withdrawals from imagined things → pattinson!batman x reader (angst + pinning)
↳ 2.3k; bruce is supposed to be your partner. But now there's someone else. And now, every affection you've ever had dissolves in front of your eyes. That is, until Bruce has something to say about it.
↳ part 1/3 of staring into the echo
sleep companions → jacob lee x reader (sweet + comfort)
↳ 1.5k; black irons is a hard place to break free from; its roughness seeps into everything. But sleep helps brush off the hard edges and allow for a tenderness found in napping.
midnight blossoms → jack russell x reader (angsty + sweet)
↳ 3.6k; it’s been a hundred years since you’d last seen Jack, and the power of the memories won’t leave you. but returning to the place where it all started has a way of bringing him right back to you where he’s always belonged.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───
✩ [𝐩𝐨𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫] ✩
waves come crashing → pattinson!batman x reader (worry + comfort)
↳ 3.1k; you come to help when the arena is taken over by riddler’s men and batman is outnumbered. you take a shot to the chest and batman shows a side you hadn’t thought possible.
couple of strangers acting clever → pattinson!batman x reader (softness + angst)
↳ 2.9k; Batman wasn’t supposed to be lying in the middle of the street.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───
✩ [𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐬] ✩
won’t tell a single soul my soul’s gone → pattinonson!batman x reader (angsty + comfort)
↳ 1.0k+; bruce takes an explosion to the chest and you can’t get in touch with him.
i’m addicted to the way you smile → carlos olivera x reader (comfort + pinning)
↳ 1.9k; you somehow survive the apocalypse and make it out RC but drowsiness makes it hard to stay awake in the car ride and now you’re both sleeping on each other like it’s a hobby.
series: staring into the echo | 1 | 2 | 3
pairing: pattinson!batman x reader
summary: bruce needs to hear the truth.
wc: 2.3k+
genre: angsty, reader has doubts about feelings, sad, but has a happy ending (here it is!)
His voice, sad and open, calls to you. “Was it something I did?”
Your face wavers and your feet stop moving.
Of course, this has nothing to do with him. This is all about you. This is about a relationship that you’re realizing you imagined all in your head.
He did nothing wrong. He has a right to pursue and like who he wanted. You’re an adult. You’re responsible for how you feel. You’re trying to sit and deal with your emotions.
But you never meant for Bruce to feel like he could do anything to jeopardize what the two of you had. You just wanted to process and wait for it all to go away.
Slowly, you turn around. His shoulders timidly fold into each other. He looks so vulnerable. You can’t stand it.
You decide to try to tell the truth.
You can’t promise you would tell everything, that might be too risky if you’re trying to protect the relationship you have, but you would at least try to help him understand.
“No.” Your face scrunched into a look of concern. Bruce responds, becoming less sorrow-filled and more inquisitive. “Of course not, Bruce.”
“Then why do I feel like I did something to upset you?”
“You didn’t,” you shake your head.
He slowly pads closer, watching to make sure you don’t back away from him. You don’t this time. “You never said anything to me before you left. You didn’t let me check if you were hurt. I don’t think you were even going to answer my texts.” He stops right in front of you, your toes nearly touching. He reaches down and grasps your hands, giving them a gentle squeeze. “Tell me, what did I do?”
You swallow. Worry engulfs his eyes as they scan across your face, up and down your arms.
The last thing you expected was for Bruce to come and seek you out. You couldn’t help but keep asking yourself, where was this other woman?
You need to bring her up. While you enjoyed having him so close to you, so worried about you, and so insistent on making things right, you need to know what happened between them before you let yourself fall into him.
You close your eyes, scrunching your brows together in a grimace. You can’t believe you’re going through with this.
“What?” Bruce asks, noticing your facial expression, an anxious tone both softening and lifting his pitch. His grip on your hands tightens. “What is it?”
“It’s stupid,” you breathe.
“It’s not, whatever it is. Talk to me.”
You take a deep breath and open your eyes. You make sure to keep your gaze locked on the floor and not on him. He can’t read what he can’t see. “Did the woman with the red hair go back with you to the manor?”
“What woman with the red hair?”
You scoff. You knew this was stupid. Either he’s denying this on purpose or he really does not remember what you’re talking about. “The woman you were talking to when we got out of the building.”
His silence prompts you to look up at him. His expression twists in confusion, eyes shifting slightly as he sorts through his memories. “Oh! Selina.”
Just what anybody wants to hear. The bright recognition in his voice has you ready to confirm your suspicions about her going home with him. Then Bruce keeps talking.
“The woman with the red hair,” Bruce continues. “That was Selina. Selina Kyle. We’re working together to try to get information about the Riddler’s targets. Her friend is missing. She got a lead but lost them in the building explosion.”
You take another deep breath.
He didn’t answer your question. But now you’re more interested in questioning him a bit about the nature of their relationship. Even if you have to result to lower methods, methods you don’t even like the fact that you were about to use.
“You two seemed pretty cozy,” you murmur, trying to keep your eyes away from his face again. He would know what you’re doing if he looks you in the eye. You feel his confusion in the silence.
“She was pretty upset, but it’s not like that.” Bruce squeezes your hands. “We’re just temporary partners. Once we figure things out, we’ll go our separate—wait,” Bruce hesitates and you bite your lip to keep yourself still.
There was that partner word again. As much as you’re elated to hear that he doesn’t think of Selina in that way, it doesn’t dismiss the fact that you don’t know how he views your relationship. Your heart starts to race in his silence. “Are you jealous?”
You could lie, but you told yourself already that you wouldn’t do that. You need to stand your ground, no matter how scary that was. “I don’t know.” Your hands twitch in Bruce’s steady hold. “I just was confused. You looked at her like she was more than just a partner.”
Bruce starts laughing, and you would be lying if you said that it doesn’t tick you off a little. This is a very serious conversation.
You’re beginning to pour your heart out to him. If he isn’t going to take that seriously, you would stop talking to him entirely.
“If you’re going to laugh at my feelings, we can just talk later.” You start to back away from him, slipping your hands from his grasp, but he tightens his hold, keeping you planted where you had only taken a few steps back.
His eyes open as his chuckles die down. His gaze fills with clarity and…happiness?
Only a few moments ago he looked upset and confused, now he looks as if he had made a special discovery that helped him unlock a puzzle.
“I’m sorry for laughing. I do take your feelings very seriously. I just never thought we would get to this moment.” His eyes are so bright now; they draw you in, refusing to let you look away.
“What moment?”
“The one where I can finally be honest with you because I know you feel the same.”
Your heart picks up again. You’re starting to get whiplash from all of the emotional ups and downs.
But now, you let a bit of hope seep through, lightening your face and coloring your voice in tiny bits of giggles that echoed his.
Was he going to admit what you’d been waiting to hear? Did he see you as more than just a partner?
You anxiously shifted your weight from one foot to the other. “Okay, out with it, Bat guy.”
Bruce gently drops your hands. For a second, you thought this is going to go differently, that he’s going to say how thankful he is for your partnership and talk about how he works hard not to jeopardize it.
But then he brings his hands up to cup your face, tilting your chin to look him in the eye.
“I didn’t sleep with her. I was up half the night worrying about you. I could barely sleep thinking you were upset with me.”
You sigh in relief, letting your eyes slip closed. The hope you kept firmly in check spilled forth through your veins, heating your veins and adding a flush to your cheeks. You meant more. You mean more to him.
“So, you see me as more than a partner?” You smile at him, knowing how tender and vulnerable your eyes look.
Before you would have locked your expression down immediately. Now, there’s no need. You’re safe with Bruce, even if the answer is a no.
That same tenderness reflects in the intensity of his stare. Then, he gently leans in, waiting for your foreheads to touch and for you to angle your chin toward his face before he presses his lips against yours. He drops a hand to wrap around your waist, pulling you into his chest. Your hands curl into his shirt.
His kiss is firm but soft, and he surges forward to capture your lips again before leaning back to press his forehead against yours. “Yes, I see you as more than a partner,” he whispers against your lips.
Your stomach erupts in butterflies while your heart calms down. You could feel a puffiness starting to form on your lips.
He feels the same way. He really feels the same way.
“What about me?” Bruce pulls back to brush some of your hair away from your face. “Am I more than a partner to you?”
You smirk and reach up on your tiptoes to kiss him again, lingering longer than you need to. Your core warms as his arm tightens against your back. When you break for air, you chuckle. “I’m not in the habit of kissing my working partners.”
“Oh really?” Bruce laughs. “Well good. Otherwise, HR would have a file about a mile long on you.”
Your laughter is bright and smiley and warm. Bruce grins, a warmth in his eyes.
“You’ve been more than a partner to me for some time.” You murmur, wrapping your arms around his neck and running a couple of fingers along his skin. His breathing stops for a second before he demurely smirks.
Right as he’s getting ready to kiss you again, your phone rings. You check your watch.
It’s 8:05 am. You’re missing breakfast with Gordon.
You disentangle yourself from Bruce, but not without begging Bruce to let you go. His laughs follow you into your room. You answer the phone without looking at the caller ID; you already know who it was.
“Hey, Gordon. I’m so sorry. Something came up.” You answer, breathless and still giddy.
“That bat guy showed up at your place, didn’t he?”
You chuckle, ready to ask how he knew but then you remembered the bat signal the other night and how Gordon could tell something was wrong with you and how Bruce knew you went back to the department instead of going straight home.
“You told him to come here?” You ask.
Gordon is silent for a moment. “I recommended it.”
“Wow. Look at you, matchmaker for the department.” Bruce now leans against your door, looking at you on the phone with a happy grin. He must have already figured out who you’re talking to.
“You guys have a good thing going on. Figured all you needed to do was talk it out.”
“You’re really something Lieutenant. You knew he was going to show up in the morning?”
“No. I told him to wait till the evening after you’d blown off some steam. He’s the nutjob who thought the earlier the better.”
“Is that so?”
“Mhm. Did he use the biscuit excuse?”
“As a matter of fact, he did.” You cock your head to the side to look at Bruce. He looks back with an innocently curious look on his face. You make up your mind to tease him about it later.
“That was a decent one,” Gordon hums. “A little on the nose for my taste, but it seemed to work because here I am with a pot of coffee in front of me and nobody to drink it with.”
“I’m still going to be there. I just might need 15-20 more minutes.”
“Fine. It’s not like I’m going anywhere.”
“See you soon, Gordon.”
“Yeah. Hey. Bring that bat guy with you, will you? I think I’ve earned a free breakfast.”
“Will do, Lieutenant.”
You click off the phone and shake your head at Bruce. “What?” He knowingly smiles.
“You little schemer. You planned this thing with Gordon. And there are no biscuits! You lied to me.”
He grins, white teeth peaking out behind his lips as he walks closer. “You know Alfred has plenty waiting for you back at the manor. Plus, I needed somebody to run some thoughts by. I thought I was reading into the situation wrong. I needed a second opinion.”
“Hmm. I guess I can believe that.” Bruce comes to a stop right in front of you, bending down to press a kiss against your temple. Butterflies flutter in your stomach again.
It’s nice to know that all of your worries would lead you to this moment with him. Now, you don’t have to concern yourself with how he thought about you.
Bruce likes you and sees you as something precious in his life. It’s endearing as much as it was scary.
Your honesty paid off. The voices in your head are quiet now. The memories with Bruce change from black and white back to gold.
Now you could just be. Just be with him.
“Oh, also, Gordon invited Batman to breakfast.” You squeeze his shoulder as you walk around him to retrieve the clothes you were going to change into.
“He did?” Bruce’s face scrunches into a confused expression.
“He did. He expects repayment for his services in the form of an early morning meal.”
“Of course,” Bruce chuckles. “I should get back to the manor to change then.”
“Sounds good.” You set your uniform down in your bathroom before you quickly bounce back over to Bruce. “See you soon.”
You lean up and press a kiss against his lips. Bruce responds right away, a hand lifting to your cheek to draw you in, another holding your waist. His lips gently move across yours.
This is really happening. You’re together with Bruce. That the little voice that held on to him was right.
Bruce presses one long kiss to your lips before he backs away, smiling in a daze. “Drive safe,” he tells you, turning around to leave your apartment.
A warmth blossoms in your core that you haven’t felt in a long time.
That warmth follows you from the shower, to your car, to the diner, and expands again when you feel Bruce, now dressed as Batman, slide into your side of the booth, nudging your knee under the table.
something calling to get closer | pattinson!batman
series: staring into the echo | 1 | 2 | 3
pairing: pattinson!batman x reader
summary: bruce can't wait to see you any longer.
wc: 1.7k+
genre: angsty, reader has doubts about feelings, sad, but has a happy ending (in part 3 <3)
There are three text messages on your phone when you wake up.
One is from Gordon to confirm your breakfast attendance. You still have thirty minutes before you needed to be there.
The other two send your heart into a gallop.
11:15 pm: Bruce: Hey, everything okay? I saw you leave. Just checking in.
Another text follows Bruce’s last one by an hour and a half.
12:45 pm: Bruce: I know you’re probably asleep. Would it be okay if I stopped by tomorrow morning? Alfred made you some biscuits he wants you to try. I want to talk to you. Didn’t get to say much before you went back to the department.
Gordon must have filled him in on you going to fill out paperwork. You’re surprised Bruce remembered. He did have a beautiful woman in front of him and all.
You sigh. That isn’t fair. Bruce at least cares about you in a professional manner, if not in the personal way you’re starting to understand you wish he did.
He did care enough to text.
Bruce must have missed your routine. You tamper the rising swell of hope in your chest. It’s just a routine. Anyone would be thrown off by a missed routine. This isn’t special. This is just work.
You consider texting Bruce back, but with only having twenty minutes to get ready before meeting Gordon, you decide against it.
You would need every moment you had to shower again to make sure all of the dirt from yesterday is gone. Then you’ll need to change and attempt to look presentable.
Swinging your legs over the bed, you get moving. You exit out of Bruce’s messaging thread and tap on Gordon’s thread.
7:15 am: Lieutenant Gordon: Hey, you coming by the diner @ 8?
7:32 am: (Name): be there in 30.
7:32 am: Lieutenant Gordon: I’ll save you some coffee.
You smile.
You look forward to meeting Gordon. It would be nice to sit and talk about what happened last night with a neutral party.
If anything, going over the explosions would help Gordon feel less guilty about what happened to the citizens. He has a habit of shouldering more than he needed to.
You pick out your clothes and are about to get into the shower when you remember you forgot to take your vitamins the night before.
It’s not the most important thing, but you have skipped them the last few days and the lack of iron is starting to catch up with you. Plus, a depressive mood never helps the immune system.
Opening your bedroom door, you tread out to your living room before a figure rises from the couch. “(Name)?”
You freeze.
You know that voice. You know it belongs to the man whose text messages you never responded to.
After a second, it clicks that he is now standing in your apartment. Then you remember you have given him the key just in case something happened.
Apparently, he was worried enough to make sure nothing happened.
“Bruce,” you shakily breathe. “You scared me.” You press a hand against your chest to calm your heart.
He sheepishly shuffles on his toes. “Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“What are you doing here?” You force yourself to turn and walk to the counter. You pull a glass down from the cabinet.
You need to do something to distract you from the fact that your heart isn’t just racing because you got startled. It’s racing because Bruce being here goes further than the requirements of a partner.
A little glimmer of hope pulses through you. But you can’t feed into it yet. It’s the morning after his texts now. A lot could have happened overnight. That includes meeting with the woman.
Bruce drifts nearer, leaning his elbows on the island behind you. His sleepy eyes watch as you pour water into your glass. “Wanted to check on you. You didn’t answer my texts.”
Your core warms at the soft concern in his tone. So he does like being in contact with you. But that doesn’t mean anything. The two of you talked all the time.
“I was asleep. Tired after everything.” You murmur, opening your pill bottle and popping a tablet in your mouth. It’s good to move, to give you something to distract yourself with.
Plus, you need to keep your tone measured. Just because you felt hopeful doesn’t mean Bruce needs to know that.
As you washed the pill down with water, you turn to find Bruce looking intently at your face, as if trying to decipher what was going on in your head. There’s a touch of vulnerability behind his gaze that you didn’t see when he talked to the woman with the red hair.
You nearly choke on your drink.
“What’s going on?” Bruce gently asks. He moves so he can lean his hip against the counter, arms folded in front of him. His long black t-shirt pulls against his forearms. His undone hair brushes against his eyes.
You shook your head. Partially to answer his question, partly because you’re trying to clear your head. His adorably tired look is distracting. “Nothing. I’m just a little tired still. Running over all the details of what happened the other day took a lot out of me.”
He nods but you can tell he doesn’t believe you. Bruce and Lieutenant Gordon have this knack for being able to see past what you say to what you can’t bring yourself to admit.
If you were thinking more clearly, you would have avoided eye contact with Bruce. But you aren’t. You’re too distracted by how beautiful his eyes were. Too distracted by how much you want to smile and laugh and go back to how things were.
“What did you think about the multiple explosions?” His eyes hold a light squint as he watches for your response. You feel your palms start to sweat.
Bruce is starting to apply pressure because he knows, just as you do, that the crime scenes weren’t the only thing on your mind the other night. Cases like this don’t wipe you out; they energize you.
You should have come up with a better lie. A death in the family. Something you could avoid discussing the details of.
You know you would have to give him something but the truth is out of the question. It could ruin everything. It’s stupid anyway.
If you wait a few days and make yourself conveniently “busy,” these feelings would go away. Everything would go back to normal, or as close as it could.
Clearing your throat, you push some hair out of your eyes. “Chaos, organized. Needed to be during a busy time of day to get in the way of the governor debates. The news would be so focused on that they would miss discussions about the future of the city.”
Bruce hums, eyes slightly lighting up. “I thought that too. Maybe would also give them a good opening for an attack on city hall.” He chuckles as he continues. “Though, I don’t think he was ready for the debate to get canceled.”
You couldn’t help but smile back. But just as quickly as the smile appears on your face, it disappears.
You need to keep the warm feeling in your chest at bay. Plus, you still don’t know his whereabouts the night before. But a partner wouldn't ask about that. A partner wouldn't care. It's just work.
You know he had talked to Gordon a few times. Once you left. Again around the time the bat signal shone against the clouds. But that only accounted for a small portion of the time you weren’t together.
There was plenty of room for more to happen that you didn’t know about and shouldn’t care about. And yet, you do.
Bruce’s smile dies as he watched yours slide off your face. He looks concerned and confused at the same time, eyebrows agitatedly scrunching together.
When he realizes you aren’t going to add anything, his mouth wordlessly moves as he grasps to fill the silence.
“Did you get hurt?” He sputters.
He steps toward you, reaching out a hand you knew was warm and gentle, but you retreat, backing up toward your bedroom.
Not because you remembered you have breakfast with Gordon in twenty minutes and counting, but because you don’t know where his hands have been the night before.
Your heart isn’t ready to take any more blows, not when hope is starting to patch up the breaks in its armor.
You can’t ignore the flash of pain that dampens his eyes and sends a twitch through his fingers. He doesn’t quite withdraw his hand but he leaves it hanging in the air. It’s an offering, but it no longer searches for your arm.
A twinge of regret twists in your chest. You don’t like seeing him so disappointed, but you can’t risk acting on your hope until you know what happened last night.
Rubbing your arms, you offer him a brief apologetic look before pressing your lips into a line. “I’m fine. Just a few scratches.”
“Do you need any help with them?” His eyebrows lifted, face open and wondering, eagerly waiting for your response. The hope of a “yes” colors his warming gaze.
Even though your heart warms at his concern, you take a deep breath and brace yourself. “I managed. But I appreciate it.” You don’t let his disappointed expression stop you from moving forward.
This would be better for both of you. It would be better to stop pretending like you really meant anything significant to each other. You’d always be partners, but that would be it. Just professionals that worked well together.
“Listen,” you start, trying to wipe the sad puppy eye expression from Bruce’s face. “Can we talk later? I’m meeting Gordon in twenty minutes and I still need to get ready.”
Bruce, still looking dejected, blinks and then nods. His eyes are unfocused. You fight off the clenching of your heart. You remember that look all too well, but you won’t let it stop you. You couldn’t keep letting your hope get the better of you.
But denying it hurts Bruce. You never want to hurt him.
You turn to go get ready, already preparing to fight through tears as he left.
Then his voice, sad and open, calls to you. “Was it something I did?”
withdrawals from imagined things | pattinson!batman
series: staring into the echo | 1 | 2 | 3
pairing: pattinson!batman x reader
summary: bruce is supposed to be your partner. But now there's someone else. And now, every affection you've ever had dissolves in front of your eyes. That is, until Bruce has something to say about it.
wc: 2.3k+
genre: angsty, reader has doubts about feelings, sad, but has a happy ending (in part 3 <3)
a/n: know your worth people. know your worth.
There were many times you and Bruce narrowly escaped battles. Many times having all your limbs and a working heartbeat was a miracle.
None of those times included Bruce staring at another woman. Such transfixed care and concern in his eyes.
Maybe it shouldn’t have bothered you. Partners didn’t typically care if their partners had other people in their lives.
But you and Bruce worked together often. Like any good professionals, you made a good team. You cared about each other, looked out for each other, and protected each other.
You had come to depend on him. Seeing him with someone else sent a warning through your head, sent an ache through your heart.
Bruce was starting to slip away from you. It’s as if now he drifts somewhere out of your reach, even though in a few steps you could be standing right next to him. You don’t understand what was happening between him and that woman, but you know it has nothing to do with you. It will never have anything to do with you.
A wall that you didn’t see before now appeared between you two. It wasn’t a wall you knew was there either. You didn’t come to realize the depth of your affection for Bruce until now. Until it was already too late.
Your hand itches. Only minutes ago, your clawed your way out of the debris of the collapsed building you and Bruce were in. You reach up to flick pieces of brick off your face.
You can’t help but compare it to how images of you and Bruce. Light scoffs and tenderly sealing up wounds after missions. Warm smiles. Hesitant touches on arms and hands. Breaths stopping and restarting, either from laughing or proximity.
All of it dissolves in the grey sunlight.
You know there wouldn’t be more moments like those. The realization coils around your chest, your throat, your tongue. Hot. Unyielding.
Saying anything to Bruce would just make everything worse. You aren’t sure you’d be able to say anything at all. Your feelings of betrayal hang heavy on your face. It pools around your eyes. It distorts your vision.
You understand it now. It’s not that you’re partners. It’s not that you felt something for him. You’re comfortable with him. You feel safe with him.
Felt. Felt safe. The instability in your core won’t let you feel that way now.
You turn your palms up and carefully fleck the tiny pieces of brick and dirt and pebbles off your hand. They leave small, deep impressions all over your skin; all are tiny reminders of barely making it out. It feels like a part of you had collapsed too.
Lieutenant Gordon appears in front of you. So enraptured by your hand, you don’t notice two new police cars. A blur of crimson and cobalt washes the rising ashen dust in color.
Gordon’s voice is clear and focused. It’s nice to hear, to get some organization in the rambling starting in your brain. A visualization of Bruce and the red-haired woman laughing and bumping into each other flashes across your mind. You flinch.
“You alright, officer?” Gordon’s eyes work across your dirtied uniform and messy hair. You’re positive dust and cuts cover your cheeks.
You manage a nod and studiously avoid his gaze. Gordon would see right through you. Instead, you fixate your attention on another officer helping a man to an ambulance.
You think you catch Bruce looking over at you out of the corner of your eye. It’s likely wishful thinking.
“Fine,” you sigh. “All the wounded are cleared. The building is one cough away from caving, but there should be some people working on it.”
You feel Gordon’s quizzical eyes on the side of your face. You blink, knowing you would have to look him in the eye before he would move on. He has to really see if you’re just as fine as you claim to be.
It’s endearing and frustrating how he knew your tone could say one thing but your eyes could say another.
You lick your lips and turn toward Gordon. “How is the inner city? Did our favorite villain get that far?”
It’s Gordon’s turn to look away, eyes scanning the scene briefly. “It went about as well as it could. The bastard’s fast. But the Riddler can’t run forever.” His eyes return to your face, a gently smug look on his face. “Only so many sewers to hide in.”
You chuckle and feel some of Gordon’s scrutiny waver. You finally look toward him. Bright splotches of dust and debris cling to his jacket. “Buildings fell near you too?” You mutter, reaching out to swipe some of the powder off his clothing.
Gordon shrugs and sighs. A new smudge lingers where your fingers had been. You rub your hands across each other as he defeatedly answered. “Just one. Unlike you and the Bat here, we were a little late.”
A little late is code for casualties. Gordon’s jaw tenses and his eyes lose a bit of their sharp focus. He’s disappointed in himself.
You knew isn’t his fault just like it isn’t the people’s fault either. They were victims of crime and chaos. Nobody could be everywhere at once.
You’re used to checking in on each other, but this is one of the first times that Gordon vocalized his deeper thoughts. Sharing in sadness with your lieutenant was the last thing you were expecting. It makes you feel less alone, even if your melancholy came from different places.
You press your lips in a sympathetic line. “I’m sorry, Gordon.”
“Yeah,” his voice gravels. “There was a little boy this time.” He swallows and places shaky hands on his hips. “There won’t be a next time.”
You reach out to place a hand on his shoulder and squeeze. “No, there won’t.”
His smile tinges with sorrow but gratitude floats behind it. That’s good enough for you. You let your hand fall away.
Gordon’s gloomy slouch reminds you of your own. You spare another look toward Bruce.
His eyes flutter over to yours. Then, he’s looking back at the beautiful, small woman in front of him. Before she could turn to see who Bruce was looking at, you duck and angle yourself toward Gordon.
A weak sigh blows through your nostrils. You hate feeling this way.
Everything is tight and tense. Your words are becoming squeezed and painful. Talking is nearly out of the question.
You need to do some quiet work, take a shower, and go to bed early. You don’t have the energy for much else.
You watch embers and soot float down in front of you. Gordon does the same. A comfortable silence of shared blues and dissociation stretches between you.
Gordon is the first to break it. “You going back with him?”
You look at Gordon with unfocused eyes before you notice him tilting his head in Bruce’s direction. You couldn’t hide the bittersweet expression on your face even as you attempt a smirk. “Not today. Think I’m going to head to the station to write my statement. Maybe take a shower.”
Gordon nods and hums. His quiet response only further confirms that he senses something is up between his partner-in-justice and you.
Normally, you and Bruce would leave together. You would trade information and conclusions, swap theories and leads to follow. Alfred would help too. Tea would be made, biscuits nibbled on, and when you were ready, you and Bruce would work on smoothing over cuts with bandages and emotions with comforting words.
Not tonight. Maybe no longer. You aren’t quite ready to process what that means. What that would do to you.
“Well,” Gordon muses, “take it easy. I’m having breakfast tomorrow at the diner just off of 26th if you want to stop by.”
Your heart warms at his invitation.
You know he invited you because he could tell something was wrong. Gordon always tries to support you. It felt nice that he wants to be there while you sort through it all.
At the same time, you register that he might have asked because he wanted company too. He desires what you refuse to acknowledge right now. An opportunity to process what happened with someone who understood.
Smirking, you respond, “I might just take you up on that offer. See you soon, Gordon.”
You look over your shoulder once.
You and Bruce lock eyes. You watch as he angles his body toward you. He starts to take a step in your direction.
Then, you looked away. Walking to a squad car, you hail a ride back to the station.
…
Filing the papers is easy. Keeping your mind focused on the work instead of Bruce’s actions is not.
Instead of the usual hour, it takes you nearly three hours to finish your report. Every so often your eyes would drift away, focusing on some random object. In the haze, you could replay the way Bruce leaned into the woman.
Woman. That’s how Bruce must have seen her.
As a woman, as a beautiful, tough, and delicate person that should be cared for, should be loved.
You’re just the partner. A person who helps sort out his life and nothing more. Sure, you two probably like each other’s company. Good partnerships require it.
But that’s all.
When you got home, you quickly got in the shower. While the water washes away the dirt, your mind is finally able to quiet for a few moments. You take your time washing your hair. The suds collect all over your hands and up your arms before you rinse them away.
For a time, you’re able to start sorting through how what happened in that building. As you brush your teeth, you string together explanations for how the explosions were placed, why they denoted they did, and the chaos used to overshadow the governor’s press conference.
You couldn’t figure out why certain buildings were targeted the way they were. Hopefully, Gordon would have more information in the morning.
You throw on your pajamas and exit the steam-filled room. The towel wrapped around your head sways as you walk to the fridge to eat something. Your limbs and brain are too tired to make anything, so you decide on some cubed cheese and already washed and separated grapes.
As you eat, you looked down at your hands, finding a few scrapes.
A few weeks ago, Bruce cradled your hand so preciously as he had applied anointment and gently pressed a bandage against a deep cut. You just narrowly avoided a knife to the face, instead catching the blade with your hands and wrestling it out of your assailant’s grasp.
Bruce tensed the entire time you told him what happened. He looked almost furious but still, he managed to be so tender with you as he cleaned and patched your injuries. It made you feel cared for and seen in a way that you hadn’t in a long time.
It made you think you actually deserved care. You could receive care from those who actually care about you. And somehow, they would want to volunteer this care without obligation.
That’s what you used to think. Now you couldn’t be certain Bruce’s actions don’t come without a sense of obligation.
If you were gone, Bruce would have no one who would listen to him ramble on and on about what he thought. No one would be as careful as you were while you iced bruises and placed tape over stitches. He wouldn’t have a partner anymore. That was enough for anyone to feel obligated to keep their partners safe.
The dull scar on your palm glints in the kitchen light you left on. It’s the only light on in the room.
You sigh. Even the darkness reminded you of him.
You want to stop thinking about it all, about how your heart hurt, about how the cheese and grapes don’t taste like anything because the grief over a relationship you realized you don’t have made it taste like flavorless mush, about how the disappointment was conjuring tears to your eyes.
You need it to stop. It’s all becoming too much.
After only two handfuls of cheese and three of the grapes, you place their respective bowls back into the fridge and walk to your room, keeping the lights off.
The click of the fridge closing mixed with the click of your bedside lamp switch. This would be the only light you’d leave on. You have to. The darkness would just bring back things you don’t want to think about.
As you burrow under your bed covers, you turn on your tv to let its mindless drawl keep you from retreating too far into your memories of Bruce.
The recollections of patch-up jobs start to take on a different color now. Instead of the soft warm hues you remember in them, they’re fizzling into deep grays and sharp whites. It’s like your brain is removing your emotional connection to them. Dulling them to protect yourself.
It isn’t working. The gold is always still there, still lingering behind the silvery clouds, fighting through their clumps in strands of warm light.
You give up, smothering your head with a pillow and adjusting till you faced your window with city lights peeking through the blinds. If you can’t get your little flicker of hope that you’re wrong about your new perspective on Bruce to go away, maybe you could distract yourself enough to go to sleep.
And you did. You watched cars peel up and down the now rain-covered streets. People huddle under umbrellas or streak through the rain.
It’s numbing. Your eyes unfocus and droop close. Just before sleep gives you relief from thoughts about Bruce, a white circle appears in the sky.
You try to close your eyes and ignore it; it will only give your brain more fuel to run on.
But you know what the circle is as quickly as your subconscious does. The bat signal colors the back of your eyelids. You scrunch your eyes firmly closed and work to count sheep to finally get to sleep.
pairing: jacob lee x reader
summary: black irons is a hard place to break free from; its roughness seeps into everything. But sleep helps brush off the hard edges and allow for a tenderness found in napping.
wc: 1.5k+
genre: COMFORT, soft!Jacob, a lot of fluff, napping, caring for each other!!
a/n: i too am a sleepy one; hopefully, this piece brings you wonderful dreams.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───
“Jacob!” His name rushes past your lips as he stumbles into you. Exhaustion steals his energy. His steps drag against the ground and his breaths are slowing.
Your arm reaches to curl around his side, pulling his armored body into your own. You try to compensate for his lack of coordination as best as you can, walking slower and leaning into him so he can prop himself against your body.
He grunts as you weave his arm around your shoulders. “Sorry,” he huffs, voice right near the shell of your ear, “I just can’t get my feet to act right.”
The last few battles between those weird mutated creatures must have worn him out. Jacob took more hits to the stomach and torso than usual in your last skirmish. You had done your best to give him as much covering fire as possible, but eventually, you were tackled to the ground and forced to concentrate on saving your own life.
You haven’t seen many of those creatures in the last hour or so. Maybe it was about time to give yourselves a break before moving on to the surface.
“Let’s rest for a bit,” you adjust your grip on his torso. There are a couple of crates in front of you. He could rest there while you count your ammo, medical supplies, and other trinkets you’d picked up along the way. “Give you a chance to sleep for a bit.”
Jacob hesitates before continuing, your momentum dragging him along. “No. I’ll be fine. We should keep going.”
“You’re not. Besides, you’re not in any condition to fight should those things come back.” You lead him over to the crates and help lower him to the ground so he can rest his back against one. “We’ll be safe here, for now. I’ll keep look-out. Go over inventory.”
You slip Jacob’s arm, originally on your shoulders, over your head. Before you can drop it into his lap, his hand curls around your arm. “Really. We should keep going.” His eyes are wide and pleading, but the corners around them droop and his gaze is slightly unfocused.
There’s no way you should keep going. The longer you take in his features, the more relaxed his body becomes. According to your calculations, he’ll be asleep in a few seconds.
“Sleep, Jacob.” You place your hand over his hand and squeeze it. Gently, you pry it off and carefully place it in his lap before moving up to check his health status. It’s green but teeters on yellow. He’ll need a med pack before you move to fight again.
You feel his gaze as you inspect his armor. “Hey.” His call is gentle and you meet his eyes with a softness you haven’t been able to muster in a while. Between the fights and general fear for your life, there hasn’t been much room for tenderness.
Jacob takes a deep breath, letting his eyes linger closed for a moment before he opens them, looking considerably closer to dosing off. A small grin crawls onto your face. He scoffs at your new expression but a light lingers behind his eyes. “You hear anything and I mean anything,” he leans over to nudge your shoulder, “wake me up.”
You chuckle before tapping him on the shoulder. “The world will still be here. I promise.”
“Whatever,” he grins before closing his eyes. As he relaxes, his body learns toward where you’ve perched on the crate next to him, as if instinctively wanting to be closer to you.
A small, shy smile spreads across your face as you start to count your magazines for the second time.
…
You jolt awake, frantically brushing off clawing hands and faces with sharp teeth. They felt like they were all over you, but now that you’re looking around, you realize you are inside the lab.
Jacob said he wanted to go over some upgrades. You only remember sitting down before blinking awake, arms swinging and flailing.
The weapon machine’s whines mix with your cries of fear. As much as it grounds you, the noises combine in an overwhelming combination of sounds and you clench your eyes shut, trying to fight through the lingering screeches of the creatures in your ear.
Jacob’s voice cuts through it all, concerned and gentle. “Hey, hey, hey. You’re alright.” You hear him getting closer, now sitting next to you, body angled toward you, his hands automatically reaching for yours. “You’ve only been asleep for a little bit. Figured you needed the rest.”
You take a deep breath and slowly open your eyes, focusing on the ground first and then on his gently determined gaze. It made your stomach warm. It made being vulnerable easier. “I saw those…things. It was like they were all over me.”
He squeezes your hands. “I get what you mean. I see them too.”
You nod, both saddened that this horror-filled place still follows you into your dreams and comforted by Jacob’s presence and admission. At least if you both have to witness deadly beings, you don’t have to do it alone.
You try to blink away the sleepiness, but it doesn’t work. You can still feel sleep’s pull.
Jacob picks up on the way your body slouches over and your responding grip on his hands weakens. “Come here,” he mumbles, wrapping his arm around your waist and drawing you into his chest.
Your heart picks up before a sense of comfort douses any rising anxiety. His head curls into yours. His lips ghost over the crown of your hair. “I’ll be right here. Go back to sleep.”
It takes no time for your eyelids to droop closed as you relax into his torso. It’s the first time you can remember Jacob being so physically affectionate with you but you’re not complaining. You like it, being close to him like this.
Before you sleep, you register a dorky smile on your face and a feeling of gratitude that you have each other.
You don’t have any more dreams of creatures.
…
You’re on the tram, traveling between the colony and the inner lab. Wind rushes past as you sit with your back against a stack of boxes. They buffer the wind while your blinks start to slow into sleep.
Absentmindedly, you register the cut along your cheek but you don’t think much off it. Your body is too tired to worry about wounds right now.
Jacob’s hands against your shoulders and cheeks slowly close your eyes as you absorb his tenderness. His thumb ghosts along your cheek as he tilts your head.
“You look alright. We’ll see what they have back at the lab to cover that.” Jacob sounds focused but you know he’s as drained as you are. Another stint with the creatures always does this. The only difference is this was the longest battle you’ve had yet, and there was one much larger than the rest this time.
It took almost everything you both had to beat them all.
Your eyes flutter open before you muster a weak smirk. “You look as tired as I feel,” you mumble, reaching up to grasp his arm before tugging him over near you.
He crawls so he’s next to you, resting his shoulder against yours. A painful grunt echoes off the box as he tries to get into place. You keep ahold of his arm, sliding your hand down to interlace yours with his.
Your squeeze is answered by him. A relaxed breath slips through his nose as his grip carefully tightens.
“We should rest for a little while.” You whisper, already starting to lean your head toward his. To your pleasant surprise, your head brushes against his less than halfway. He must have been leaning toward you already.
You feel him rest his cheek against your head, bringing your joined hands closer to him. “Yeah, good idea.”
“Jacob?” He adjusts his head so his cheek brushes tenderly against your head.
He hums, “Yeah, (name)?”
“Thanks. For everything.”
“Yeah — yeah, of course. And thank you. You know, when we get out of here, let’s make sure we sleep on some actual mattresses.”
You chuckle and his giggles blend with yours. “Sure. But we have to sleep near each other. Just to make sure we hold up our side of the bargain.”
“Of course. I mean, that’s only fair. Have to make sure everything’s been honored.”
You blush and shake your head, leaning into him further. You knew just as well as he did that the chances of you getting out were slim, but you also knew that you would not sleep nearly as well if he wasn’t there with you, right near you. Somehow, you think that Jacob thought about the same.
…
After a few years of being separated, fighting your way around other planets and new people, your paths meet again. For a minute, it’s awkward and you both stumble over words, but soon, it’s like you both were never separated.
And you get that nap. Together. Except, instead of separate beds, you both lay near each other, facing each other’s chest.
Jacob reaches out first, an arm tentatively wrapped around your waist before drawing you gently closer until your hands are curled against his chest. He presses his cheek into your head as before and you press your nose into his collarbone.
Hellooooo! Huge fan of your writing! I just saw that you write for Jack Russell, and honestly there isn’t enough content about him. I couldn’t find anywhere that said your requests are open or closed, but if they’re open I was wondering if I could request a Jack Russell x reader fic please? I read somewhere that Jack is supposed to be 200-400 years old and I couldn’t help but think a scenario where the reader is also that old (maybe they’re a supernatural creature too, or a witch, or just immortal) and they’ve been together with Jack for a long time but they get separated by hunters or something for a while. But like the imagine is how that reunion would go, with them being like these separated immortal lovers being reunited. Idk if that makes any sense but honestly I’m happy with any Jack x Reader content
yes yes yes! this makes perfect sense! thank you so much for the detailed ask and for sticking with me as I worked through this!
pairing: jack russell x reader
summary: it’s been a hundred years since you’d last seen Jack, and the power of the memories won’t leave you. but returning to the place where it all started has a way of bringing him right back to you where he’s always belonged.
wc: 3.6k+ (mhmm, there’s plot to this one)
genre: ANGSTY, comfort, soft!Jack because he is a teddy bear, immortality angst, sweet reunion bliss
a/n: thank you so much for the request anon! this was so much fun to write! i hope you enjoy it, and it fits what you were looking for!
The forest looked different from all those years ago.
Moonlight filtered through the tree branches same as before, but there was something missing in its glow. Maybe it was the spacing of the branches, twisted and maimed by time. Maybe it was the lack of magic in the air when you’d been here around three hundred years ago.
You could feel the sleepiness in the earth now. There used to be a greater buzz, more energy to draw from when you’d create little balls of fire for your campfires. The groups of supernaturals back then could be from fifty to one hundred.
Now, it was hard to find anyone that lived nearby that’d seen as many forests flattened to marshes and flimsy wooden buildings charred to nothing. There were many places that claimed to be a part of the “moon folk,” but their potions were cheap and murky and ambiguous words taken from fortune cookies.
You knew as much as the next supernatural that you didn’t need herbs and glowing juices to do what you did. All you needed was the energy of the earth, cultivated by the loving and respectful actions of others. Emotional content lived on in the soil. When soil turned into particles of air, the air then carried the emotions too.
That was the most powerful stuff, and that was why it was dying out. People don’t care like they used to.
The wind picked up, snapping through your hair and stinging against the collar of your jacket. You huddled into your outerwear further, squinting through frost-induced tears.
As you leaned forward in your steps, it was as if you could almost see that fire burning again, the gathering place of old friends, some new to time’s gentle embrace and some frozen to its growing incessant staleness. Their laughs pierced through the gale, the glints of their teeth twinkling like stars.
The memory dissolved as you approached the spot of your nightly meetings, a turquoise orb of moon-generated light emanating from your palm suffused the trees around you. The only thing left of this meeting place was the cream-colored flower of the moonflower.
About one hundred years ago, once the meetings had become more regular, a couple of members thought it’d be funny to make a garden, an arrangement of fauna that didn’t sprout until the group gathered with life. Some laughed, but others, you, and a special werewolf named Jack decided it would be fitting.
A garden of midnight life.
And so it came to be.
A new flower was planted each time a member joined and flowers were removed for those who the group had lost. Jack made sure to add one when Ned joined much later in the group’s history.
There were ten flowers then.
There was only one flower now; the only one cared for by you.
Crouching down, you brushed your fingers along its soft, silky petals, a caress of greeting. You felt the blossom hum against your finger in response. A sweet smile curved the side of your lips.
It was too cold for the flowers now, so you had to take some liberties with its environment. You made sure to come back to cast artificial warmth around the gentle plant. To the moonflower, it was always exactly sixty-five degrees.
Your smile lingered as you watered and nurtured the soil around it, pulling from the caring energy that strengthened each time you returned. But you weren’t just smiling from the emotions left behind, there was a special story about this plant.
You and Jack had planted this together. You wanted to place yours near the back, symbolizing your protection over the group. It was true after all. You did always light the fires, waiting for people to gather and creating a cocoon of warmth around everyone. Their joy only strengthened the atmospheric dome.
But Jack stopped you with a worried and soft look. “Oh no, you can’t leave that there. You must be in the middle.”
Your answering laugh was light and confused. You and Jack were friends, but since when would he care where you placed your blossom? “Jack, please. It’s where I want it to be.”
He huffed, teasingly rolling his eyes. “Come,” he bent down to pull you off the ground, gently firm hands holding the back of your elbow. “Let us place your blossom where it truly deserves.”
Your heart soften then, and once again when he kept you close to his body, ushering you along. It felt like you were being put on display as members smiled and smirked at each other as the two of you passed. You’d noticed their subtly knowing eyes for days but rarely did it think it had anything to do with you.
Their words drifted over, ghosts of more meaningful conversations.
“Making a move, huh?”
“About time.”
“I knew it! All it took was a flower and…”
An excited rumbling drifted over. You knew it was Ted. Of course, he would have something to say. He loved teasing the two of you about the way you always paired off to go get things together. It wasn’t your fault that the two of you enjoyed each other's company.
In your procession to the front, among stares of warm, familial eyes, you glanced back at Jack once. His eyes were the brightest you’ve seen them. While you shied away, he was glowing, smiling and nodding at everyone as you passed.
Then his eyes drifted to yours. Something in you melted at his softhearted gaze. His bright orbs relaxed into something warmer, that reminded you of the sugary coffee he loved so much.
He stopped you before you had the chance to look away, looking down at the ground in front of you. He’d led you to the front as he’d promised. He looked up at you with an adoring smile. “Here. Perfect.”
You forgot to breathe, trying to think of what to answer. His light laughs tickled the side of your stomach that pressed into his torso. He softly pulled you down to the ground with him as he placed his flower away to help you with yours.
His hands skimmed over yours as he helped you plant it. You tried to ignore it for the sake of your sanity, but then the bumps and affectionate grazes happened, again and again, fingers tangled together and backs of hands tickled and rubbed.
When you were done, both of your cheeks were a rosy, blushing collage. It was perfect. Claps from those around you, seeing what you had missed the last half a century, filled the air, but you were too lost in Jack to notice.
It was then that everything started. The dates, the warm belly laughs, the private moonlight meetings by a pond nearby. You lived together, loved together, and spent all that time with one another. And the two of you, happily insusceptible to time’s wear and tear on the body, took your time to enjoy what you had with one another.
And then, only a decade into bliss, the town’s people finally found your group’s meeting spot. Laughter morphed into screams, pacts of nonviolence shredded to pieces, and soon there were too many flowers that would need to be ripped up to reflect all the people you’d lost.
You, Jack, and Ted formed a circle, each person fanning out to try to minimize the damage as much as possible. Fires, both from you and Ted and the townsfolk, flickered through the trees, singeing bark and people. Jack’s growls were fierce and furious. Ted incinerated people without so much as a blink. You hurled fire and electricity at people’s heads.
You were all scared and overwhelmed, and eventually, the townspeople overwhelmed you all. Jack cried out. A bullet tore through his chest. You raced to give cover, and Ted followed, but by the shakiness in your arms and the growing wave of people coming, there could be no hope of all three of you getting out alive together.
You’d need to split up. You and Ted had already talked about Jack’s safety before, but since Ted was stronger and you were weak and drained, he would be the one to stay with him. You’d find another way out. You could move faster on your own.
But the procedure didn’t chase away the feeling that you might never see them again, and how little time you had to prepare for that. But you did have enough time to say your goodbyes.
So, you looked at Ted and nodded in silent farewell. His frown matched your own as a glistening tear lit by the orange fires trailed down your cheek. “I’ll miss you, Ted. Take care of yourself.”
His groan sounded more like an anguished and desperate cry. You felt a similar rush of pain well up in your throat.
Ted started to work on fending off the townspeople as best as he could. Their screams disguised your movements as you ran over to Jack. His face, a dense outline of hair in his werewolf state, contorted as he writhed. He folded his body around his abdomen and fresh wound.
Jack was good at healing. You’d found that out after he’d accidentally cut his thumb and he’d healed within about five minutes, but a bullet hole was much worse than a simple cut. It would take too long for him to stay here and try to rest up.
“Jack, baby,” you reached out and smoothed some of the hair out of his face. He flinched, evading your touch, but calmed once he recognized your scent. You’d worked together over the years, practicing when he was in his werewolf state so he’d be able to remember who you were in his shifts. It paid off now. “Ted’s going to take you away from here, alright?”
His eyes, locked on your face, twisted in confusion. He pressed further against your hand as if sensing that you were going to leave him. “You have to go, darling.” You tried smiling through the lump in your throat, but the cracks in your voice gave away how much this was hurting you. “I love you.”
He stilled at your words, frowning. Tears welled up in his eyes. Whatever you were saying must have been getting through to him. He reached up to you, careful not to press his claws against your face as he pressed his large, strong shaking hand to your cheek.
He tapped your cheek three times. It was a way the two of you could communicate when he couldn’t quite use words.
I love you.
Ted’s thunderous footsteps came nearer, but the two of you stayed there, trying to memorize each other’s faces so that time wouldn’t dissolve your features in both of your memories. And then Ted, with one last whining, sad grunt in your direction, picked up Jack and bounded away.
The townspeople were closing too fast to watch them run away, but you could hear Jack’s cry far after you’d hidden further into the woods.
And now, here you were, minus the moon folk, minus your friends, and minus Jack. You were the last known member of a family lost to time.
You always came here, every anniversary of the time the meetings started almost 225 years ago, to honor those that were and those that might still be. Because the stories of the moon folk became so popular nearby, it was safer to dig all of the flowers up, to keep people unaware of who might still be alive to hunt.
But you couldn’t forget the fact that you truly didn’t know how many survived. The only person you knew for sure of to this day was yourself. So you kept the moonflower planted, exactly where it was.
The plant was hurt in the ambush, half bent and weakly tied to its stem. In the five days you waited to return after, it somehow still lived on. You’d acquired some new scars too, a limp that wouldn’t go away until a few weeks later, and a gash up your forearm from a sword from the 18th century that would leave a scar for ten years.
After you’d dug up all of the other moonflowers and tossed them away to protect your family’s anonymity, you nurtured your blossom back to life with the little power you had left and vowed to return.
And here you were. It’d been a hundred years and some change since the ambush and massacre.
The wind drew your attention back to the row of trees you hadn’t realized you were staring at. It was the same row of trees that you’d had the feeling Ted and Jack ran to escape. You never knew if they’d made it, but you couldn’t find their bodies while you searched for people in the weeks following.
It was the last thing you had of Jack. The last image that played through your mind. Your memories, still very susceptible to time, forgot his face. But you had this moonflower in front of you to see all the time, and the affection in his smile was still familiar.
You’d looked for him through the years, but with it being so dangerous, name changes happening so frequently, and your method of moving to survive, it was hard to find anything. Ted would definitely stand out and so you looked at various reports of Big Foot sitings, the closest way mortals would describe him, but nothing matched his features.
Ted and Jack were lost from you.
But maybe one day, on an anniversary, he’d meet you here and you’d be happy again.
You just didn’t realize that day was today.
You collected the wood to start a fire as you’d done before, a ritual to celebrate the times you’d had here. The wind was blowing hard enough to blow out the flame before it caught on the wood, but once you created a cocoon of sixty-five degrees of still wind, the fire had no problem catching.
Your cocoon wasn’t as strong as it was before, the emotions tied to this place fading by the year, but it was enough to keep you protected.
You’d just sat down to do your annual fire-staring contest with yourself before you heard the trees rustling around you. It wasn’t uncommon for different animals to come by to inspect the flames, but these weren’t the steps of an animal.
These were human movements. And human movements spelled danger.
You didn’t bother putting the fire out, but you stood and cloaked yourself, watching for movement around the edges of the trees around you. After fanning through a couple of rows, a head peeked out, a bit older, but with a timid gait you recognized.
You needed more information to be sure. There were many times all over the world you’d thought you’d seen him.
When the orange glow spilled over his suit, his face with his ancestral markings, and the warm, soft look in his eye un-morphed by time, you knew it was Jack. “Hello? Anybody there?” The sound of his voice, familiar and comforting was followed by a surprised cry. It took you a minute to realize it was yours.
“Hello?” Jack called, desperate. Apprehension pulled his shoulders into stiff peaks, ready to spring at the first sign of danger.
You forgot you were still cloaked and dissolved the spell. “Jack.” You breathed.
He stilled at the sound of your voice, just like he’d done all those years ago. “Amor?”
Cutting across the short distance between the two of you, you barreled into him, arms locked around his torso, drawing you as close as possible to him. He pressed you tightly against him, a sigh of happiness and heartbreak blowing against your ear.
He cupped the back of your head, stroking your hair. “You’re alive.” His whisper splintered as if broken by his disbelief.
You uttered his name against his chest, repeating it over and over again as if it were the first time you’d ever learned it. Maybe this was your way of relearning, trying to commit the way you said his name memory after letting it rest dormant. A name without a person to respond to it. It hurt.
But it was different now. Now he was right in front of you, holding you, whispering your name against your skin too. Your names weren’t figments of your imaginations anymore. They meant something tangible now.
Then came the tears. Both of your chests heaved in realization that you’d been alive and not together all those years. You’d spent time apart you could have spent together, lost time that didn’t have to be.
“Ted?” You’d garbled between hiccups.
Jack nodded his head, moving back from your embrace to cup your cheeks. “He’s alright.” His words warbled, but Jack was smiling. “We’ve been moving around together. I actually had to go save him a few nights ago.”
“Good.” You buried back into his chest giving your brain a chance to register that Jack was real and alive and holding you. “I’ve been coming here for years. I never saw anyone. I thought everyone was dead.”
Jack pulled you closer, pressing a warm, tender kiss against the crown of your head. “I thought so too. I couldn’t come back after…I thought it was too dangerous. Ted and I kept moving; it was safer.”
“That was smart.” You sniffed. “Worked just like we talked about.”
Some time passed in silence before you leaned back again, staring at his worried face. You needed breaks from his hold to see him, to piece back together all the features you were missing, just in case he disappeared again.
In the breaks of holding each other, Jack never broke eye contact, eyes shifting over your face too. It was like he was doing the same thing you were, creating new memories of your face where old ones faded. “I looked for you,” he mumbled. “I searched all over.”
“I’ve been looking for you for a century,” you whispered, reaching up to run your thumb against his still soft cheek. He looked the same as he did before, just a little older now, five years matured where he was supposed to be a hundred. “I never stopped.”
Jack nodded, eyes closing over fresh tears. “I can’t believe it’s been so long.”
“I know,” you sighed, reaching up to wipe away his tears. “But we’re here now. The moonflower is even still around.
Jack chuckled, his slowly opening eyes spilling over with tenderness. Then he sobered, his smile fading from his face. You frowned. “Jack?”
He sighed and reached for your hands, weaving them together. This felt like the beginning of bad news. You felt your stomach drop. “(name)?” he begins.
Jack hardly called you by your first name. One hundred years and he forgot that? Not likely, but maybe something else is going on. Does he not want to see you after everything that’s happened? Is there someone else in the picture?
Scenarios of Jack happy with someone else appeared before your eyes before you have a chance to stop them. Your eyes fell, and you forced yourself to stare at his hands to keep from being able to read what’s on your mind.
“It’s been a hundred years, and I thought I’d never see you again.” Jack’s voice carried an undercurrent of separation, warning you to prepare your heart early for his next words. “I know we’ve probably become different people in that time. I’ve changed, and you changed.”
Your heart began to tear. It sounded like he was going to say goodbye again, just after you found each other. This couldn’t be happening, but nevertheless, your chest tightened.
Jack huffed in frustration. “What I’m trying to say is—”
“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” You mumbled, refusing to look at him. “It’s alright. It’s not like we knew we were alive, right?”
Jack paused for a longer time than you thought he would, and his silence concerned you enough to look up. His eyes looked so broken it crushed you. “No. No, never, amor. You are everything.”
His hands rushed to cup your cheeks, drawing you closer so your noses were touching, breaths fanning out against each other’s skin. “I just…you’re so…it wouldn’t surprise me.” You reasoned, closing your eyes at the feel of his skin underneath yours. It drugged you, pulling you into his further, but even that wouldn’t be enough.
You needed time. You needed him beside you each morning from the rest of your lives forward. You needed the grounding feeling of his hand in yours. You needed so much more than just this one moment.
“What I was trying to say,” he breathed laboriously as if fighting the same stupefying spell you were. “Was that, if you were available, I want to spend all my time with you.” His half-lidded eyes, open in loving despair, locked on to you. “That is if there’s no one else.”
You chuckled. “Like they ever had a chance.” His answering smile echoed your grin as you pressed closer, confessing everything against his lips. “No one compares. They never have and they never will. I adore you. I’ve never stopped. Not for a day or an hour or a minute. You are everything to me.”
Your lips pressed together with a fervor of a kiss sanctified by time and made powerful through devotion. Everything you could never say, all the love you could never express, all joined as the stars watched.
The moonflower still grows; now there lay two more.
The city streets are crowded for the holiday, even with the rain. Hidden in the chaos, is the element, waiting to strike like snakes. But I’m there too..watching.
