#even thinking about telling people things and being vulnerable makes me nauseous

[mettasing]

⚠️ !FOLLOWING VENT WARNING! ⚠️

i still remember that "psychologist". essentially, i tried to tell her just one thing, but she was ignoring me, saying shit like dayum maybe some art therapy (because SHE is "artsy") maybe religion (because SHE is religious) maybe socialization (because SHE is lonely, and my explanations included me comfortable being asocial, not ostracized), maybe you need to move to fucking st. petersburg to find "your people" (because... you get the point). or clumsily trying to sell her own graphomania (i read it before i've got to talk, i thought her artistic and professional skills didn't link together) and "artsiness" to me. essentially, it was like i was unreasonable (got physically sick and nauseous from this conversation even though there was no conflict, i've just realised i probably wasn't being heard so i left). like i had some ffvi cast before me with "touch grass" and "love yourself" type of advices, but instead of human beings who have grown from their fears and sorrows and were gonna fight for their and everyone's better lives, it was a sheltered philistine who was more akin to ms. fleming from heathers. so later i've heard from my friend (who was actually interacting with her basically everyday) that she thought i had some major depression and anxiety disorder but she was AFRAID to suggest that i needed professional help. so she preferred to drag me around for a couple of weeks, while i was uncertain and vulnerable for trusting my problems to someone outside of my circle, thinking i was just dramatic. and my fears and doubts in her were cemented.

why do i know about her projecting instead of giving actual advice? why do i call her "philistine"? it's because i know how she tried to help people (who actually needed it, so much more than me) and failed miserably because she wasn't able to see outside of her own figurine. she was a guidance chancellor and a college supervisor who didn't do her job, travelling around the country when she should have been working; she was safe because she was friends with her respected colleague, and she never knew her students' whereabouts. tbh, she never conversed with them properly. they didn't respect her because they were assertive and she was too meek and pathetic for them, she didn't respect them because they were commonfolk beneath her level unable to understand her artistic soul. with a few fatal exceptions. she was "sad" and "disappointed" that an suicidal autistic person with unprocessed traumas who grew up in poverty and depravity didn't wanted to "see the world, meet new people and make art" in the middle of a fucking episode (under her supposed care!). she was convincing my friend to return to their ex even though they were (and still are) traumatized and physically unwell from this relationship, on top of their own problems. because their ex is a "rare, unique, creative" person. after she learned the truth (it was a whole fucking shitshow, a final act that erupted and then lasted half a year and i even got my part in it), she proceeded to say TO MY FRIENDS' FACE that she still "liked" their ex. it's not a teacher's business to make friends with students, but i think her loneliness got the best of her. she chose two ostracized people in her group, and at first it was seen as a good thing. it's good to have a figure of authority who can understand you and protect you amidst the bullying. but in this case, because of what i stated earlier, it wasn't the truth. she just wanted some younger people to adore her, look at her collection (it's really impressive, though) or read her... novels. whole other topic. i don't like trashing onto somebody's art like it's 2015-2017 "fandom trash" fairy mary sue era, i've got out of there and learned. but she basically became that dismissive adult once it was clear that no one was impressed by her artistic journey, even those who were supposed to understand her. also, for the "philistine" comment. it's no secret that liberal arts/art history and criticism people are different from artists. they understand the basis, the elements, the skeleton, the guts of an art piece. they can explain it. but to assemble it? the puzzle pieces will be visible on the skin. it won't be pretty. maybe it's me who's projecting here as a music theory major who will go hyperventilating and sweating everytime they need to stop analysing and start playing (something something growing up with corporal punishment and emotional abuse teehee🤭🤭 i don't like to use this word for me plus i'm just not a composer). like she knows her art history, she's passionate, she drops literature references left and right in her work, she uses fucking philosophy books' passages as epigraphs even though they look completely out of place in her b-list science fiction novel... but there's no live thought. she doesn't want people to criticise her for it. it may be fair but not when you call yourself a writer and make your work a part of your personality. no, she just wants adoration and admiration, and you are out of picture when you fail to provide her with it.

looks like i've just gnawed onto somebody. just a human. but, uh. yes. JUST a human. i got myself into a lengthy explanation of someone i consider a face of pop-psychology. not my first encounter with a therapist, but a very telling one. it's a person who's comfortable with the idea of helping, even though the only help they can provide is just "talk and feel". they won't care and will be afraid, dismissive, rude, condescending if someone who's outside of their (oh, how i dread these words) comfort zone steps into their office. suddenly, there are boundaries. you are the problem again. you are "too much" again. they can opt out of helping you, not even bothering to explain themselves and hinting at your fault and "difficulty" in their decision. "we're all human", until you say you're alienated from society and physically can't consider someone's worth and feelings until told, and ruin the fun. "we're all have lows in our lives", until you say you're worthless piece of shit and you starved today again because you hope you'll gradually disappear that way and won't cause troubles and grief to your loved ones, and spoil the milk. "we're all capable and talented and valuable in our own way", until you ask what's so valuable about a high-school drop-out disappointment who didn't even peak there and won't be able to afford higher education money-, time- and health-wise because they blew up academically being unwell and unchecked and now they're even worse – and shatter the magic. now you're just arguing, now you're trying to be special. you haven't even talked about your debilitating fears and anxiety, your inability to groom yourself, your manic episodes leaving you shattered and isolated, your paranoid delusions locking you inside your room and head. you're already a "narcissist" because you haven't started immediately to lick their boot for gracing you with answer. your mommy didn't love you, you daddy have been beating you. you are incapable of understanding, loving (whisper) and be loved by other people, because you're so hypocritical, broken, full of yourself and straight up not nice. now, please disappear forever.

[psychosomatist]

Talking to my ED therapist today and she said that it can be hard when people get physically sick like this because we can't hide it from other people anymore. I'm really fucking sick and hiding it isn't working. I adopted a cat and she's younger than I thought with more energy and she is still in my room with me all the time and it makes it hard to sleep. I'm ashamed to ask for help socializing her but I know I need to. I'm in PHP all day.

Last night I went over to Julio's and just wanted for things to be normal and they more or less were. Better actually. It had been like a month since seeing him. We talked and joked a lot and he asked me how I'm really doing. He said it's like pulling teeth to get me to say how I really am sometimes and I said I'd be more honest. He said he'll be more open telling me things about himself. 4 months in and I've asked him about his writing before but he never told me he's written a fair amount of published articles and went to Puerto Rico in the aftermath of Hurricane Maria to interview people.

But yeah I was afraid we wouldn't have anything in common still or there would be nothing between us anymore but that didn't happen. Instead I just felt really close to him. We talked for a long time, joked a lot. I like that he and I can have real talk without it feeling touchy feely in a way I don't like. Its hard to explain. I think like... it doesn't feel like he "holds space" so much as that the space is there and he's in the same space. He said he doesn't judge me for having essentially done this to myself when I asked and said he gets it when it comes to mental health issues. Then later said that he doesn't want to talk to a therapist who's not fucked up and asked me when I'm finishing school. So that made me feel a lot better.

We had really good sex for a long time, mostly vanilla, which was probably best for me with health stuff rn. It was really sweet, he just did a lot for me and kissed me a lot. He is the best fucking kisser.

Idk I just like our dynamic a lot. He's the only partner I've had as an adult who really treats me like an equal and who I feel listens to me. He can call me pretty and stuff because I know he sees me as a guy, but he sees me as the kind of guy that I am, a boy not a man. And like even though I like to bottom he doesn't make me feel like shit or hurt me. I don't know I just feel respected and valued. And I don't have to pull punches with saying "dark" stuff and neither does he, we don't sit and wallow in it or spin out though.

But yeah he said he'll be here for me and that he cares about me deeply. I don't know why but I trust him about feelings stuff in a way I don't trust many. I think it's because he's never fazed by things. He just accepts it and handles his own feelings around it and listens and genuinely wants to know, and he doesn't make me feel different after talking about it. Not sure, he's just a good listener. I can be vulnerable with him and he still respects me after. Idk I'm just glad that he and I still connected bc I was afraid we wouldn't.

When I was actually honest with him I said that being in there fucked me up and I'm not really ok right now and really sick a lot of the time and angrier than I've been in a long time honestly.

But I also said sometimes things just fuck you up and that's true.

But seeing him made me feel a lot better about everything. He's just really comforting to me.

Anyway. I started writing this post from the bathroom floor at 1:30am after waking in the night and puking my guts out. I'm trying to think of something nice. I have refeeding syndrome which put me in the ER the other night. Couldn't keep anything down until about a half hour ago at 11am and that's only a couple sips of water. I slept on the bathroom floor so I could wake up and throw up, I felt too weak to move + moving makes me nauseous + didn't want to wake my housemates so I was in the bathroom in the basement.

I can't believe how bad recovery has been so far. It's worse than getting sober was. I didn't think it could be. I didn't think I'd get this sick.

I was/am afraid I'd have to go to the ER again. Two days ago I didn't get seen for 12 hours. I know they were busy, it just wasn't what I needed and in the grand scheme made me worse bc I skipped eating and drinking for most of 3pm-6am bc I was on the waiting room and out of it. I'm glad I went because I know my heart probably isn't gonna stop now and they gave me fluids. That's all they'd do this time too if i went and tbh I'm not even good to drive this time. Earlier it was really bad, I couldn't move without gagging. But I'm able to get some Gatorade down now too. I'm hoping that I can just try to keep drinking things and get my fluids up again. It's dangerous for me to be dehydrated right now. But going to the ER is a last resort. I'm hoping I can get a Zofran prescription, I've been trying to fucking get one. It's hard to try and navigate all this by myself, operating at reduced capacity. I keep forgetting important things.

***

Later- got a scrip from my old doctor for Zofran thank fuck. About to drink some ensure. Cheers.

[whumpzone]

I think Col should get really really sick. Like, throwing up, shivering, sore throat, high fever, hallucinating sick.

He sees people in the walls coming to get him, but is too weak and nauseous to do anything so he just begs for Linden to help, to tell them to go away.

Linden sits with him, “keeping them away”, and coaxing him to drink water and take his medicine.

Col can only relax if Linden is there, and even though the circumstances are terrible, Linden finds it to be a nice change to be a source of comfort as opposed to anxiety.

And of course, the obligatory “fever broken, wakes up to see caretaker asleep sitting up, bedside vigil” sort of thing.

thank you for the prompt anon! your ask sets the scene so well that I thought we'd just dive in

CW: pet whump, vomiting, past n0ncon (vaguely described)

-

Col clamped a hand over his mouth, feeling the wall of bile rushing against his palm, but Master didn't seem the type to laugh at that sort of thing. Col knew his old owner would have put a ball gag in for greater effect, and enjoyed the sight of his pet choking on his own vomit. He would've had to earn the right to a bucket, but Master pushed one under him without a word. Col gripped the sides and ducked his head, and knew how animalistic he sounded as he vomited.

"S-S-Sir, thank you, thank you I'm sorry, thank you for your kindness a-and I'm so sorry for being so disgusting," he choked out the second he could speak again. His throat felt like it had a burning cigarette lodged into it, but every second that ticked by without being properly grateful added a new layer of anxiety. Master moved the bucket, murmuring something about cleaning it later. Col would have cleaned it that second, if he had asked. Sickness was no excuse- there were no excuses, when he had an order to obey.

A sudden flush of heat was developing over him. His shirt felt sticky was sweat and the uncomfortable warmth pulsed under his skin: his heartbeat, amplified. Master had put a hand to his back, a message Col was too ill to understand, and of course he noticed the sudden temperature hike.

"Oh, you're in a hot spell right now. God, it sucks, doesn't it? You'll be freezing again soon," he warned.

"Why, Sir, what are y-you going to do to me?"

He wasn't allowed to ask questions like that, he knew he wasn't. His old owner didn't like them. They earned him a slap, usually, and the promise of I'm going to do whatever I want, now shut up.

His current Master just pressed his hand a little harder into his back, rubbing his thumb up and down. Col was familiar with this, at least, except this time there weren't any fresh whip marks to toy with. Would there be, soon?

"Not me, sweet, I'm not going to do anything. I meant because you're ill. Hot one second and cold the next. Your body's trying to fight the illness off."

"Oh, sorry, uh, sorry Sir, I really am trying, I promise."

He groaned as a fresh wave of stomach pain rolled into him. Master was so close to him and he felt so vulnerable and so weak. Anything would hurt right now. Master wouldn't even have to try.

"Is there anything I can do to help?”

. . .

Linden knew it wouldn’t be a question Col was used to. It was almost, almost funny, seeing the look on his face. Poor thing. He was properly ill. The sweat had stuck his fringe to his head, and his eyes were half-lidded with pain. That was to say nothing of the paleness. He was ghostly.

As seemed to happen often these days, Linden wished he could get into Col’s head. He was clearly thinking hard about the question.

“Humans always know best, I can’t, I wouldn’t tell you what to do, Sir. I’m yours, you can decide if it’s f-funny keeping me ill or if you want me better.”

Oh. There it was again. That pain in Linden’s chest that he never got used to.

“Did you old owner think it was funny?”

“Yes, but I know I’m not there anymore, I only want to please you, Sir, I’ll d-do what I can to make you happy.”

Fucking hell! Linden wanted to shout. You’re ill, it’s not a spectator sport!

He realised he was glaring when Col inhaled sharply, his green eyes blowing even wider.

“Not everything has to be about me. You’re sick, Col, so what matters is looking after you. Can you understand that? That you can be important, too?”

Col obviously didn’t want to argue back, but the disagreement was evident in the way his eyebrows pulled together.

“I belong to you, Sir, I have to be worth keeping around. That’s how it works.”

His voice started to break at the last sentence. Linden realised how much Col had been speaking, too. His defences were clearly down right now.

He’s still so scared of being thrown out.

“No, I like having you here. I like you. You’re worth keeping around because you’re Colton.”

Col suddenly heaved again, but this time nothing came up, except a weak sob.

“It hurts, Sir,” he whispered.

“Let’s get you into bed. You’re being a good boy.”

. . .

Col nodded, letting Master’s hands take his weight, but his wrists weren’t guided into the shackles as usual. He was even more confused when he felt the mattress.

“I’m not… not in the basement, Sir?”

“No, that was your old owner. You’re here with me, yeah?”

He blinked. His mind felt submerged in water. “Y-Yeah, I’m sorry, I’m a dumb pet, I’m really sorry…”

The feeling that something wasn’t right stayed with him, though. It felt like he had slept, but perhaps he had only just put his head down. Every time he closed his eyes he was sure the time had changed.

His current, strange Master was still sat beside the bed, menacing over him with his endless dark hair and deep eyes and soft expression. Col rolled his head to the side, but he still couldn’t figure him out. Not one bit.

After an eternity, or perhaps just one second, his eyes flicked to the dark wall behind his owner.

“They found me,” he sobbed, seeing all of his old Master’s friends staring back.

“Who?” the bedside figure asked.

“Them, the ones who would come and use me, the ones who taught me how to behave, with, with- it was every time I really upset Master, every time I really deserved it-“

“Hey, no one’s there, it’s not real, I promise. It’s just me and you, they’re not here.”

Col barely heard him. Master’s words paled against the searing terror of seeing them again, in this space that he had come to think of as safe, in some way, and he was so weak that they could come and take what they wanted without a fight.

He wouldn’t have fought back anyway.

The man in the chair was still sat with him, still watching him attentively, and Col broke his eyes away from his tormentors for just enough to see him and start begging.

“Sir, please, please, don’t- don’t- don’t leave me, please.”

His voice was hoarse and pathetic. The bridge of his nose felt slick, and he realised he was crying across his face as he lay there, paralysed with fear.

“Please don’t let them have me!” he moaned, appealing to something within his current Master that he wouldn’t dare admit to himself, wouldn’t dare put a name on. Something that made him patient and generous and-

“I can’t, I can’t do it again, please Sir I’m so scared, I’m,” his words were fading fast, fighting a losing battle against his burning throat, but he had to try. “Y-You’re a human, they’ll, they’ll listen to you. Please, please tell them to go away, tell them I’m yours now, I’m your slave and they can’t have me anymore, please.”

In a flash, his right hand was locked in Master’s grip, as his two hands held Col’s firmly.

When his eyes next focused, they were inches from Master’s face. He gasped, but didn’t flinch away.

“Are you listening, Col?”

He nodded, his heart still hammering.

“I swear to god, I will tell them all that and then some. I will make sure they never come back again. Do you understand me? I’m going to stay right here and protect you. They won’t be able to get close. They wouldn’t even dare try.”

His voice was low, and deadly serious. A thrill ran through Col- it felt like loyalty, and happiness, and excitement.

“If you want to go to sleep, then do so. I’m right here, keeping watch for you.”

-

When Colton woke up, he felt like he’d slept for days. His stomach was still rolling, but the awful heat had left him. It felt like the world was moving as the right speed, again.

He was aware of a presence next to him, and turned to look.

Master was right there. The morning sun was threading through his hair, shimmering as he shifted in time with his breathing. He was asleep, Col could see. One hand was propped up on his thigh, and the other was still holding Colton’s.

His hallucination came back to him as he looked at the wall behind Master’s head. Master had promised to stay, and he had.

The touch wasn’t scary. They had held hands before, and Master saw it was a reward, rather than a promise of anything painful. In fact, it was probably because of his sickness-weakened mind, but Master himself didn’t look scary, right now.

This sudden bout of naivete would leave. Col would be safer, and better, when it did. It was nice, though, for just a second or two. To lie there, wrapped in the feeling that Master was protecting him.

-

dutifully tagging @i-msonotcreative in everything I write <3

[watermelonlovershigh]

Harry Gets Food Poisoning While at Your House

This prompt was requested by this ask and I just put my own take on it. Hope everyone enjoys.

Things to help you understand this story better:

(Boyfriend-Girlfriend/Dating for 2 years/Harry stays over at your place a lot/You ate something different than Harry/Dunkirk Harry era)

(wish that photo was really Harry but unfortunately its not. dead give away by the hand :( )

Harry and yourself decided to order Chinese take-out for a at-home date night. You both scoffed down the tasty food while sitting on the sofa watching romantic comedies. Once you finished eating, you and Harry cuddled together on the sofa under a warm fluffy blanket. You laying on your back and Harry laying on his tummy between your legs, with his head resting on your boobs. While focusing on the film, you run your small fingers in his brown curls and he relaxes into your touch, letting out content sighs.

About an hour after eating, Harry becomes restless on top of you. Before, he was laying peacefully, but now he's squirming every few seconds. "You alright babe?" you question down to Harry on your chest.

"Mhmm my stomachs starting to hurt." he replies truthfully. He's unsure the cause but his stomach is swirling and his heart rate is picking up at the mere thought of having to be sick. Especially the thought of being sick at his girlfriends house during the at-home date you had planed. He doesn't want to ruin it by getting sick.

"Oh m'sorry. Do you think it was the Chinese food?" you speak remorsefully.

"I don't know but I don't want to be sick," Harry says with a voice crack indicating he's actually getting upset, "and ruin our date night." When he finishes his sentence, he starts softly sobbing into your chest.

"Hey, hey, Harry," you say sternly but still in your caring voice, "you would not be ruining our date night. You can't help if your feel sick. Do you maybe want to go sit in the bathroom so you're closer to the toilet?"

Harry just nods his head and you help him stand up from his position on your chest and onto his barley stable feet. Then you guide him to your downstairs hall bathroom because its the closest bathroom to your living room. You walk Harry up to the toilet and help him kneel down in front and you squat down behind him. "I feel so sick y/n!" Harry moans out through shallow breaths.

"It's gonna be okay Harry. I'm right here. It's okay to be sick. I won't be mad." you reassure your boyfriend so he knows he doesn't have to keep in his sick for your sake and so he'll feel better. Because you know undoubtedly he has food poisoning from the Chinese food he ate earlier and if he keeps the toxins in his body, he will just feel sicker and sicker.

Harry's back arches over the toilet as he lets out a sickly sounding gag. You grimace at the noise but know you must keep it together to take care of him and comfort him. He's breathing rather heavy with his mouth hanging open and saliva dripping out into the water. "Shhh babe, just relax and throw up. Your tummy will feel so much better after." you gently coo in his ear. You have one hand rubbing circles on his muscular back and one hand pushing back his curly bangs that's falling in his face. He lets out a harsh dry heave and it follows with a long stream of vomit exiting out his mouth and splattering in the toilet water. You have to close your eyes to not be sick yourself.

In-between spells of emptying his stomach, Harry mutters, "You can leave me in here alone. Don't want you seeing me like this." He is absolutely crazy to think you'd leave him in such a vulnerable state. You love Harry and him being sick doesn't stray you away from being by his side in such a situation.

"Harry, I am not leaving you. I don't care if you're sick. You've seen me sick many times and took care of me each of those times. So I'm taking care of you." you calmly say back. Honestly, Harry feels so sick that he doesn't try and argue with you. If he's being truthful, he's actually thankful you're with him, comforting him, because he hates being sick alone. He may not admit that out loud but its true. Something else that happens when Harry's sick, alone or with someone there with him, he gets emotional. An uncontrollable emotion that follows during or after getting sick. One thing he hates most about this situation right now is looking weak in front of you. He's always so strong and being this vulnerable in your eyes suck.

What Harry doesn't know is that you like this side of him. Not the sick version of course but the weak side. It shows he isn't perfect and you honestly don't think you could even date someone who puts themselves out as such.

Harry forcefully throws up a few more times until he's just dry heaving with nothing more to expel. "I think you're done babe." you tell Harry softly as he's dry heaving with no results.

Harry just shakes his head weakly and replies, "I still feel sick though. My stomach hurts so bad." Tears are rolling down his face and his hands that grip the sides of the toilet seat are slightly shaking.

"I know but I think the toilet is making you feel more sick." You reach over him to flush his puke down the toilet so he doesn't have to look at it a minute longer. Harry sits up straight and turns his head back slowly to look at you. This is the first time you have seen his face clearly since he's gotten sick tonight and the first thing you notice is how red his eyes are, probably from all the gagging and dry heaving, and you see the wetness of his cheeks due to crying. Along with the bit of vomit that his on the corner of his pink lips and line of sweat on his forehead. You feel horrible for him. You'd hate to be in his position but almost wish the roles were reversed, just to take his discomfort away. That's how much you love him. You'd do just about anything for Harry. Even if that means take his food poisoning away from him and have it yourself.

You reach for some toilet paper and rip a piece off to wipe his mouth clean. While wiping his vomit covered mouth, Harry just sits and stares at you. He feels so little right now. Almost like he's a small child who's just been sick and their mum is cleaning them up. Even though Harry is embarrassed he got sick on what was supposed to be a lovely date night where you both ate non contaminated food, watched film after film, trying not to fall asleep, or maybe had some romantic intimacy at the end of the night, he actually feels happy right now. Not happy his stomach is upset but happy he got lucky enough to have a caring girlfriend that is by his side during his ugliest moments. He thinks he may have just fell more in love with you. Seeing how compassionate you are towards him when he's sick.

When you finish wiping around his mouth and a little bit of nasty drainage from his nose, Harry becomes emotional again. Like stated previously, he always gets quite emotional when he's sick but that's not the only cause of his emotions right now. He is also crying because he's thinking about how much he truly loves you and how he never thought he'd find someone with your level of compassion.

You throw away the soiled tissue and pull Harry forward so you can embrace him in a warm hug. You don't really understand why he's crying so much. Is it because his stomach is still hurting or he's embarrassed? "Why are you crying Harry?" you question him then continue, "It's alright. I'll give you medicine to make you feel better. Don't worry about that."

While rubbing both hands up and down his sweaty back, Harry says through soft sobs, "I just love you so much. How did I get so lucky. I've had partners in the past to push me away when I was sick and you didn't. You stayed and took care of me." He lifts his head so he can view your face when he mutters out the rest. "I'm gonna marry you one day you know. Want to call you my wife. Want to have lots of babies with you. Be with you till I'm a hundred. Promise I do."

His words have brought tears to your eyes. Knowing how grateful Harry is that you're taking care of him when he's sick means so much. You didn't think twice before helping him when he said he felt sick, so it must be the true love you feel for this man crying in your hold. With a shaky smile and watery eyes, you look at him in his glossy green eyes and say, "I would kiss you right now but I have a feeling your breath smells like puke so I'll pass. Love you so much Harry and of course I took care of you. I love you and that's what you do for the people you love. Take care of them in their weakest moments."

You hold him for a few more minutes on the bathroom floor until your bum gets sore from the hard tiles. You help Harry stand to his feet and walk him to your bedroom located up the stairs of your house. Then you help him slide into bed and tell him you'll be right back with some medicine and a glass of water.

A few minutes later, you come back with the upset stomach tablets and water for Harry to take and ease his turning tummy. Once he's taken the medicine, you go grab your mini trash bin in your bathroom and place it beside the bed incase he feels like he's gonna throw up again. Then you turn all the lights off and crawl under the warm blankets with your boyfriend. Without hesitation, Harry scoots over and places his head on your chest. He's past the point of being scared to look weak. He just wants comfort and the one thing that brings him the most is you. The love of his life. "Thank you for taking care of me tonight." Harry whispers with a hoarse voice.

"You don't need to thank me babe. I was glad to be there for you. I know you don't like getting sick and I was happy to at least make the experience a little bit better. Now go to sleep and if you feel sick again, the bin is on the floor beside the bed for you. Also don't be afraid to wake me up if you feel nauseous. I want to be there to comfort you." you reply back in a whispered tone. You kiss the top of his messy curls and Harry relaxes into your hold on him. Feeling safe and secure in your loving arms. Then you both fall fast asleep.

Thankfully Harry didn't get sick anymore through-out the night and the medicine you gave him seemed to have worked. The next day he was just exhausted form exerting so much energy being sick the day before but other than that, his stomach felt calm. You made him homemade chicken soup and cuddled him in bed, watching his favorite movies all day. Loving every second you get to spend with Harry before he has to leave and go on his world tour in a months time.

MASTERLIST & My Favorite Harry Styles Fics MASTERLIST

[angelfishofthelord]

"I know what you did"

Whumptober Day 4: pushed. (also on a03)

From a dark au idea I've had for awhile where Cas goes off to be a vigilante post 15x03. And after seeing @dadstiel liveblogging about the end of s14 I wanted to write a scene about what happened in 14x19.

There’s been half a dozen similar stories in the past few months: a child trafficking ring in a state up north was busted and all the men holding the children were discovered either dead or comatose; an abusive father of two young girls was dropped off at the steps of a police station, reduced to a drooling crippled mess; an anonymous call about a factory with underage workers, and when the authorities arrived they found the teenagers huddled in the corner and the burnt, sightless body of the boss under the desk.

“He saved us,” the teenagers were quoted as saying in the article. Similar words used in the most recent news where a local gang that was using eighth graders to sell their drugs was uncovered in the same mysterious pattern. “It was this man...he just came in like the wind,” said Timothy Grant, one of the 14 year olds who was a runaway that had been promised protection by the gang but was then forbidden to contact his parents. “Everyone who ever hurt us was….gone. And he said we could go home now.”

Sam closes the laptop with a sigh. The descriptions in the reports vary, but there are always a few that are consistent: a man with inhuman speed, and the glowing light that either destroys the evildoer or heals the injured. It could be a rogue angel, or one of Chuck’s little comebacks like Lilith.

He ignores the other option, the faint suspicion niggling in the back of his mind.

No. It can't be.

Whoever it is, he’s finally close to finding them. They’ve been smart; security footage has shown that they change cars frequently. The most recent one was a blue pickup truck left under an overpass in the next town. Sam has been staying in the area, checking headlines and talking with local police to see if they’ve seen anyone with a penchant for dispensing judgement on those who hurt the innocents. Like some kind of vigilante, Sam thinks as he pulls up a few feet away from the dark outline of the barn. He got a call from the lady at the diner across from the motel he’s been staying at, saying her friend saw something outside the abandoned Miller farm. It’s probably nothing, but he's here to check, just to be sure.

The first floor of the barn is empty but Sam knows that someone’s definitely here. There’s a flicker of light in the loft above and the muffled sound of grunting. Sam puts the flashlight in his mouth and ascends the ladder carefully. He keeps one hand free and on the hilt of the angel blade in his jacket. As he gets closer to the top he sees a pair of black shoes and the bare, bloodied feet of another man tied to a chair. The man with shoes has his back to him; he looms over the seated man, one hand pinning his shoulder against the spine of the chair.

Sam reaches the last rung of the ladder in time to clearly see the standing man shove his hand into the other’s chest. Light swirls around the invasion, blazing and white-hot, before he withdraws his hand. The man in the chair slumps back, eyes blank and jaw slack.

He knows who it is even before he turns around. He always knew, in a way. “Cas?”

Cas glances back at him with a twinge of surprise in his eyes before he turns back around. “Sam.”

Sam steps closer to the man in the chair. His fingers are still close to the angel blade in his jacket. “Is-Is he dead?”

“No.” Cas keeps his back to him, folding up a map on the wooden table at his side. He sounds strange. Frigid. “That would be a mercy he doesn’t deserve.”

“W-What are you doing?”

“Recharging.”

“No, I mean--that’s not--” Sam rubs a hand over his face. “You’ve been doing all of this? All those people--you killed--why, Cas, why are you doing this?” He knew Cas must be devastated after Jack’s death, after Chuck’s betrayal, and some kind of subsequent fallout with Dean, but the reality of what he's been doing still feels like being hit by a tank.

“I’m saving people. Children,” he adds.

So it is about Jack. “Cas,” Sam moves closer, trying to sound placating. He puts a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “I know losing Jack wasn’t easy. I miss him too but this isn't--”

Cas whirls around, eyes burning blue, and Sam finds himself being hurled across the room, crashing into the wooden boards of the wall before landing hard on the ground. He gasps, trying to find his breath, and looks up to see Cas hovering above him, palm outstretched, face wreathed in fury. There’s a slight pressure on Sam’s shoulders; he’s not being pinned to the wall, but it’s enough to tells him that he absolutely will be if he tries to move.

“C-Cas?” Sam breathes. Maybe he's possessed, maybe Chuck is controlling him. He has to get through to him before it's too late. "It's just me."

“Don’t talk about Jack that way,” Cas says, voice low and lethal. “I know what you did. He told me everything.”

“What are you talking about?”

The shadows darken around Cas’ face. “You prayed to him. He was locked in that box because he answered your prayer.”

Oh. This isn't someone else manipulating Cas, this is really him. Sam feels the tug of shame sloshing in his gut but he brushes it aside and instead makes a faint attempt to rise, only to feel the firm nudge of being pushed back. “Look, I know it wasn’t the best thing to do, Cas, but there was no other way, Jack was dangerous, and he--”

“Did you even try to find another way?” Cas snaps. “You fought fiercely to keep Dean from his fate in that box. Yet you were ready to condemn Jack to an eternity of that same fate without a second thought.”

Sam swallows hard. He tries to remember all the mental gymnastics he did to convince himself why Jack had to go in there, but Cas is still talking. “Do you know why other angels don’t usually answer prayers? Because it makes us vulnerable. It’s not considered a wise strategic move because it calls an angel, by name, to a specific place. There’s no time to scope out the destination for danger or to evaluate the potential risks.” He moves in closer, towering above him. “Or if it’s going to be an ambush.”

“I’m sorry, Cas.” He really is. “We didn’t handle it right, and I wish to Go-” he catches himself. “I wish Jack was still here so he could know how sorry I am. But Cas…what you’re doing isn’t right either. You must know that.”

The eerie glow of Cas’ eyes pierce through the night. “You know, when the Bunker’s alarms went off, it wasn’t just because Jack was trying to break out of the box. I could hear him. He was screaming. The same way he was screaming when….” the light in his eyes suddenly dims and Cas’ hand drops back to his side.

The pressure on Sam yields abruptly and he immediately leans forward, gulping for air. He knows what Cas didn’t say; the sight of Jack collapsing in that graveyard, crying out as searing light ruptured from him, still frequents Sam’s own nightmares. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, useless as the words are. “It wasn’t--”

“I loved him.” Cas isn’t looking at him now; he’s focused on some distant point above his head, blinking hard. “You have no idea how much Jack meant to me, how much I--” his voice catches and he turns away. In between the shafts of light Sam can see his jaw working, the bob of his throat and clench of his fist as Cas struggles to compose himself. A cold, sickly way of guilt washes over Sam and he feels almost nauseous. Every excuse and reasoning dries up on his tongue.

After a minute Cas glances back at him, his expression once more glacial. “You and Dean have each other. Don’t come looking for me again.”

[thisismyhell]

With you, Safely

Pairing: Hotch x reader (criminal minds) FLUFF :)

Summary: You have a stalker, and it just so happens the BAU is in the right place at the right time. Can Hotch make you feel safe in your stressful state?

Words: 5k

TWs: blaming yourself, a gun is mentioned, making out!!!!!

Being honest about your personal life was never your strong suit. You always had the habit of leaving out sometimes small, and sometimes big, details about your situation. Whether it was because you found it way too personal, or just simply forgot about the idea of telling someone. You knew that theoretically if the people in your life were good, they would be there for you. But, you also knew that you had some people in your life who were not so good, and the lines often blurred in your mind. So when you started getting anonymous threats sent to your workplace, it took you a while to come to terms with the fact that you should tell someone. 

Taking your boss’s advice, you went to the police station. You have never had a reason to engage with a cop before, and if you were honest with yourself, you were not exactly thrilled at the concept. Especially under your circumstances. Not only did you hate the idea of talking about your personal life, but asking for actual help made you nauseous. It made you physically uncomfortable to put yourself out there like that, admitting to being vulnerable and not being able to take care of the situation quietly on your own. You understood that having threats sent to you like this was not a casual situation you could take care of, but you were still mentally trying to get out of this realization. Everything is fine if you just don’t talk about it, right?

“How can I help you today?” the receptionist asked, bringing you back into reality. “Um, sorry - I just..I think I may have a s-stalker? I don’t really know though, it might not even be that serious-”, “okay, what makes you think you have a stalker?” you were thankful she had taken the lead in this conversation. “Well, I-uh, I have been getting threats. Like, sent to my workplace? I don’t know, like, letters and packages from someone I don’t know. It might not be serious, my boss.. My boss just thought I should tell the police?” You were so uncomfortable, and the woman helping you could tell. “Alright well, how about you step into an office over here and we can take you information, and you can tell an officer everything you can. How does that sound?” Her kind eyes were easing your shoulders from their crunched up state. “That would be helpful, yes, t-thank you”. You followed her into an office where an officer wrote down everything you described to them. 

Taking the bus back to your apartment, you felt some tension leave your body. It had been maybe 2-3 months of keeping this to yourself, and you finally had the energy to tell someone. Someone who could maybe actually put you at ease. You probably didn’t have a stalker, let’s be real. That stuff never happens in real life, the concept was so far away from being real to you. Exiting the bus you kept telling yourself everything would be fine, and this would blow over in a week. You walked up the steps to your one bedroom, and found a stack of mail at your doorstep. Picking it up and entering your home, and flipped through. A bill, some junk mail, and some letter with no return address on it. Actually, it just had your info and nothing else, not even a stamp. You put the rest of your mail down and opened the mysterious letter. Your heart sank when you realized what it was. 

“Why did you have to tell them about us? Everything was going so well.”

That’s all it said inside the letter. You dropped it, and called the station asking for the officer you were just speaking to. They told you that you were lucky, because the FBI was in town that week and had just finished up another case. You were told they had some extra time on their hands, and you could come in tomorrow to speak with them. You sighed and agreed, hanging up in relief. This would blow over, everything would be just fine. 

The BAU team was getting ready to head back to their hotel room when Hotch was pulled aside by an officer at the precinct they were working at. “Sir, I’m sorry to ask about this on your way out. But a woman came in earlier about a stalker sending threats to her workplace. We took her story and information, but she just called me back. She got a letter in the mail saying she shouldn’t have told the police. The guy knows where she lives”. 

The team all gathered around the officer. Hotch reached out, “she came in today about this, and he escalated that quickly?”. “Wait, if she was here today, how did we miss her?” Reid probed. The officer shook his head, “the lady was so quiet, she seemed hesitant to even be here in the first place. As soon as she finished her side and said that was all she knew, she was gone. Quietest girl I’ve ever seen”. “She must not have thought it was serious,” commented Morgan. 

“Sure, but a stalker rarely sends threats to the object of his desire without preparing for some kind of meeting. Officer, tell her to come back to the station and we can make a profile”. The officer told him she was already on the way, and she’d be there in less than an hour. 

Feeling shook up, you entered the station for the second time that day. The receptionist recognized you, and walked with you to where the BAU team was working. You felt somewhat shameful that such a big deal was being made over you, but you had to keep reminding yourself that you were not safe in your own home at this time. So you swallowed your pride, and right when you were about to try and get their attention, a tall dark haired gentleman introduced himself. “Good evening, you must be y/n. You can call me Hotch, and this is my team-”, you listed as he told you everyone’s name, thankful for his close proximity to you. Sure it was cheesy, but having a man like Hotch around you made you feel safe. You looked up at him, “thank you all, really - you didn’t have to stay in town just for this”. Hotch cut you off, “Nonsense. We were already here, and having a stalker know where you live on top of where you work is not something to ignore. We will help create a profile for you, you might know who it is without realizing it. You nodded, realizing for the first time in the past 3 months just how tired you were of this. Hotch immediately picked up on your body language, leading you to where a couch was placed in the back of the room.

You sat down next to Reid, the young doctor. He smiled at you almost as awkwardly as you smiled at him. Feeling safe on the couch, you let yourself relax a bit more. The situation you had gotten yourself into was far from ideal, but at least now you weren’t alone in it. However selfish it made you feel, you were happier to be here with the overworked team instead of your lonely apartment. You looked around and it seemed like the entire BAU were trying to profile you. Maybe they were, it was their job of course. You made eye contact with Hotch, who nodded at you, giving you the opportunity to tell your side of things. 

“It started 2 or 3 months ago when I got some letter delivered to me at work. It was weird since like, why would I get mail at work? But I opened it and it was just a description of what I looked like, like in a poem. But I googled it and it’s an original. I couldn’t find it anywhere. So that threw me off but I didn’t take it seriously. I work in retail, I see a million people every shift, you know? I thought it was just some guy who was into me and was weird about it. But then I started getting them more and more often, but just at work. I got sent pictures of myself, presents, and they never had return addresses. And they all had the same handwriting so it was easy to assume it was the same guy. But today...I got a letter to my apartment. To where I live...alone. That’s never happened”. 

The team took in your words, looking like they had definitely seen this kind of thing before. Your gut had the mixed feeling of relief and worry. If they had seen this before they knew what to do, but that meant that they had to do something. Hotch looked at you, “luckily, we should be able to end this before he goes further. Can you tell us anyone in your life, no matter how small, that might want to hurt you, or even someone who holds some animosity towards you?”. You thought about it, and though you had a hunch, you were hoping it wasn’t true. “My..my ex boyfriend. I thought we ended things amicably, but I don’t think he ever got over it. I was hoping it wasn’t him”. The team all nodded, this was probably more common that you thought. 

You stood up, “I’m sorry, I just need some air”. You stepped into the hallway for some quiet, when you heard the office door open and close behind you. You recognized his cologne, Hotch came out and stood in front of you. “I know how uncomfortable this situation must be. Is there anything we can do to make you more comfortable in the meantime?”. The man had the kindest eyes, even under his stern brows. You wondered if he practiced this expression, the perfect balance between intimidating and soft. You hoped you were that good and being readable, that way you wouldn’t have to open your mouth. Weirdly, the only thing you wanted in that moment was a coffee. Something to keep you warm and give you some much needed energy. Having yourself on display like this all day had been exhausting. You were amazed when Hotch spoke, “there’s a coffee place across the street. The machine in here is broken, thankfully. I’ll take you”. He gently hovered his hand on the small of your back, as if asking permission to guide you out of the building. 

He walked you out, opening doors for you on the way. Walking into the shop with an FBI agent on your arm made you feel safe for the first time in a couple months. You weren’t one to rely on others in any capacity, but in that moment, you let yourself feel relaxed with the man’s presence. It was literally his job to keep you safe, and you’d be lying if that fact didn’t give you butterflies. You were a little too engulfed with taking him in that you didn’t notice he was speaking to you. “Sorry? I’m sorry, I must have zoned out, what were you saying?” you stammered, and he just looked down at you and smiled, repeating his question. “I was asking what you would like to drink? I assume coffee, but I wasn’t sure what your preference was”, he was smiling down at you, and you forgot about every type of coffee that has ever existed. “Oh! Um, a vanilla latte. But you don’t have to get it for me, I can take care of myself-” he cut you off with a single look. “Although I am more than sure you are capable of taking care of yourself, I would like to give you this one thing, if you’d let me”. You swallowed, “I guess- I guess I can let you do this one thing. For me. Thank you, sir”. He ordered your drinks and the two of you stood at the next counter waiting for them. Hotch quietly spoke to you, almost like it was just the two of you in the entire building, “as much as I appreciate the title, please call me Hotch”. You found yourself suppressing a giggle at the feeling of his voice so close to your neck, you were definitely not used to this level of attention. “Okay, Hotch it is”. 

You grabbed your drinks, and he held the door open for you on the way out. He moved his hand from your back where you had gotten so used to it, and he walked right into the road. You watched as he lifted his hand, stopping traffic to let you cross alongside him. What you didn’t see, was Morgan looking out the window at you two, and beckoning the team to come see how Hotch was treating you. “Damn, he must really like coffee today”. Reid joined him at the window, “actually, Hotch always has a next level of confidence after a case ends well. Y/n must be his outlet for a good mood”. Rossi sat at his desk working on a file, “yeah.. Pretty nice outlet if you ask me”. 

The two of you came back into the meeting room, and you couldn’t help the blush you felt when you noticed the team all glance at each other at the site of you two. This kind of attention was okay you thought, as long as he’s the source. Hotch pulled out a chair for you to sit next to him, and the team gathered at the meeting table. 

After some deliberation, and completely downing your coffee, you all came to the conclusion that based on your ex’s habits and personality, it was almost definitely him. So you created a plan to lure him out and catch him in the act. Unfortunately for you however, this meant having to literally face your problem. The team seemed confident enough, but Hotch could feel your body stiffen at the thoughts running through your head. Since meeting you just a couple hours prior, it turned out he could read you like a book. You couldn’t tell yet, but he could. He caught your jaw tighten, and he gently placed his hand on your shoulder, “y/n, you do not have to do this. We can find another way if you cannot bring yourself to go through with this plan”. He was being kind, but you all knew that this was for the best. You softly grinned at him, “thank you, Hotch, but I can do this. I want to face him”. And with that, you all left to get into your various positions. 

The plan was simple. In one of the letters you received, he stated that once you finally realized he was the one meant for you, you would get a table for two at the restaurant you had your first date, and you would prove to him you meant it by waiting for one whole hour, sitting there. Alone, while he supposedly watched you and your body language, and would then arrive. You would be wearing a wire, and once he started threatening you in person and possibly making a scene, the BAU would swoop in and save the day. You were confident in your role, not that you had to do much. You borrowed some date-type clothing from Emily, and you were now heading into the restaurant wearing your wire. You knew that this could all go horribly wrong, but hopefully whatever did happen, brought an end to your unhappiness. 

Taking the 100th deep breath of the day, you told the hostess your party name and they sat you down at your table. Thankfully your waiter was in on what was going on, so they wouldn’t be asking you about food until your ex came and sat down. You felt so exposed, of course your table was in the dead centre of the restaurant. You weren’t aware of the agents stationed around you, Reid pointed out that if you knew too much then the stalker would be able to read your body language too well. So you say there, sucking on the ice cubes from your water knowing what a long night this was going to be. 

“How are you feeling, y/n?” Hotch scared the daylights out of you, causing you to swallow your ice cube by accident. You gasped, but recovered smoothly. You kept your face as straight as you could without openly talking to yourself, “you scared me, I didn’t know you’d be on the other end of this thing”. You heard him softly chuckle, easing the tension. “Well, having you wired would be pretty useless if we couldn’t hear each other”. You smiled to yourself. Obviously he was right, but for some reason you just didn’t clue in that it could be him, out of everyone on the team, to be the one consoling you tonight. Maybe they were in on how he made you feel. Mentally thanking Hotch for his presence, “you’re right, how silly of me. Here I am feeling all alone in here without realizing who has my back”. There was a small pause on the other end before he replied, “you are far from alone in there, y/n”. You didn’t think it was possible given the circumstances, but you felt safe here in that moment too. You swore you could feel his physical presence even through the tiny earpiece. 

Some time passed, and with talking as minimally as you could, you realized an hour was about to pass. Now you had to prepare yourself for the confrontation. You were fine, but emotionally and mentally, you were not thrilled for the exhaustion you knew you’d be feeling in the next few moments. Looking out the windows of the patio, you saw him. Walking oddly through the crowd to the front doors. You knew this was going to be some sort of confrontation, but honestly you didn’t think that far ahead of what you would be saying or doing. Sensing some heating tension between your ex and the hostess, you found yourself frozen to your spot. He was just supposed to come in, say his name and be escorted over, what was going on? The hostess knew what to do, so why was tension rising? “Hotch..” you whispered, trying to get his attention. You heard a very quiet “don’t move”, before seeing your ex flash a gun hidden in his waistband. If you weren’t frozen before, you sure were by now. He hadn’t seen you yet, which was good. Maybe they’ll get to him before he gets to you. Slowly standing up from your seat with no intention to do anything but drop dead, you felt yourself taking a step towards him. You didn’t know why but something inside you told you that this whole thing was a mistake, and whatever was about to happen was your own fault, and you needed to stop it. You could talk to him and calm him down, that’s what your whole relationship was based on anyway. He just needed to be with you, and he would stop the hostility. 

As you were taking your third step in his direction, Hotch stepped in front of you, holding out the side of his jacket to stop your ex from seeing you. You felt his other arm ghost around your waist, his cologne seeping into the dress you borrowed. “Don’t let him see me..” you whispered. “I won’t let him do anything to you, y/n”. You let Hotch take the lead and guide you into the kitchen, out of harm's way. You didn’t realize you were quietly crying until you were standing against the cool tile wall, and Hotch brushed a tear away with his thumb. He went to leave, presumably to help arrest the man who was going to kill you. Before he could take another step, you grabbed his hand more forcefully than you thought you had the strength to. “Please, don’t leave me”. Hotch saw the pleading look in your eyes, and leaned into his phone, “take care of it, Morgan”. You let yourself quietly cry against the wall, facing Hotch. You were so incredibly embarrassed, this was all your fault. You should have realized who your stalker was immediately and squashed this whole problem by yourself. The fact that someone was being arrested right now because of you, made you sick. Sure, it was in order to keep you safe, but you still felt like a burden. The FBI shouldn’t be here. This shouldn’t have happened. 

Hotch couldn’t bring himself to just stand there and watch you fall apart, so he put his arms around you, gently squeezing you enough to make you feel present. You let yourself get your tears on his uniform, it was just something else to apologize for later. You almost collapsed, having all this mental weight pulling you down to the ground. Before you could fall, Hotch steadied you, pressing you against the wall in his hug to get you more grounded. The feeling of the cold tile against the back of your neck helped center you. Hotch let you go slowly, testing to see if you would stay standing without him. It tore him up inside seeing cases like these, and yours was no different. Now letting you stand on your own, the two of you held eye contact. “Y/n, you are safe. You never have to see him again. He cannot hurt you. He can’t hurt you anymore”. It was like he was saying it to the both of you as a mantra, getting you to feel okay and safe, and to bring him back to reality. He wanted to keep you safe, to open every door for you and stop traffic for you. Bring you coffee whenever you asked and even when you didn’t. He wanted you to understand how important you were, and how this was not your fault. He knew you blamed yourself, he could see it in your face and in your tears. 

You weren’t crying anymore, but you were exhausted. You wanted Hotch to just pick you up and take you home, take you anywhere but here. There was something in his demeanor that made you feel like a flower next to him. This big FBI agent, holding you up against the wall making sure you don’t fall over. You were almost killed tonight and all you could think about was just how strong Hotch was. Not to mention how good he smelled. He moved his grip from around your shoulders, down to around your waist. He pulled you into another deep embrace, this one feeling more personal. You had your arms around him but under his jacket, letting it fall around the two of you. You pulled away at the same time, and you muttered a small “thank you”. 

He towered over you, and he still had a concerned look in his eyes. You could tell he wanted to say something, so you nodded to try and get it out of him. “We both know you are safe now. That man is going back to the police station to be processed as the criminal he is..” he stopped, but you knew he wasn’t finished. You let him breath before continuing, “y/n, you live alone and today your life was threatened. You deserve to sleep somewhere tonight where you do not have to worry about a single thing”. He was right. You wanted to stay awake all night, knowing the moment you’d step back into your apartment you’d feel like you were in a cage. Your parents lived just outside the city, maybe you could have a police escort. But it was so late, and you hated the idea of waking up your parents just to baby you tonight. You knew exactly where you wanted to be, but how can you ask an FBI agent to extend his duties into watching over you through the night? All these thoughts raced through your mind in the second it took Hotch to open his mouth again, “I have an idea but the last thing I want is for you to feel pressured into saying yes, or scaring you off”. Now you were interested, the evening seemed to be playing out in your favour afterall. He continued, “y/n, the team and I are staying at the hotel downtown. I would be more than happy to pull some strings, and say we need an extra room for the night. We leave in the morning, but you’d be on a floor filled with FBI agents”. You accepted the offer maybe a little quickly, but thankfully he wasn’t put off with your enthusiasm. You leaned in again and held his suit collar, “thank you, Hotch. All I want is to feel safe tonight”. Looking up at him, a million thoughts crossed your mind all at once. You wanted to hire this man as your personal bodyguard. With the look you saw in his eye, he might even say yes. The next few moments were only seconds apart, but they felt like an eternity. Hotch placed his hands around your jaw, tilting your head up towards him. He looked at you with ocean’s in his eyes and whispered again like you were the only two in the entire building, “I can keep you safe, y/n”, before leaning in and giving you a kiss so grounding you swore he had you in the palm of his hand. 

“Guys, we’re good let’s head back - “ Morgan cut himself off when he saw Hotch removing his hands from you. Hotch cleared his throat, “y/n will be staying at the hotel with us tonight. I don’t think it would be wise for her to go back home alone”. You were hoping Morgan couldn’t see you holding on to Hotch’s forearm like your life depended on it. He got the idea, and the 3 of you left in the SUV back downtown. 

Once you entered the lobby, the team went up to their rooms as Hotch took you to the front desk. He enquired about getting an extra room just for you, and the manager handed you your key for the night. Slowly making your way up to the shared floor, you started to digest all the events that happened during your day. You almost got lost in your own brain, but Hotch pulled you back out when he placed his hand on the small of your back with confidence, leading you out into the hallway. You found your room, just a couple door’s down from where Hotch said he was. You were excited to be staying in a fancy hotel, even for just one night. As much as you wanted Hotch to come in with you, you knew he was technically still at work. But once again as if he could read your mind, Hotch was the one to open your door and see you inside safely. You took in your room. It was gorgeous with a king bed and a view for days. Putting your things down on the bed, you looked to Hotch, who seemed to be fidgeting slightly. He had been so confident in front of you all day, what was making him act like that?

“Is there anything else you need? I’d be happy to get anything-”, “thank you Hotch, really. But I have everything that I need right here in this room”. You gave him another soft smile, and you went to see him out. Your door was still closed, and Hotch was reaching to open it. He turned back around to you without realizing how close you were standing behind him. “If you change your mind, I’m just a couple doors down. I don’t sleep much, so it won’t be hard to get me”. You thought to yourself and spoke, “actually, I don’t sleep much either. I’ve had insomnia since I was a child”. 

“Really?” he asked you, returning a smirk. “Really”, you offered. You moved around him and leaned against the door, wanting to continue the conversation. Hotch took another guess at what you wanted, and he slowly pressed himself against your small frame, holding you in place. You let out a small sigh, showing him you didn’t mind at all. He took your waist in his hands for the second time that evening, and placed his lips against yours. He kissed you so softly and so gently, you thought you were going to float away. And his grip on you said he felt the same way. Digging his fingers harder into your waist asking permission to deepen the kiss, you granted him access. You opened your mouth to heat the moment, and Hotch was thrilled. He was pressing you into the door like he was afraid you’d otherwise fall through the floor. You were on your tiptoes kissing him and he wouldn’t let you feel any of your weight. You were completely pinned, and you loved it. You felt so secure between him and the door, knowing you were not going anywhere without him guiding you there first. He was protecting you with everything he could, never allowing you to go more than a split second without having his mouth on you. 

If the two of you couldn’t sleep, you wouldn’t mind being pinned all night long. Hotch was huge, towering over you from the moment you met. But he had the softest eyes you’d ever seen. He was kissing you like it was keeping you alive, and you wouldn’t be surprised if it was. You were gripping his shirt in your fists, seeing what he would allow you to do under his restrictions. He let you run your hands all over him, encouraging him to do the same to you. The two of you broke away at the same time for air. He looked down at you like you could break if he said the wrong thing. “If this is helping at all, I can stay longer if you need me-” you answered the lame question with a sloppy kiss on his neck, “Hotch, please stay with me”. With that, he gathered you in his arms and brought you to the bed.

_______________________

should i do a part 2?? 

[pigeonp0st]

hi! I'm new to tumblr so sorry if I request wrong or something but could you do a natasha x reader where the reader is natasha's secret girlfriend and the team finds out? You can take it in whatever direction you want but some ideas are them almost breaking up because one of them doesn't want to tell the team or the team being surprised that the reader is the opposite of Natasha in a lot of ways or the team finding out after one of them casually lets it slip in conversation. Thank you!

Natasha Romanoff x Reader #4

Words: 1,569

Warnings: I don’t think there’s any?

Notes:

Thank you for requesting, I hope you enjoy! (Sorry for spelling mistakes! Looking for them is something I despise to do.)

———-

Natasha is captivating, you’ve come to realize.

You knew it before, when the two of you were just partners and friends, but now—now it shines in the brightest of ways.

Natasha is captivating. She’s captivating to you like watching your favorite character in a TV show, or like honey is to bees, or like the ocean is at first to baby turtles trying to make their way to safety.

Natasha is also safety...which in hindsight probably makes you the turtle, and since you’re the turtle—the Avengers are the birds trying to eat you.

(Yes, this is a messed up analogy.)

Instead of rushing through the birds and taking risk—the risk being coming forward about your relationship with Natasha—you’ve decided to hide in the sand, away from everything scary..and really, so be it if you starve because of it.

Natasha thinks the whole turtle and bird analogy is dramatic, but she says, looking concerned and slightly confused, the ocean and the turtle one is sort of, weirdly, sweet.

Then she says, hesitantly like she’s not sure if she’s understanding properly, “if the birds are keeping you from the ocean—me—then, I mean, you aren’t with me right? You aren’t safe.”

It takes you a couple of long moments to catch what she’s saying, but once you do you slump into bed besides her to curse into the pillow, and for the rest of that night Natasha distracts you with food and movies.

———

You think about the conversation two weeks later and realize that Natasha isn’t safe either. These people, these Avengers, they’re her family. They’re the people who have accepted her, and if this is the one thing they can’t accept—if you loving her, and her loving you in return is the one thing they can’t accept about her—well...it’ll ruin her.

You don’t want the relationship the two of you have to be the thing that ruins her. Even the thought of it, of being the reason she loses something so vital to her...it makes you feel nauseous.

Thus...stuck between a rock and a hard place (a really fucking suffocating rock), sitting in the empty kitchen at six am in the morning, is where you vow to do your best to hide your relationship; for her, but also for you.

It’ll be hard but you have to TRY, because the other option is…

It’s Plan B.

———

There’s a weight on your shoulders that wasn’t there before, and it keeps feeling like it’s getting heavier and heavier, and you just—

Fuck. You just want to love. Why does it feel like you’re hiding and scared more than not. Why does it feel like Natasha’s happiness rests upon your ability to be discreet?

And yeah, maybe you’re putting a lot of pressure on yourself but also maybe you’re not, because all it takes is one wrong move. One wrong move.

...maybe Plan A is selfish. Plan B is safer...but sometimes she looks at you with this softness on her face that just...makes you feel selfish.

You can’t break up with her. Plan A will work for as long as it has to, because it has to.

———

Plan A fails.

It’s your fault.

You and Peter are sitting on the couch chatting, with half of the Avengers scattered around the room, and Peter says, distraughtly, “I know you haven’t dated someone for a long time but i’d like for you to help me ask out this girl I like.”

Without thinking you quirk an eyebrow at him and say, “who said I wasn’t dating anyone?” and then proceed to completely freeze when your brain catches up to what you’ve said.

Peter tilts his head at you, confused, “you’re dating someone?”

There’s too much anxiety in your forced out, “NO,” and is everyone looking at you? It feels like everyone is looking at you.

Wanda is instantly intrigued, along with the other Avengers, and though you are using every fiber in your being to not look at Natasha you know she’s looking at you too.

Wanda asks, smiling comfortingly, “who are you dating?” Like your no was a yes, and maybe that’s exactly what it sounded to them.

There’s multiple things you could say to respond to her question. Smarter things then what you actually end up saying, but your brain is full of anxiety, and your heart is much too loud, and the only thing you can think of is to protect Natasha anyway you can, so you force out, trying to keep your voice as even as possible;

“A girl I met online.”

There’s immediate quiet. Your eyes are shut tightly because you can’t bring yourself to see their faces, you can’t bring yourself to see Natasha’s face, because holy fuck. You’re scared. You’re so scared. You’re doing this for her, so she knows how they feel, but why does it have to ruin you instead.

“Y/N?” Wanda says, placing an arm on your hand. Your eyes immediately snap open. Hers are apologetic and concerned. “Breathe.”

That’s when you notice your hyperventilating.

You feel arms wrapping around you from behind and you just immediately know who it is. What is she doing? What is Natasha doing? You don’t look at her, you’re afraid your eyes will give away to much, but you hear Natasha whisper in your ear—her voice so even it’s obvious she’s forcing it not to tremble;

“It’s okay, okay? You’re okay. Look at their faces.”

You do. They all look concerned, and a bit confused.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, laughing bitterly. Natasha’s arms tighten around your torso.

(What is she doing? You’re trying to save her.)

They all look at each other, uncertain, and then finally Steve asks gently, “what’s her name?”

It’s the moment the weight falls off your shoulder. (It’s the moment where the turtle realizes that there’s not actually birds around, and that the turtle isn’t actually a turtle. It’s a human, with a family that loves unwaveringly.)

“Her name…” you pause, eyes growing watery, “uh…”

“Her name is Natalia Alianovna Romanova, otherwise known as Natasha Romanoff,” Natasha says, meeting Steve’s gaze directly, and then the rest of the Avengers. Even Peter. She looks defensive, but not of herself, of you. She’s behind you, but it feels like she’s shielding you like you were trying to shield her.

Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be needed.

Most of the Avengers look shocked, others look unsurprised (Tony hands Wanda some cash). Some of them looked more shocked when you said it was a person you met online.

Well.

“So...are you going to tell me how to ask out the girl I like now?” Peter asks, his voice unsure.

Natasha looks to be about to say something snarky but you squeeze her hand to silence her and grin at him, “sure thing, kid. Sure thing.”

“I’m sixteen.”

———

Later, before you and Natasha head off to bed you make a loud comment in the hallway that causes a couple of loud antagonized groans. “I’m going to sleep with Nat now! Well—not sleep with her, sleep with her, we’re going to be sharing a bed. As couples do...like we’ve secretly been doing but now are doing openly—the sleeping next to each other. The other sleeping together won’t be open. Well, unless—“

Natasha quickly drags you into the room before you manage to finish that train thought.

“The other sleeping together won’t be open,” Natasha grumbles. “So whatever you were planning with that girl you met online...cut it out.”

You smile at her, completely and utterly in love. “Babe, are you jealous of a made up person?”

She rolls her eyes playfully, then, abruptly, her eyes turn soft and she pulls you into a tight hug you weren’t prepared for.

“Oh. This is nice.” You wrap your arms around her too, though you’re confused. “Are you alright?”

Natasha shakes her head. “What you did earlier...don’t ever do that again. Don’t put your heart on the line in effort to protect mine,” Nat says, and she sounds more vulnerable than you meant her to be. “Your heart is my heart. It hurt me to see you looking that alone and scared. You aren’t alone. We’ll face things together.” Then quietly, Natasha says, “you’re my ocean, too. I need you to be okay for me to be okay.”

“Alright.” You promise, pulling away from the hug to cup her cheek and meet her eyes. You don’t want to hurt Natasha. You won’t. She’s already been hurt too much. “But, by the way, it really doesn’t make sense for you to be the ocean to my ocean.”

Natasha lets out an amused breath in response, then relents with; “then your my sun. You make me brighter.”

She looks so adorably proud of her analogy that you can’t help your laughter. “That’s cheesy as fuck.”

It’s perfect. Especially when Natasha snorts and pushes you away with a mocking; “okay, turtle to my ocean. Whatever you say.”

“You wound me, ocean, you wound me.”

“So now i’m a bird attacking a turtle?” Natasha asks, and now she’s just being rude. “Wounding you like they would?”

“I don’t expect a mortal to understand the poetic words of a god.”

Natasha laughs so loudly you’re sure her room neighbors can hear. You don’t have to care about them hearing anymore. “What?” You mumble, flabbergasted, “it is kinda poetic!”

“You wish.”

[stargazing-enby]

hi, i hope i'm not bothering you. i'm wondering if you could give me some advice.

so basically... i want to want to come out to my family or at least my parents because they keep making jokes about me getting a boyfriend or having crushes on boys and stuff like that.

i'm pretty sure i'm a lesbian and those "jokes" make me feel really uncomfortable and sad, but i still laugh along. i know this could all be avoidable if i just came out to them yet that idea scares me so much.

they're allies, i know that they will accept me, so i don't know why i can't just do it and why i'm afraid to do so. there are so many people who don't have that privilege and i feel absolutely horrible because they don't even have that choice and meanwhile here i am being frightened by people who will accept me being me.

and then there's this other thing where people make it look so fucking easy to come out. like they just bring it up randomly and boom, they're done. no fear involved. how the fuck.

every time i think about telling my family, it makes me feel nauseous and i just want to run away from that thought. i know i could just wait until i'm ready but then people will keep making jokes about boyfriends and shit. i really don't know what to do.

please please please don't answer if you don't want to. thank you for your time i hope you have a nice day <3

Hi! No worries, it doesn't bother me :)

I'm sorry they keep making jokes about you getting a boyfriend :( I used to hate those so much myself.

I'm sure many people genuinely find it easy to come out to their families, but it's absolutely okay if that's not the case for you. It's okay to find it extremely hard, even if you know they're allies and you know they'd support you. If it's any consolation, I was the same with my transness. I told my dad I was trans around October last year. I'd been wanting to tell him since July. I made myself miserable for months on end before I could (barely) get the words out. Every time I opened my mouth to tell him, I'd get so physically sick from anxiety I had to get out of the room or walk away from him. And all of this despite the fact that he already knew I like women and is very supportive of that, and despite the fact that he kept telling me things like "I'll love you no matter what" and "you can tell me anything" (I obviously wasn't subtle about wanting to tell him something lol).

Even after I told him I'm trans and was met with words of love and support, it took me until effing Christmas Eve to ask him to use he/him for me, and I don't think I told him about my name change until a couple of months ago at most. By the time I told him, I'd already told dozens of people, many of them people who barely knew me. It was easier to tell strangers and acquaintances than my own supportive family.

All this to say, coming out to parents can absolutely be really fucking terrifying no matter how supportive they are. And that's normal! They're the people who have known you the longest, and they can be amongst the people whose opinion you care about the most and whose support you need the most. And even if you know they're supportive of queer people in general, in many cases you just can't know how far that support goes, or how much they understand, or how many questions they'll have, or whether—in trying to support you—they'll say the wrong thing and you'll feel attacked and unsafe in an already very scary and vulnerable moment. All of this is twice as true when you're not even sure of your own identity yourself, and you're still figuring things out. Because then, a single "oh, I never would've thought you were a lesbian" or "oh, but you always liked boys as a kid" can send you into a spiral of self-doubt and denial.

Now, with all of this being said, my question is: do you want to come out to them, or do you just want the jokes about boyfriends to stop?

Because if you want to come out to them (it doesn't have to be as a lesbian, you can just say "I like girls, not boys" or any other information you want to give them), my advice would be to keep trying. It's hard, it makes you feel sick to your stomach, and it is an exhausting thing to put your body and mind through, which is why you should make sure to rest and do self-care and not punish yourself if you have low energy/tolerance levels while this is going on. But if you're anything like me, you'll reach a point where you're so tired of carrying this weight around every waking hour you'll just blurt it out in a panic eventually. If that doesn't sound like something you'd do, you can also try alternative methods, like writing it down, texting it to them, adding rainbow to your room/giving them other hints that will make them ask you about it, or something else entirely.

But if the only reason you want to come out to them right now is you want the jokes to stop, you can also just ask them to stop with the jokes! You don't owe them a single explanation about your sexuality. No matter how supportive they are, they're not entitled to that information. You can simply say "hey, the jokes about me liking and dating boys make me uncomfortable, and I'd appreciate it if you stopped." If they ask you why, you can say your love life is a private matter, or you don't want to explain it, or something similar. If they insist, reiterate that you want them to stop, and focus on how they'd really make you feel safer around them if they respected this boundary. If you can, try to say this in a way that conveys that you expect them to be understanding and respectful.

You're not horrible for finding it hard, and you shouldn't compare yourself to people without supportive families. Everyone's journey is different and complex in its own ways, and all of the reasons I stated above are just some of the reasons coming out to a supportive family can be terrifying. And, most importantly, you can't punish yourself into not feeling emotions you don't think you deserve to feel. Your emotions are gonna be there, whether you want them to or not. You can fight against them, bury them, feel shame and guilt around them—or you can acknowledge them, let them come and go, and focus on what you can do to get through them in a way that makes you feel better.

Hope you have a nice day too! 😊

[sincerelystranger]

read on AO3

---

Nie Huaisang fans his face nervously as Xichen watches quietly from across the room.

He’s not quite turned away from Xichen, but he doesn’t seem to be able to look at Xichen either. His eyes keep flickering back and forth from the wall behind Xichen to the floor.

Every single one of Huaisang’s actions seems to scream discomfort, maybe even fear. It occurs to Xichen that it’s strange behavior for someone who invited themselves over. It also occurs to him that at one point in his life, he wouldn’t even have noticed the behavior as strange.

At one point in Xichen’s life, he would have readily believed Huaisang’s act.

He doesn’t now.

He doesn’t know what to believe anymore.

And he thinks maybe that’s what hurts the most.

He thinks that maybe that inability to trust his own judgement is what keeps him locked in seclusion, torturing himself over the things he missed and the things he once believed.

Maybe.

He sits in silence, just watching Nie Huaisang. He’s not sure if he’s surprised by Nie Huaisang’s visit, or if a part of him expected him all this time. The only thing he knows is this:

Nie Huaisang somehow looks altogether too much and not enough like da-ge and Xichen can’t tell whether he hates him for that or not.

Nie Huaisang clears his throat suddenly, the sound is almost deafening in the heavy silence of Xichen’s room.

“Ah… You look… well, er-ge,” he says weakly, still not meeting Xichen’s eyes, “Wei-Xiong made it seem as if… well…” He trails off, briefly making eye contact with Xichen before dropping his gaze back to the floor.

Xichen isn’t surprised by the mention of Wei Wuxian.  

Of course Wei Wuxian would have something to do with this. Of course.

“Wei-Xiong said that you weren’t well – that you didn’t want visitors… I mean… of course… you’re still in seclusion…” Nie Huaisang stumbles over his words. Xichen can see his hand shaking slightly as he continues to fan his face.

That does surprise him though – the fact that Wei Wuxian advised against Nie Huaisang visiting Xichen.

With how nosy Wei Wuxian has been throughout Xichen’s time in seclusion, he would have thought that Wei Wuxian had had a hand in Nie Huaisang’s visit.

“Wei Wuxian advised against your visit?” Xichen asks, curiosity opening his mouth.

Nie Huaisang seems surprised by Xichen’s voice. The fan goes still in his hands. “He… did,” he nods, “Wei-Xiong… He… Well I don’t think he trusts me… anymore.” There’s a small self-deprecating smile on his face as he admits this. He looks to the ground again before slowly bringing his gaze up to meet Xichen’s eyes. He gives Xichen a weak smile. “I guess you don’t either, do you, er-ge?”

Xichen guesses he should have expected it, but it still catches him off-guard to be confronted so openly.

Somehow it seems… out of character for Huaisang.

But then…

What does Xichen know of Huaisang’s character anyway?

“I… I just don’t know why you did what you did,” Xichen admits. And it’s the closest thing to the truth that he can stomach to say. Because… because even after everything. Even after the manipulation and betrayal and years of being lied to. He still…

Well he’s still Nie Huaisang’s er-ge, isn’t he?

It’s one of the only things he’s been able to come to terms with in his time in seclusion: The people Xichen loves may do monstrous things, but Xichen will love them anyway. He can’t help himself. Once he loves, he doesn’t know how to stop.

Nie Huaisang is quiet for a while. He slowly lowers his fan to his lap. He looks more vulnerable, sat there without the fan covering part of his face.

Even after everything, it makes Xichen’s heart ache for him. Even after everything, Xichen wants to call him close, ask him how he can help wipe that sadness from his face.

He doesn’t though.

He stays quiet.

“It’s already been eight years since da-ge died,” Huaisang says slowly, “Next year, I’ll be older than he ever got to be.”

Logically it’s something Xichen has known for a while. He’s been older than da-ge for years now. But it still churns his stomach to hear those words come out of Huaisang’s lips. To be hit with the realization that da-ge has truly been dead for so long. It seems… so impossible. Da-ge is still so fresh in Xichen’s memory.

“It’s strange,” Huaisang continues quietly, “In my memory da-ge is always so much older than me. Always such an… adult. When father died and da-ge became the sect leader, I remember thinking, ‘of course.’ Because da-ge already seemed so grown up at the time. So sure of himself.” Huaisang wipes absently at the floor and huffs a small laugh. “Now I wonder how the elders could have been so cruel as to put all that responsibility onto such a young boy.”

A lump forms in Xichen’s throat.

“Da-ge was always… good,” Xichen says stupidly, “He never shied from responsibility… he always gave everything his… best.”

Nie Huaisang huffs another small laugh. “Da-ge was always good,” he agrees. “If the world could have been as good as he was – if I could have been as good as he was – everything might be different now.”

The room goes quiet again at Huaisang’s small confession.

Xichen can’t find it in himself to disagree or to comfort, because he thinks the same. Maybe if he could have been as good as da-ge, everything might’ve ended differently. Maybe if Xichen hadn’t questioned da-ge’s judgement… Maybe if Xichen had just trusted da-ge…

Maybe…

“He… loved you er-ge. Did you know?”

“Of course,” Xichen answers, a little taken aback by Huaisang’s question.

“No,” Huaisang says with a shake of his head. “He loved you… as a man. Did you know?”

The center of gravity seems to have changed in the room. Xichen feels… tilted. Unmoored.

“He – da-ge… he didn’t,” Xichen tries to explain slowly, a slow panic crawling up his spine. Da-ge didn’t – he couldn’t. Da-ge never saw Xichen like that…

Never…

“He did,” Huaisang says, something stubborn bleeding into his voice.

Xichen shakes his head. He doesn’t know where Huaisang got this idea but…

“He didn’t, Huaisang,” Xichen says, “I… I…” It’s humiliating to have to own to it. How does Huaisang always manage to put him into this situations? Situations where he has to cut his heart open with his own hand. “I confessed to him when we were… younger.”

Da-ge had been kind when he refused Xichen.

His hand had been gentle and warm on Xichen’s shoulder and his eyes had been deep and kind. “I can’t be that for you. I’m sorry.”

But he still stayed Xichen’s friend.

Still stayed Xichen’s… da-ge.

“He refused you because he thought….” Huaisang stammers, “He… he said…”

Xichen’s heart drops to his stomach. Something cold makes its way towards his chest. He said? Da-ge had… He had talked about Xichen’s confession to Huaisang?

“What,” Xichen asks, a nervous hunger gnawing at his throat. “What did da-ge say?”

“He said you deserved better than a man destined for madness,” Huaisang says finally.

It feels like a cruel joke.

Another manufactured cruelty from Huaisang. Another upturned grave that Xichen will have to cover with his hands.

“You… Don’t lie to me, Huaisang,” Xichen says, and he’s ashamed by the way his voice trembles. “Da-ge… He never…”

“He was always doing these foolish things,” Huaisang says, his voice cracking, as tears spill from his eyes. “Always giving up parts of his happiness for the people he loved.”

A sob escapes from Xichen’s lips. He hurries to cover his mouth so more don’t shamefully spill out but it’s no use. Da-ge couldn’t… He…

But of course he would.

“He did it for me too,” Huaisang continues, his lips trembling, his whole body taut as he tries to control his sobs. “And I didn’t know either, er-ge. I never realized until it was too late. All the things—“ Huaisang folds in on himself, his hand coming up to cover his eyes as he cries. “—All the things he gave up for me. All the things he turned a blind eye to because he knew I loved them.”

The room dissolves into quiet sobs.

And it’s a little funny, Xichen thinks, even though Huaisang is tearing out the seams in Xichen’s heart that Xichen just barely put in. Even though Huaisang has brought with him so much hurt and anger and confusion. It’s still… comforting to cry with someone who Xichen knows misses da-ge as much as Xichen does. There’s still a twisted sense of camaraderie there.

When the wave passes and the sobs quiet, Huaisang straightens back up. He wipes gingerly at his face with his sleeve. Xichen is reminded of all the times he watched Huaisang do the same action when he was just a child. Da-ge would have reprimanded him, Xichen thinks. Da-ge would have tossed Huaisang his handkerchief.

Because as wild and brutish as da-ge was reputed to be… he was… proper like that. Gentler than anyone imagined he could ever be.

That was one of the things Xichen had loved about him.

Huaisang lets out a shaky exhale. He’s twisting his sleeves between his fingers nervously. Even now, it seems impossible to Xichen that Huaisang – sweet and spoiled Huaisang – could have lied to him for so long. It seems impossible that the Huaisang he knows – the Huaisang sitting in front of him – could have orchestrated the downfall of Mengyao.

It seems impossible, and yet…

“You say that you don’t know why I did the things I did,” Huaisang says, his voice soft and scratchy from his tears, “And if I’m honest, I didn’t understand myself either.” He looks up and Xichen then and gives a helpless shrug. “It’s so unlike me. Right, er-ge? All this planning and scheming and… and just all this work to destroy someone I love. It was torturous for me – it really was, er-ge. But...”

Xichen doesn’t move. He doesn’t make a sound. It feels like he’s at the edge of a cliff. What Huaisang says next will most certainly push him over but he’s still waiting… He doesn’t know how to do anything else.

“I think… I think I was punishing myself,” Huaisang says, “I think I was punishing myself for loving san-ge – for letting my love blind me to his evil deeds.”

Xichen’s heart drops to the bottom of his stomach. He feels slightly nauseous.

Huaisang drops his gaze from Xichen’s eyes to the ground just in front of Xichen. “And for what I did to you at Guanyin Temple… I… I think in a way… I wanted to punish you too.”

He’s falling. He’s been pushed off the cliff and he’s falling.

It’s a lot more freeing than he thought it would be. It almost feels like flying.

Punishment.

Was that all it was?

All this confusion and loss and pain and confusion and loss and loss and pain…

Just punishment?

A strange laughter bubbles from Xichen’s lips before he can even control it.

“Sorry,” he says, quickly bringing his hand to cover his mouth. Shamefully enough, the laughter spills over again. “Sorry.” But it’s not enough. The laughter forces itself out of his body. He can’t help himself. He feels insane, but he’s laughing and it won’t stop. “Sorry, I’m so sorry. I’m so—”

Xichen can almost feel Huaisang’s surprise but he can’t help himself. The laughter won’t stop. And strangely, after a few moments of his unhinged laughter, he hears…

He looks up, his vision clouded slightly by the strange tears his strange laughter has created and to his surprise… Huaisang is laughing too.

Seeing Huaisang laugh plants more seeds of laughter in Xichen. He can’t stop now – even if he tried. The laughter bubbles over. Huaisang’s laughter waters Xichen’s laughter and it grows and grows and…

Punishment.

That was all it was.

All this pain and loss and confusion and it was just… punishment.

How ridiculous.

---

The night of Huaisang’s visit, Xichen steps outside for the first time since he started his seclusion.

In the dark of night, the world seems all at once strange and inviting.

Cloud Recesses, of course, is quiet. All the disciples having gone to sleep long ago.

Xichen feels safer, with that knowledge that he’s alone. That he won’t run into anyone who—

“Xichen-ge!” a voice surprises him from his thoughts. He turns towards the voice and sees Wei Wuxian and…. Wangji.

Wei Wuxian visits him often enough that it shouldn’t be such a surprise to see him, but it feels different seeing him outside the confines of his room. Xichen feels self-conscious suddenly. Like his arms are too long and maybe his hair is untidy.

“Wei… gongzi,” he nods after a shocked moment, “Wangji.”

Wei Wuxian waves him over as Wangji nods back. “We’re taking a walk,” Wei Wuxian exclaims, “The night is cool and the stars are bright. Come join us, Xichen-ge!”

It’s all so ridiculous, Xichen thinks as he takes a heavy step forward, out of the gate and towards the path.

How ridiculously easy it is to leave the jail he created for himself. How ridiculously normal it feels for Wei Wuxian to ask him to join him on a night walk – as if Xichen hasn’t trapped himself between four walls for years.

Wei Wuxian and Wangji separate to make room for him. It’s a small act of kindness, Xichen realizes, and he takes it because it does feel a little safer to walk between them.

Such a childishness, he thinks, still too bare to the world to feel any embarrassment from it. But he does feel safe. Wangji feels… taller… and sturdier than Xichen remembers him being. And Wei Wuxian… Well is there anyone more reliable to walk the dark night with than Wei Wuxian?  

“Look!” Wei Wuxian says, pointing up at the sky. “Isn’t the moon beautiful tonight?”

Xichen follows Wei Wuxian’s finger up.

The moon is round and heavy. It looks so close that it feels like Xichen might be able to touch it if he just reaches up.

“It’s beautiful,” he agrees softly.

“It’s like it knew you would come out to see it today, Xichen-ge,” Wei Wuxian nods happily. “Don’t you think so, Lan Zhan?”

Wangji hums his agreement as they keep walking.

Happiness sits hot and heavy in Xichen’s chest. He feels safe and free and…

“I think we’ve had enough punishment,” Huaisang had said before he left. “You and… me too, er-ge.” He had looked at Xichen then and had given him a smile – a real smile. No hint of sadness in his face at all. “Da-ge always wanted the people he loved to be happy… so I think it’s time to do that. Don’t you think so, er-ge?”

He hadn’t answered Huaisang as he left but he agrees quietly in his heart now.

He’s lost and lost and lost and he’s sat in that loss for years. Yearning and searching and looking for an answer that wasn’t there – ignoring the world outside his room for years and choosing punishment day after day because… because maybe he thought he deserved it.

And still…

The moon is beautiful.

And still, his family welcomes him back.

[bokugaos]

piece by piece.

pairing: kuroo x reader

length: 3.1k

tags — sex work/prostitution, semi-public sex, oral sex, alley blow jobs, rough sex, creampie, violence, abuse/assault, jealousy, possessiveness, angst.

summary: The first time Kuroo fucks you is your first ever. The second time he fucks you is also the last time.

The first time is in a dirty alley behind the bar, Kuroo’s pants around his ankles and you are fumbling awkwardly down to your knees.

He’s drunk and angry, too pissed off at the world to care who’s sucking him off in the dingy shadows beside the garbage bins. It’s not a bad blowjob by far—certainly not the worst he’s ever had—mouth warm and tight as he grips your hair and shoves his thick cock down your throat. You gag a little until your pretty eyes start to water, though you don’t try to pull away; you just let Kuroo fuck your mouth until he comes with a grunt, and swallows every drop before wiping your lips absently with a delicate hand.

Kuroo doesn’t look up as he tucks himself back into his jeans, though he can hear you get off your knees and lean against the wall with a sigh. The orgasm has taken the edge off his simmering rage, but he’s still drunk as fuck and anxious to get home and crawl into his lumpy bed. He digs into his jeans for twenty bucks and hands it to you without a word, and is surprised when you stuff it into your pocket and then grabs his arm before he can walk away.

“Do you…want me to do that for you again some time?” you ask, and look up at him with wide, hopeful eyes like he is the fucking Santa Claus. “I can meet you here? Or at your place?”

The words are on the tip of his tongue as he shrugs your hand off with a sigh; that he’s not picky about who sucks his cock and pretty much any mouth will do. Instead, he looks at your earnest face and the slightly desperate expression you’re trying to hide and finds himself saying the last fucking thing he ever expected.

“Yeah, here. Same time tomorrow.”

—

He doesn’t even learn your name until the fifth time you suck him off, still panting slightly after taking the load down your throat with a pleased smile.

“My name’s y/n,” you say, staring up at him through those lashes like you’re expecting a fucking pat on the head. He has no idea how he’s supposed to respond so he says nothing, shoving the money at you with a grunt before walking away.

He doesn’t need to know your name or what you do when he’s not around. And he does not spend any time wondering where you stay or why you’re out on the streets in the first place.

It’s none of his fucking business.

—

The first time Kuroo fucks you is also your first time ever, though he has no clue he’s dealing with a virgin until the deed is done.

You’re in his bed, and on your hands and knees, face pressed into the mattress and your hands clenched so tightly on the sheets. If he had bothered to, he might have guessed at the lack of experience; would have known from the wild look in your eyes and the nervous gnawing of those plush lips as you strip hastily and crawl onto the bed.

Instead, he’s too distracted by the show of your skin and his own painful erection to do much more than a perfunctory prep before he’s pushing in. you keen, high and wounded and clench down, and it takes every bit of his willpower not to just shove his cock all the way in and start thrusting his hips. As it is, he barely gives you a few moments to get used to being filled, before he starts hammering that pretty hole like his life fucking depends on it.

You groan, back arching against every thrust, sounding pinched and breathless every time he sinks in and bottoms out with a forceful grunt. You feel damn good around his swollen prick, and he finds that he can’t get enough of the way your skin bruises under his rough and calloused fingertips. It drives him wild when you grit your teeth and try so hard not to whine, which only tips Kuroo to haul his hips back and fuck you even harder.

He’s so pent-up that it doesn’t take long before he’s on the edge, and then he’s dragging you up onto your knees and spurting hard, biting down on a bare neck as he comes and comes inside that tight flesh. When he finishes he pulls out slowly, almost gently, though it still makes you cry out like you’re being punched in the gut.

“You okay?” he asks, as you just lay there on the bed, head cradled in your arms as you stare blankly at the far wall. “Did you come?”

“No,” you say, so quietly he can barely hear you. “I didn’t think I would the first time. Maybe once I’m used to it, and it doesn’t hurt.”

Kuroo stiffens, and slowly climbs off the bed. “What the fuck? What do you mean first time?”

You turn to look up at him and shrug, though your eyes are red and a little wet. “Everyone has a first time, right? This was mine.”

He pushes the bills into your hand hesitantly and leaves you on the bed.

He doesn’t see you again for a month.

—

Kuroo finds you there the week after, in the alley behind the same bar, in your usual spot at the usual time. But it’s obvious that you’re not waiting for him tonight, because you’re on your knees again in the shadows, sucking some other man’s dick like you were born for it.

His first impulse is to turn around and leave, to get away from the vivid image of your lips wrapped around someone else’s dick, licking and swallowing like you’re eating a goddamn ice cream. It’s followed by a second impulse to grab the guy and break his fucking nose, the rage welling up fast and violent when you start choking on the cock that’s being unceremoniously rammed down your throat.

Instead Kuroo just stands there and watches, frozen as the man in the cheap grey suit shoots his load inside your mouth with a satisfied grunt. You barely have time to swallow before you’re being hauled onto your feet and kissed within an inch of your life, roughly and messily like the guy is trying to inhale you. Kuroo is practically seeing red with the way he’s manhandling you like so much meat, grabbing and sucking and bruising you like his measly twenty bucks gives him the right to touch every inch of your body.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” the guy yells, when he finally notices Kuroo looming just a few feet away. “You her pimp? Or her next client?”

“I’m not—”

“Don’t mind him, he’s nobody.” You interrupt, and Kuroo can’t disagree, even if the words stick in his craw like so much bile.

The tone of your words manages to surprise Kuroo, if not the invitation; he knows full well that you can’t possibly live off of the measly few dollars you make off of Kuroo alone. No, it’s the way you sound when he makes the offer—all fake happiness and a sultry smile, knowing exactly which strings to pull to get a man’s groin to pay attention.

There’s none of the vulnerability and shy air that you usually carry when you’re dealing with Kuroo, and it makes him feel nauseous, like he doesn’t know which version of you is the real one.

He watches as you follow the cheap suit guy to his small green car parked just a few feet away, ignoring Kuroo as you climb into the passenger seat. He continues to watch as the man grabs you by the back of your neck and crushes his lips to yours, like he wants to take you right there, spread your legs wide and fuck you on the fake leather seats. He watches until the car tears out of its spot and disappears down the road, leaving him standing in the alley alone, his mind filled with images of you on your knees.

Kuroo doesn’t sleep at all that night.

—

Four days later you show up at his apartment unannounced, sporting a split lip and red marks over your arms, and finger shaped bruises around his neck.

Kuroo lets you in without a word.

You flop tiredly onto the couch, pulling your legs to your chest with a sigh as he heads into the kitchen to fix you some food. When he returns, you take the plate and cup of coffee with a grateful nod and a quirk of your cracked and not quite bleeding lips.

“Really? Coffee? Do I look like I need coffee?”

Kuroo snorts. “Just do me a favor and tell me who that guy is.”

“It’s fine, I don’t really know him anyway,” you shrug, and start to wolf down the meal like it’s the first food you’ve had in days. Which is both a relief and a sting to his heart, because you don’t know that much about him as well, and neither does he.

So he doesn’t ask for any further details, and you don’t offer, though he does ask you to stay the night and sleep on the couch. He tries not to think too much about the relief that flashes briefly across your face, or what he wants to do to the guy who put his hands on you and made you look this way.

You are not on the couch when Kuroo gets up the next morning, and he tells himself that it’s just as well.

—

“Are you in some kind of trouble?”

He doesn’t know why he asks the question; has received no indication from you that any inquiry into your affairs is either wanted or appreciated. But since you showed up at his place last week ago, bruised and obviously in distress, he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about what happened, and when—not if—it might happen again.

You arch an eyebrow at him and frown. “Why do you think I’m in trouble?”

Kuroo shrugs. “You’re not at your usual spot anymore, behind that bar. I thought…maybe you’re avoiding the guy that hit you.”

The smile that blooms across your face is wholly unexpected, those eyes bright with amusement and something that looks a little too much like softness.

“Yes, but it’s fine. I moved to a different spot and I don’t think he’s going to come looking for me anyway. Not after what I did to him.”

You are grinning now, practically begging Kuroo with the barely contained glee on your face to ask for details. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’d you do?”

You shrug, swallowing a mouthful of your food before you answer, “I waited until he fell asleep and took nude photos of him in his bed. Then I texted them to as many people as I could find on his contacts.”

“You did what—?” he starts, and then, “I’m quite pleasantly surprised. He’s such a good guy.”

“Right?” You say with a laugh, and then your expression changes, smoothing out into a mask of carefreeness that he doesn’t quite buy. “I left after that. But not before cleaning his wallet.”

—

“You can stay here, if you want,” Kuroo says to you the next morning, his arms around your waist as you lay together in his bed. “Just…I don’t know where you live but if you need a place to go you can crash here.”

You turn in his arms until you’re facing him, your face graced with a shy smile and asks, “Can I suck your cock in exchange for rent?”

“No! It’s not…I don’t mean you have to give me any…fuck,” Kuroo swears, as you tilt your head to the side in realization. “You don’t have to do anything for me.”

“Yeah,” You agree, “same goes for you.”

—

It takes Kuroo almost an entire week before he realizes that you have taken him up on his offer to stay, your comings and goings unpredictable and your actions often completely unexpected. There are days when you don’t leave the apartment at all; where you spend hours cleaning the living room and wiping furniture, or doing all his laundry. Other times you will disappear for an entire day and night, and return stinking of alcohol and covered in other people’s seed and sweat. Those nights, he watches as you limp into the bathroom and quietly locks the door, and spends hours in the shower, long after the water turns icy cold.

He never asks, but he never says no either, when you climb on him on the couch and unbuckles his pants with quick and steady hands. It’s not just lust that makes it so good when you lick him sloppily from root to tip; it’s also the shame bubbling just under his skin, watching you swallow him down with those perfect cock sucking lips. Kuroo can’t stop staring at your swollen mouth sliding up and down his cock; can’t stop bucking his hips and fucking your throat, relishing the noises you make when he shoots his entire load in your sinful mouth with a groan.

You always lick your lips after you suck his cock, like it’s the best damn thing you’ve ever tasted.

And you only smile afterwards when you do it for him.

—

One day, you come home in the middle of the afternoon on a Saturday, carrying shopping bags that you dump unceremoniously onto the floor. You’re wearing a brand new outfit that looks more expensive than what he makes in a week, gleaming bracelets adorning your wrists and a diamond necklace sparkling on your neck. Gone are your loose worn t-shirts and baggy, low-rise jeans; you look like a model in one of those designer catalogues, or the A-list celebrities going to get coffee in sunny L.A.

Kuroo hates it.

He hates it, because of how right you look in your expensive new outfit; like these are the clothes you’re meant to be wearing.

Like you belong in them all the time, and in a world far, far away from him.

He makes you take all your fancy jewelries off, and then fucks you roughly with two fingers until you come all over his couch.

—

You still show up at the apartment smelling like sex, with bite marks on your collarbone and your lips swollen from kisses.

But you also come home with bags and bags of groceries too, and make sure to stock the fridge full of his favorite beer.

He tells himself that he appreciates your thoughtfulness, and isn’t at all jealous of whoever the hell it is that’s giving you what he needs.

Giving you everything you deserve and could never get from a guy like him.

—

The second time he fucks you is also the last time.

You ask him to go out for dinner one night, to a place with neatly folded cloth napkins and dimly lit candles on the table, and you order the most expensive dish on the menu. You spend the evening devouring a mountain of food and making fun of the pretentious staff, and Kuroo pretends he’s perfectly fine with the fact that some rich asshole he doesn’t know is paying for this good time.

But he bites back the festering resentment and gives you a genuine smile, because he’s never seen you so damned happy and relaxed, laughing and smiling as you make your way back to Kuroo’s apartment. He lets you lead him into the bedroom and shut the door behind them, and grins into the toe curling kiss that follows as you move to the bed.

This time, when he’s got you naked on your hands and knees, he takes care to be gentle and thorough, spreading your legs wide and working you open. He slips his tongue and licks your wetness all over, and tastes every bit of that pretty cunt while you clutch the sheets and writhe and moan.

“Tetsurou,” you pant, as he slides in slowly, inch by excruciating inch. “F-feels so good! Oh, please, please fuck me, god I want to feel you, please..!”

“I’m gonna fuck you so good,” he says, groaning as you arch your back and clench around him. “Gonna make you scream my name.”

And he does, relishing every sound he can wring out of you as he sinks to the root, and every breathless sigh as he starts rocking his hips. Every stroke makes him want to push harder and thrust deeper, as he watches his cock disappear over and over inside that pretty pink hole.

He fucks you for what feels like hours that night, stopping whenever he gets too close to wring every ounce of pleasure possible from your sweat soaked bodies. He fucks you on your knees and then flips you over onto your back, and drives himself inside you like he wants to own him; be the one to break you apart and put you back together again.

“Is it good like this? When he fucks you?” Kuroo snarls, throwing your legs over his shoulders and sinking even deeper. “Do you tell them that you want them so bad? Beg them to ruin you too?”

You don’t answer, spurting all over yourself as he keeps drilling you into the bed. He follows a few rough strokes later with a groan, fingers biting deep into soft flesh, every part of him howling with possessive fury as he paints your tight walls with his come.

“No,” you whisper, much later, with Kuroo’s arms wrapped around you and his nose pressed against your neck. “It’s not like this at all.”

—

The space beside him is empty by the time he wakes the next morning, and there’s a neatly folded note on the nightstand.

He ignores it until he can’t anymore, and then crumples it in his fist and tosses it into the garbage can.

He’s always known that this is how it would end.

Still, he wishes he knew more than just your first name, or how your smile—the real one, soft and genuine—was the best thing he’d ever fucking seen.

He doesn’t see you again for a long time; days and months and years until there’s nothing left but a memory of you and a dull, aching hole in his chest.

[viveey7]

I’m going to get very real and be vulnerable for a second with you all about my pregnancy experience… so bare with me and this long post.

I’m 36 weeks today although pregnancy is beautiful and I have very much so been blessed with my sweet little boy being so healthy and strong, living inside me the last 9 months growing so well each day, feeling his kicks and rolls always brings me so much joy and peace.

There is a darker side to my story I didn’t think I would ever have to tell as I am one of those people who have always dreamed of having a little baby and thought oh my pregnancy will be all magical and glowing. Well the truth is pregnancy isn’t always all that it seems to be on social media and isn’t always as easy as we want to think it can be..

The first trimester was tough because I was diagnosed with Hyperemesis gravidarum it’s actually less common to be diagnosed with this as it’s like morning sickness but all day everyday and I couldn’t eat or drink anything really the first three months. I was loosing weight and not gaining any weight at all until about 20 weeks. I was on medications that helped a little but I really lived off of rice and ginger anything and even then the things that were supposed to help me feel less nauseous made me feel worse.

Second trimester; wow what a relief I felt amazing the sickness started to go away and I felt like I could live again, well all of the depletion of nutrition from the first trimester caused my body to go into a shock like state, I started to faint at random and had severe hot flashes and dizzy spells, turns out I was severely anemic and iron deficient now which my body was making me feel weak and tired all the time; after multiple transfusions and visits to labor and delivery for fluids and getting on special iron medication it finally started to level out for me, at this point I was put on modified bed rest at 28 weeks.

Then my water started to leak a week later and Jameson tried to make an appearance early (too early) they gave me a steroid shot for his lungs preparing for the worst and were tempted to see my cervix shut but instead the medication they gave me stopped pre term labor and I was on my way. At this point I’m 30 weeks and dilating at 1cm with my cervix soft. I was to be watched weekly and monitor my contractions with a journal for my doctor to look at every week as I had them constantly and it was the real deal not just Braxton hix.

Entering the third trimester I started to really nest and gather myself again feeling more energized day by day. Then I got hit with PUPPPS: which stands for pruritic urticarial papules and plaques of pregnancy.

In simpler terms, PUPPP rash is a patch of itchy, hive-like bumps that form in the stretch marks on your belly and spread to other parts of your body during pregnancy it is also marked as a rare condition. Well all was fine it was just on my tummy the first 2-3 weeks and manageable, then it all of a sudden had my entire body covered within a week swollen raised splotchy patches of hives mixed with tough lizard like skin and hands that I didn’t even recognize anymore. It got so extreme I had every doctor at my hospital in OB checking me out because I had the worst case they had all collectively ever seen in their careers. I got switched from my midwife to the leading OB physician because this was so out of her league. I got admitted after a week of the rash spreading so severely and nothing working, $200 in OTC medicine, topicals, lotions you name it nothing was giving relief to me. They prescribed Benadryl and Zyrtec to which it did nothing and gradually got worse. Once admitted they pumped me full of an IV steroid and for the first time in 3 weeks I wasn’t clawing my skin off.

Due to the constant discomfort and extreme levels of pain this rash had caused it spiked my blood pressure to a dangerous level and we almost had to induce Jameson early two days ago, however once they got my itch to subside yesterday in labor in delivery after 6 hours and multiple IVs and steroids I finally had found some relief and my blood pressure went from 169/90 to 116/72 (which my whole pregnancy it had been around 116/72-120/72) baby was being monitored very close and he was happy as a clam in there. The dr on call came in and had a chat with me about my labs and since my blood pressure stayed high for so long it started to cause my kidneys to produce excess protein in my urine, only by about 6 points But they felt it was safe to send me home and I have an appointment every Wednesday until I deliver in 2-3 weeks. They told me every appointment I need to prepare to be induced in case those proteins decide to jump any higher than they were yesterday. So now the clock has started and it’s really almost time. After all of this I still wouldn’t change a thing about getting pregnant. This has made me such a strong person inside and out I have faced the toughest challenges physically and mentally I never thought I would be facing. I truly believe what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger now.

I thought pregnancy was going to be perfect in every way and it wasn’t for me however it doesn’t change the fact I still believe that pregnancy is the most beautiful blessing you could endure no matter what happens during it.

I get to hold our son in my arms and all of this will have been worth it, he is my lifeline. He has been the reason I hold on, he’s the reason I have found myself fighting so hard to continue and push through all of this. This experience has made me the mother I have always seen myself to be; strong.

I just wanted to share my story with you all and let you in on the journey that has brought us to this moment. Our bags are packed, car seat is installed and the nursery is complete. We are ready for you Jameson Lee Staton, my sweetest little angel.

I get to love you the rest of my life, so thank you for being there for me every day with every kick, every moment we have shared together the last 9 months while you have been in mommies belly, I know you, I feel you, you make me the strongest most courageous mommy in the world.

Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you; when you walk through fire you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you. For I am the Lord you God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.

-Isaiah 43: 1-3

[pretoriafics]

Therapy sessions with the devil

I'd did this request yesterday on my Portuguese blog, and I thought that you guys would love it!

Anonymous asks: Y/N is a therapist who works for Vought and is doing a few evaluations on the Super.

Word count: 1.806 Contain: Therapist!Reader x Homelander Warnings: Mention of sexual violence, mention of serial killers, mention of cases of children with psychopathy, mental disorders. +16 only Versão em português aqui  PART 2 THE BOYS MASTERLIST

Your profession was gratifying.

You loved the idea of helping people, getting to know each other better, and getting them to learn to deal with life's challenges. For you, being a kind of "confidant", where people could talk about their lives without any judgments, was an honor and your purpose. You believed that it would make the world a better place.

However, it also had its burdens. Some things were difficult to hear, even for you with all your knowledge and professional background. Patients who suffered from sexual violence, for example, demanded of you a stomach that you were not always able to have. It was something you talked to your therapist about, and you kept a mantra in mind: After all, you were still human, and it was okay to feel that way.

And when Vought invited you to work as a therapist for The Seven, you went nuts. It was the chance of a lifetime!

Or, at least, this was what you thought at the beginning.

It was not uncommon for you to hear things that made your stomach a little sick, just like when The Deep told you about the way he “welcomed” Starlight. You felt nauseous but, on the outside, remained impassive, just watching him as a silent request to continue to talk.

All of them were, simply, not only media products but also puppets of the advertising world. You already had some political patients, and in fact, you thought The Seven was a similar case: Both went to that market with the intention, many times, to help people. However, they ended up corrupted in the middle of the road, forgetting their whole purpose in helping others.

You saw a point in common between The Seven: Everyone, with perhaps the exception of Starlight, was too worried about their own egos to be real heroes. They were all too narcissistic.

But Homelander was the worst of them.

The childhood phase was the most important part of a person's life. A traumatic childhood could lead to a troubled adult, as in the case of Mary Bell and Beth Thomas. Homelander's case was no different: his non-affectionate childhood, being raised as a laboratory rat, was the bigger reason to make him that kind of man.

Although at the same time you were fascinated about to study a mind like that - since one of the reasons why you did psychology would be to unveil the secrets of the human mind - each therapy session was daunting and made you rethink your job at Vought.

In short, you were interviewing a serial killer. Easily one of the most cruel and unhealthy.

"Good morning, Homelander." Your voice was soft, just like the smile you gave to the super who just sat on the couch.

"Good morning, Doctor." He returned the smile to you, but the smile on his own way: The corners of your mouth pulled to the side in a smile that you recognized as fake.

"So..." You put your hands on your knee, looking at him with the best receptive look you could pretend. There, in that office, your sessions with Homelander made you feel you deserved an Oscar "How was your week?"

“Well…” He lay down on the couch, his blue eyes staring at the ceiling, and his hands joined in front of his stomach “Nothing new. In fact, he had a little incident with Maeve. Sometimes she is so… pathetic. ”

"What happened?"

It took a while for Homelander to actually get some confidence in you. In fact, he only started telling you things in detail when he realized he could get something out of the sessions. They were productive to him, they made him think. You didn't know if you were thanking God for getting something out of him, or if you should cursing yourself because of the horrors he tells you.

"Maybe you saw something about the 37 Flight on the news."

"The one who had been captured by the terrorists?"

"Exactly! Maeve and I had to rescue the plane. We managed to take down the terrorists, but when I killed the last one, in the Pilot's cabin, I hit the plane's controls with the lasers. And then, the flight was doomed. I told Maeve that our job was done and we should leave, but she was reluctant. He wanted me to save the passengers! ” He laughed, but a natural one. "Can you believe that?"

Oh, it was going to be a long therapy session...

"And what happened next?"

“What did she want me to do? That I fly 137 times from the plane to land? Ah, pathetic, pathetic! ” He shook his head, clearly humorous. "Now, just imagine: You are on a flight with 137 people shouting 'Help, Homelander!', While your stupid partner insists that you should do something to save everyone. I was losing patience so I threatened everyone with my eyes, and they finally settled down. I don't blame them, I mean, they are so vulnerable. They are bugs! ” He looked at you, the corners of his mouth pulled in a fake smile. "No offense."

Homelander was a cold-blooded killer. Not only, but like Ted Bundy, he was a narcissist. He liked the feeling of power that invaded his body when he saw that people feared him, and when he felt that he had the power to decide whether that person would live or not. He didn't mind if killing people just for fun was against the law. Homelander didn't care about the law or any kind of rules. Furthermore, just as Bundy believed he was fully capable of defending himself in his court's judgment and did not need lawyers, Homelander thought he was an incarnate God walking among the 'bugs', simply because he had powers.

"And how do you feel about Maeve?"

“She bothered me a little with the drama on the plane, but that's okay. I am sure that after I spoke to the journalists, near the wreckage of the flight, she understood. This is all going to be an excellent opportunity to make our presence in the army happen. ”

A sociopath.

Empathetic behaviors aren't part of him. He was unable to have that feeling. Self-centered, Homelander was unable to love. The relationship he had with Stiwell, for example, was far from loving. He didn't feel it, quite the opposite: Homelander had a feeling of possession with her. She was his, and nobody else's.

A doubt hammered in your head: Homelander was intending to drop the plane? Your stomach was upset, you felt bad about that therapy session. How could Vought leave someone like him in The Seven?

The answer was simple: They didn't care. Homelander was profitable, and that was all that mattered.

That was one of the times when you thanked God that Homelander was self-centered enough to lie on the couch and just think about your own life, instead of analyzing you and realizing that you were completely terrified. It was as if a misstep, a wrong word, was going to cost his life.

And you would end that today.

You conducted the therapy session normally. In the end, you shook hands with Homelander as you always did and closed the door. Tears invaded your face as you thought of each life that was lost in vain on that flight, and, worse, you were sure that Maeve would tell you about the flight at her therapy session, early next week. In an attempt to calm down, you took some coffee and sat down in front of your MacBook. There, sipping coffee, you wrote your resignation letter.

Alright. You were free.

Or at least this was what you thought.

 * * *

Another week has started, and the fact that you worked at Vought made you get a more comfortable office, in addition to increasing your service price. You were ending your day. Your last patient had left the office, and you were about to go home when you heard a familiar voice from your couch.

"I miss you in the tower."

Homelander looked at you with his pairs of sick blue eyes, his fake smile, and his murderous hands behind his body. He was standing next to the couch, and you felt your whole body freeze. A lump formed in your throat, and your hands vibrated in pure dread.

So he would kill you there? In your office?

Trying to take control of the situation, you faked a slight smile.

“Sorry, Homelander. I didn't saw you here. Need something?"

"Actually, I do." He started walking towards you slowly. "I didn't want to end our sessions, so I came to ask you what our new schedule is going to be."

You narrowed your eyes.

"I thought Vought was going to hire someone else to work with The Seven in my place."

“In fact, they put an incompetent in your place. I really prefer that we continue where we left off. ” He stopped in front of you with his smile, his eyes emanating pure insanity "I like our therapy sessions."

“I'm glad that you like my job and that you appreciate our results, Homelander” You gave him a smile, but inside you were still in pure dread “But I don't have appointments available. My schedule filled up easily after I came to this new office. ”

“Oh, but I'm sure you can fit me in your schedule. I can pay you well. ”

How to say no to Homelander without putting your life at risk?

You walked over to your tablet, on your desk. You took it in hand and slid your finger on the screen, analyzing awhile. You didn't need him to tell you that you would be paid well. In fact, you were fully aware of that. The point was that you could exchange all the money in the world to be at peace, without having to deal with Homelander. Without much choice, you concluded that you would reserve a single day for your therapy sessions with him. That way, your head wouldn't get so tired when you still had to deal with other patients.

“Are you available on Friday morning? At nine."

He nodded, giving the same smile he did when he achieved something. One of pure contentment.

"Of course!"

"Great so." You typed 'Homelander' in the space corresponding to the hour. You put the tablet down on the table, next to your MacBook “There, it's done. Friday, at nine in the morning. ”

“Ah, perfect! Thank you. Have a good night."

"Good night, Homelander."

He walked over to your balcony. With a jump, he flew through the sky. You lay on your couch, terrified. Would you never get rid of him?

All that was left for you now was to be the therapist of the incarnate Devil.

[jaehyunfirstlove]

Highway to Heaven - Ch. 2

Your best friend Johnny wants to go on a road trip. The only catch? He wants to bring his roommate, Jeong Jaehyun, someone you just couldn’t stand.

Genre: e2l, fluff, angst, (eventual) smut

Warnings: none for this chapter :)

Ch. 1

A/N: So I only did minor research into the area mentioned (meaning I used my memory lol) so please bear with me :)

You stopped to get gas before it was your turn to drive, and you and Johnny argued again while Jaehyun went inside to buy snacks. He didn’t stop or look your way on his way back to the car, just got inside, put his airpods in and tucked into the snacks. By the time you got inside the car you were livid.

“You think you’re always right and it drives me insane!” you yelled at your best friend as you got into the driver’s seat.

“I don’t think I’m always right! But I know I’m right this time!” he yelled back.

“You can think that way all you want, doesn’t mean everyone has to agree with you!”

“I don’t need you to agree with me, I just want you to keep an open mind!”

“I have an open mind! I just happen to know exactly how guys like this are!” You immediately stopped talking, realizing your mistake, and hazarded a cautious look in the rearview mirror to see if Jaehyun heard you. He was looking out the window, humming along to the music playing in his airpods, seemingly oblivious to your tirade.

Johnny sighed in frustration. “Listen, just hold out for the next few days and I promise I’ll never ask for another favor ever again.”

You opened your mouth to answer but there was nothing else to say. Johnny put his airpods in, rested his head on the headrest, and closed his eyes.

You sighed too, turning on the radio for some background noise to drown out the thoughts in your head. You didn’t mean to be so stubborn, you really did have an open mind and weren’t usually so judgmental with people. But your ex-boyfriend had been a player, someone you had loved and trusted and he had broken your heart. You’d had a difficult time trusting anyone since then, and Johnny had been the only one you could confide in. He’d been there with you as you cried your eyes out over pints of rocky road, answered your drunken rants at four in the morning, forced you to eat real food after bouts of depression robbed you of your appetite. So you were completely incensed that he would want you to make nice with someone who had the same qualities as the man who had broken your heart.

Anger bubbled up again the more you thought about it, but before you could give it a voice you felt someone poking lightly at your elbow. You turned to see Jaehyun handing you a bag of gummy bears.

“I meant to give this to you earlier but you seemed busy,” he said softly, keeping his voice low as Johnny was lightly snoring, “I got it at the gas station. Here, I opened it for you,” he propped the open bag up on the console and then sat back in his seat.

You don’t know what came over you but you suddenly felt tears prick your eyes, and quickly swiped them away with the back of your hand. You saw that it was your favorite brand too, not a common one so he would have had to search for it.

“How did you know?” you whispered, still in shock. This was the last thing you’d expected from him. You figured getting you into bed was the only thing he was interested in, not the brand of candy that you preferred.

“Johnny told me,” he shrugged, and gave you a small smile before going back to his airpods.

You shook your head, determined not to let this sway you. It’s going to have to take more than just gummy bears to get you on my good side, you thought.

You set your jaw and stared at the road ahead.

---

When it was Jaehyun’s turn to drive you sat in the backseat and tried to sleep, but the two of them were laughing and joking around so much that it was distracting you. You hadn’t ever really noticed their dynamic, but now that you were a captive observer you couldn’t avoid it. Johnny was just as funny and laid back as he was with you, but there was an easy rapport he had with Jaehyun that you’d never seen before. And this was definitely a side of Jaehyun you’d never seen. He was goofy, cracked silly jokes and made even sillier faces. It seemed like they had a ton of inside jokes, because every now and then they would just crack up after a moment of silence. You were blindsided.

“Y/N, I thought you were going to sleep,” Johnny had noticed you, staring wide-eyed at them.

“Sorry, were we being too loud?” Jaehyun said softly. You blinked twice and then rearranged your features.

“No, it’s okay, I wasn’t tired.” You took that moment to look outside the window and noticed something. “Hey, we’re not on the 101 anymore? Where are we going?”

Jaehyun and Johnny exchanged looks before Johnny turned to you, “We’re heading to a bus station, Jaehyun’s going home.”

“What?” you asked in shock, “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Jaehyun answered lightly, “I just figured it was a mistake for me to come along, there’s uh, stuff I need to get done.” He cleared his throat at the obvious lie, hoping you wouldn’t notice.

“Oh,” was all you could say. Your emotions churned in your gut, almost making you feel nauseous. While you’d love for it just to be you and Johnny, like old times, you couldn’t deny that something about Jaehyun was pulling at you. Neither of them spoke after that, and the silence in the car was deafening. You knew exactly why he was leaving.

“What kind of stuff?” you challenged.

“Huh?”

“What kind of stuff do you have to do?” you stared at the back of his head, hoping he felt your eyes boring into his skull.

“Uh, just some, uh, things for work.” He answered, rubbing the back of his neck - a telltale sign of someone not telling the truth.

“Mm,” you hummed. You turned to your best friend, who’d been quiet throughout this entire exchange, “Johnny? Do you have something to add?”

“Nope, nada, nothing.” He made the motion of zipping his lips, and you knew exactly why. In all the years you’d known Johnny, he was incapable of lying. He would stutter, his face would turn red, and he would eventually blurt out the truth in frustration.

Taking a glance at his roommate, Jaehyun laughed nervously. “No really, Y/N, it’s important stuff I need to take care of, I didn’t tell Johnny about it till now. My fault.”

Johnny’s face indeed turned red, “Y-yup! He told me just, uh, just now! N-no idea, he, uh, had this… stuff, he had to d-do for uh, ummm, w-work… ah screw it!” He pulled his hair in frustration. Jaehyun looked over at him, an anxious look on his face. You waited in the backseat.

“He said he heard us arguing and he knew it was about him and he can see that you’re clearly not happy with him coming along! Okay??!! Are you happy?” Johnny blurted it all out in one breath. Your jaw dropped open. Jaehyun’s face turned beet red, all the way to his ears.

“You- you heard us?” you said quietly.

“No! No I didn’t really hear anything, don’t worry!” he tried to smooth everything over, but you knew from the look on his face that he had, “I just don’t want to be the third wheel, this is your trip with Johnny, I shouldn’t have come along in the first place.”

“Dude, I basically forced you to come.” Johnny said in a deadpan voice.

Jaehyun smiled weakly at Johnny, “Thanks man, I know you meant well. I’ll be okay.”

The last part he said with a vulnerability in his tone that made your chest ache. You looked over at his face but it was stoic, only his eyes held something faraway. Despite your misgivings about him, you thought you shouldn’t rob him of time he could spend with friends. You definitely needed it after your breakup, so it would be terrible to keep it from him as well.

“I don’t agree with this plan,” you suddenly said, making both of them turn to you in surprise, “The bus station will take us too far out of the way, adding more driving time to the trip and therefore making it more exhausting for everyone involved-”

“Actually I calculated it and it’s just an extra twenty min-” Jaehyun began.

“-and,” you continued, completely ignoring him, “I totally don’t believe you about this so-called ‘stuff’ you have to do anyway so don’t even bother.”

Johnny snickered, punching Jaehyun lightly in the shoulder, “Told you she wouldn’t believe you!”

---

The little detour put you off schedule so by the time you pulled up to the roadside motel it was late, and the last room left had only one bed. You sighed in exasperation, wanting to blame the two of them for their stupid little charade that put you all in this position.

“Theoretically, it’s a king-size bed so we could all fit…” Johnny started, and you shot him a look that could kill. He only shrugged. “I’m just saying, I’m not precious about these things. I’ll sleep anywhere with anyone. You two figure it out then.” He grabbed his suitcase and started to unpack.

You looked at the bed longingly, you had meant to sleep in the car but never got to, and you were exhausted.

“You and Johnny take the bed,” Jaehyun offered, seeing the look on your face, “I always sleep better on the floor anyway.” Before you could protest he took the extra blankets and pillow from the closet and laid them out on the floor, making a cozy little nest for him to sleep in.

“Is it okay if I wash up first?” he asked, and both you and Johnny nodded. When the bathroom door closed behind him Johnny smiled widely at you.

“See? See what I mean? Isn’t he nice?” he needled you, elbowing you in the side for good measure.

“There’s more to being nice than just giving up a bed for one night,” you huffed. Johnny made like he was going to scream.

“You’re something else, Y/N,” he shook his head, “but I know you, you’re starting to warm up to him!” he teased, acting like a middle-schooler making googly eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you rolled your eyes at Johnny’s antics. You should’ve been used to his behavior by now, but his teasing was starting to get to you.

“You wouldn’t let him go home! I thought for sure you’d be happy that he wanted to leave! I thought you’d say ‘oh, you want to go home? Well go ahead then! Boo hoo you broke up with your girlfriend! Sucks to be you!’ but you didn’t!” Johnny started laughing then, clutching his stomach and falling dramatically to the floor. You wanted to punch him, and if there hadn’t been a third party to witness it you would have certainly done damage.

“No one deserves to be alone in his position,” you said in your defense, “No matter what I think of him, breakups suck and I wouldn’t want even my worst enemy to suffer like that alone.”

Johnny stopped laughing, wiping away the tears that had formed at the corners of his eyes from laughing so hard. He put an arm around you and smiled.

“Thanks, Y/N. That’s all I wanted, was for you to see him as a human being with feelings, not just some preconceived notion of what he was like.”

“I guess he’s not so bad,” you weren’t completely convinced, but at least now you were willing to give him a chance, “besides, the two of you seem really close so I wouldn’t want you to miss out either.”

“Aww, I love you too!” he pretended to sob and pulled you in for a hug. You sighed, laughing at Johnny’s penchant for the dramatic.

“You guys are so cute,” Jaehyun had come out of the bathroom, changed into a simple black tee and plaid pajama pants. His hair was slightly damp, his bangs falling slightly into his eyes, his face fresh and his skin dewy. You’d never seen him in that light and you couldn’t help but stare. He smiled shyly when you noticed him, and quickly went over to his blanket nest.

“Hey, if it’s okay, can you spare an extra pillow? I need something to hug to help me fall asleep.” He seemed hesitant to ask, but it seemed that he was feeling more comfortable with you.

“Oh, sure,” you looked over and indeed there were three pillows on the bed. You grabbed one and threw it to him. He caught it handily and flashed you that dimpled smile, and you actually felt your face flush. You turned away quickly so he wouldn’t see, but Johnny had caught the entire scene and giggled at you. You mouthed for him to shut up, throwing a pillow at him too, but he dodged it easily, laughing the whole time. When you picked up another pillow to throw at him he ran into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind him.

“Coward!” you yelled, and you could hear him giggling behind the door. Jaehyun was sitting on the floor watching the two of you, laughing softly. You couldn’t help but smile at how happy he looked, it definitely made you feel good that you could lift his spirits like that.

“You and Johnny are so fun together,” he mused.

“We’ve known each other for a long time,” you answered, sitting on the bed to face him.

“He told me you grew up together?”

“Yeah, we were neighbors for a long time. We went to the same schools, our families hung out together, that kind of thing.” This was certainly the longest conversation you’d had with him, but you found that you didn’t mind it.

“Mm. That’s awesome. I wish I had a friend like that. I moved around a lot as a kid, so I don’t have any lifelong friends. You guys are lucky.”

“Oh. Well you and Johnny seem close? I know you haven’t been roommates for long.” you offered.

He nodded, “Johnny’s one of those people that you like right away, you know? He’s just really chill and really nice, like really nice.”

“Yeah, that’s true,” you agreed.

“It makes sense that you two would be friends. Nice people attract nice people.”

Wait, was that a line?

“Well, good night,” he said, pulling his blanket up and turning over. He pulled the extra pillow towards him and hugged it tightly, and soon enough he was snoring softly.

[rockettransman]

Re: The Adventure Zone, psychosis, and Justin McElroy wrecking my shit

An anecdote about navigating fiction and fantasy with psychosis

One night as work was closing up, I was listening to The Adventure Zone: Balance ep. 67 (emotions and stakes are SKY high; iykyk), when I was struck with a realization: none of these people have autonomy over their memory. They never got to choose what and who to remember or forget.

I realized that the cause for my trauma, and a large amount of psychosis triggers are just that -- not having bodily autonomy. Not being able to make decisions or having a say in what I experienced; hearing voices, mind control, parasites and spying.

As Taako spewed his fury at Lucretia for taking away his memory of his sister, I remember thinking, "wouldn't it be funny if this triggered an episode"

Familiar fog suffocated my mind. I narrowed my eyes at a coworker. What felt like electricity crackled from temple to temple. A benevolent voice advised me,

He's going to follow you home.

Why?

He just is. Better watch out.

My inner monologue morphed into a voice I recognized so instantly it made me nauseous.

"Better watch out," sang Taako, unmistakably.

I froze.

Of course there was no wizard elf whispering in my ear. He was someone who I had never entertained existing moments ago. Moments ago, he was a silly voice in a DND podcast. He was Justin McElroy, beloved podcast host and storyteller. But even after I had shut it off, he did not leave me. He was real, and he was in my brain.

"Don't worry, I won't hang long."

We're not doing this, not now.

"What are you scared of, kid?"

He did not stop. It did not stop.

The Adventure Zone triggered a psychotic spiral that left me aimlessly stumbling along one half-mile stretch downtown, muttering nonsense and twitching and crying. I circled the block like a deranged animal. And I guess in those hours, I was. There was no lucid Noah left in me.

I desperately wanted to get in my car to drive home. But I couldn't, because my coworker was in my car waiting for me. I couldn't, because he would follow me home. I couldn't, because Taako was in my car. If I approached him, he'd kill me. Why would he want to kill me?

It's hard to explain the sheer terror of feeling like you are disconnected from realty, and knowing it. It's hard to explain the fear of recognizing the bizarre behavior and thoughts in yourself, but not being able to turn them off. Being unable to trust your thoughts, being forced to follow where a delusion takes you, is a unique betrayal by your own mind. I knew it was dark, late, and I was a vulnerable-looking person in not a great area, but that didn't matter. Taako was in my car and he wouldn't leave. I was being spied on by the Bureau of Balance through the lampposts. They wanted to kill me. Why? No one told me why. Keep walking. You cannot leave.

I wanted help. I needed help. But I couldn't get out.

As much as I wanted help, no one and nothing was safe. I fled from coworkers approaching me on the street. I listened to the voice telling me the median is nice and soft and safe. Don't touch the grass, though. You will be sucked up through a portal to their world. Don't fucking touch the grass.

A man delicately approached me and asked if I needed help finding my car, seeing my keys clutched in my fist. I shook my head, wanting to cry. I knew the answer I wanted to give wouldn’t make any sense to him.

“Make the wizard in my car leave, please.” It’s all I wanted. I didn’t know where I was or what was going to make it all stop. None of it made sense, but it didn’t make any of it less real. It never stopped.

Hours later, after the sheer exhaustion of pacing and crying numbed my panic to a degree, I yielded and allowed a friend to take me home.

Storytelling is my favorite thing about humanity. But my illness prevents me so often from enjoying it, or consuming it safely and without incident. Unfortunately I've had to hang up Balance, this close to the finish line. Characters and a story that brought me so much joy and took up so much space in my mind can turn on me in moments, doing much more damage than an anxiety attack.

[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 10

AO3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Taglist: @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite

CW: Discussion of toxic relationship

Lucie was under the impression Alastair liked Thomas, but Lucies texts only made him more nervous. Even if Alastair smiled back, even if some things he said could hint at romantic feelings, Thomas had no clue how to make a move on people, much less Alastair. After dinner, they talked a bit more, about books, history, places they wished to travel. Alastair told him that he’d once read Machiavelli’s the Prince for comfort, but had since replaced it with Marx’ the Communist Manifesto. Thomas, who read mostly fiction, found it hard to imagine those books as something one read for comfort, but he promised he’d give the Communist Manifesto a try.

‘My ex recommended the Prince,’ Alastair explained. ‘In retrospect, the book suits him pretty well. It’s about power, manipulation, and he was all about that.’

‘As in, he manipulated you?’ Thomas asked.

‘He wants to get into politics, and I think he cares more about holding a position of power than about doing what’s best for the country. But he also manipulated me,’ Alastair said, showing no emotion. ‘He was very obsessed with his own social status and image, and would have done anything to improve that. I would not have reflected well on his image, so he kept me a secret and made me believe it was what was best for me.’

Thomas was certain he would be a better partner to Alastair than his exif they were in a relationship, but figured that was a pretty low bar. He didn’t know much about relationships, had never been in one, and wasn’t sure he knew how any of that worked, or how to be with someone with such a bad past experience. He didn’t want to hurt Alastair by accident. Perhaps his parents had some advice, but then he’d first have to tell them he liked boys. Which he planned to, but he had not yet figured out the right words, the right occasion.

‘How did you come out to your parents?’ he asked Alastair.

His parents were outside, they wouldn’t overhear. Thomas hoped they wouldn’t walk in out of a sudden, but if they did… Well, then at least they’d know and Thomas wouldn’t have to prepare a speech.

‘I only came out to my mother and aunt Risa,’ Alastair said. ‘Not to my father, nor do I care to.’

‘So, did you prepare a speech or anything?’ Thomas asked.

‘I did, because I suspected my mother and aunt Risa might not understand or know much about gay people, so I’ve mostly been educating them on various sexualities and gender identities. Risa actually discovered she is asexual and aromantic after I explained those concepts to her. Why do you ask?’

Thomas turned red, he laughed nervously. ‘I’ve been meaning to tell my parents I’m gay, but haven’t found the right time, or figured out how to tell them.’

‘You don’t have to tell anyone if you don’t want to. Do you want them to know?’ Alastair asked.

Thomas considered Alastair’s question for a moment. ‘Yes, I do. I think it would be easier if they knew and I would rather tell them before I am in a relationship instead of introducing a boyfriend. Since that would be awkward for him as well. Mainly, I just want them to know but I don’t want an awkward conversation.’

‘I think your problem is that you’re too determined to do it perfect,’ Alastair said. ‘Your parents seem very open and accepting, I don’t think you have to worry.’

‘No, I know that,’ Thomas said.

He felt stupid. Alastair must have had a much harder time telling people, he hadn’t known beforehand that his mother would be accepting. Thomas was fairly certain his parents would love him no matter what, and yet here he was complaining to Alastair about how difficult he found it to come out.

‘I know it can still be scary,’ Alastair said. ‘I was fairly certain Cordelia wouldn’t mind at all, yet I postponed telling her for a long time. Of course in my case it could have saved me a lot of misery, had I told her sooner.’

‘What do you mean?’ Thomas asked.

‘She realized almost immediately after I told her that my ex boyfriend was treating me badly, when I did not. It took her a couple of weeks to convince me, but I realized she was right and then I broke up with him.’ Alastair paused. ‘It’s nice to have someone to talk about it. For a long time, I had only him and he actively discouraged me from telling anyone else.’

‘I’m guessing he wasn’t out?’ Thomas asked. ‘He thought being gay would reflect badly on him as a politician?’

‘No, I don’t think that was the problem. He was private about his sexuality, but I think his friends and family knew. I don’t blame him for that, I understand it’s not always easy to talk about and there can be consequences when people know. But I think in his case, he didn’t want people to know about me because I was so much younger, he probably knew grooming a teenager would reflect badly on him. He always said it was because I wasn’t out that he wanted to keep our relationship a secret, that he wanted to protect me from judgement, but I doubt that was true. I never wanted to be someone’s secret.’

Thomas frowned. ‘Wait, how much younger were you?’

‘Six years. I met him when I was fourteen and entered a relationship with him at sixteen.’

Then Alastair’s ex must have been twenty two at the time? Thomas, at eighteen, considered sixteen year old boys children and had no romantic interest in them. He preferred to look at boys his own age, maybe a little older. Despite being a year ahead in his education, Alastair was only a couple of months older than him. He couldn’t imagine being interested in a teenager when he was in his early twenties.

‘I didn’t realize at the time that the age difference was a red flag,’ Alastair explained. ‘I felt very mature, to have caught the attention of someone older. He told me, over and over, that I was very mature for my age, that he couldn’t believe I was still so young.’

Thomas suspected most teenagers would be flattered to be called mature, to be taken seriously by an adult. It was a vile sort of manipulation, to seek out someone young and vulnerable and isolated, someone who would easily fall for such compliments, only to take advantage of them and treat them badly.

‘How did you tell Cordelia?’ Thomas asked.

‘She realized something was not right,’ Alastair said. ‘She realized I was sneaking out at night, that I was barely eating and losing weight because I was so nervous. She said I was “being even more difficult than usual, and that’s saying something”. So I told her not to worry about it and that I was just sneaking out to see my boyfriend. I said I’d wanted to tell her, but wasn’t sure yet if I was ready, and that he had recommended I don’t tell anyone yet. She started asking a lot of questions about my relationship. At first it was in a supportive way, what did he look like, what were his interests. She kind of freaked out when she learnt about the age gap, and the more she asked about how he treated me, the more concerned she became. She’s been very protective of me ever since.’

‘I’m so sorry. Not that it’s my fault, or there’s anything I could have done, but I’m just sorry. That it happened to you. I’m glad your sister is protective of you. As long as she’s not too protective, I mean,’ Thomas said. ‘I know from experience too much protection can be suffocating.’

A small smile appeared on Alastair’s face, and Thomas realized he so rarely did. He had a very pretty smile that lit up his dark eyes.

‘I found it confusing most of all. As the oldest sibling, I always thought it was my duty to protect her, not the other way around. But Cordelia is fierce, and I love that about her. This one time we ran into him while shopping, not long after the break up. He tried to approach me while Cordelia was getting us ice cream, and when she returned and saw him she threatened to expose him as an abuser and child groomer on all her social media channels if he didn’t back off.’

‘Isn’t what he did illegal anyway?’ Thomas asked. ‘Since you were a minor? Couldn’t you go to the police if he kept harassing you?’

‘Age of consent is sixteen, so even if he was much older it was legal for him to have sex with me,’ Alastair explained. ‘It would be illegal if he was my teacher or in any way in a position of power over me, but he was not. He must have been aware of how those laws work and I think perhaps he waited until I was sixteen so it would be legal.

Him harassing me might be enough to get a restraining order, but honestly I don’t trust the police to believe me over him. Besides, I have no intention of sharing something so personal with police officers. I expect them to not care at best and I think it is likely they will be racist and homophobic and will blame me for what happened.

Cordelia has enough followers on twitter and Instagram to get the story out if we wanted to and it’s a decent threat, but I’ve asked her not to.’

‘From what you’ve told me, he fully deserves to be exposed,’ Thomas said.

He was angry on Alastair’s behalf, and Thomas guessed Alastair was right that as an Iranian gay man he could not trust the police to help him.

‘It’s not so much about whether he deserves it or not. I’m still processing what happened, and I don’t want to be judged by strangers on the internet. I consented to everything sexual we did even if it was coerced, and not everyone will understand all the subtle manipulation involved. I know people will claim it was all my fault, and if I didn’t want it I should have just said no. Or that after breaking up I decided to ruin his life by telling lies. He has powerful friends, I do not. I admire the bravery of the people who expose rapists and abusers on the internet, but I can’t put myself through that right now.’

Thomas felt nauseous, the idea of Alastair being manipulated into having sex with a much older man was difficult for him to process. It made him angry, Alastair had given this man everything, had loved him. How could someone have taken advantage of such a beautiful and passionate man? People often accused Thomas of being too kind, too compassionate, of trying to empathize too much with people who did bad things, but he was fairly certain that if he ever encountered the person who did this to Alastair, he would feel nothing but anger and hatred towards him. And he’d make sure whoever it was would never hurt Alastair again.

He wanted to show support, he wanted to love Alastair, but wasn’t sure how. He knew it was a big step for him, to open up so much, he knew Alastair was very private and trusted him as much as he knew how to trust. Thomas was terrified of letting him down, of breaking his trust.

‘Did he at least back off after that threat?’ Thomas asked.

‘I haven’t seen him in real life again, but he has been texting me until I blocked his number. He is part of the reason I came here, something I needed to get away from. You have provided a decent distraction and I am grateful. I have never… had a friend like you.’

Thomas wasn’t sure how to feel about that statement. He liked being trusted, he loved that Alastair valued him, but at the same time he wanted to be more to him than just a friend. But Alastair needed a friend, Thomas told himself. And perhaps Alastair would fall in love with him over time, perhaps someday they could be together. If not, being his friend would still be worth it.

‘Now, would you want to play another game of ludo before I return to the Herondales? I am certain the dice will be on my side this time,’ Alastair said.

The dice were not on Alastair’s side. The difference in rolls were at the very least statistically improbable, but Thomas wasn’t great at math. He won by a landslide.

‘You’re older than me,’ Thomas offered as an explanation.

Alastair frowned. ‘Only by a few months, and what does that have to do with anything?’

‘I have a theory that dice games like this one favor the young,’ Thomas explained. ‘I used to play this game with my sisters and I always did better. Of course, Barbara would usually let me win with games, but that’s difficult with a game like this. But most of my friends are younger than me, and with Lucie I don’t have nearly this amount of luck. And when I played with my younger cousin Alexander, my rolls are as pathetic as yours. Of course, that’s for the best because he’s three and he throws the game across the room when he loses.’

‘Nothing you just said makes sense,’ Alastair pointed out. ‘The dice can’t tell how old you are.’

‘Perhaps there’s a little spirit in there,’ Thomas said with a smile. ‘Something that realizes if little Alexander loses, painful things will happen to it. It probably dreads the day Alexander will play against children his age.’

Thomas guessed that might not be the best idea, at that age all children were sore losers. Most three year olds didn’t play together yet anyway, it was more parallel play what they did. Alastair left after losing another game, and at the end Thomas might have convinced him of his theory.

‘I’ll meet you here after breakfast for another walk,’ Alastair said with a small smile that made Thomas’ heart race. He hoped he wasn’t showing that. Would Alastair suspect Thomas liked him, now that he knew Thomas was gay? He wasn’t sure if he wanted Alastair to. If Alastair returned his feelings, sure. But if not, what if Alastair would retreat in his shell again, what if he didn’t want to be his friend anymore?

‘See you tomorrow,’ Thomas said. ‘Good night.’

Thomas didn’t sleep well that night. He dreamt of a castle, surrounded by dark forest. He didn’t know where he was, or what was happening. On a surface level, it didn’t even seem so scary but a voice inside Thomas was telling him to run as fast as he could to get away from there, yet he couldn’t move. He wasn’t sure what he was running from exactly, but he woke up drenched in sweat at six in the morning. He didn’t feel rested exactly, but didn’t think he’d fall asleep again, so instead he changed the sheets on his bed and took a quick shower before putting on some clothes.

It would probably be some time until Alastair showed up, so Thomas made breakfast, and took his time to eat before settling in the garden. Gnomes were early risers, and Thomas liked watching them run around. Here they weren’t used to being seen though, and any indication that Thomas did see resulted in them running away and hiding, peeking out of the bushes on occasion to see if he was still there. Thomas put out a plate of cookies, perhaps they would become more trusting to humans who could see them overtime.

He sat there, reading a book Lucie had given him a while back. Ever since Thomas had told her he liked boys, Lucie had recommended books about queer men and right now he was reading Winter’s Orbit, a science fiction story about two men in an arranged political marriage. The amount of miscommunication and hopeless pining was almost painful to read, but also enjoyable. Thomas guessed he wasn’t much better, he still had no idea how to tell Alastair how he felt. Hopefully, he could finish the book before dying, he desperately wanted to know if these two could figure out their feelings for each other before it was too late.

‘What are you reading?’

Thomas looked up to see Alastair, dressed in a black Metallica t shirt and black jeans. He summarized the book he was reading.

‘It was a gift from Lucie,’ he said.

‘It sounds interesting,’ Alastair said. ‘I like books with some political drama. Can I borrow it when you finish?’

‘Sure. And in case I don’t get to finish it, I’ll write you into my will and leave you this book.’

Alastair groaned. ‘Please do not make jokes about you dying.’

Thomas sometimes felt like making jokes about it was the only way to cope. In reality, the idea that he was very likely to die was terrifying, even if the people around him kept assuring him he was going to be fine.

‘Sorry. I hope you’ll like this book. Although… one of the main characters was abused by a previous partner. Would that be an issue?’

Alastair tilted his head. ‘I think then maybe I should wait until I read it. That’s difficult with reading fiction, not all authors offer content warnings and going in unprepared can be devastating. When I know it’s coming… It’s easier, but I’m not sure if I want to do that right now solely to read a book.’

Thomas nodded. ‘I can imagine. If you want any books that don’t have topics that are triggering for you, I’ll try and see if I have anything. Or you can ask Lucie.’

‘I’ll think about it. Being able to read fiction while being prepared through content warnings is something I’m trying to work towards. No idea how long that will take, according to my therapist I’m too impatient. You coming? This early, there might still be some hedgehogs,’ Alastair said with a grin.

‘You really like hedgehogs,’ Thomas pointed out.

‘When I was a child I wanted one for a pet, but my parents didn’t think that was a good idea. Instead, I could have a goldfish. They’re very popular in Iran, people get them for the Persian new year celebration, Nowruz. People usually release them into a river or pond after the celebration, so that’s what Risa did. My parents weren’t too happy about it. At the time, I believed he would probably be happier there anyway than in a bowl, but it is likely he died within days. I don’t think it’s good for the environment either, and many Iranians are pushing back against the tradition because of that. Did you have pets growing up?’

‘Most of my childhood, because I was so sick, my parents didn’t think it was a good idea. They were afraid a pet might carry diseases I would be more vulnerable to,’ Thomas said. ‘But I hope I can adopt cats someday. And Barbara and Oliver have two guinea pigs.’

‘My cousin Jem has a cat,’ Alastair said. ‘Little beast hates everyone, but adores Jem.’

‘Do you see him often?’ Thomas asked. ‘Jem, I mean.’

‘Not really. My father never wanted him near our family, I think because he was afraid Jem would see right through him. But now that we don’t live with Father anymore, I see him occasionally. He offered me to come live with him, but I’m not sure. I still feel like I barely know him.’

They didn’t find any hedgehogs during their walk, presumably because the fog had gotten so thick they wouldn’t see any if they were there. Although Thomas was fairly certain they were taking the same route they had yesterday and during their first walk, everything looked different. He told himself it was probably the fog, but he couldn’t quite convince himself.

‘I don’t remember these ruins,’ Alastair said.

Thomas’ followed Alastair’s gaze and saw the ruins of a very old building. Of course, there were lots of old castles in Scotland, but Thomas hadn’t read anything about ruins in these woods.

‘Do you think we should take a look?’ he asked carefully. ‘I’m not seeing anything unusual.’

‘Apart from ruins that weren’t here yesterday?’

‘We must have taken a different path,’ Thomas said.

‘Sure,’ Alastair said and Thomas didn’t think he believed it. ‘Under normal circumstances, I would not take another step, but if we are to save your life we need information. Perhaps those ruins hold something of interest.’

[trashmenofmarvel]

Branded - Chapter 50

Pairing: Demon!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: A different sort of bond is renewed, and wounds begin to heal.

(This is a fan AU of Falling’s Just Another Way to Fly by araniaart​ . Please check out this incredible series for all of your demon Bucky needs.)

AO3

You told Strange your idea for the experimental bonding ritual. As stubborn as you were, you weren’t going to hide things from the sorcerer again. You’d learned your lesson.

Strange, of course, shot it down. As did Wong. You already had Bucky’s answer on where he stood. The only person who supported you was a powerful, but still very dead, wizard.

Well… perhaps there were two beings on your side.

As you laid on your bed at the Sanctum, surrounded by open books and tomes while taking a break from studying to stare bleakly at the ceiling, something hopped onto the covers and gave the most obnoxious meow you’d ever heard.

You grabbed Monster and buried your face in his fur immediately, and when you asked, “You trust me with this whole binding magic, right?” he purred as loud as he could. That, if anything, convinced you that you were on the right track. How could you be wrong with a hobgoblin and a master sorcerer on your side?

Just as quickly, your newfound confidence fled and self-doubt crept in. You didn’t think you were wrong, but you did question your own ability to pull off such a complicated spell. You’d been allowed to read the red book, the one that had been used to bind Bucky to his HYDRA masters and then to Zemo, and thanks to your downloaded knowledge of Latin straight from Bucky’s brain into yours during your time in his head, you understood most of what was written.

Unfortunately, the people who had written it were not sorcerers, and power-hungry occultists trying to summon demons for personal gain weren’t exactly good instructors.

Wong’s knowledge of human slaves and demon masters was much more helpful. Between the two different types of rituals, the demon pact and the slave bond, you had a good idea of what was required. The human bond required an intent and willingness to be linked. The demon bond required the obsidian ritual knife and some strategic cutting.

For all these reasons and more, you wouldn’t even think about attempting it until you had Bucky’s full consent. It wouldn’t work without it anyway, and even if it did, you would never do that to him.

So that left you waiting for Bucky to say “yes” to something he would never agree to. At least it gave you plenty of time to research and train. There was no rush aside from the fact that Bucky would be in danger if anyone knew of his existence. Aside from those at the Sanctum and the Avengers (Steve Rogers had filled them in), there was no one else who knew.

No one else… but Zemo.

You’d gotten the impression that aside from the Alp, who had ended up being your ally after all, Zemo worked alone. And currently, he was being kept locked up somewhere under the wizards’ watchful eye.

It was a cold comfort, and if your luck held, it was only a matter of time before someone came after Bucky again. The target on your own back wasn’t entirely gone, either. You were no longer bonded to Bucky, but you were still the closest person to him, even if he was avoiding you still.

At least this time around if someone tried to kidnap you, you’d be more than prepared to deal with them. What were other people compared to a planet full of demons?

Despite the distraction and exhaustion of training, you still had the ability to linger on the pain of Bucky’s absence. It showed in your flagging energy and attention, and Wong must have taken pity on you, because they next thing you knew he was half-shoving a cloth bag into your hands.

“Barnes has not picked up his next dose of potion. You will deliver it to him.”

“Oh. ‘Kay.” You blinked and gave Wong a funny look, not really understanding what he was thinking, but then he stopped you with a hand on your shoulder.

“But only if you can travel there by portal.”

Ah. There was the catch. Out of all the magic you’d been able to grasp, from fiery ropes to conjuring weapons out of thin air, you had yet to summon another portal. Strange called it a block. You called it home-grown PTSD from a dismembered demon corpse falling on top of you.

You sighed and pulled the sling ring out of your pocket, slipped it on, and tucked the cloth bag under one arm. You focused your mind, made all the correct hand movements, and big surprise, the training room you were standing in remained unchanged.

“Guess I’ll take a taxi,” you said with a small smile and a shrug.

Wong merely shook his head, gave you the I’m disappointed in you look, before pulling out his own ring, made a circular motion with both arms, and opened an orange portal as if it was as easy as breathing.

You almost rolled your eyes and made a smartass comment, but the image in the portal snapped your mouth shut. Even though it was around noon, Bucky’s loft was dark. The shades must have been drawn, and even when you narrowed your eyes you couldn’t see past the dim outline of the couch.

You remembered to give a mumbled “thanks” to your mentor before stepping through the ring. The familiar heat ruffled your hair and you took a sharp breath as your stomach rolled at the sudden change in physical space.

The portal fizzled out behind you, leaving you alone in the darkness. Or… not entirely. There was a dark outline sitting on the edge of the bed, and you threw out a quick spell to ascertain all the energies of the room.

Bucky’s energy felt a lot like the way he smelled. Warm, solid, and earthy. The demonic energy was there as well, but it wasn’t like any other demon you’d come across. There was nothing in his signature that felt dangerous or insidious. He was just Bucky. Your Bucky.

And he was hurting.

You moved closer, making sure to cause plenty of noise so you wouldn’t startle him.

“I brought the potion,” you announced, probably unnecessarily. You remembered how potent the stuff smelled with your demon senses. “Wong said you were late.”

Bucky said nothing nor did he move from the bed. Your eyes were slowly adjusting to the dim light, and you walked closer, unsure how to proceed. Your last conversation had ended poorly, and you had no idea how to bridge the gap between you.

But even when words failed the both of you, there was always one thing that would work.

Crawling onto the bed, you drew up behind Bucky, eyeing his wings. They were half-open and drooping on the covers, lifeless in a way that arrested your heart. You reached out and hesitated.

You can always touch me.

Did that still apply now? You didn’t know, but you trusted Bucky’s past words over your own self-doubt.

Slow enough that he could stop you if he wanted, you knelt behind him and leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as you carefully drooped over his back between his wings.

A shiver ran through him at the same moment his tail wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer. It was all the encouragement you needed, and you nudged your cheek against Bucky’s hair, having to duck under his pointy horns so they wouldn’t jab you.

“You don’t have to talk,” you said, surprising yourself by speaking first. “But I wanted to tell you a couple of things. Things I should have said before.”

Just like that, the tension was back in his muscles. You wanted to loosen them, to soothe him and make him feel safe the way he did for you. And that’s why you had to come clean with the whole truth.

“First, I’m sorry for our last conversation. I know with your history, the idea of me being involved with demonic magic is… well. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling, to be honest. But I can promise you I won’t bring up the binding ritual again, if that’s what you want.”

Bucky didn’t say anything, but his tail squeezed you even tighter. All in all, a good sign.

“And… the other thing…”

You heart raced too fast, and there was no doubt he could feel it against his back. You were nauseous from the strength of your nerves, but you forced out the words, even if they were the most difficult you’d ever said.

“I love you.”

If you thought Bucky had been tense before, it was nothing compared to the stone solid way he froze now. But the words were too late to take back, and once they were said, things would be forever changed.

You were counting on it.

“I think I’ve loved you for a while now.” Your voice was quiet, words measured and weighed with importance. “I’m not sure when it happened, but I know I became aware of it after you saved me from the heigore. It wasn’t even because of that. It was what came after. When I woke up and you were there. You’d fallen asleep, waiting for me. Not leaving my side. And seeing you like that, letting yourself be vulnerable with me…”

You half-buried your face in his hair, surrounding yourself in his scent. It might be the last time you could.

“Whether or not there’s ever another magical bond, I’m bound to you regardless. Spells and rituals won’t change that. But I know that… that my introduction to this world was a lot different than yours. And if being around me, if being with me is going to… going to hurt you, then I… I’m willing to say goodbye, right now, if that’s what we decide.”

By the end, your voice was flat and monotone, almost lifeless with how much it pained you to say the words. It hurt so much more than you thought, as if your heart was being squeezed and twisted right out of your chest.

You didn’t even have a chance to ask him if that’s what he wanted; you were pulled into his lap, Bucky’s nose buried in your neck as his arms gripped you tightly, possessively. Even his wings had fully unfurled, and he wrapped them very tightly around you.

And his tail, pulled from your waist, wrapped around your own tail until they were completely entwined.

You couldn’t move or even breathe as Bucky inhaled you deeply, still nudging the side of his face into your neck. A snippet from a book on demonic behavior sprang to mind, that he was scenting you, making sure you smelled like him and warding off other demons from what belonged to him.

That’s what the intellectual side thought. The primal side, both mammalian and the small part that was demonic, made you tilt your head to the side to give him further access. Bucky had rarely let this side of him come out before, and it surprised you how easy and natural it was. It felt right.

Either way, you had your answer. At the thought of staying, of truly staying and being with Bucky in all the ways you could offer him, something clicked into place. A piece of yourself that had been missing for most of your life.

“I love you, too.” His words were heavy, raspier than usual. “So much that it scares me.”

“I know,” you said softly. “It’s overwhelming sometimes.”

“Think that describes our lives in a nutshell, sweetheart.”

You leaned in closer, rubbing your own cheek against his neck. You didn’t know if you could scent him the same way he could scent you, but the effect was still worth it. Bucky shuddered and held you tighter.

“But I would do it all over again,” you murmured. “For the first time, I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be. And I’m excited about the future. Do you know how big that is for me?”

Bucky rubbed his hands up and down your back.

“About actually looking forward to tomorrow instead of just going through the motions?” He pulled you back far enough to cup your face in his hands, meeting your eye with a soft smile. “Yeah. Think I can relate.”

You almost pushed away his hands so you could kiss him like you’d wanted to do for weeks, but he beat you to it. Soft, warm lips pressed to yours, sweet and chaste at first, before you deepened the kiss with a raw, hungry moan. And then you were reminded which one of you was actually hungry as Bucky grabbed you by the hips and slotted you firmly in his lap.

Before you could get his jacket halfway unzipped down his chest, Bucky broke the kiss with a heavy sigh.

You chased his mouth, frustrated, but he only chuckled and held you back by the shoulders.

“As much as I would love to keep going,” he said, toothy smile peeking out from between his lips, “I also don’t want to feed on you to the point of passing out, which is most likely what would happen.”

“And? You say that like it’s a problem.”

He looked at you so fondly you struggled not to look away.

“If you’re passed out ‘til the morning, I won’t be able to hear about this master plan of yours.”

You gaped like a fish, and then the silent gaping turned into a startled squeak when he gripped you by the thighs and lifted you up, standing before you in one motion.

“I’ve got enough potion to get me through the week.” He took you by the hand and led you into the kitchen, grabbing the bag you’d brought along the way, and you went with him, too stunned to resist. “So while I prepare it, I want you to tell me what you have so far. I might even have something helpful to add from what I can remember from the rituals.”

When he released your hand, you remained where you were, frozen next to the kitchen counter.

Bucky didn’t seem to notice at first, too busy with pulling out the mortar and pestle and dumping the contents of the pouch into the bowl. The silence continued to stretch and he looked up, his tail slightly swaying behind him like a curious cat.

Your own tail was frozen behind you, pulled up and stiff.

“What’s wrong?”

“You…” You took a hard swallow. “…Want me to tell you… about my plan?”

He exhaled through his nose, put down his utensils, and came over to you to cup his hands very carefully around either side of your jaw.

“Yes.” He met your eye, without reluctance or hesitation. “I want to hear everything. If I’m going to trust you, I need to trust you completely, and stop letting my self-doubts get in the way.”

You didn’t move or speak, simply stared up at him in awe, transfixed as his gaze roamed over your face.

“Everything bad that happens to us, happens when we’re apart. Maybe it’s a goddamn sign we shouldn’t be apart,” he said, drawing you closer. “Maybe the Ancient One knew what she was doing when she told you what she did. Maybe I should stop running away each time I’m scared. And maybe, I should trust the person who pulled me out of Hell, saving not just my life… but my soul, too.”

He pulled you close so that your horns were gently touching.

“How does that sound, sweetheart?”

“I think,” you said, breathless but somehow finding your voice. “That’s a great idea.”

You swallowed, every fiber of your being tingled as Bucky’s mouth was just out of reach.

“I also think that if you don’t go make that potion right now, I’m not going to be able to keep my hands off you much longer.”

You felt more than saw his grin as he captured your lips, hard and demanding and pulling away too soon, drawing out a frustrated growl from you. The shit-eating grin was still there as he pulled away and returned to his potion, but you got your revenge when you hugged him from behind and grasped his squirming tail in one hand. His full-body shudder and muttered curse under his breath was payback enough.

But once Bucky drank his potion, a concoction that still made a part of you balk at the foul smell, you told him everything. All the research you’d done, your ideas on how the ritual could work, and what you hoped the result would be.

Bucky listened, adding his own thoughts and ideas, and when the sun finally peeked over the snowy skyline you were back in his bed, falling asleep in his arms.

The place you knew in your heart you were meant to be.

Next Chapter