean rub the spot on his arm again as he says "Just brushing up on my exorcisms." I look at him questionably "But that's not an exorcism."

At this, he turns and says "And how would you know that?" I shrugged "I speak Latin. I thought it would be a good thing to learn for my line of work. I also took a Spiritual Communications Class in college. We analyzed several exorcisms . . . And let's just say that I took the extra credit seriously."

Sam looked at me obviously impressed "They have those now?" I nodded "It was a one-semester course and it was mainly for people who thought of the idea of spirits interesting."

Dean spoke up "You speak Latin?" I smiled smugly "Etiam Decano. Quam turpe nescire." Dean looked at Sam expectantly and without even looking up Sam instantly translated "Yes Dean. I speak Latin."

I smile and look back at the book Dean was looking at "So why are you looking at a spell that is used to get rid of a wart? Do you have warts, Dean?" 

Dean looked at me sulkily "Seriously? Warts?" I nodded slowly and pointed to the book "That word there means wart. In some contexts it could mean mark, but not in this context. You can tell by the sentence construction."

Sam looks at me with a shit-eating smile on his face "How old are you again?" I look up and land on Sam's inquiring eyes. I feel my cheeks go red under his prodding gaze "Eighteen. I turn nineteen in June."

Sam continues with the questioning "And you just finished high school?" I shake my head "Not exactly. I was sixteen when I graduated high school. Right now I'm technically a junior at Georgetown." Sam nods "Georgetown, that's impressive. What's your major?"

I smile and dramatically breathe in before I say "I'm working on a Major in Classical Studies with a concentration on Hellenic Studies, and a minor of Theology with a concentration of Biblical Studies." Dean spoke up "Well that's a mouth full."

I blush and say "Yeah, imagine writing it on job applications." Sam's face is split into a grin as he watches me "Do your foster parents know what you do?" 

I smile sadly "No, they understand that it's dangerous, and they understand that I can't tell them because it will put them in danger. Speaking of which, I need to call Barbra, she'll be worried. I'll be back in a second."

I padded off to the kitchen and called Barbra. She answered on the first ring "Samantha sweetie, is that you?" I smiled at her understanding tone "Yeah it's me."

She started shooting off questions excitedly, all the unwanted feelings flying to the front of my head "What happened? Did you find Bobby? What is this all about? Are you okay? Do you need me to come?"

I smile warmly to myself as I hear the concern in her voice "No Barb. I . . . I kinda met my biological father today." I hear the excited screams on the other end and hold the phone away from my ear "Oh My! How!?!"

I feel the heavy tug on my heart return as I realize the excitement had worn off "He was at Bobby's." You smile sadly as she politely asks "And how is Bobby? Staying out of trouble I hope." 

I couldn't fight off the sob that ricochets deep in my throat at Barb's harmless inquiry "Yeah, you could say he's staying out of trouble. . . Um, Bobby's dead."

Barbra's voice dropped immediately "Oh my. Sweetie are you okay?" I nodded sadly to myself as I feel the grief threaten to take over "Well, I will be I think. Eventually. It's just going to take some time to realize that he's actually gone . . . But anyway, apparently Bobby had planned this all along, he had sent for us both to show up at the same time. I met Dean, his brother Sam, and their friend Castiel."

I hear her reassuring tone "Well that's exciting, maybe you all can grieve together. I know Brad and I will. He was such a good man. . . Anyway, tell me about Dean! What's he like?"

I sit on the table in the kitchen and say "He's exactly like I imagined him! I mean he is strong, protective, and occasionally really sweet. But at the same time, he can be distant, cold, and unwilling to make connections with people. It's a weird combination."

Barbra calmly said "Well, he probably has his reasons. Just give him some time. Now tell me about Sam!" I smile at the memory "Sam is different but the same. I always envisioned him as a geeky little brother, but he isn't. He's sweet, funny, and can be protective. But Sam's other side is different. It's like he feels he's let Dean down, and he is constantly trying to make it up to him. It's a very unhealthy relationship."

Barbra laughs a little "You've always been able to read people. Do they look like you imagined?" 

I smile as I hop off the table and lean on the door frame of the kitchen watching Sam and Dean work "Well, Sam is much taller than Dean, which I didn't expect. Dean still has short hair, and Sam's hair is almost as long as mine. But they are both adorable. They've each got their own charm about them. Dean is more of a manly man bad boy type, but Sam is more lengthy and tall. They're both exceedingly handsome. It's weird to think that I actually came from this bloodline."

I can imagine Barbra's proud smile as she says "I can believe it. You've got the best of both worlds it sounds like. You've got the beauty and brains from Sam, and Dean's demeanor, you could conquer the world if you wanted to." 

I laugh loudly at her "Yeah right."

I see Dean come into the kitchen and lean on the door frame. I smile at him and tilt my head questionably; he smiles and asks "Can I talk to her for a minute?" 

I smile as I ask Barbra "Ummm, so Dean just walked in, and he wants to talk to you." 

I hear Barbra's confused but excited tone "Yes, of course! I'd like to talk to him too."

Before I hand the phone to Dean I turn slightly and put my hand over the microphone so only she can hear me "I'm gonna warn you. His voice is like velvet dipped in chocolate. So behave." I hear her laugh as I turn back around and hand the phone to Dean.

I smile as he takes the phone and says "Barbra? This is Dean Winchester." I hear hints of Barbra's excited voice from across the room and smile as a smile crosses Dean's face. 

I watch him carry on a conversation with my foster mother and I feel a warmth come over me. This is unbelievable.

I'm snapped out of my happiness by Dean's voice "Would it be okay with you if my brother Sam and I came by? We'd like to meet you and your husband face to face, and I'd like to personally thank you for all you've done for Samantha."

I watch with wide eyes as my mouth drops open. Seriously? What in the hell brought that on? 

Dean smiles at my reaction as he says "Great, we'll head on over there now. I look forward to meeting you." I watch with a dumbfounded expression on my face as I watched Dean say goodbye and hang up the phone "What in the hell brought that on?"

Dean smiled and shrugged his shoulders "It was Sammy's idea." I walk over to him slowly, eyeing him the whole way and grab my phone out of his extended hand "I don't believe you. This was your idea, you want me to finish out college and you're trying to get Barbra and Brad to back you up!" 

I watch the cocky smile cross his face as he coolly declares "I have no idea what you're talking about."

I walk past him into the other room, "So Sammy, apparently we're heading to Ohio." Sam doesn't look up from his computer "Okay, let me grab my bag." 

I turn around and Dean is gone and when I turn back around Sam is gone. Okay. These guys have to be ninjas or something.

I sit at the table and look at the books on the table, I see a couple of common lore books but then I see a file folder. I reach over and pick it up. Okay, that's the Men of Letters symbol. Let's see what I can find out here. 

I open the folder and see a single picture of a red abrasion on a forearm. Okay, I know this symbol, this is a similar concept of the mark of Cain.

I look into the folder more and I find a handwritten account on all current information on the mark of Cain. Cain killed Abel . . . Blah, blah, blah. . . I know all this . . . Ah, so Cain made a deal with Lucifer to save his brothers soul. And Lucifer tricked Cain into killing his own brother. Wow, that's kinda harsh, and it feels oddly familiar. So we're trying to remove the mark of Cain . . . From who? Cain?... Who in the hell is Metatron? And why in the hell was he in the dungeon?

I hear footsteps so I close the folder quickly and place in back on the table. Sam walks in and sits down across from me as he asks"You doing okay?" 

I nod quickly "Yeah, considering. Once the excitement wears off it'll be different though."

Sam smiles sadly at me "Yeah, Dean took it pretty hard when Bobby died." 

I nodded "Yeah. It's not an easy thing to deal with, and I'd only known the man for eight years, I can't imagine losing someone who was there for your whole childhood."

Sam looks at the table and starts fiddling with his computer "He'll be okay. Dean is well-known for getting through hard times." 

I smile at Sam and nod as Dean walks in the room and says "Ready?" 

Sam and I nod and follow Dean out to the Impala. 

[myloveofwords]

MASTERLIST

Okay. So in an attempt to get more views, and hopefully comments, I’m finally compiling all my fics into a Masterlist. I’m so sorry I haven’t done it earlier. Didn’t realize how many there were until I started to combine them all! 

ENJOY!

Sherlock

His Molly. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

A Father’s Love. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5.

When She Needed Me. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. 

Supernatural

Can’t Find My Way Home. Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. 

A Winchester Wedding. Part 1. Part 2. 

Sammy’s Baby Girl. X,

A Good Day (Dean x Pregnant!Reader). X. 

Mrs. Dean Winchester. X.

Safe Word (Sam x PlusSize!Reader). X. 

New Year’s Eve (Dean x Reader). X. 

Why Did You Leave? (Winchester!Sister) X. 

Marvel

Death Ensues Series. (Stony) Part 1. Part 2. 

Easy There, Stark. (Steve Rogers x Reader) X. 

Dark Side? (Steve Rogers x Reader) X.

Miss America? (Steve Rogers x Reader) X.

You Can Do This (Vision x Reader) X.

Something On Your Mind? (Steve Rogers x Reader) X. 

Broken. (Dark!Steve x Reader) X. 

Cross That Line. (Steve Rogers x Reader) (TRIGGER WARNING) X. 

This Moment. (Steve Rogers x Reader) (TRIGGER WARNING) X. 

You Asking Me Out, Rogers? X

Winter Soldier, Your Friend. X. 

This Is Not A Love Story. (Loki x Reader)  X.

Celebrities

Jaguar (Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader) X. 

Harley (Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader) X. 

Les I’m Miserable (Chris Evans x Reader) X. 

Smoking Man. (Norman Reedus x Reader) X. 

Beach, Mr. Reedus? Part 1. Part 2. 

Jurassic World 

Hey, Beautiful (Owen x Reader) X. 

Who’s The Alpha Now (Owen x Raptor!Reader) X.

Arrow!Verse (CW) 

My Secrets Are Better Than Your Secrets. (Barry x Reader) Part 1. Part 2. 

Do You Believe? (Barry x Reader) X. 

Star Wars 

Easy, Angel (Reylo) X. 

Mine Trilogy. (Reylo). Part 1. Part 2. 

Walking Dead 

Til The Day I Die. (Daryl x Reader) X.

[contrygal7]

Just so you guys know.

Personal Blog. HERE.

Fanfic Blog. HERE. 

Random Ass Story Blog. HERE.

That will be all. 

[contrygal7]

NEW BLOG ALERT

Link Here. <—–

I needed a place to put the random thoughts and stories that come into my head on the daily. Hope you all look at them and comment! 

Thanks!

[myloveofwords]

So Maybe I’m Not Okay.

Original Imagine: Sequel to What The Hell, I'm In Hell.<---Link here

Author: contrygal7

Word Count: 965

Warnings: Stevie is mad. Tony is mad. Peter's almost dead. Goddamn. Angst? Not to bad tho.

* * * * *

I watched as Tony Stark's soul shattered in front of me. My feet wouldn't move. My lungs had seized inside this impossible moment.

I'd never seen Tony like this. I'm not sure I'd ever felt like this.

My hands longing to sooth the ache of Tony's agony, to caress the Narcissus in him till it stood proud and tall once more.

Nostalgic for the nonchalant and outspoken Tony I knew.

For my Tony.

I mean Tony had fucked up before, hell, Tony was the king of fucking shit up.

But this was different.

The sorrow in Tony's eyes hurt me. I felt it all, each quiver of his breath, each shake in his hands. The scathing regret that had taken hold in him. I felt it all. And I felt it all from across the room.

The abrupt contact scared me. Suddenly I was standing behind him. Holding him. Like I'd dreamed of holding him so many times in the last 6 months. I couldn't take it anymore.

The forcefulness of our connection, the tribulation of our separation, but what I couldn't stand was the compulsion or ache of being with him. I burrowed myself in the scent of his neck. Feeling the closeness that we both needed so much.

My voice was wretched as I mumbled into his ear "You didn't kill him Tony." My right hand fisted in his vest of his wrinkled suit, pulling him back hard against my chest. "He's a strong young man," Steve's eyes blinked trying to keep the tears out of his eyes "So full of himself, wanting to prove his worth. . . . Just like his father."

Tony's chest shuttered with a demanding sob, as the ache in my chest grew. The anguish bit into my soul. The misery chafing my every word "I should have been there. For both of you. He could die Tony. He could die without knowing how much I loved him."

Tony senses my change in mood instantly, looking back at me, noting the thirst for revenge set deep in my throat. He tries to persuade me out of my thoughts "He knew Steve. He knows. He loves both of us. And we love him."

I feel the need for my presence burn deep into my skin as he turns in my embrace. His hands on my face trying to compel me to stay. But my mind is in distress.

The sting of aggression sets deep in my soul. Willing my body forward, towards the door. I stop at Tony's fierce inhale, my hand tight against the steel door jam. When I look back Tony's eyes are as dark as mine. We're on the same page. Maybe.

I can feel the excitement thick in the air as he prowls toward me. His eyes are drenched in agony. The deep spirals of melted brown craving gratification, drowning in thoughts of punishment and conflict. I melt against his fiery anguish and soft touch.

As he reaches me his voice remains adamant "Steve. What about Peter?" My shoulders fall, Tony looks pleased with the result. I glance down at Peter's slender body in the bed as I make my way around the confining hospital bed, Tony in tow. I shake my head before sitting in the chair beside the bed.

My voice is restrained, my eyes swimming in a sea of sorrow as I mutter "I wasn't there." Tony's hand gently rests on my shoulder, he objects effectively "If we wouldn't have been fighting, you would have been."

I place my hand gently on top of Tony's. Craving the contact. I reach out and take my sons hand in mine. I promise him that I will be back. And I swear to him that I love him, more than I could ever say.

I rise to my feet, looking down into Tony's eyes "I need you us on the same page Tony. I need you here with Peter."

Tony's voice is immediate "Uh, I don't think so. You don't get to run off half cocked and try to get yourself killed. That's my job."

I reach up his seemingly permanent stubble on his chin heating against the back of my hand and smile at his impatient huff, my skin brushing against his, willing him to understand "This is about Peter. He touched my boy, Tony. I can't let that slide."

I caress my forehead against his, treasuring the contact knowing it might be my last with him. My hands ravenous against his short jet black hair, moving against the desperate yearning inside me to stay in his embrace forever.

When I look back into his eyes, my own are misty "I don't know who's going to get out of this one baby." My words cut deep into him, his body moves away slightly, his eyes bore into mine. "No. You don't get to do this. We're not doing this."

Tony's eyes drop down in front of us, then glance back at Peter. The hurt clear and present in his milk chocolate eyes, "We are going to go. As a team. That's how we defeat him. Together. But we need our boy Steve. We can't do this alone. You don't have to do this alone."

The forcefulness of my voice boomed against the emptiness of the room "This fucker is going to die for this Tony." Tony's eyebrow arched above his widened eyes "Steve. I've never seen you like this."

My words reflected the malice in my chest "No ones had the balls to touch my goddamned kid before."

[myloveofwords]

Les I'm Miserable

Original Imagine: Grief stricken. 2:30 in the morning. I needed some Chris Evans Help. I'm not totally happy with how this ended. It just kinda poured out. Ugh.

Reader Gender: Plus Size Female

Word Count: 2,490. I know.

Author: Contrygal7

Warnings: Sad!Reader; fluff. Sadness. 

* * * * *

"No Chris, I promise. I'm fine. Nothing is really happening here anyway." I smiled sadly though my heart was currently falling through my chest. 

His happy, carefree voice came though the receiver I was clutching hard in my hand "I wish I was there with you. I promise I'll be home soon, okay?"

The words left my mouth without thought "Okay baby. Take your time. I'm fine. I promise."

"I love you sweetheart. I'll see you soon." His voice carried though shortly before he hung up leaving me once again to our dark apartment.

The curtains were drawn in the living area, the bedroom lain untouched since your live in boyfriend of eight months left a week and a half ago.

Desecrated tissues lay gently peppered all over the room, the dehumidifier in the corner the only sound in the room. 

.  .  . Besides the soul wrenching sobs leaving my chest. 

I can feel it. The darkness slowly creeping up though my chest. Each heart beat hollowing into the next, I can hear it in my ears. It's the only thing I hear. 

Insomnia.

Each day fades gently into the next, I can't sleep at night. Hell I can't sleep during the day either. 

The pressure deep in my chest. It constricts around my heart, squeezing tightly, not showing any signs of letting up any time soon. 

Pain in my chest during the day. Crying at all times, fits of rage in-between those.

I'm angry. I'm sad. I can feel my life slowly wasting away to nothing.

I'm a sad, angry, fat blob that no one could possibly want.

I haven't left the house in about a week. Haven't taken a bath in about that long. All I do is eat, cry, drink more water, and sleep. 

She was everything to me.

She was like the grandmother I never had.

I miss her laugh.

I miss her depressed cycle of thoughts.

I miss her fire.

I miss how she made me feel.

No. She was impossible. Never appreciating me or anything I did. 

Always praising everyone except me, taking my presence and help for granted. 

She slowly chipped away at my soul. 

Made me feel crazy. 

Made me recluse deeper into myself.

But she listened too. When she could. When she wasn't sad.

We were sad together. It wasn't healthy, but it was mine and hers. 

The tears begin to fall from my eyes once more, the pressure pulling my limbs impossibly close, making me assume the only position that seems to help the gut-wrenching sobs slow.

I couldn't stop the sobs as the key in the front door turned the lock, I couldn't even hear it. 

I didn't hear him until his wide shoulders were filling the door frame in front of me, I didn't hear him till his voice was half broken. I didn't hear his soft voice until it was too late, he was whispering my name with the softest most understanding tone i'd ever heard in my life "(Y/N)?"

I shook my head, wiping angrily at the tears streaming down my face, the vulnerability so blatantly pasted there. 

I cleared my throat, put on my brave face and my fake smile "Hey baby, when did you get in? I didn't hear you." And like so many other times in the past as soon as I thought it, the tears in my eyes stopped. Everything did. I stopped breathing.

A breathless, humorless chuckle left his throat as he took his shirt off quickly, without a single word. My head spun. This is what I'd been waiting for. This moment right here.

His body moved with slow deliberate actions, pulling each shoe off. Before climbing gently on the sofa.

His hands found mine squeezing gently before falling to the bottom hem of my disgusting old, too big t-shirt. In this moment I stopped fighting it. I didn't have the strength to fight it.

His hands made quick work pulling my shirt over my head, helping my limp limbs when I couldn't lift them on my own. 

He pulled my body back flush against his, holding my frame closely to his own. One arm protectively draped around my shoulders, resting his palm down above my heart. 

The contact startled me.

I pushed back against him, pushing his frame away from my own "No. No, get off me." Before covering my mostly naked body with the shirt he had just so carefully removed. 

The tears began to fall once more down my face. I shook my head, willing the bad thoughts out of my head "Just go. I know you want too. Just leave. I can't handle all this, as well as you. I just can't. Just. . . . Just go."

I couldn't deal with my crazy rambling of self hating thoughts AND him being Mr. Perfect. I was angry. I was sad. I was devastated. And nothing mattered at that moment more than making every other aspect of my life as devastating as this moment.

His words were quick, the complete understanding plastered across his perfect face "What? Baby, what's going on? Talk to me." 

I shook my head, my emotions still so raw, not wanting to feel so much so hard, "I . . . I can't. Please." 

He went to move closer, causing me to move even further away, his words were soft and raw "Don't do this."

Those three words cut deep into my head, past all the walls I'd build over so many years. . .  

Maybe he's different. 

I shook my head, defeated before my hands cupped my face hiding the tears falling from my eyes. 

He won't hurt me. He's not like the others. 

One hand gripped my face with a force only reserved and executed on yourself, the angry red trails from the pressure instantly materializing down my check.

He loves you.

My head moved in violent jagged motions to each side, trying desperately to fight the logic and hope in my head. Knowing deep in my soul what I knew, then I felt it. The darkness closing in. . . 

He feels sorry for you.

New red hot tears streamed from your eyes as your body heaved with the new sobs tearing from your chest. 

He doesn't love you. How could he?

You felt it. The almost black pain that always followed this line of logic, even through your hours among hours of work towards yourself, it didn't matter. The darkness always found a way.

He's just like the others. It's all one big joke. You're one big joke. 

Always found a way to break your soul within seconds. Causing you to disassemble every wall you'd so carefully built around yourself. All the time, attention, and understanding, dissolved. Within a moment of sadness. 

Give up. You know you want to. 

His arms were around me within seconds. Stroking my hair gently and pulling my body flush against his once more "Let me in sweetheart."

Red hot anger seethed though my pores, every bad thought toward the male sex came pouring out of my mouth like a hurricane. I didn't stop it, didn't try too. In this moment I didn't care about anything. If I was going out, I was going out in a blaze of goddamn glory.

"Is this what you wanted? For me to break so you could put my poor little soul back together? So you could be the hero. Instead of just playing one."

His mouth hung open. Never had this type of unstoppable anger been targeted at him. I felt a twinge of regret but my mouth remained moving. Efficiently slicing any change of him loving me ever again.

"It must be exhausting. All that acting all the time. What was I? The biggest job of your life? Because if you could love a fat, money-less, desperate, nobody like me you could play any part they threw at you. Well, congratulations. You did it. You're the perfect man. You made me feel like the only girl in the world. You made me feel love. Now, if you have any decency, please. Just leave me to fall apart in peace."

I'd always heard about the single man tear. I always thought it was some big secret that Hollywood conjured up to make the man feel more vulnerable. More approachable. 

This was not that.

I watched as his eyes widen. I watched in disbelief as the bright green of his irises glassed over as the water pooled in his eyes. I watched the first soul wrenching sob tear though his broad shoulders.

I watched in horror as he hit the floor on his knees in front of me as the most perfect man I'd ever known started crying in front of my eyes. I watched as his usual broad strong shoulders turned in and crumble before me.

And while every fiber of my being pulled toward him, to hold him, to comfort him. I wanted to explain that my world was ending and I was just lashing out. To take back every word back. 

But my body wouldn't move. Nothing responded. I'd never seen a man break like that before. And the fact that I was a large part of the reason made it so much worse.

Nothing had ever hurt as bad as looking down at his deep green eyes full to the brim with tears as he muttered "(Y/N), I'm not perfect. I'm not even a man. Look at me! I can't even console the love of my life in her time of need."

He didn't make any effort to reach out to me. He just muttered quietly to himself "Your sister called. She was worried, and wanted me to check on you. And she knew that you weren't going to tell me. So I called to tell you I was on a plane home. But you seemed fine. But I got on the plane anyway. I didn't want you to be alone."

His eyes were looking at the wall ahead of him. I saw the pain and hurt in his eyes as he continued ". . . I heard your sobbing from the kitchen. And even though part of me died as I walked though the door. . . I was happy. I actually thought that you might need me. That you might want me here with you."

His shoulders shrugged, like he was saying that he'd forgotten his keys instead of muttering the words that i'd been waiting our entire relationship for him to say. Hell, my entire life for someone to say. 

His eyes looked as lost and confused as mine as he looked up at me "I know now, that you don't need me, and that you may not love me the way I love you."

His hands reach out in front of him, trying impossibly to get me to understand "But, you're not a job. This isn't some big joke. You're not on candid camera. This is me and you. And I feel the same right now, as I did that first moment I saw you." 

His smile was softer now, his head tilted slightly to the side "I don't see you as a charity case. I spend money on you because I love you." A slight smirk on his face at my expression, "Because I want to provide for you. Because I want to take care of you."

"I don't see you as desperate, if either of us is desperate its me. I'm desperate for you. For you to be mine forever. And hopefully, one day. . . When your ready." He smiles, his hands pushing the imaginary fears in the air as he continues, "You'll say yes when I ask you to be my wife."

I broke. My heart seemed to flow toward his broken form, I felt like the color yellow. Bright yellow. Sunrise yellow. Like the beginning of a new day, a new year, a new era. 

My body fell to the floor in front of him as I shook my head against his hard pecs. Sobbing and drooling, my nose running, my hair oily and matted from not showering in a week, my eyes hollowed and bloodshot from over crying. 

It didn't matter. None of it mattered. 

Chris held me and I held Chris as we cried until we couldn't cry anymore.

When my tears began to slow, and my body stopped shaking he took me in his arms. His voice was soft and raw, mirroring my own, "I know you're just lashing out. I know that your hurting right now. Just let me take care of you."

He didn't wait for a response. He just carried my limp body against his soft embrace slowly to the bathroom. 

He sat me on my feet, his hand soft against my hip, keeping me steady in a way I just couldn't right now. He turned the shower on, steam filling and clinging to the cool surfaces.

He pulled me back into his chest as he walked me backwards under the warm water. I clung hard to his chest, not being able to breathe or think anymore outside of my own grief. 

Still half dressed, he held your body upright against the heavy droplets of water. In this moment nothing could have felt better. The water seemed to wash away every ounce of sadness that was inside of you, and Chris' strong arms encircling you brought you a strength you didn't even know was possible.

Right there, soaking wet and vulnerable, you knew everything just might be okay someday. The long time depending doom was alleviated if only for a moment, and you felt free.

Euphoric, you turned gently in his strong embrace. Your voice was small, apologetic as you asked something you'd never asked anyone else to do "Can you. . . "

Before you'd finished his lips were on yours, silencing you "Shhhh. You don't have to ask. I got it."

You spent the rest of the week being waited on. Chris seemed to fall easily into his new role as your caregiver. He actually rather enjoyed waiting on you hand and foot. Needless to say, you didn't enjoy it, but you did enjoy it when he washed your hair.

The two of you spent the rest of the month just living day to day. Chris spent it combating your random emotions and you spent it mainly regretting the things your emotions made you say.

But about six months later he surprised you with another life altering disaster.

One night, after a particularly emotion-filled day, he asked you to marry him.

And he waited the whole thirty seconds for you to say yes.

[myloveofwords]

Winter Soldier. Your Friend.

Author: contrygal7

Reader Gender: Female

Word Count: 789

Warnings: AGNST.

* * * * *

"You have to go get him Buck." Your breath sticks in your throat. The fear flashed against the darkness that shined in his steel grey eyes. He, of course, knew what you were insinuating.

Your face contorted, knowing full well that not only have you lost the love of your life, but you were about to send in the sad tormented soul to do exactly what you couldn't. But you needed him back. Nothing else mattered.

It never did.

If only you'd listened in the first place.

His mouth twitched only for a moment as the fear reestablished itself on his aged features. His head fell as he sputtered "I know. But I don't want to do this, (Y/N). I promised him I wouldn't do this. Not again." His eyes hallowed and he actually looked his age.

If only for a moment; his body crumbled to the floor. His tattered and broken soul laid out on display for you to use. The good, broken soldier once more. His eyes were empty when he looked back up into your eyes, awaiting orders.

A silent tear fell down your face, voice broken and curt as you mumbled "Longing."

His eyes then met yours, and you knew what he was thinking, you could always tell what he was thinking. His voice never wavered, taking on half the battle for you "Rusted."

His eyes burned with determination, causing your voice to waiver slightly but continue on "Seventeen."

Your eyes were swimming, view blurry through the fallen tears. His voice, benevolent as always caused your lip to tremble "Daybreak."

I need to do this. Steve needs me to do this. And as if on cue Buck's lashes fluttered against his cheeks. His eyes closed as he made a breathy promise "It's okay (Y/N). I'm going to get him back." Your brows snapped together, it really was a testament to your friendship, here he was returning back into darkness. For you. For Steve. You never loved him more than in that moment. His determination gave you solace "Furnace" even if it was only momentary.

The change in him was subtle, His eyes were still dark and demanding, still Bucky. But the rest of him was changing, you'd never actually seen the full transformation, must less be the one causing it.

"Nine."

His eyes never left yours. A testament to his unwavering strength. A promise was a promise, and he was taking care of you. The only way he knew how. By becoming his own worse nightmare. Your eyes bored into him, willing his strength to be your own as your voice faltered "Benign."

A soft smile graced his lips, it wasn't a happy smile, it was a comforting smile. Nothing he did ever made much sense to you, but this time. It just worked. Only Buck would stand toe to toe with a tiger and smile. The absurd man's pledge caused a half smile on your face, "Homecoming" but it didn't stop the scratchy feel in your throat.

Your head fell, a hand lifted to your cheek. Angrily wiping at the irritated red marks there. You didn't dare look up. You didn't want to watch this part. You couldn't. He shouldn't have to do this. It's all my fault. New tears, irritated yet soothed the wet skin of your cheeks. A sob escaped your throat. You whimpered "One."

As wholesome as the first time he'd met you, his touch was soft on your skin. A brush against your arm, as he pulled you into his heated embrace. His muscles were shaking. His own psyche fighting against the change inside him as he moved helplessly against you.

His lips were soft and damp from his own tears against your forehead. You pulled his face down to your own as you demanded "Don't just bring Steve back." His eyelids drooped with emotion, as he looked down. You pulled his eyes back up to yours once more, needing him to not only listen to you, but to hear what you were saying "Please James. I need both of you."

His eyes flickered with hope, only for a second. But it was enough. He heard you. He leaned down and gently kissed the side of your mouth. The corner of his mouth quirked up, his lips trembling along with his body as he declared "I'll see what I can do."

You kissed his head once before backing up. Your eyes locked on his as you concluded "Freightcar."

Within a moment, James Buchanan Barnes was gone.

Your head raised, voice level, "Ready to comply?"

A small nod was all you needed.

"Go get my husband."

[myloveofwords]

What The Hell? I’m In Hell.

Original Imagine: Well, I’ve done it. I’ve officially written my first Stony Fanfic. And I’m enjoying this journey. I’ve never felt closer to Tony Stark in my life. And I love it. Anyway, Peter’s in trouble. And now, his daddy’s need to stop fighting and be there for their son.

Word Count: 1,602

Warnings: AGNST. Sorry. Not sorry. OH MY GOD I’M SO SORRY TONY. GODDAMN.

* * * * *

There was no warning. No possible way for Tony Stark to even remotely stop this. Time stopped as Peter’s limp body began to shut down. First his liver, then his lungs, within days his own heart would give out. Within those few seconds, a chilling thought ran though Tony’s mind “There is  no stopping this.”

Tears were filling his eyes as his hand shakily reached out taking Peter’s hand in his own. He wasn’t moving. Just like the last couple days. His hands were ice cold to the touch.

This was it. The moment Tony had been dreading. Had always been dreading.

Peter Parker was dying.

And it was all his fault.

Tony sat in the most uncomfortable chair known to man. He sat, not sleeping, not eating for three days. Various beeps and whirs filled the silence from the mechanical machine currently keeping Peter alive.

Within the span of three days, Tony had gone over every bit of CCTV and footage he could get his hands on. He’d poked, prodded, irritated, and pleaded with every doctor he could to try and find a cure. But there wasn’t one. There had never been one.

The cheap plastic phone in his hands was almost too heavy to hold. Every bit of life had been drained from Tony’s body. His soul was heavy as the world rested malignant upon his shoulders. His body was shutting down, but not sleeping in seventy two hours will do that to you. Tony knew the signs and were actively fighting them.

The same thought had been circling for three days. Hell, it’d first come up before Peter had even hit the ground. And as much as Tony had tried to fight it, there it was. As plain and present as ever.

I should call Steve.

Shaking his head for the umpteenth time, he fought against the thought. Knowing the fight that would invade Steve and Tony’s already rocky relationship, and still fighting how pissed off he was when it came to his favorite star spangled man.

The thoughts were too much. Each one charging into his subconscious, scorching what little self respect Tony had left into permanent ash. It all happened in a flash. Everything was good, for a half a second. Then it was all shit again. Steve’s last words to him pierced deep into his soul, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

* * *

“So that’s it? It’s over?” Steve’s footing fell backwards a step, as if he’d lost his balance. His expression was electrified, sheer shock had taken over his beautiful features.

Tony’s expression matched Steve’s, he never thought this is where this conversation would head. Breathless, his shoulders shrugged, “I guess so.”

“I thought we were a family?” The blue in Steve’s eyes turned a deep green, desperate for resolution, and a positive one. He tried one more time, his voice drenched with anguish “You. Me. Peter.” His now green eyes drowning in the inevitable “You can’t expect me to just leave.”

Tony’s heart burned, greed laced in his soul, he wanted it all. He wanted Steve to understand, his voice rang against the steel walls of his own workshop “You kept it from me Steve!” Tony’s creamy eyes cutting desperately through Steve’s “You chose. Him over me. Again!”

Steve’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, as his hands flew up in the air for the umpteenth time. “Tony I was trying to protect you!” Tony’s reply was curt his voice arctic “By lying to me? OVER. And OVER. And over again.”

Steve’s face fell slightly, his forehead relaxing and his jaw set “Yes! Well, no. I … Tony.” Steve’s words had lost all control. Tony’s shoulders had stiffened, his eye brows set in a hard line.

Tony waited for Steve’s explanation, but it never came. Tony stood straight, straightened his tie, and turned to stride away. But Steve’s succulent voice was laced in heartache, and it stopped him dead in his tracks. He didn’t turn. Just stopped.

“Tony please. Don’t leave me. I love you. Buck’s my best friend. Please.” Tony had never heard Steve’s voice so small, like he was waking from a nightmare. But this wasn’t a dream. This was reality. Tony’s limbs longed to comfort him, to forgive him. But he couldn’t. The pain in Tony’s chest was incredulous. It took over everything. With a quick stride, Tony walked out.

Leaving Steve Rogers in the floor. Crying.

* * *

Finishing his fifth cup of coffee within this hour, his head hung low. His forehead nestled on the disposable phone that was in between his hands.

Right before he’d even opened the phone to dial that fated number, the door was opening. Tony looked up into the steel blue eyes of the man who he had walked out on almost six months before. Tony’s heart leapt in his chest, the way it always does when Steve is in the room.

Nothing else mattered in that moment. It didn’t matter that they were fighting. It didn’t matter that they might not ever be together ever again. All that mattered was that Peter was hurt and he came back.

Tony of course knew that Steve had come back for Peter, but right now it didn’t matter. Steve was in front of him, and he could live with that for now.

Steve’s eyes  burned with insomnia. The circles under his eyes were dark and brooding. He’s as miserable as I am. A bloom of hope flowered in the pit of Tony’s stomach, and it comforted Tony, if only for a moment.

Tony’s head nodded in Steve’s general direction “Captain.” The Captain’s voice was strong and abrasive. Which didn’t surprise Tony at all. If Steve was anything, it was professional, “Mr. Stark.”

The two of them sat in silence for a long while, brewing in their own anger. Tony’s voice was the first one to air as he articulated “I assume his highness is doing okay?”

Steve nodded his confirmation “Yes. King T'Challa is fine.” Tony’s hissed response ground at Steve’s professional nature “I was talking about Captain Guyliner. But whatever.”

Steve’s head tilted slightly to the side as his eyes clenched, lips pursed as he took a deep breath using all the strength he had to ignore Tony’s jab. Tony just brushed Steve’s stern demeanor off as he scoffed “I see you’ve grown your beard out. I always did like you brooding and dark.”

Tony didn’t even flinch as Steve’s accusatory voice bombarded the room “How could you send him in there Tony?”

Tony looked up at Steve’s incursion “He didn’t give me a choice. He was in before I could stop him.”

Steve’s head shook fiercely as his hand rubbed the hair at his chin voraciously “Well he shouldn’t have been in play at all! He’s sixteen Tony! Sixteen!”

Tony’s eyes closed under Steve’s obvious disapproval, all the fighting and arguing that came with Tony and Steve’s relationship came back within a second. Tony felt the pressure in his chest once more. He didn’t say anything as his head fell heavy, his chin hitting his chest and his hands rubbing at his bloodshot eyes.

That didn’t stop Steve’s violent inquiry, nothing did when he got like this, “How could you be so irreverent? Our son almost died.”

Tony’s eyes looks though the florescent illuminated room, the blue tinted white of the room was beginning to piss him off. White walls, white machines, everything was white. He hated the color white. It gave him a sense of fake cleanliness. Of fake comfort. Tony’d always hated hospitals.  

Tony sat quietly in the silence filled, anxiety laced room as his eyes became glossy. His voice was filled with a bloodcurdling malice that he usually reserved for himself “Why in the hell do you care Steve? This doesn’t concern you anymore. You have no right to be angry.”

“I have every right to be angry.” Steve’s protective voice seethes through his clenched teeth. Tony asserted his position just as quickly “He doesn’t concern you anymore.” Tony regretted the words as soon as they’d left his lips.

I didn’t mean that.

The hurt in Steve’s eyes is apparent. Steve’s eyes narrowed, obviously taken aback at the blatant misery in Tony’s voice. Gone was Steve’s usual diplomatic way of words, Tony had gotten to him, the anger was right there in the twitch of his lip as he growled “Wanna run that one by me again Stark?”

Tony couldn’t stop the light that filled his chest as a hearty dose of hope filled his body cavity. Tony knew Steve, as long as Steve was still angry, he still cared. But a humbling thought crossed Tony’s mind, causing the light to dim. He still cares about Peter, not you.

Tony cleared his throat, standing up, making a show of straightening out his tie and looking nonplussed “He’s not your kid Rogers. Hell, he’s not even mine. But I adopted this boy, so that makes him mine.”

Tony’s voice became impassioned under Steve’s continued scrutiny “He’s all I’ve got left Steve. He’s it.” Tony shook his head, before looking down at Peter’s slender frame covered with wiry blankets with tubes and wires forcing him to live.

Tony’s voice was small as he continued, “And now… ” His eyelashes fluttered against his cheek as a single tear slid down his narrowed face “Now I’ve killed him.”

[myloveofwords]

This Is Not A Love Story.

Original Imagine: Inspired by my love of Anst and the new stills of our favorite Man from Jotunheim.

Reader Gender: Female

Word Count: 1183

Warnings: ANST. ANST. ANST.

Author: contrygal7

* * * * *

"FUCK me."

Your voice carries across the empty room easily as your guard lowers instantly.

The liquid sex in his eyes, the swift confident movements of his strides towards you; and goddamn, that gold headdress nestled in the pitch black of his hair.

Loki looked of walking sex, and worse, the desire in his eyes was currently aimed at you.

His fingers found the headdress easily removing it in the same motion. The gold piece scattering easily across the hard floor. You couldn't help but notice the lock of hair that falls in front of the deep green spirals of his eyes.

Your voice is small and breathy "How long have you been standing there?"

He reached you swiftly, taking long solid strides looking down on you like an animal on the hunt. His voice sounded completely calm, he was in control and that pissed you off "Longer than you'd like. . . "

Goosebumps arise on your forearms, trailing to every inch of your body within moments as his skin finally touched yours. God he felt good.

Electricity flowed freely between the two of you. Your answering moan brought a sinister smile to his lips.

His hands were in your hair.

Pulling.

Lips soft like silk, fingers soft but determined, his breath ice cold against your overheated flesh.

Your body molded against his in the way you know he liked. Desperate to make him feel as infected by his appearance as you were.

The only sound in the large chamber hall was the deep breathing and squeak of leather against leather. His hands found the curve of your ass and lifted heavily pulling your body flush against the hard ridges of his chest.

His body moved methodically, pulling sighs and moans from your body with only the move of his fingertips. He started on the back of your neck, whisping lightly across where your hair laid.

Slowly moving to the zipper on the back of your leather battle corset. His fingers moved without thought, following every instruction your brain conjured up.

Each caress against your skin invoking an underlining power in his touch. You could feel the control of his powers in his hands, how hard he was working not to ravish your body right then and there.

And as if on cue, his breath hot and raggid in your ear "I stayed away as long as I could my love." You felt the truth in his touch, in the breath at the base of your neck, at the small nips against your skin he gently peppered over your shuttering body.

He was a god. An actual honest to goodness god. And he acted like one. Taking what he pleased and giving very little shit about the consequenses of his actions.

But in this moment. . . This small little sliver of time he alloted to you, to your pleasure, to his pleasure, you were just damned glad he bestoyed it upon you.

His eyes, his wild eyes caught yours for a mere second, and what you saw there stopped your heart. Lonliness; total mind numbing lonliness. His eyes wilted, even in your touch they wilted. Fallen privy to the test of too much self hate and too little self control.

You reached up in an soulful attempt to reach him on a level deeper than physical and his instant jolt back was answer enough. The green in his eyes showed the blantant anger that he felt in his heart "How dare you touch me peasant!"

The revolt shown in his eyes clouded your judgment, instantly you felt ashamed. Head down, you obeyed. Your hand following suit, fallen to your lap.

Maybe it wasn't meant to be.

* * *

You'd had the same dream for almost a month now. Every ending a little distant when you woke, every beginning a little different than you remembered previously. But the one thing that remained the same was the look in his eyes.

A look you knew all to well; the lost look of a boy who dreamed of dying just like his father, with a mentality to live and breathe like his mother. All cascaded into a man who no longer knew what life without anger would be. A life without love, a life without any kind of peace, a life with only the comforts of a bitter glory.

Each time you opened your eyes heavy tears fell from them, and each time you wiped angrily at the tears hating yourself for feeling something for the man who set fire to the world but never let the flames touch him.

Every morning the same phrase left your lips "Goodbye my almost lover." And every evening you mumbled another slightly different phrase, a silent promise to the universe, "This is not a love story."

* * *

"It could be. . If you let it, my love." His hands laced deeply in your hair pulling your body closer to his own. His hands satin against your heated flesh.

He lowered you gently against the deep green grass around him, looking down on you with a fire deep rooted in his emerald eyes.

The early morning sun shining brightly against his pitch black hair, causing an illusion of softness and happiness. The hem of your short yellow sundress crept slowly up your thigh, enticing a wicked smile across Loki's face.

His eyes roamed your body like one would roam books they were endlessly fascinated by. Smiling as his face buried deep in your neck, nipping and biting the soft flesh there. Giving you no other choice than to look at the view all around you.

The wildflowers to the side were bright hues of blue, yellow, red, and orange. Against the deep blue backdrop of the mountains it seemed to accent the bright sunlight that was high in the sky.  

You moan loudly feeling his warm tongue trail gently across your chest.

Your head falls back heavily, eyes drooping as one of his rough hands gently slide up your inner thigh. Your breath catches heavily in your throat as his lips find once more.

You breathe deeply into his mouth as his hand begins teasing the soft skin at the base of your thighs.

His smile in that moment made you want to kiss the blood off his hands. Made you want to live in torment for the rest of your days, just so long as his agony was bestowed upon you instead of him.

You wished on every fiber of your being that you could just stay in this moment. Just stay under his delicate touch, under his piercing gaze. But alas, the edges of your vision became blurry once more.

His eyes mirrored the terror etched in your own, neither of you wanted this moment between you to end, and once more you woke shaking in tears.

This was not a love story.

[myloveofwords]

OH MY GOD PLEASE DO A PART 2 TO DO YOU BELIEVE

He. He. He.

[myloveofwords]

Do You Believe?

Original Imagine: hi! I love your writing! it’s absolutely amazing! I was wondering if I could have a one shot request where the reader gets critically injured bc Barry wasn’t fast enough to save her. super angsty and sad? thank you! @zbvbble (Sorry it took so long Sweetie! hope you enjoy, cuz it almost killed me!)

Reader Gender: Female

Word Count: 2,000

Warnings: ANGST. SO MUCH ANGST. UH. OH MY GOD. I’M SO SORRY.

Author: Contrygal7

                                                     * * * * *

If I didn’t believe in you.

The words cut deep into your head, the first thought of the day and recalling fights hurt. This isn’t the first time you’ve heard those words, though. Of course the first time wasn’t nearly as depressing.

No.

The first time it was warm. A fuzzy kinda warm that slowly seeps its way into your bones almost as if its igniting your entire body in a tantalizingly slow burn. The early morning sunshine, the whole world cascaded in a pink tint, as it fell lazily over the small bedroom in your even smaller studio apartment that you currently shared with your full time boyfriend part time superhero, Barry Allen.

The whole day seemed to reflect your mood, everything a stupid, can’t possibly be real kinda happy. Then you heard it, you’d heard it before of course, but singing in the shower was one thing… This was something different all together.

♪ If I didn’t believe in you♪

♪We’d never have gotten this far. ♪

♪If I didn’t believe in you♪

♪And all of the ten thousand women you are. ♪

He was actually singing. Like he sounded like he knew what the hell he was doing, now your boyfriend was many things. Goofy. Cute. Adorable. A super dork. Charismatic as hell when he wanted to be. But a singer? It just didn’t seem like it was actually him.

… Until he accidentally dropped this solid one liner into the air in front of him.

“Maybe I should just ask her… Nah. No. It’s too soon. Yeah. It’s wayyyyyyy to soon. But is it? Seven months? Maybe. I mean, ugh. I don’t know. I mean I know it’s what I want. But is it what she wants?”

Elevated heart rate, which Barry can hear, or sense or whatever the fuck he does. He turns around faster than your eyes can see, but living with a speedster you we’re used to it.

His deep blue eyes seemed to mirror your own terror as the two of you stood in the bright sunny kitchen, the tension palpable. You could feel his anxiety from across the small room as he too loudly asked “Coffee? You need coffee. I need coffee. I think we both need coffee. I’ll…”

Barry was gone and back in seconds two coffee cups from CC Jitters. You smile sweetly at his terror filled face as a single hand cups his cheek “Thank you sweetheart. Did you have something you wanted to ask me?”

His eyes screamed yes, but somehow he kept his dorkiness to a minimum as he, as slowly as a speedster can, dropped down on one knee. His big puppy dog eyes are what sealed the deal, he opened the small black velvet box in his hands. You looked down, catching glimpse of the shiny red bone shaped dog tag nestled inside.

BUT back to present day … Barry had left this morning with out a single noise.

You woke to a dark room and cold sheets. Glancing quickly at the alarm the 5:13 there glared at you with bright green neon. The world around you seemed to darken, you didn’t like fighting with Barry but sometimes he was just so stubborn.

The fight seemed to cycle and cycle thought your head. You overthought everything said and remembered everything. It was torture, sitting alone in a bed meant for two. Cold and alone. A single tear fell from your cheek as the words said came into razor focus:

“WEll, I’m sorry Barry! I’m sorry I can’t be everything that you want me to be! I’m sorry I’m not a doctor like Caitlin, or a superstar reporter like Iris! Shit Barry.“

"Who said anything about Caitlin or Iris?”

“And you’re never home! You’re always with everyone else but me. You leave me for days, sometimes weeks at a time with no explanation.”

“I have responsibilities (Y/N)! I can’t be here every time you have a feeling!”

“Like you’d know anything about me feelings, Barry. You’re never home. You’re always gallivanting around the city, fighting bad guys and ignoring ME!”

“I do NOT ignore you (Y/N).”

“Well you certainly don’t pay attention.“

"And when am I suppose to do that (Y/N)? The three hours I get to sleep at night? Or maybe you’d like the thirty minutes before hand when I eat before I pass out. Oh! Or maybe you’d like the eight hours when I’M AT WORK EVERYDAY.”

“OR you could come home before the goddamn crack of dawn. Or when you do come home, you always find some kind of excuse to leave yet again!“

The click of paws on the floor snapped you from your memory so you figured Flash, the lovable dalmatian that you and Barry adopted together, needed to go outside.

Without hesitation you stumbled your way through the dark gathering Flash’s leash and your shoes before hustling him outside.

The air was cold and wet. The rain fell around you, chilling you to the bone. You didn’t see anything until it was too late. The sweet smell filled your nostrils and the last thing you remember is the cool sensation against your face as you feel into the darkness.

                                           * Barry’s P.O.V *

I should have went back this morning. I should have went home and crawled into bed, held her close and never left. My neck is sore from sleeping on the couch at the lab, my body aches from lack of sleep, and my head is spinning in regrets.

I should just go home now. Call the captain, tell him I need a personal day. Pick up some flowers and some pizza from that place in Gotham she loves so much. Meet her back at the apartment and lay in bed all day.

Hell, she’s never going to say yes to marrying me if I keep treating her like this. My hand instantly goes to cup the diamond ring in my coat pocket. I shake my head as I realize that I’d been carrying it around since the second month we’d started dating.

She is my everything. I have to make this up to her.

I take out my phone and begin to execute my brilliant plan, until my phone lights up and Cisco’s name pops up. Damn it.

”Cisco, whatever it is let Wally handle it. I can–“

"Barry. It’s (Y/N).”

I was in Star Labs before the call ended.

“What’s happening Cisco?”

“The Meta-finder got something. It’s him Barry. And he’s got (Y/N).”

“How long?”

“I don’t know. Neighbors place her walking Flash at 5, and he just popped up on my radar. We have no account of his whereabouts for in between.”

“That’s 3 hours Cisco.”

“Yeah, man. It’s bad. Want me to call Oliver?”

“No.”

I didn’t finish my sentence. I left her alone. Scared. In the middle of a fight. And now I may never get to see her smile again. I suited up and headed face first into a hurricane.  

                                                 * * * * *

You woke with a throbbing in the back of your head. Your stomach growled causing you to slump forward, you realized your hands were bound behind you. You shuffled forward trying to regain some kind of bearing, and that’s when you heard him.

“Comfy?”

“What the fuck do you want?”

“Oh I think we both know the answer to that question.”

“Well your not going to get it. He’s not coming.”

“Oh but he is.”

“Oh, but he’s not. Asshole.”

“Uh oh. Trouble in paradise?”

You tilted away from him, hoping to terminate any and all conversation which worked. For a whole half a second.

“It doesn’t matter anyway. He won’t get here in time.”

“I’m not taking the bait, asshole.”

“What is it with you and that word?”

“OH I’m sorry. Douche bag. There’s another word for ya.”

“What does Mr. Allen see in you anyway?”

Your eyes widened and you were thankful you’d turned your body away. How in the hell did he know? Your head began to throb again and you cried out.

The last thing you remember is Barry’s face as the darkness slowly took over. You stumbled over the words as they left your mouth. You didn’t know if he could hear them or not, but they needed to be said.

“I believe in you, Barry Allen.”

Your eyes closed slowly and your breathing soon followed. Everything blurred together. Then black.

                                        * Barry’s P.O.V *

I saw the light leave her eyes and I cried out. I don’t remember much after that. Caitlin says it could have been that my body was moving faster than my brain could keep up with. Wells says it could have been too traumatic and I’ve blocked it out. I don’t know. I don’t really care.

All I know is she’s in a hospital bed, on life support and I’m still breathing. I haven’t figured out the how or the why yet.

Another tear falls down my face. It seems like that’s all I do now. Cry.

I feel nothing, I feel empty. I don’t eat. I don’t sleep. I just sit here and stare down at the love of my life. And pray that she will wake up.

Her last words bring a sharp pain to my chest.

I believe in you, Barry Allen.

Why? Her last words, she had to have known they were going to be, yet… She didn’t cry out for help. She didn’t try and plead for her life. She didn’t scream at the top of her lungs…

She told me exactly what I needed to hear. A single phrase and I felt I could take on the world. A conclusion of words that made me feel invisible. A solid string of syllables that connected the two of us in a way I didn’t even realize she was capable of.

A single memory came into mind. One with white curtains and yellow sunshine. Dirty dishes and happy times.

♪ If I didn’t believe in you. ♪

♪ We’d never have gotten this far. ♪

I took her hand into my own, feeling the warmth and smiling down at her.

♪ If I didn’t believe in you. ♪

♪ And all of the ten thousand women you are. ♪

I laughed slightly remembering how she hated when I sang that part to her. Part of me hoped it would piss her off enough she’d wake up.

♪ If I didn’t think you could do ♪

♪ Anything you ever wanted to ♪

♪ If I wasn’t certain that you’d come through somehow ♪

♪ The fact of the matter is, (Y/N). ♪

♪ I wouldn’t be sitting here now. ♪

She never once moved. I watched as the machine assisted her with each and every breath. The rise and fall of her chest and the sudden stillness of her seemed to be too much all at once.

I raised my hand to my face, feeling the sobs begin to tear through my body. I walked over to the machine and with a trembling hand, flipped all the necessary switches.

I watched though tear filled eyes as the machine took her final breath for her. Her eyes never once opening.

21:17

The clock taunted me beside me. I swear I could feel my soul leave my body.

I listened to the tantalizing beeping of the heart rate monitor.

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

I listened closer as it begin to flat line signaling the end of her life.

BEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPPPPPPPPPP.

Silence. It filled the room. Filled my head, my heart. Everything. There is no moving on from this kind of pain.

This is it.

The end.

Beep.

.  .  .  .  . Then again… Maybe not.

[myloveofwords]

Easy, Angel.

Original Imagine: Part Three of You. Are. Mine. 

Previous Parts(CLicky CLick): Part One. Part Two. 

Reader Gender: Female (Rey)

Word Count: 858

Warnings: UM. No smut. Sorry. Next one. Promise.

Author: Contrygal7

Photo Credit: @panda-capuccino

Soft pale red marks covering a strong forearm.

It's the first thing you saw as your eyes adjusted to the sunlight that was streaming in through the open window across the room.

Your trembling fingers instantly reached out to gently trace the soft red marks along his arm. As your skin touched the marks you couldn't identify the weird bubbly feeling swelling in your chest or the flipping in the pit of your stomach, and quite frankly; you didn't care too.

His gentle embrace was soft and secure, it was tight enough to make you feel safe but loose enough to let you know you could get away easily at any moment.

His breath was hot on the hair at the back of your neck, causing you to roll over happily in his arms.

Naturally his arms engulfed you deeper into his warm embrace.

God, he smelled like liquid sex. All musk, and man.

Your eyes downcast to his hard chest. The scars peppered his form like painfully rendered freckles. Like every bad thing that had happened in his life manifested in angry red slashes against his pale skin.

The thought made you sad, and when a frown slid across your mouth Kylo's hands instantly found the same spot on your hips that made your knees go weak.

Your mouth opened instinctively, and he sealed your sigh with a kiss, the fingers on his other hand gently sliding to the side of your neck, igniting a terribly intense feeling of Deja Vu.

Suddenly you remembered-- This wasn't real, and it was all Kylo's doing.

Your body jerked upright in what seemed to be a control panel guessing by the unsightly pinpointed pain in your lower back that can only be ascertained by a control modulator-

You look behind you.

-Yup, a control modulator shoved right smack dab in the middle of the small of your back.

You couldn't have consciously fallen asleep in such a horrendous placement.

Your head throbbed as your fingers messaged your temples and eyelids, hoping for some momentary relief.

His voice scared you, it was much deeper than you'd ever heard it apart from various heated, and apparently, shared dreams "Good Morning Rey."

There he was, standing a couple feet in front of you, full black robe descending down his slender frame like the dark lord he was so eager to pretend to be.

It was disorienting to say the least, how just a couple seconds ago he was naked and tangled in your own limbs, but now he stood in front of you in clothes as black as coal.

You'd put two and two together and came to a rather logical conclusion, and quite rudely spat out "You kissed me! And uh, forced me into your bed!"

Your conclusion was short lived.

Instantly he was on the defensive "I did no such thing!"

You became lightheaded an began hurling more lucid accusations at him "You did too! How dare you! Who do you think you are!? Infiltrating something as private as my dreams! TO what? What exactly is your end game here? Try and confuse me into joining you? To try and make me reveal secrets? What? What is it!?"

His hands went up in a obviously surrendering motion, which pissed you off more, "Oh don't you dare try and play innocence with me Solo."

**Kylo's Perspective**

The night air was cold as I forced it into my lungs. My head swimming in anger one couldn't possibly imagine.

His smirk haunts me in my dreams, his auspicious hands wrapping their way around her petite frame.

Trapping her into his sick embrace.

I don't like it. When he touches her, I mean. His skin sliding against hers, like fine silk against burlap, it's unnatural.

Not only that, you know what happens when you rub silk against burlap after a while? The silk begins to break down, particles that used to be part of the soft silken exterior begin to become rough, jaded, not at all like before.

I can't let that happen.

Sure it starts as just a friendly hug. I know this, she's assured me it was on several different occasions. I don't care. I don't like it. I can't help that I don't like it. But the worst thing? I don't really care that I don't like it. I just know deep in my gut that I need to stop it.

What happens after he decides he's tired of hearing the word no? What happens if he decides . . . .

My brain seems to seep out of my ears with the mere mention of his name, my blood boils in my veins every time my eyes cast onto him, the pain that shoots though every inch of my body telling me that I want so bad to rip every limb from his body.

But, I remain composed. Unaffected. My soul slowly dying with each caress of his hands against her forearm. I cannot show weakness, I have to remain strong.

But how is one expected to be strong when the very thing that gives you life is having her soul slowly drained from her body right in front of you?

And you can't do a god damn thing about it?

* * * * *

"Oh! Don't you dare try and play innocence with me Solo!" My anger is thick and present in my threat, I just hope it carries as confidently as I've said it.

I see the slight smile, its gone as soon as it appeared but I still caught it. His voice is steady and calm which I find very odd for Mr. Ren. As he's not known for having his temper in check.

"I find you . . . amusing." He'd stated it with such conviction, like he actually enjoyed my presence. Of course it was hard to tell with the plasma beams in front of my face and all.

My hands caught stubbornly on my hips as I shoved my hip to one side "What happened to the handcuffs?"

This time he graced me with a full, eye popping, panty dropping smile as he casually said "Well, if you would stay in them, and not ruin my fun. . . I would use them. But someone. . . "

His hand moved to his waist pressing a button on a receiver causing the beams in front of me to dissolve instantly. " . . . keeps getting out of them."

He was right in front of me now. I could feel the heat seeping off his body washing over me, as wave after wave of memories flooded my vision.

Heated skin. Heavy breathing.

His wet lips against my shoulder, my neck.

His hands running softly down my back, with his lips following the fire lit path his fingers set.

His voice deep and gravely, "Relax for me Angel."

You relaxed instantly, his hands massaging your aching shoulders.

And suddenly, a sharp pinch in your right arm. Your mouth curved around the word as it left your mouth "Ouch."

Kylo's hands find the now heated sore spot on your back, moving his long agile fingers against each knot. Seemingly effortless swipes and caresses undoing your muscles like a puzzle you've been waiting your whole life for someone to solve.

Your head bobbed back up quickly, vanquishing any and all memories from your vision. You looked ahead disoriented, as his face came back into view "Easy there Angel. Easy. . ."

His words were calm and endearing, as his fingers ran their way down the side of your face to hold on to your chin "It's just a mild sedative, my love. I knew you would object to this next part."

Your eyes bulged, as your mind instantly was filled to the brim with the worst.

Suddenly you were in the air, then cradled snugly against Kylo's chest. You felt your eyelids droop heavily, and you yawned loudly as he carried you onto his ship.

The last thing you remember before you feel asleep was Kylo's eyes looking deeply down at you as you saw Finn and Poe's faces come into view.

Kylo passed you gently into Poe's arms before saying sternly "Get her out of here. Now."

And with that, he turned and walked out off the ship and you feel back into the darkness.

[myloveofwords]

You. Are. Mine. Part II

Original Imagine: Continuation of You are mine. Hope you enjoy!

Previous Parts(CLicky CLick): Part One. Part Three. 

Reader Gender: Female (Rey)

Word Count: 858

Warnings: UM. No smut. Sorry. Next one. Promise.

Author: Contrygal7

* * * * *

The scene before you was dark, not in the way one expects darkness. More in a way that one has to analyze and understand before one can appreciate the stark contrast of light and dark.

The only sound was the humming and buzzing of the two bright swords held by the two masters in the clearing.

One shines bright red; sinister, brooding, unclear. The other illuminated green; hopeful, calm, peaceful.

Rey Kenobi had come into this clearing with one thought in mind. To stop Kylo Ren.

The same thought had crossed Kylo's mind. But with one major difference. Initially he had come into the clearing to change her, warp her opinions, make her his.

But now. .

As her intense gaze peirced into his eyes, her stance was powerful and confident, her hazel eyes bouncing off the bright green on her saber. . .

He couldn't change the wild thing standing in front of him, and worse, he didn't want to.

                                                        * * * * * 

You had been struggling with the fact that you would have to see him for months. But even worse than that, the fact that you would have to fight him.

His presence still haunted your dreams, and had been since the last you'd seen him. A fact that you had kept from everyone except Finn. He understood, well . .  .

He kinda understood. He understood as much a person can understand, given the, um, circumstances.

In the time away from him, you had come to the unstable conclusion that you were drawn to him for a single purpose.

That purpose being, you were the only one who could bring him home to the light.

The call came though the battle room like lightning "General, we have a location on a Resurgent-Class Battlecrusier."

You ran over to the officer and glanced at the location, Chandrila.

You looked up as general Organa came up behind you, looking over your shoulder, sighing softly "He's going home."

You looked at the concern etched across her face and wondered allowed, only loud enough for her to hear "Why would he do that?"

This was the first time you'd seen the General seriously worried in all the time you had known her "I don't know. That's what scares me."

                                                  * * * * *

The sea in front of you seemed to go on forever. The breeze was light and warm. The cliffs tall and mountainous, all in all it was a beautiful scene laid out in front of you.

His frame was dark and brooding. His wild hair and his unruling identity tamed under his dense metal helmet.

To the untrained eye he was completely at ease standing overlooking the sea beating endlessly over the rocks below.

But you. . . You could feel his unease. His mind was running rampant along with the wind that wicked gingerly at your heels.

Your presence was well known, you imagined that your presence, much like his own to you, was identified before you could even see one another.

His head picked up slightly, the light shinning brightly against the silver on his helmet as he gingerly snuck a peek in your direction.

His mechanized voice made it easier to form words. With it, it was easier to believe that this was not the man who still kidnapped your dreams.

Still, his words did something to you. They slid past your guard and suck into your mind.

"If you've come to fight me Kenobi. I'd advise against it." He said softly. Your head tilted ever so slightly to the left.

You kept your eyes on him as you came closer, remaining a good four feet behind him "I'm not afraid of you Solo."

He flipped around like lighting, his posture aggressive "Ben Solo is dead, like his father." At this your posture visibly relaxed.

You could feel the anger swelling deep within him, you knew you could beat him when he was like this. Hasty, impatient, the dark side flowing through him.

A wild smile crossed your lips as you snear "Ben Solo isn't dead. He's just buried in all Snoke's lies." Again, his temper flared "Master Snoke has taught me more than Luke ever has."

Answering him came easier with every second that past "Maybe you are just a bad student."

His saber activated instantly, the red glaring off the black against his body, his words cold as ice as they chilled you down to the bone "We'll see about that."

He charged.

You couldn't think anymore of it, your mind was somewhere else, back to a time long ago.

Bright red glaring off a helmet as black as night. Anger coercing a man to do the unthinkable. Deception came easily, hate became second nature. . His soul was black and tarnished.

A face, a mask came into view, chilling you to the bone.

Darth Vader.

But just as quickly as the fear had coursed through your veins it dissipated.

A younger, kinder face appeared.

A face that shared features of the man under the helmet before you began to talk "Help him. He is strong with the force, you can help him find his way. . . Help my grandson. Please."

He was gone.

Your breathing was rough and raggid. Your thoughts swimming, but deep within you felt peace.

You felt the force.

Kylo's anger only intensified, fueling his rage. Fueling his power.

His saber falling down toward your face, instantly your body moved.

The hiss of saber against saber the only realization that you weren't dead.

You pushed hard against him, causing him to stubble backwards.

He charged once more, this time attacking from under, which you diverted easily.

Again the sizzle from the sabers concentrated you on the fight in front of you.

You felt your body move with ease, without thinking you attacked. Hit him with every attack you had. The whir and hum between the two creating the most violent dance ever created.

You'd never felt so alive.

Until, he stopped.

Deactivating and dropping his saber to the ground.

He came toward you.

His body rigid.

His helmet hissed its release.

His soft black curls fell into his face.

His soft brown eyes bore into your own.

The angry bright red of his scar greeted you like an unwelcome memory.

Confused you assaulted him. Bringing your saber down towards his soft black curls.

He caught it easily his large hand curling it protectively around your wrist. His other hand reaching up, holding your chin delicately.

The hum from your saber above you.

The soft green grass below you.

The soft green from your saber illuminated his face, and in a tender moment you closed your eyes.

Revealing a moment of vulnerability to the enemy.

A moment of trust.

His hand lifted, pulling your chin upwards. You open your eyes slowly, lost in the tenderness of the moment.

His voice washes over you like honey "Don't be afraid. I feel it too."

You shake your head slightly "I'm not afraid." A light humorless chuckle leaves his throat "Of course your not."

[fcoppola]

I used to want to save the world, this beautiful place. But the closer you get, the more you see the great darkness within. I learnt this the hard way, a long, long time ago.

[contrygal7]

IT'S MY BIRTHDAY BITCHES.

Twenty Two years old. Fuck, still a virgin. Oh well. Im'ma party like I aint tho. —> Meaning Imma read Steve Rogers Smut all day and ignore my “adult” responsibilities. FUCK YEAH!

[contrygal7]

Um. So. This happened.

SO. Because I’m total Reylo Trash, and I just rewatched The Force Awakens today. I give you smut. I give you angst. I give you Reylo(Because again, trash.) Just because I can. http://myloveofwords.tumblr.com/post/157604079247/you-are-mine-part-i

[myloveofwords]

STAR WARS. ONLINE NOW. CLICKY CLICKY ON LINK BELOW.

PLEASE.

http://myloveofwords.tumblr.com/post/157604079247/you-are-mine-part-i

[myloveofwords]

You. Are. Mine. (Part I)

Original Imagine: Um? Just came to me.

Previous Parts(CLicky CLick): Part Two. Part Three. 

Reader Gender: Female (Rey)

Word Count: 858

Warnings: He. Smut. More SMUT soon. :)

Author: Contrygal7

***

Darkness. Confusion. My thoughts swirl around in my subconscious, meditation comes easier to me now. It took a while, at first I was just sitting around looking stupid, but now I'm beginning to feel what Master Luke is talking about. The force, I can feel it. It's all around.

My aura is very dark today, mixes of browns and dark reds, I refuse to believe it because of him. I shove the thought to the back of my mind.

Concentrate, Rey.

I've reached an impasse in my training, a mental block if you will.

His face passes though, just for a moment, but it's enough.

I've had the same nightmare every night this week. Well, I wish I thought it was a nightmare, but I can't bring myself to call it that. Every time I wake up I feel refreshed, rejuvenated, invigorated.

I dream I fall asleep in the arms of the enemy. Because that's what he is now, the enemy. I don't like the way the word falls from the tongue. It just seems wrong to call him that, but that's what he is. He killed Han. His own father. I know this, yet. . .

I can't stop thinking about him.

Attachments are forbidden. Attachments lead to greed, greed leads to hate, and hate leads to the dark side.

Yet I still wonder, can there be a balance between the two?

Can one be compassionate without passion?

Can one love without hate?

But who am I to question the Jedi Code? Beings much smarter than I have been contemplating this very question for quite some time.

Maybe there's a way. A way to balance, a way to understand without changing him completely.

"Don't be afraid. I feel it too."

His words slither though my thoughts as heavy and seductive as the first time he muttered them. I fight it, but it still brings a small smile to my face.

Why do I feel such a pull towards him? Is it the light inside him that's grasping at my soul? Or is it the man that's distracting me so?

God, now i'm rhyming. Okay, that's enough.

I hop up from the position i'd been sitting in a couple hours a day now, as I head to the overlook. Maybe some training will set my mind at ease.

* * *

Training was a bust. I lay in bed, mentally and physically exhausted. My joints and muscles ache from the exertion today. Maybe tonight I won't dream.

I close my eyes, willing sleep to overcome me. It comes peacefully, welcoming me gracefully into its embrace. I sigh, maybe not tonight.

His embrace is warm, he's warm. God he feels good. His strong arms pulling me towards his body. I love it here. He smells like I always imagined he'd smell, musky and strong.

I look up into his hazelnut eyes and instantly I'm sucked into his gaze. It's intense just like the man behind it. My hand reaches up and strokes his long black hair, its peaceful here.

His voice is raw "I will never leave you." What a peculiar thing to say, of course it's exactly what you are longing to hear, and he knows that. Your answering tone is light and airy "I accept you, as you are, Ben."

His arms tighten impossibly around your small frame, his lips at your ear as he holds you close. Such a tender moment, long and overdue. You breathe in deeply, inhaling the sent of him, committing it to memory.

His muscles move under your fingertips, rolling you under his wide frame. His hard body grinds harshly into yours, his lips assaulting the soft patch of skin under your ear. He knows it well, too well.

You blanch under him, instantly melting into his form. A soft sigh leaves your lips "Ben." A rough grunt leaves his, it works it's way down your body, right to your core.

His scar on his face gently slides down your exposed chest. Your hands tighten in his dark hair, white as snow against black as dirt. Your hands are lost, breathing soon to follow.

He pulls back, looks down possessively at your face under him. He enjoys this, you can see it in his eyes. He longs for this. He needs it.

Just as much as you do.

His voice is rough and demanding, like a lion about to pounce, "You. Are. Mine. Rey Kenobi."

Abruptly you wake with a start. Body covered in sweat, breathing rigid and short, mind racing. His whispering voice calls to you in the darkness, almost as if he's in the room "Rey Kenobi."

And there it is. The secret that you can't seem to remember. The word you can't quite recall. One word, and he's changed your entire word. Thoughts, memories, and past experiences bombard your mentality.

You throw your body against the other side of the room, searching for anything to write on or with. You spend the night writing every thought in a dark red leather bond notebook. A notebook that you had no idea where it came from.

***