#every version of a happy world for me is broken and impossible

[defiantly-ageis]

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[grapejuicestyless]

Endless Empathy(People Pleaser pt.2)

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: A continuation of the People pleaser short writing that is both linked in my master list on my page and on the top of this part!!! This Can be Read separately!

Angst to fluffy(kinda!)

Read part 1 here!

If you asked Y/n Y/l/n what her favorite feeling in the world was, it wouldn’t even be a second thought as to what her answer would be. It was so obvious to everyone who was lucky enough to be consistently surrounded by her energy. Y/n loved love.

It wasn’t necessarily the feeling of being loved. The girl, as much as she had drifted off into daydreams, fantasizing about her silky white wedding dress and her ideal bridesmaids, her desire for the feeling of love cut much deeper.

It was the knowing feeling that she could give back to someone who needed it. The fuzziness she gained every time she could provide a sense of reliability to someone close to her. The idea she was able to earn their trust because they were just that close made her feel less alone on the nights she spent across the world from her home.

Y/n loved that feeling. The way it would spread from her chest and expand into the pit of her stomach, making it all fluttery and warm. So much so, she found herself altering herself to fit the impossible standards she held herself to.

She found herself doing things she really had no desire to, her passive aggressiveness only grumbling through her lips when she was sure enough she was alone, out of ear shot. Quickly, her lack of want would be overtaken by that euphoria she felt again, the intense sense of happiness making up for her discomfort she subjected herself to.

From afar, it looked like an addiction. The girl constantly itching to do good, to be better. To be the best version of herself in order to lift those up around her, to make everyone proud of her. She wanted people to not feel ashamed when her name came up in conversation. An addiction so bad, the girls need for approval and longing to please everyone at once, her body often moved before her mouth could catch up. Her mind could be screaming no, but she would already have said yes.

It’s not like it had a cure. How can you cure a pathological people pleaser? You can dote on them and smother them as much as you want. Do anything they need, go out of your way to make their life easier, but ultimately your effort will only make it worse. Devoting your time to someone who doesn’t want it in that way. They begin to feel like a chore, an inconvenience that they need to make up for. And the cycle begins again.

——————————————————————————

A burden is often what I felt like these days. Feet swung over the arm of the couch, head pressed back on the cushion that was Harry’s lap. His hands brushed between my hair, which had been stuck on my forehead in an intense sweat that I had broken into while rehearsing for our upcoming show in Cardiff.

We’d only reached As It Was by the time Harry decided it was time for us to conclude our soundcheck.

It was confusing, the way he said it. Almost like it was directed towards me. He sounded like he had been worried, eyes focused in on mine carefully.

Maybe it was because of the scene I’d caused just the show prior or the fact I was sure I was probably shining under the stage lights in my pooling sweat that caused an uneasiness to rise in Harry’s mind.

“Y/n? You ready to call it?” I blinked rapidly, opening my mouth, I was a fish out of water. Sentences became impossible to correctly piece together as an extra layer of heat covers my face. A blanket of blush covering my already irritated face, I felt embarrassed.

Why would he stop such a crucial part of each show for me? What if something had happened during our closing songs tonight? The unsettling lump in my throat expanded into what felt like vomit rising, even with my throat completely dry. The idea that something could be jeopardized, ruining the great experience that is Love On Tour, could all be caused by my inability to keep pushing for just a few more songs made me sick.

Yet, the look Harry gave me as his hands slipped around my waist, lips caught in a worried line sent an all familiar struggle in my bones.

I wanted to make it right, make sure everything was double checked. There would be no issues and everyone could have their two hours of love promised by Harry and the love band, but I also longed to make sure Harry was content, constantly unbothered. If I continued to push the bile down hard enough, I could focus on doing what’s best for one person, forget about everyone else involved.

So it became a blurry mess, between the moment Harry called soundcheck quits to where we found ourselves now. Cuddled up in the relief that was well filtered air conditioner. Harry’s hands tangling and detangling between my hair, pulling lightly on my scalp to relieve any possible pressure, his eyes fixated on the TV which played some ninety’s sitcom with a beautiful group of friends that the public was made to believe were considered average.

While he seemed content in the position he was in, in the moment, I couldn’t put my mind to ease, the anxiety that I could do exactly what I feared most poisoning any sense of relaxation I had previously.

How do you make everyone happy at once when nobody seems to be on the same page? How can you spread love evenly when you’ve already spread yourself so thin? My face was greyed, mind plagued by my deepest fears. My harshest wounds.

Realistically, Harry’s final decision had benefitted the entire crew greatly. Everyone tired and worn from the continuous heat wave that was a blanket over the earth at the moment. But the way it was phrased, the way I was shot sympathetic smiles made me uneasy. As if their benefit was more of a loss and a waste of time.

Looking up at Harry, I studied his face carefully. He seemed at ease. Unbothered by it all. His eyes trained on the screen, a soft laugh escaping his throat. Completely relaxed. Like he didn’t realize I was just barely a foot below his eye level, eyes watering as I slowly died. I promised him to stop being such a push over, such a people pleaser, but you can’t cure a sickness that’s not truly an illness.

How can you love someone you don’t know is sick?

——————————————————————————

I wish I could say I stuck to my word. Continued to be the person I vowed to become after my incident weeks ago. Stopped being a push over, stopped forgetting about myself. Stopped putting on other peoples shoes before my own. But I’m not a liar.

The air was thick, the humidity unforgiving and unrelenting all morning. Everything felt off from the minute my foot left the hotel room booked for the crew. Yet, I took no time to dwell on my own feelings, pushing back the unsettling pit in my stomach and focusing on the day ahead.

Elin sent a quick text to our band group chat. An old one we’d made without Harry to surprise him for his birthday. It was short and simple. The flags were there, ruby red and waving in the wind. The fact that the request was hidden from the one person who pushed back for me. The only person who could say, “no” for me without anyone protesting.

She wrote, “Hey, y/n/n! I’m running a bit late. Would you mind picking up some coffee and treats for everyone? I’ll send the address for the shop!” It was less of question, I realized, reading it back. More of a request or even a demand. Still, it was short and a simple task. Nothing unmanageable.

She sent the location, and only then did I fully recognize my regret. The shop was almost thirty minutes away from the arena, without traffic. Considering morning rush hour was in place, I could count on being late.

But I had agreed. The guilt of being late ate at me, but even the thought of letting everyone down was nauseating. Making my head spin and eyes water at even the slightest vision of their frowning faces and furrowed brows.

So, I got in my car, ignoring every text as I broke every law of the road to reach the coffee shop as quickly as possible. Eyes squinting at the morning sun and arms sticky from condensation.

——————————————————————————

When I arrived to the arena, it was bustling. The stage crew rushing around to find parts of equipment needed for the upcoming soundcheck, managing security debriefing down the hall for barricade procedures. The heat almost unbearable in each hallway.

It all led to the one room that everyone gathered in. A larger dressing room that was more of a living room. Colder than most of the building and more decorated too.

Laughter filtered through the cracked double doors, cold hair slipping through like a small taste of what heaven felt like in that moment. You could see everyone standing in a circle, cups of water held loosely in each one’s hand as they joked around as a tight knit group of friends would.

They must of smelled the goods, it must have wafted because without even a noise being made, Nyoh, Pauli and Mitch were looking straight at me. Smiles painted on their faces wide and welcoming, reflecting their actions as I was swarmed by every single band member at once. Hands grabbing at the donut box and tray of coffee all but ripped out of the palm of my unsteady hand.

Their gratefulness was overwhelming at first. Supplying me with that addictive euphoria I longed for with each task I put myself through. They hustled around to take a peak at what I had bought. Ready to stuff their faces with a little of each as I settled in for the day.

Silence fell over the room suddenly, a deep breath being inhaled only to be held. Almost as if someone was trying to find something to say, but had come short. Unable to figure out the right articulation of their statement.

“What, is something wrong?” I smiled sweetly, walking over to the table. Sarah shrugged, turning to me with a sweet smile, hand on my shoulder almost like it was a support for what was about to be said.

“Oh, nothing. We just don’t really like these flavors.” Nyoh shared bravely, smiling halfway, still focused on the opened and not crinkled donut box.

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry guys, I wasn’t told if you guys wanted anything specific. I can run back and get some more?” Somehow, even in my greatest efforts, I still came short. Guilt eating at me that I had probably ruined their morning. Delaying their breakfast because I had to be a screw up. It made me sicker than the pit in my stomach this morning had made me.

“No, no. It’s okay. I’ll just order some online. It’ll be here quick.” My face looked just as blank as my mind was.

In that moment, I lacked all ability to respond. Thoughts running wild, much to fast to say anything except a pathetic squeak.

“Oh.” Is what I said. If I wasn’t such a coward, such a push over, a walking talking door mat, I would’ve yelled. Ripped the hair from my scalp.

“Why did you make me drive all the way there this morning if you could just order it? What about the money I spent? Are you going to pay me back or is this just another involuntary favor I’ve gone out of my way to complete?” If I was Harry, which I’m not, I would’ve said that. I would’ve yelled and cried and defended my name with all my willpower. Not letting anyone interrupt. I’d have some self respect but that wasn’t me.

I am Y/n Y/l/n. The girl who sits in the back of the stage, doing so much for so little. The girl who gives up everything for everyone because she can’t control it. Because she’s sick in the head.

So I said, “Oh.” Like an idiot. My throat dry and my eyes watery. I nodded, firm and short. Ready to make my exit.

Everyone turned back to their circle, laughing again as the order was placed. In a room full of my brothers and sisters I couldn’t help but feel out of place. Unappreciated. Suddenly, it was like my endless empathy and compassion wasn’t enough for them. It wasn’t good enough. And if that wasn’t good enough, I wasn’t good enough.

And as I disappeared behind the double doors, not a soul called back for me. A ghost to everyone. Unappreciated and unaware of the intense heartbreak I was facing.

In this moment, I believe it’s where it got bad. Worse than ever before. My brain no longer silently resisting as my entire being longed for that nod of approval and the appreciative conversations that came after it.

It continued, like this, all day. My feet padding against the pavement and onto the tiles of the hallways. Sweat sticking to my forehead and dripping down my neck. It looked in my shirt.

All day I’d been running around helping. The itch to be better, to do better overwhelming. If it was fetching a water bottle for the sound guys or searching up and down religiously for a missing headset for the lighting crew, I was first on the scene to assist in every way possible.

Each nod and smile sent my way fueling my addiction. Each action I pursued further breaking my promise to Harry more and more. I felt myself slipping away.

I just wanted to be good. Longed for it every waking minute. Like if I kept pushing, kept reaching that desired feeling, achieving each goal to make another persons life easier, I lost more and more of myself. Stress building like a ton of bricks throw on my shoulders. The weight unbearable. Heavier and heavier each minute.

Harry had finally shown up, ready to begin soundcheck. His in ears hung around his neck carelessly. White shirt stuck to his body in sweat. The words crinkled to a point where they were unrecognizable. His shorts were short and shoes light on the floor. He looked satisfied, light and well rested. The opposite of everything I felt.

“Hey, angel!” He called enthusiastically.

For the first time that day, my cheeks lifted from a genuine smile. Not one caused by a success in helping another person, or a result of devoting all my time and energy to another. But because someone who never asked anything of me and still held as much if not more appreciation for me had welcomed me into his arms without any requests.

I let myself melt into his touch, eyebrows relaxing and heartbeat slowing for the first time all day. His lips rested flat against the top of my head, arms held tight around mine, chest pressed against mine. We were a sweaty tangled mess but I couldn’t have been happier.

“Ready to do some test runs?” He questioned, moving back to brush away beads of sweat that had collected on my rosy face. I nodded eagerly, though inside I felt weary and panicked at the idea of having yet another long task to do.

Another swift peck was delivered to my forehead, Harry’s hold retreating from my body. He led the way to the stage before stopping.

“Shit, I forgot the waters. Y/n, would you mind grabbing them? I left them by the water fountain.” I nodded, blinking harshly. My feet pivoting away from him, shoulders hunched and muscles tensed.

My feet moved quick, running down the halls to find the pack of water bottles Harry had instructed me to grab.

The plastic was soon in my line of vision. Full and cool to the touch. They were heavy. Nothing I couldn’t carry normally, but the unforgiving tension within my muscles made it hard to move. Multiple times I stopped to set it down, breath jagged and heavy. Hands slipping away from the plastic cover as my palms were lathered in sweat and leaking water from inside the package.

And suddenly, the hallways that was once so short became longer and longer. A never ending straightaway that only felt hotter and hotter with each step. My mind weighed me down. Pulling me into a spiral of negative thoughts and emotions. I began to believe I couldn’t do it. No, I knew I couldn’t do it.

No matter how much I wished, longed to do the only thing Harry, my best friend, my lover, had ever asked of me, I couldn’t physically continue. The bricks building finally reaching the maximum and breaking the camels back. This final request dealing my final blow. And each thought, each straining muscle crashing underneath it.

The crash was loud, when I went down. Knees hitting the floor, the sound of bones hitting concrete muffled by the squeak of water exploding throughout the thin passageway. The plastic breaking and the singular packages of the liquid bouncing around. Running off and away.

Only then did the panic reach an all time high. As if the severity of it couldn’t get worse. It did. My hands reaching out to grasp at any stray bottles. Holding them close to my chest. Keeping the few I could reach close to my body. I shook, unable to breathe suddenly.

Maybe it was the humidity, or the heat. Maybe it was another heat stroke. But no, to anyone passing by, or anyone who could have seen it from an outside perspective, it was clear that this was not the weather. This was deeper than that. This was pure panic. Something I’d buried for years all surfacing at once like a tsunami of pain washing over my lungs and drowning me in it.

A sob racked through my body, the cry escaping my clenched jaw with such force, my throat burned after. The rising nausea Id felt all morning turning out to only be a lump of anxiety that had grown ten times its size and finally escaped its cage.

Everything hurt, in that moment. My lungs on fire and my eyes crying themselves a river. The tips of my finger scratched at my throat. The only breaths that manages to get in and out being the gasps for air between each sob. I tried to grab my throat, grab my chest. Anything to make it easier to breathe. Yet, my hands were locked around the water like a vise. I couldn’t pry myself away from it if I had tried.

My head pounded, my body growing weaker, aching into less of a dull pain and more of a searing sensation pricking across my skin like pins and needles.

My ears were ringing, downing out everything other than the heaviness of my breathing and volume of my cries. So much so, I hadn’t heard the heavy footsteps rushing in my direction. I hadn’t seen Harry in a full sprint rushing to my aid.

No, in my full blown panic attack, I hadn’t even been able to process he was there with me until his fingers curled around my shoulders and his green eyes looked into mine.

I watched his mouth move rapidly, but I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Still unable to hear, eyes moving too fast to read his lips.

“H-Harry I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe.” I all but yelled. My breathing loud, sounding of a wheeze.

Even in my state, the dining intense and my body still burning, I understood he was doing his best to calm me. Familiar with the feelings that had overtaken my body.

In the mess, he has somehow managed to rip the water from my grasp. My hands flying to his shoulders, head buried between his shoulder and neck. His shirt wet with my tears.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The words came out like a prayer.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

I didn’t know why I was sorry. Maybe for not doing my job I promised him. Maybe for adding stress to his already full plate. Maybe it was me convincing myself I was only becoming more of an inconvenience to him. Either way, I felt him shake his head.

“Don’t say that. No, stop apologizing. Fuck, stop it.” He begged gently, hands rubbing along my spine in an attempt to soothe me.

In some ways, it worked. The ringing fading into the background and my lungs becoming a little less tender. But the burning was still there and breathing was still a struggle.

I shook my head against his skin, eyes shut in embarrassment.

“I’ll pick it all up. I’ll clean everything that spilled. I’ll-I can fix this.” I pleaded, more for myself than for him. He held me tighter.

“No. No you won’t. It’s not your problem. Y/n, stop. Stop. Please, listen to me.” He sounded more stern than calm now. A different approach being taken to get me to snap out of it.

“Y/n you did everything you could and that was more than enough. You are more than enough. Please, believe me. Please, try to understand my perspective.” By now, my eyes were dry, all my tears used up. My breathing heavy but manageable. The gasps fading into soft hitches of breath from my intense sobbing.

“You promised me, you promised that you would stop doing this. Stop overworking yourself for the benefit of others. And I believed you, but I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have because I know you. I know you better than anyone here, so I know you’ll never change.” I looked at him through my eyelashes, slouching further into myself, I sat away from him. Head pulling itself off of his shoulder to face him.

“I’m so-“ He cut me off, not wanting to hear another apology slip past my lips.

“I wish. I wish you could see what I see. How everyone else sees you. How you’re more than enough even without all these extravagant attempts to ease our stress. Y/n, you do so much more for us in one week than we could ever hope to do in one year. You put yourself last in every single situation. You’re selfless and the most empathetic person I have ever had the privilege to know. You’re brave, a-and passionate about everyone. How can you not see that? That this enough? You just being here is enough?” It was like the roles were swapped. My eyes drying while Harry’s filled with tears. Filled to the brim along his waterline. He blinked them away, my thumb quick to find the few that fell past his eyelashes and wipe it from his skin.

“I wish I could promise you that I’ll change, Harry. I wish I could tell you I’ll never do this again, but if I’m completely honest, just for a second, I can’t do that. It’s like, my brain is wired specifically to aid to everyone else’s issues. I can’t rest until I’ve done everything I can, Harry. I just can’t. And my chest hurts. It physically hurts me not being able to make everyone happy. I just feel like I’m always doing something wrong. Like I’m disappointing everyone.” I ripped myself open completely with my confession, showing a vulnerability I hadn’t even had the courage to admit six inches away from a mirror.

“I don’t expect you to change, love. I just hope that one day, you’ll be able to see what we all see. What we all recognize everyday. That you’ll figure it out.” His hands held mine. His steady hands drilling my shaky ones.

My eyebrows furrowed into a sad expression, but it was a good sad. One that needed to be expressed.

“I love you.” It was quiet, barely a whimper. My throat dry and eyes puffy. He smiled, sighing softly. Not out of irritation, but admiration. A soft smile playing on his face.

“I love you more.”

In that moment I felt less of a failure and more like a success. Like ultimately, even if I had failed myself in more ways than I could possibly count out loud, ultimately, in some odd, twisted way, I had won. Guilt continued to eat at me and my stomach would always twist at the idea of letting someone down, but it was lesser than before. Being told I was more than enough sparked something small inside of my brain. I couldn’t promise to change, I couldn’t promise to stop overthinking and pushing myself down. But I knew I could get better. I could work on it. I know that, and I’m thankful for that.

[heartinajarofpickles]

Dinner Is Not Over

Part 3

Broken over and over again

He started gaining back consciousness, first he opened his eyes, and then they tried to move their leg, but it was stuck, same with their other extremities, so there they waited, and waited, and waited.

Hours passed and little by little he regained control of his body, the body was still asleep, and as it was awakening it felt as if both legs and arms were full of static, some more time passed and Crowley was able to stand, now that he could focus he realized that all this time something has been sounding, so he went and investigate, as he was getting closer the sound grow louder and clearer, his heart started racing as the easily identifiable voice babble something incomprehensible, the voice that he had heard so many times, that voice the one he loved and craved became clearer, Crowley only know who the voice belonged to, they couldn’t exactly make sense of what he was saying, or where he was, but he was close, his angel had finally chosen him, Crowley’s legs started failing, not from his sleep but from excitement, from happiness to see the love of his life, to see him back.

Just as he was getting ready to go running and embrace him reality hit him like a semi-truck, it wasn’t Aziraphale talking, well technically it was, but the sound came from that machine, that stupid machine, filled with rage Crowley throw it across the room, hitting the concrete wall and breaking it into smaller pieces, a new distorted version of that sweet sweet voice emerging from the mess of old broken plastic, and then fire again, it was torture for the demon to be hearing whatever deformed variation of his angels voice that machine was creating, so he just burned it.

While watching it burn, he noticed something behind, on the hallway instead of the beautiful green colors that used to decorate the space not so long ago there were only ugly brown cardboard boxes, and on the inside pots filled with dirt, dust and what once was a living organism, this drove Crowley incredibly mad, kicking the boxes he flipped its contents spreading dirt all over the floors, but that wasn’t enough, in fact he had just started, Crowley absolutely demolished every boxed spilling the contents everywhere, his plants were all he had left of his old life, the only thing he still had controlled over, and from day to night they were all dead, his apartment has never felt so empty, so cold so monotonous, so small, suddenly the walls started feeling closer and closer, his lungs were burning, and his vision started getting blurry as he fell to the ground he needed to get out as quickly as possible, getting back on his feet would be an impossible chore so on all fours he crawled to where the door was, there and with great difficulty he was able to stand up, as he was going down the stairs he stated calming down a bit, just enough for them to get to the street and start the Bentley, of course Crowley wasn’t thinking, and some kind of primitive instinct drove him to the bookshop.

It was different, not only the bookshop, the whole street. Crowley though that without his angel, the street, and then slowly the whole world was going to become a gray tiring place with no sign of happiness or hope, Aziraphale’s absence had that effect on his life, so why wasn’t it having it on others, going straight to the library seemed out of place and thankfully the drive had already calmed him down a bit, so he went to the most colorful of all the stores, to where the last food of Aziraphale had come from, give me coffee or give me death, it was pretty much the same, except the store looked a lot happier now with (more) vibrant colors, lots of plants and old music making an ambience, in a corner there was a yellow record player and next to it tons of vinyl’s, not so well organized.

Just as Crowley was about to order Nina gave him an unsure smile

— “Hey!”

— “Hello Nina” responded Crowley, it was nice to see a friendly face, and although Crowley blamed her and Maggie just a little about the way things have ended it was still nice to have a friend

— “How’s life been treating you” BAD

— “Oh well, u know how it goes” did Nina know about Aziraphale leaving? Maybe they haven’t noted his absence, but they soon would and both her and Maggie would start asking questions, not only them but all the other people that meet Aziraphale too.

— “Hm yeah, just passing through or are you coming back around?”

— “I wanted to take a little walk”

— “Good, let’s hope you have more of those, we don’t want to forget your face”

— “Oh, you could never forget me”

— “Sure pal” Nina said in a sarcastic manner

— “So, what can I offer to you, mister Crowley?”

— “What was that thing? The one that tranquilizes people?”

— “Hmm”

— “The Eiffel cakes”

— “Oh, the Eccles cakes? I’m sorry, but we retired them a while ago, apparently raisins aren’t really that popular anymore”.

Crowley was incredibly confused, and although the stable ground had made him feel better than how we was 20 minutes ago this conversation with Nina was starting to make them dizzy again, what did she mean by a while ago?. Just the other day Azi had bought some.

— “Fine, I’ll have six shots of espresso then” no Eccles cakes must have been a sign of the universe

— “Such a radical change” Nina said giggling as she was turning her back to pour the almost black liquid in a big cup

— “Have a nice day mister and try to visit us more often” said Nina sincerly, she didn’t sound like she was playing a joke which confused Crowley even more

As he was leaving the place, a small question started growing deep inside his mind, a little query that started consuming her with each step that he gave getting closer to the bookshop just across the street.

How long had he been sleeping for?

[indras-wife]

I am happy to discover your page! Your works are really nice. Can I request how would Indra react to discovering his s/o cheating on him? You can go crazy and write yandere version of this request if you find it necessary

Just one word anon...MURDER! Our broken man does not tolerate cheating(you shouldn't as well) and he will give a terrible punishment to his s/o for betraying his trust.

☾ TW: NSFW, Violence, Yandere theme ☽

Indra was on his way back home after the fight with his brother, which lasted longer than he anticipated. 6 months to be more precise...The man's mind was derived of every thought, his last bit of sane mind focusing on only thinking about reaching home and seeing his wife, who he missed greatly.

He missed her face, her smile, her smell, her body...the sweet sounds her mouth made when he thrusted his hard cock in her tight cunt, the way she would arch her back and moan on top of her lungs without a care in the world. A sight that drove Indra crazy. And after not seeing his wife for 6 months, he was more than ready to relive the memories with her, by fucking her to oblivion and cumming in her for hours.

The thoughts tainted his mind to such an extent he did not notice nearing his house. When he snapped out of his fantasies and saw the house in front of him, Indra's mouth formed into a soft, warm and genuine smile. He was too impatient to see his wife, and he knew for sure she would be happier seeing him alive and back to her.

Indra made his way to the house and walked upstairs, noticing his wife was not in the first floor. It was late night so he did not think much about it. As he was making his way upstairs, he heard some noises coming from their bedroom. "What are those...noises..." he thought to himself. They sounded like grunts and moans...

Indra, trying to not succumb to any other dark idea, thought it was only his wife. Maybe she was masturbating, considering she did not see her husband for over 6 months. Indra knew his wife had crazy high sex drive, so her pleasuring herself was not impossible.

"A-aahh~ S..so good...~! Fuck..~K..Keep going....~!" her wife's moans were heard from the other side of the door. Indra was skeptical, but he did not want to think her wife was being unfaithful. She knew how he felt about cheating people, regardless of their gender. He took a deep breath and opened the door, seeing the scene in front of him that shattered his heart to million pieces.

There, on their bed, was his wife and...a random man, who was buried deep in her, thrusting without any intention to slow down. His wife, who Indra once worshipped like a goddess , gave his everything to, was too gone into pleasure to notice her husband standing by the door. "Y-You fuck me..b-better t-than my husband..~!!" she moaned loudly, opening her eyes halfway to see the man on top of her. "Yeah baby~? Oh I know..~ I FUCKING KNOW...~! Your husband can't fuck you as good as I do~ Your tight pussy is made for ME, not for your husband~!"

Indra, his mind now fully awake, felt his heart shatter upon hearing their conversation. He wanted to rip both of their heads off, to kill them, especially his wife, but he held himself back. He was going to murder them both for sure, but he wanted to announce his home coming at the right moment.

Just as the two adulterers were nearing their undoing, their breathes getting heavier and heavier, Indra decided to put and end to the show he was witnessing. "Having fun there, Y/n?" he spoke darkly, his voice full of malicious intent. He saw how both of their eyes widened, his voice causing them to stop and look at him. The man moved away from his wife, covering his private parts as best as he could. As his wife's eyes landed on him, Indra felt a like his heart was stabbed by multiple swords. Till the last moment, he wanted this to be a dream, some sort of nightmare...Everything but reality. However, he faced the harsh truth when he realized that whatever he was witnessing was indeed reality and not some twisted dream.

"I-Indra...?Y...you a..ah back...?W...when did your return? I didnt h-hear you..!" his wife asked, doing her best to cover her naked form, a form that Indra saw and claimed as his many times. He chuckled at her pitiful attempt of modesty, a thing that was fully unnecessary in this case. His eyes burned with hate and disgust as he looked at them, his blood boiling in his veins.

"I came soon enough to see my precious...whore of a wife cheating on me with some....mediocre skilled man. To say..im disappointed is to say nothing, Y/n" he spoke calmly which sent chills down his wife's back. She knew that if her husband was speaking this calm, then he most certainly was NOT calm. In desperate attempt to sooth the situation, she wrapped the sheet around her, walking to her husband. "B-Babe..this...this really isnt what you think it is..! I swear I....I am not cheating on you..!"

"Oh....It's not what I think it is..? As much as I saw and heard...this looks exactly like what I think it is!" he yelled the last part, slapping her hard which made her fall on the ground. Her eyes teared up fast, and she started regretting her actions. Sadly it was too late...

Indra bent down and grabbed her hair, pulling it hard and making her look at him. "YOU FUCKING WHORE...! AFTER EVERYTHING I DID FOR YOU, AFTER TRUSTING YOU AND MAKING YOU MY WIFE...THIS IS THE KIND OF THANKS I RECEIVE!? YOU CHEATING ON ME...HUH!?I SHOULD HAVE LEFT YOU IN THAT PLACE YEARS AGO!!" He screamed, his eyes glowing with each word. His grip tightened more on her hair, causing his wife to cry harder, begging him to let her go.

"Don't hurt her! You were absent for months! She had every right to find someone else who could take care of her needs!!" the man shouted, making Indra look at him with disgust. No way in hell that bastard dared to interrupt and lecture him. "You picked someone as pitiful as this to have sex with..? Wow, Y/n, you hit an all time low with this... Congratulations you fucking whore" Indra pushed her head to the side hard, not caring about her hitting her head. He got up and started walking, eyes fixed on the man who now was looking for a chance to escape. Of course, Indra would not let that happen. He unsheathed his katana from his back, and with a quick movement, he cut the head of the man, whose body now was on the floor, blood pouring out of the slash.

He did not care about the bloody mess he created. Instead, seeing the blood ooze out of the cut gave him even more satisfaction than any type of sex could. "One is done....Now to turn to you...~" He spoke, walking to his wife, who was still crying on the floor, not daring to look at the murder scene. "Why aren't you looking hm...? Look up~ See what happened to that bastard~" Moving the katana to her chin, Indra raised her head, turning it to the side. Upon seeing the man's decapitated body, Y/n left a terrible frightened scream. She knew her husband was ruthless, but she didn't know he could be this ruthless. Deep down she was sure she was next, but at this point she did not care. "P-p...please Indra....Please forgive me...! I..I missed you...! I...I am sorry I let that man touch me..! I beg you spare my life...I...I will not make such a mistake anymore..! Please I love you Indra..!!" she cried desperately, hoping her husband would spare her miserable life.

Indra's mouth formed into a wicked smirk. "Don't worry...~ I will make sure you NEVER...make another mistake like this again dear wife...~" he spoke, grabbing her face and smashing his lips to hers in a rough, passionate kiss. His wife followed him, joy in her heart. She hoped that her husband forgave her, that they would be back together.

"See you in hell...~"he whispered before slicing her neck and letting her body fall on the floor. Indra casted one last look at her, feeling nothing but more void in his already empty heart. He now had...no one, except himself.

[fickleminder]

Omg, thank you for being interested in my little plot bunnies! TYSCATDSC was literally so good, it was impossible for me not to run with it. It's rife with so much possibility, it made me think of all the different ways MC and the brothers could have reunited, what they would have to do to mend their relationship after the fact, MC and Lilith bonding time, it's just. An amazing fic. The plot, the characterization, everything.

I too am (obviously, I guess) a sucker for MC whump. We rarely get it in game, so we have to do it ourselves. I have started writing the “good ending” version with my MC, so if it’s okay with you, I might post the MC survives!version once I finish it?

The “bad ending” where MC doesn’t survive is something I started, but I'm not sure if I'll ever finish. I will say it was Solomon who found out about MC’s death first. 2ish years after the end of the exchange program, a friend of his overhears some hunter bragging about killing the “master of the 7 avatars of sin”. He goes back to MC’s hometown to try to track them down, and winds up hearing about an unidentified body being found in the woods like a year earlier. The witch hunters essentially cut them off from using their pacts (so Satan never knew what happened to them either), tortured and destroyed their soul before leaving them in the woods. MC is just gone forever, and the way I planned the rest of the plot, it’s all the characters reacting to the fact that their soul was literally wiped from the world and no one noticed. Not the angels, not the demons, not even the humans. They died suffering and alone, their body wasn’t found for almost a full year after they died, and they were buried in an unmarked grave until Solomon came by, by chance. I hurt my own feelings writing that one and I may or may not finish it one day, but it would be a tough one for me to continue.

As for the NB headcanons, have u ever listened to The Alcott by The National and Taylor Swift? Bc there’s this whole part that Taylor sings in the chorus and it goes like “tell me which side are you on, dear? / give me some tips to forget you / could it be easy, this once? / I think I'm falling back in love with you” and that is like. The whole vibe I was working with here. Honestly, the whole song was a vibe. I think NB would happen maybe a few years after the exchange program ends. MC has gotten used to being without the brothers (minus Satan, who they are able to see every few months, when he can get away from his responsibilities) when they are sent back in time, again. NB happens same as usual, except now MC has to deal with unresolved (romantic?) feelings for the brothers who now do not know them, and their only solace (Satan) is a blank slate and rife with resentment and violent rage. I think Solomon would still come to help them, but I imagine him in a more antagonistic role; in this version of NB, I see Solomon taking advantage of MC’s broken heart and loneliness and trying to sway them to his (humanity’s) side, maybe try and get them to fall in love with him instead.

Meanwhile, in the present day, Barbatos invites the Morningstars over for tea and casually mentions that the human who held all of their pacts has been unceremoniously chucked into the past by an unknown (?) entity. That’s all I have until more lessons come out, but I love to think of all the extra angst putting TYSCATDSC!MC into the NB universe causes. Knowing the brothers intimately while they know nothing whatsoever; watching them grieve Lilith and being unable to tell them they get her back one day; going through the motions knowing that another goodbye is inevitable; torn between not wanting to get close again, and being helpless to the feelings that always seem to come around when it comes to these brothers.

I'd be 100% down to read the MC survives!version first! As much as I'm a sucker for whump, I like happy endings too!! Do take your time, and please tag me when you post it 🙏🏻

That bad ending tho, holy shit. It hurts so good omg thank you for feeding us such delicious angst!! It really encapsulates the replaced!AU so well, the way MC is just lost to them (be it by their own neglect or external forces) and they can't do anything about it until it's way too late. I totally understand if you don't finish that one; my heart aches just reading what you have so far 🥲

And I love those lyrics for the NB headcanons! MC's entire support system is just gone, and I'm super intrigued by the sus!Solomon subplot you got there. As for the brothers... oof. Imagine being reminded of the one family member they neglected for years, only to be told that they've been lost in time. MC isn't dead (at least for now), but there's no way the brothers can get to them either. They must be going insane with all the worry and guilt.

I'm holding off writing too deeply for NB myself cus we're relatively early into the story so I wanna see where it goes first, but poor MC's really getting the short end of the stick no matter what eh? Anyway, thank you for sharing more on your ideas! I'll be in the back cheering you on and sending you all the good writing mojo 💪🏻

[multistoty]

The moon is a loyal companion.It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human.Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.But there’s something about the darkness, the stillness of this hour  that creates a language of its own. There’s a strange kind of freedom in the dark; a terrifying vulnerability we allow ourselves at exactly the wrong moment, tricked by the darkness into thinking it will keep our secrets. We forget that the blackness is not a blanket; we forget that the sun will soon rise. But in the moment, at least, we feel brave enough to say things we’d never say in the light.There are no rules when it comes to survival. Truth that came too late was as useful as a meal to a dead man. Darkness was a beautiful thing. The kiss of a shadow. A caress as soft as moonlight. The most dangerous sicknesses are those that make us believe we are well.He wanted to trust her, but a lifetime of mistrust made it impossible. She was the starlight to his darkness.The ghosts, they never go away. They call to you in unexpected moments, their hands lacing with yours and pulling you down paths that lead nowhere.She consumed him in a different way- the way her eyes made everything jump inside of him when he looked into them, her laughter, temper, the way ehe sometimes struggled for words, the way she jaw twitched when she was angry, the thoughtful way she listened to him, her incredible restraint and resolve in the face of overwhelming odds. When he looked at him, he saw the the capable crow she could have been, but he also saw the soldier and solider that she was. This was why love was so dangerous. Love turn the whole world into a garden, so beguiling it was easy to forget that rose petals were as ephemeral as feelings, eventually they would wilt and die, leaving nothing but the thorns. Fear was a poison that people mistook as protection. Making choices to stay safe could be just as treacherous. It smelled of her; of apples and magic and cold,moonlit nights.Nothing has been safe since the moment he laid eyes on her. And yet he don't want to look away. Kaz’s smile turned seductive, all shameless curves and immoral promises. An invitation to places that proper young ladies didn’t think about, let alone visit.Tonight he was smiling like a wicked prince, escaped from the stars, ready to spirit her up into the heavens. The crow used to think love was like a house. Once it was built, a person got to live in it forever. But now the onyx haired boy wondered if love was more like a war with new foes constantly appearing and battles creeping up.For centuries the Fates were locked away, but now they wish to come out and play.If they regain their magic the world will never be the same, but you can help stop them by winning the game. She didn't make being alone seem lonely as Kaz had always secretly feared. She made it seem like an adventure, as if every moment were the start of a story with endless possibilities. As much as he would never agree, the bastard of the barrell  reached out to the broken parts of her like a caress. The type of touch that moves through damaged flesh, past fractured bones and into a person's wounded soul.Kaz looked down on her from the dark nightstand where he’d perched himself. His long legs draped negligently over the edge of the furniture as his hands played with an apple and a knife.He didn’t need to erase his pain; he needed it to propel his into action. Just because it was a negative emotion didn’t mean it wasn’t a valuable one.“I'm not going to tell you to trust me, because that's a terrible idea. You don't want to be the hero, you want the happy ending- that's why you came to me. If you do this, that will never happen. Heroes don't get happy endings. They give them to other people. Is that what you really want?”

[blankspacebye]

Love doesn't need to feel like love

This is not a months-long research, nor am I desperately searching for you— mentally and physically wounded — to find out what, how, and why you can always be mentioned in all the prayers that follow the universe’s blessings. The click of my turbulent keyboard is louder than the rumble of longing. I endure a fanatical love while the shadowy scroll of your almost melancholic smile plays across the nerves of my brain. The final closure is from my attempt to take on the role of mother to teach you how to spell. I think you can find love anywhere, but the warm home I want is only in you.

The Greeks had eight words for different types of love and we question whether love should be thrown around so loudly. For me it’s as simple as the digital images and fragments we send each other, “it’s you”, “we”, or the occasional “do you want me to make you coffee?” followed by “oh, you don’t drink coffee, go for teabags instead, or do you prefer milk?”, the endless grocery lists and random account numbers your mom asks you to jot down, “I’ll be home soon, do you need anything?”. It’s not a research journal, but I’m not talking out of my ass.

Shoelaces that spell infinity in their loops, something from your youthful version of a beautiful forever without a care in the world for the existence of the word temporary. Growing up means you have to keep getting up after every meltdown. You have to scream at the top of your lungs and hide in the bathroom. You have to keep talking to yourself with your head almost broken, “It’s okay, you did well. Let’s try again tomorrow”.

Among the violent history of humans who have no manners, the stories where heads find shoulders to mourn, the insolent actions of demon-friended tongues who try to forcefully interfere in your affairs. I hope you continue to find the forgiveness to forgive yourself again. I hope you continue to choose life again and again.

Oh, who says you always have to lose? You can be tired, even through the days when it seems impossible to breathe, you find a way to be a breath of fresh air to y(our) lives that are on the brink of death. A thread of help is brought into existence through your generous hands. Today you are the red rose that blooms above the entrance to the cursed house.

I’m not in a state of research. Several times I’ve exchanged my thoughts with humans who are in love “what’s the reason you like him?”, “what part of him do you like?”. Maybe someone on the other side will answer simply that seeing you laugh makes her happy, or maybe she needs to shiver first, needs to unravel the emotion so she can say I love you. Ans today, let me help convey the feelings of those who are reluctant because the wet blur has blocked their view.

Love will knock on my door on a summer night with neatly trimmed hair. Love will be born in the month of April and have the star sign of Aries. Love will wear her favorite color all the time and carry burdens in her hands willingly. I thought I knew exactly what l o v e looked like. But no, not quite.

Love does come in summer— just not at night. Love is not clean-cut, love’s hair curls and is soft, long, and messy. Love isn’t an Aries, love isn’t born in April; love is born in every month, day, and year just right I wish you a long life. Love exchanges “I love you” with different people because love is you in kindness. And love? love is your mother’s favorite, without a doubt, that woman talks about love like her own child and I listen I watch I see and I believe.

And as if your name wasn’t something very special, but when the letters of your existence died on the tip of love’s tongue, I felt like being embraced by your mother for the first time. Love, why do you radiate so much love?

The pain you’ve incurred along the way will be overgrown by hundreds of flower arrangements. If it’s a happy meeting, the whole world hopes that your happiness never leads to forgetting, about this day, about all the buried memories and tears, and about the old version of you before you could stand tall. All I know is that you are unbelievably beautiful, you truly are half of perfectly. One day you will not only leave behind a trail of flourishing flowers but also a heart that is drenched in the brightest of colors by your lively laughter. I pray for the wounds of your body that may not have healed yet, for when those of us who can still be together with everything on the right and the left as it is; take care, and stay tight.

For all the good prayers, aamin.

[jmhwritesstuff]

I once said the words, “Maybe in another universe.”

And they laughed with a look of confusion on their face.

And it made me realise that I believe in the idea of existing in another timeline, another universe - maybe even several. Each one holds a different version of myself that I have never been in this one. Because, here, I have carried the weight of pain since I was a child. Each year brought something new, something else, to shatter any blinking, fleeting moment of featherlight freedom I could have felt if only the world would have thought to pause for me. If only the world would have stopped to consider that all this hurt is too much for one person to carry forever.

At least in another universe I might be the artist I always wanted to be - if only my mother hadn’t scoffed in disappointment when she asked me, when I was eight,  what I wanted to be when I grew up, and told me that being an artist is not a real job.

At least in another universe I might be a dancer - if only my child-self had been feminine enough to want to put on ballet shoes, and my parents could afford the lessons, and I could have made my family proud.

At least in another universe I might be the athlete my coaches promised I could be - if only the people I thought cared about me hadn’t broken my spirit so much that I eventually fell into depression (but didn’t know to call it that) and lost interest in everything I loved. I had no idea this would remain true for the rest of my adult life.

At least in another universe I might not have been sexually assaulted four times by three different men before the age of seventeen. There is no “if only” here. There is only “I hope this didn’t happen to me in every version of my life.”

At least in another universe there is a version of me that is blindingly, unapologetically happy and loved and sure. Of herself. Of her family and friends. Of every choice she has ever made and will continue to make.

There are so many ‘what if’s’ and ‘if only’s’ that it might be impossible to name every single one. But I’m sure you understand where I’m coming from. I’m sure you get the picture. Because if I outline every single one it just means I’m talking too much and people don’t know how to speak to me when I don’t shut up. I start to say things they don’t quite comprehend, they struggle to respond in any particular way that isn’t uncomfortably searching for something else to do, or look at, or change the topic to. Just so they don’t have to listen to me anymore. So I’m sure you understand what I mean by now when I say, “I believe in another universe in which I am not who I am.”

I think there will always be a small part of us that longs to have achieved something we never got the chance to - and perhaps in another universe, in another timeline, even, we are that person we missed out on becoming. Whatever the reason might be.

Maybe I live somewhere else. Maybe I grew up there, or maybe my family moved there when I was young.

Maybe I didn’t meet all the same people, or go to the same schools, or even have an older brother.

Maybe I didn’t fall in love with all the wrong boys.

Maybe he kissed me.

Maybe I didn’t drink so much as a teenager to try to forget everything, knowing it would never work because that’s not how it ever works at all.

Maybe I didn’t find myself wanting to die every day for years without anyone recognising that I was not okay. 

The truth is, I don’t know how to think about my life without feeling bitter. At least, in some capacity, about something. I don’t know how to talk about myself without wishing I were more interesting or successful or talented. I don’t know how to look at the world around me without seeing the darkness first.

Every name has a story that ends badly. Every memory has its claws sunk deep. And, like a twisted, violent circle, every pain I have endured has a name. The names belong to every individual I have ever allowed to get too close. And no one questions why I am angry. No one questions why I am entirely made up of loneliness. They see it, they just don’t want to.

This is not to say that no one has ever asked. This is to say that they have regretted asking.

So, you see, I have to believe there is another universe out there. If only to comfort myself; to convince myself that somewhere, out there, I am happy. 

Whatever that looks like.

And maybe there is a universe in which the person who laughed at me, didn’t laugh at all, but truly understands who I am. And loves me anyway. 

[astridstorm]

Pity the Afflicted, Shield the Joyous: A Sermon on Returning from Leave

For an audio version of this sermon, read by me (Mo. Storm), click here.

Well, I’m back. I want to start by saying how grateful my family and I are. You all have supported us in so many ways during this time of upheaval, and heartbreak. 

Early on the vestry met and voted to give me the space we needed through late October. When Mary (the senior warden) called to tell me that it meant the world. I could just focus on where we were at that time, and make sure we got Naomi set up with the best care we could.

I wanted to come back because I miss all of you and the work that I do. It’s so much a part of who I am and how I make sense of the world. But I should also tell you that I don’t know what this next year is going to bring. I’ve asked Father Dan to stay on just a little longer to help with the preaching load. He’ll be back next week. I may not be as timely or as organized about things, and if that’s the case I hope you’ll bear with me for a little bit. And this is probably obvious, but I’ll need to mask up for parts of the service and when I’m around a lot of you,  maybe even missing bigger events for a while. 

Again thank you for being so kind. So full of faith and hope for my daughter Naomi and our family. It's meant more than I can say.

----

It’s impossible not to bring yourself and your experience to any scripture text. I won’t be approaching every Gospel lesson from the angle of my life and the pain I’m experiencing right now, but this first Sunday back preaching I couldn’t help but bring my current self and circumstances to this reading.

When I’m doing great, in a good place in life, I’m often aware of how that affects what I see in a reading and what I preach, what I bring to you. In those times, I also know there’s probably someone out in the congregation who’s not in a good space and comes in here and hears that same Gospel reading and gets from it something totally different, and I will have failed to reach them. So, we bring who we are, and where we are. We see different things as a result of what’s going on in our lives right now.

And so it is with today’s reading. What I saw here were two people who I think of as two different parts of each of us: the one is broken, and the other is not, is doing quite well in fact. “Standing by himself, [he] was praying thus, `God, I thank you that I am not like other people: thieves, rogues, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give a tenth of all my income.'”

But the other, “standing far off would not even look up to heaven, but was beating his breast and saying, `God, be merciful to me, a sinner!'”

Whenever Jesus tells a story with “two people” -- a younger son and an older son, a grateful servant and an ungrateful one, a humble man and one who’s proud -- we’re challenged not to figure out which one we are or aren’t, but how we’re actually both. 

This proud Pharisee has it together in his life. He prays regularly, makes it to temple, isn’t in trouble with anyone, has enough money to give generously: he’s in a good place. And sometimes, by the grace of God, so are we.

The humble tax collector isn’t doing so well. He makes it to temple, but it’s been a long time and he doesn’t go in. He sees around him people like the Pharisee and can’t bring himself to come near. He’s not in a good place, and sometimes, neither are we.

By the way, that alienation suffering brings, the feeling like you don’t want to be in the presence of those who are well--I totally get that. My husband Andrew and I felt like that in the first weeks of learning Naomi’s diagnosis. Here again, I’m noticing something in this story I never saw: that impulse on the part of the tax collector to stand far off, not to be near that proud and happy Pharisee. Maybe it was just too painful, seeing him like that. 

If we understand these two men as representing different times in our lives, then how can we keep these two sides of ourselves closer together, being humble and in tune with suffering when we’re doing just fine, but not closing ourselves off from those who are joyful when we’re not doing well. These different states like to keep themselves separate: our success wants to feel impervious, when we’re in it; wants to forget that it won’t last. Our suffering, too, wants to feel like it’s all that will ever be, we’ll never find our way out. But we do. Thank God we do. And a wise life seems to me one where the two states talk to one another, and make us better people when we’re riding high, and when we’re in the depths. 

The other night at our vestry meeting, I closed with a prayer that I often close with as we adjourn and part ways. It’s one of my top three prayers in our Book of Common Prayer. The vestry members know: I’ve said it many times before, but I couldn’t get through it that night, so someone else finished for me. 

Again, new resonance because of what’s happening in my (and my family’s) life right now. But it asks God to keep watch over all people in all states of being, whoever and wherever they are and whatever they’re going through, all the while reminding us that our own lives pass through so many phases, ups and downs, none of which last forever, but all of which, in total, make up a life. Hopefully a good life. I’ll try to get through it this time. 

Keep watch, dear Lord, with those who work, or watch, or weep this night, and give your angels charge over those who sleep. Tend the sick, Lord Christ; give rest to the weary, bless the dying, soothe the suffering, pity the afflicted, shield the joyous; and all for your love's sake. Amen.

[missmentelle]

What abusers believe.

If you've ever had to deal with an abusive person in your life - like an abusive parent or partner - you've probably wondered what made them treat you that way. If you understand why abuse is happening, the thinking goes, you might be able to figure out how to make it stop. 

So why do abusers do what they do? Do they have anger issues? Drinking problems? Past trauma? Personality disorders? Do they just need to get in touch with their feelings and learn how to communicate better?

Nope. 

Abusive behaviours come from abusive beliefs. Abusers - whether consciously or unconsciously - hold specific beliefs about relationships that drive their behaviour and allow them to justify the horrible things they do. Even if your abuser has never put their beliefs into words, you'll probably recognize a lot of these abusive beliefs:

You are responsible for my emotions. It is never my responsibility to reflect on my emotional reactions or learn better coping skills - it's your responsibility to stop doing things that make me angry or upset.

I must act on my emotions. If I am angry, I am going to lash out. You have no right to criticize me for that, and it's not my responsibility to learn to manage my  emotions - you have to stop making me lash out at you. Asking me not to act on my emotions is controlling and wrong.

You will always be responsible for my emotions. Even if the relationship ends, you will continue to be responsible for my emotions, and I will expect you to continue to prioritize my feelings.

If I have feelings about something, it's my business. If something you do or think causes an emotional reaction in me, then I have a right to get involved or tell you what to do. My feelings must be the priority. You don’t have the right to tell me that it’s none of my business. 

You must judge me on my intentions, not my actions. If I didn't mean to hurt you or scare you, then you don't have the right to be hurt or scared. No one has the right to try to hold me accountable unless I meant to hurt someone.

I get to decide what your intentions were. If you hurt me, you meant to hurt me. If you make me jealous, you meant to make me jealous. Nothing you do is ever accidental or unintended - everything you do is intentional and malicious, even if it was a response to something I did.

My feelings are genuine; your feelings are manipulation. If I'm upset, my feelings are real and important. If you are upset, you have an ulterior motive - you're just trying to be manipulative and get attention or sympathy for yourself.

You have freedoms because I allow you to. Every freedom you have in your life - like wearing what you want - it's because I generously allow it. I expect you to be grateful to me for that. I have the right to take those freedoms away whenever I want, and I expect you to obey.

If you set boundaries with me, you are mistreating me. If you really loved me, you wouldn't set boundaries with me. You are doing this to intentionally hurt me, which means I don't have to respect those boundaries.

You holding me accountable for hurting you is worse than me hurting you. My pain at being called out is worse than your pain at being mistreated. If I feel bad about something I did, I have already been punished enough. You trying to discuss the issue or hold me accountable is just your way of abusing me.

If I apologized for something, you have to forgive me. If the relationship has ended, you have to reconcile with me. You don't get to ask for more time apart or more discussion of the issue - once I've apologized, the matter is closed for good.

The relationship is not over until I say it is over. So long as I want a relationship with you, you must have a relationship with me. Your feelings are irrelevant. Even if we have broken up, you must remain available to me so we can get back together in the future. Not wanting a relationship with me means you are mistreating me or being immature. 

I am the authority in this relationship. I am smarter and more perceptive than you. I know what is best for both of us. My version of events is always the correct one. I have superior judgement, taste and opinions. If you question me or disagree with me after I've given you the correct answer, you are disrespecting and mistreating me, or you are simply immature and incapable of knowing what’s good for you.

I have the right to control you. It is my absolute right to decide what you do and who you associate with. You have no right to disobey me. I am owed obedience and control; if you don’t give me those things, you are wronging me and cheating me out of the relationship I deserve. 

If you resist my control, I am allowed to do whatever I think is necessary to get it back. Once you’ve resisted me, I am justified in whatever I do to regain control of you. I am not responsible for my actions when you resist my control; you forced me to do it, and it’s your own fault. 

I should be your main focus. Everything else in your life comes secondary to me. When you make decisions, my feelings should be your first consideration. You are expected to make sacrifices for me and put me at the center of your life; I am not obligated to do the same for you. 

If I spend money on you or do something for you, you are in debt to me. You spending money on me or doing things for me does not erase your debt to me, and I am never in debt to you. You are indebted to me for as long as I decide. I may decide that your belongings and earnings also belong to me, since I allow you to have them. I may also decide at any time that you owe me for gifts I gave you, even if they were meant to be gifts.

I am not abusive, and you are not allowed to tell me otherwise. I know what abuse is, and real abusers are significantly worse than me. If our relationship has ever had any good times or positive moments, it can’t possibly be abusive. If you accuse me of being abusive, you are the one abusing me, or you have been led astray by bad influences. 

Relationships should be effortless (for me). I am owed a relationship that is peaceful and requires no real effort from me. It is your job to make sure we have that kind of relationship. If there is any tension or conflict in the relationship, it is your fault, and you are depriving me of the relationship I deserve to have. 

Abusers and victims alike often buy into the narrative that abuse is rooted in anger issues - after all, abusers are frequently angry, and anger is an issue that can be treated. But this narrative just isn’t true. Abusers aren’t abusive because they are angry. Abusers are angry because they are abusive. 

A non-abusive partner is not someone who has learned how to control their rage whenever you spend time with your friends or get home 15 minutes late from work. A non-abusive partner just doesn’t feel any rage in those situations. An abuser’s rage is firmly rooted in their beliefs about relationships - they feel entitled to a relationship that meets their impossible expectations, and when they inevitably don’t get it, they bubble over with fury. Whether they know it or not, they have firmly entrenched beliefs about how relationships should be, and those beliefs are at the heart of their abuse. 

Can abusers stop believing these things? Maybe. If they can acknowledge that they have these beliefs, accept that these beliefs are dangerous and unreasonable and let go of these beliefs, maybe it’s possible for them to no longer be abusive in the future. Maybe. But it’s not your job to hang around and find out. If you’re in an abusive relationship of any kind, you deserve better. There are many people in this world who don’t hold abusive views of relationships, and you deserve to find happiness with them. 

[unhealthyfanobsession]

Would you consider a part 2 for the fic where nesta just does as she’s told? Maybe where Cassian confronts the inner circle about it?

Pretty please <3

I’m not sure this is the closure people are looking for from this but uh … this is what came out. Sorry everyone.

Feyre rolled her eyes before Cassian could even finish speaking. It wasn’t like her, to be so dismissive. But that look in her blue-grey eyes, so alive that it twisted his gut thinking of the shade, it was pure dismissal.

“Listen, Cass,” she sighed, as if speaking to Nyx when he wouldn’t finish his mushed up sweet potatoes. “I … I don’t know what went on between you and my sister in the war. I know that she pushes your buttons and I know that you two have your … whatever it is, but just because Nesta doesn’t want to play that game anymore doesn’t mean anything is wrong with her. She’s finally herself again.”

“No she isn’t,” Cassian insisted. “She’s … I don’t know, faking it. Going through the motions. She’s -“

“Healing,” Feyre said with yet another sigh. “She’s healing, Cassian.”

“She’s numb, Feyre. And I swear to the Cauldron if you sigh at me one more time-“

“You haven’t known her as long as I have!” Feyre crossed her arms over her chest, clearly fighting back a fucking sigh. “You didn’t know her when she was young. Before we lost everything …” Feyre swallowed hard, shifting on her toes. “This is what she was like. Free, unburdened, quiet. I’m sorry that you liked the version of her that was bitter and afraid, but that wasn’t her. Not really. This is her.”

“Bullshit,” Cassian spat. “You said it yourself months ago. Nesta is like a wolf who never got to be a wolf. If she acted like this when you were rich humans it was only because she thought that’s what the world wanted from her!” Cassian knew Nesta. Feyre was her sister, had known her longer, but Cassian … Cassian knew her. In his bones, in his soul, the piece of him that was … not missing, that wasn’t how to describe it. The piece of him that was reaching. It knew. He knew.

This was not Nesta.

“Even if that is true,” Feyre sighed, “it just proves my point. She is healing. Finally. It took me so long to remember who I was again and Nesta … she’s been through so much. We all have.”

Suddenly, Cassian understood why Nesta snapped when he tried to shove stories about Rhys and Feyre and their special little journey’s down her throat.

“She. Is. Not. Ok.”

“She is,” Feyre spat. Hands tightening and jaw clenching. “She is fine. My family is finally together and happy and I won’t let you ruin it because she won’t fuck you, Cassian!”

Cassian stumbled back three steps. Feyre’s hand flew to her mouth. “I didn’t. Cassian I didn’t mean that. I know-”

“It’s fine, Feyre.” Cassian held his hands up in surrender. “I get it.”

And he did.

He should have gotten it a long time ago.

It was never about Nesta or her behaviour or her power. It was about Feyre, it had always been about Feyre.

Rhys’s plan, the insistence on training, it wasn’t about Nesta.

Nesta never wanted to be a warrior. She said it herself, there are other ways to be strong.

The plan … the entire plan had never been about Nesta.

It was about Feyre.

Fixing Nesta when she was never broken.

Creating impossible choices.

Using him to manipulate her.

No one had ever cared if Nesta got better. They only cared that Feyre was happy. That Feyre had her family. That nothing upset Feyre after everything she went through.

And the worst part of it all was that Cassian couldn’t even blame anyone. He couldn’t blame Feyre for wanting to believe that everything was finally fine. He couldn’t blame Rhys for doing all of this because … he was doing everything he could to protect his mate. To make her happy.

The same thing that Cassian was supposed to do for Nesta.

He was supposed to be the one on her side the way Rhys was on Feyre’s.

Complete loyalty.

He was supposed to protect her, and instead he broke her.

Failed her in every way a male could possibly fail.

Nesta Archeron had lived through a war, had removed multiple heads with her bare hands, had been shoved into the freezing waters of good and evil and creation itself and had her humanity ripped away.

But none of that broke her.

None of that was the worst thing to happen to her.

He was.

[littlelovelymemes]

𝐚𝐬𝐤  𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐞 :    𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒐𝒖𝒔  𝒒𝒖𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔

‘  i’ll  find  you  again ,  wherever  we  end  up  next .  ’

‘  the  enormity  of  my  desire  disgusts  me .  ’

‘  please ,  one  more  kiss  in  the  kitchen  before  we  turn  the  lights  off .  ’

‘  i’ve  been  lost  but  i’m  here  now .  you’re  the  only  person  who  has  ever  been  able  to  find  me .  ’

‘  almost  dead  yesterday ,  maybe  dead  tomorrow ,  but  alive ,  gloriously  alive ,  today .  ’

‘  you  are  not  broken .  ’

‘  you  can  love  and  be  loved ,  despite  what  may  feel  like  the  eternally  brutal  nature  of  the  world .  ’

‘  i  did  violence  to  my  own  heart .  ’

‘  will  i  be  forgiven  for  the  sins  i  did  not  commit ,  but  created ?  ’

‘  i  would  never  kiss  anyone  who  doesn’t  burn  me  like  the  sun .  ’

‘  i  would  rather  break  the  world  than  lose  you .  ’

‘  i  think  you  and  i  have  known  each  other  in  a  few  lifetimes .  ’

‘  i  didn’t  know .  i  had  no  idea  how  greedy  my  heart  really  was .  ’

‘  is  that  why  the  idea  of  losing  you  torments  me  so  much ?  ’

‘  how  long  have  i  been  without  you ?  ’

‘  am  i  foolish  for  wanting  this ?  it  will  end  in  flames .  it  always  does .  ’

‘  sorry  about  the  blood  in  your  mouth .  i  wish  it  was  mine .  ’

‘  if  i  love  you ,  is  that  a  fact  or  a  weapon ?  ’

‘  tell  me  how  all  this ,  and  love  too ,  will  ruin  us .  ’

‘  and  you  realize  the  one  person  in  the  world  who  loves  you  isn’t  the  one  you  thought  it  would  be .  ’

‘  it  cannot  be  a  mistake  to  have  cared .  it  cannot  be  an  error  to  have  tried .  it  cannot  be  incorrect  to  have  loved .  ’

‘  finally ,  i  plead  guilty  of  adoring  you .  ’

‘  a  child  weaned  on  poison  considers  harm  a  comfort .  ’

‘  without  realizing ,  i  find  it  in  myself  that  i  cannot  stop  thinking  about  you .  ’

‘  tomorrow ,  when  i  wake  up ,  i  promise ,  i  will  be  better .  ’

‘  someone  has  to  leave  first .  this  is  a  very  old  story .  there  is  no  other  version  of  this  story .  ’

‘  when  i  imagine  myself ,  i  am  always  leaving .  i  couldn’t  draw  my  own  face  if  god  asked .  ’

‘  do  we  simply  stare  at  what’s  horrible  and  forgive  it ?  ’

‘  i  wanted  to  let  go  of  the  pain  even  though  it  was  the  last  thing  that  felt  alive  from  you .  ’

‘  have  i  endured  loneliness  with  grace ?  ’

‘  i’ll  be  your  slaughterhouse ,  your  killing  floor ,  your  morgue  and  final  resting ,  walking  around  with  this  bullet  inside  me  ‘cause  i  couldn’t  make  you  love  me  and  i  am  tired  of  pulling  your  teeth .  ’

‘  and  then  my  soul  saw  you  and  kind  of  went ,  ‘ oh ,  there  you  are .  i’ve  been  looking  for  you . ’  ’

‘  sometimes  it  feels  like  someone  else  is  wearing  my  body .  ’

‘  i  spent  my  life  arguing  how  i  mattered  until  it  didn’t  matter .  ’ 

‘  who  knew  my  haven  would  be  my  coffin ?  ’

‘  dead  is  the  safest  i’ve  ever  been .  ’

‘  i’ve  never  been  so  alive .  ’ 

‘  you  know  what  i  was  gonna  tell  you  before ,  but  didn’t  have  the  nerve ?  you  got  your  name  written  all  over  me .  i  got  my  name  written  on  you ,  too .  ’ 

‘  you  already  are  something .  you  always  were .  and  you  still  have  time  to  be .  ’

‘  you  know  me  by  heart .  it  infuriates  me  that  you  know  me  by  heart .  ’ 

‘  why  am  i  waiting  for  you ?  hungering  and  thirsting  for  you  in  every  cranny  of  my  soul  and  even  in  my  ribs ?  ’ 

‘  you  came  with  a  handful  of  pain  and  a  smile  which  broke  the  ground  under  my  feet  as  the  earthquake  does  when  two  people  meet .  ’

‘  the  only  good  thing  is  that  i’m  getting  used  to  suffering .  ’

‘  the  return  to  time  was  not  my  choice .  ’

‘  we  are  built  to  live  inside  each  other .  this  means  we  are  built  to  ruin .  ’

‘  time  does  not  bring  relief ;  you  all  have  lied .  ’

‘  time  does  not  know  how  to  keep  our  hopes  safe .  ’

‘  you  needed  me  so  much  that  you  had  to  end  me .  ’

‘  there  are  days  where  i  am  morbidly  in  love  with  you ,  and  this  is  one  of  those  days .  ’

‘  i  know  no  end  to  desiring  you .  ’

‘  i  fear  that  i  am  both  too  much  yet  not  enough .  ’

‘  yes ,  yes ,  yes ,  i  do  like  you .  i  am  afraid  to  say  the  stronger  word .  ’ 

‘  a  heart’s  a  heavy  burden .  ’

‘  life ,  as  i  see  it ,  is  all  about  farewells  rather  than  reunions .  ’

‘  heaven  is  real  and  you  only  had  two  minutes  to  prove  it  to  me .  ’

‘  it  was  already  love .  ’

‘  everyone  desires  love  but  also  finds  it  impossible  to  believe  that  they  deserve  it .  ’

‘  i’ll  love  you  until  i  forget  how  to .  ’

‘  i’ll  love  you  until  i  forget  how  to  and  then  i’ll  fall  like  my  knees  aren’t  already  bruised  from  doing  it  and  i’ll  remember  why  you’re  worth  the  ache .  ’

‘  of  course  i’ll  hurt  you .  of  course  you’ll  hurt  me .  of  course  we’ll  hurt  each  other .  but  this  is  the  very  condition  of  existence .  ’

‘  nothing  makes  me  sadder  and  nothing  makes  me  happier  than  you .  ’

‘  i  love  you  and  i  do  not  want  to  love  you ,  it  is  too  much  and  too  difficult .  ’

‘  grief  is  just  love  with  no  place  to  go .  ’

‘  i  felt  my  life  with  both  my  hands  to  see  if  it  was  there .  ’

‘  you  do  this ,  you  do .  you  take  the  things  you  love  and  you  tear  them  apart .  ’

‘  i  hope  it’s  love .  i’m  trying  really  hard  to  make  it  love .  ’

‘  if  you  touch  me  again  i  might  burn  up  in  the  cold  air .  ’

‘  i  asked  you  not  to  leave  several  times .  ’

‘  i’ve  only  adored  you  lifetimes  ago  and  here  we  are .  it’s  nice  to  see  you  again .  ’

‘  all  time  ever  does  is  pass  and  all  i  ever  do  is  remember .  ’

‘  i  feel  as  though  we  were  never  strangers ,  you  and  i ,  not  even  for  a  moment .  ’

‘  i’d  choose  you ;  in  a  hundred  different  lifetimes ,  in  a  hundred  worlds ,  in  any  version  of  reality ,  i’d  find  you  and  i’d  choose  you .  ’

‘  nothing  about  this  is  soft  but  we  pretend .  ’

‘  maybe  you  and  i  are  just  a  dream .  ’

‘  i  know  you  loved  me  too ,  you  knew  me ,  and  it  gladdens  my  heart .  ’

‘  i  promise  i  shall  never  give  up  and  that  i’ll  die  yelling  and  laughing .  ’

‘  i  don’t  do  anything  with  my  life  except  romanticize  and  decay  with  indecision .  ’

‘  the  world  was  made  so  that  we  could  find  each  other  in  it .  ’

‘  you  don’t  meet  the  people  you  love ,  you  recognize  them .  ’

‘  i  think  you  and  i  have  known  each  other  a  few  lifetimes .  ’

‘  this  body  knows  fear  like  a  front  porch  knows  welcome  --  it  is  always  coming  home .  ’

‘  i  miss  you  more  than  i  remember  you .  ’

‘  if  i  could  have  done  it  all  again ,  i  would  have  loved  you  better .  but  i  could  not  have  loved  you  more .  ’

‘  we  could  have  been  happy .  i  know  that ,  and  it  is  perhaps  the  hardest  thing  to  know .  ’

‘  you  want  a  better  story .  who  wouldn’t ?  ’

[ev-pierce-writes]

Doll

Pairing: Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) x F!Reader

Words: 7.7K

Rating: Very much 18+

Warnings: P in V, oral (fem receiving), light (consensual) choking, praise, James Buchanan Barnes is a sad boy and only you can make him happy, mutual therapy over past trauma, a couple light spanks, and some sexy sparring

Note: Reader had a run-in with Hydra that gave you invisibility powers. Bucky is tasked with training you. Totally not canon, I just kept the parts I liked. Got the idea from a tiktok but I can't find it anymore oops. I'm thinking of turning it into a series of all the places you can fuck Bucky Barnes at Avengers HQ. Enjoyyyyyy....

---

"Alright, so I'm thinking absolutely the first thing you need is a suit. Because we can't have you sneaking around in clothes that give you away."

Tony Stark and Peter Parker stand before you at Avengers HQ, furiously tossing ideas back and forth, trying to come up with ways to build you the best possible suit. Last night had been...interesting, to say the least.

"Who's that?" Stark had said when you appeared all of a sudden from your room. "Come on Agent Hill, don't tell me you're taking in lost kids nowadays."

Your mother had only laughed, slightly inebriated and feeling loose because of all the drinking that was going on in your penthouse apartment. She was hosting one of those parties where too many superpowers drank too much alcohol and got a little too rowdy. "That's my daughter."

Usually, you stay away from such events, go out with friends, and avoid the house until it's all over. For the past four years, you hadn't even been in the house to need to avoid it. But now you're 22 and a recent college graduate and something about the party was drawing you in so you had emerged from your hideaway to join in the fun.

"Alright, Maria, how'd you manage to keep that one a secret?" Romanov spoke up.

Until this point, you'd remained silent, in shock at the sudden attention a group of superheroes had focused onto you. But you couldn't help yourself from responding now. You'd managed to hide away long enough. It was time to come into the open.

"I'm a ghost," you said jokingly, approaching the couch and stealing the drink your mother had been drinking to take a sip. It was strong and burned on the way down. The group laughed at your words, unaware of how true they really were.

It was then that you'd performed your little trick, the one that only a few of your closest friends had ever seen. You became invisible.

The laughter had immediately stopped. The girl who suddenly appeared out of thin air had disappeared right back into it. They could still tell where you were of course. The glass in your hand remained visible, floating in mid-air, giving away your position. And your clothes were still perceptible, not being able to change with you. But your features were otherwise undetectable, not even a shimmer revealing your face. You took another sip of the drink, liquid disappearing into an invisible mouth.

"I want her. On the team," Stark had said.

And that was it. The start of your superhero career.

"Explain again exactly how this works?" Parker asks.

You sigh and start from the beginning, again. "I can distort the absorption wavelengths of my cells so that the reflected light is in the invisible range, usually infrared."

"And how long can you hold it for?"

"About seven minutes now," you explain. "It's sort of like holding your breath. You can go underwater for a while, and you can practice holding your breath longer and longer, but eventually, you need to come up for air. Eventually, I have to 'recharge.' But I've been working on extending it."

Stark turns to one of the many holograms of his supercomputer, working with Friday to design a brand new suit to accommodate your skills. You're so engrossed in watching his process you don't even notice the shadowy figure appear in the doorway that leads to the training facilities.

"How'd you get these powers? Agent Hill isn't lacking in skill but it certainly isn't supernatural."

You knew Stark's question would come up eventually. It always did. Over time, it became easier to tell the story, but now you really don't feel like explaining fully, so you tell the short version.

"Hydra. When I was seventeen. They used me as a bargaining chip against my mom in a mission gone wrong and decided to experiment on me in the process. Left me with a lot of scars and a lot of therapy. Almost dropped out of school."

You don't remember much from the experience. But enough for it to leave lasting damage.

"Hydra?" a familiar voice asks behind you. Only now do you notice that Barnes is behind you. How long has he been watching?

You remain silent, just like you did the night before when he'd arrived late to the party, unable to speak under his gaze.

You had planned to leave not long after you joined the festivities. But when the elevator doors opened, a pair of blue eyes halted you in your path. James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier. You'd recognize those eyes anywhere. Crystal clear and icy, freezing you under their gaze. He wore a leather jacket and leather gloves, concealing his metal arm, but you knew it was there, hiding behind the layers.

Barnes had always been the one that caught your eye during your mother's briefings. His transition from the greatest warrior Hydra had to offer, and thus S.H.I.E.L.D.'s greatest enemy, to the trusted companion of Captain America and official Avengers member intrigued you. At first, he had been more of a schoolgirl crush, the little girl grappling with her new powers seeking guidance in someone who didn't even know she existed. But age had not reduced your admiration of him. Barnes' face was hard set in serious determination and his glance barely grazed over you before turning to the rest of the group. He paid you not a single ounce of attention, yet you felt dumbstruck in his presence.

But Bucky had noticed you that night. Noticed you in a way he wanted desperately to hide, so he disallowed his eyes from lingering on you. Who were you and why were you wearing pajamas at a party and how did you make them actually look good?

And not only did he notice you, but he recognized you. He wasn't sure how, but something at the back of his head buried beneath decades of blurred half-memories told him he knew you. It was a stupid thought, though. How could he know you?

From the doorway, his eyes narrow in concern, making you feel smaller than ever beneath him. How is that 5 o'clock shadow so enticing? You just want to run your fingers across--

Stark gestures at Barnes, completely ignoring his comment. "Good, you're here. Our young Agent Hill needs to get started with her training immediately. I want her in the field but she can't be going in inexperienced. Teach her the works."

It's rather bold of Stark to assume you have no combat skills. And to assume you even want to go into the field. But you follow behind Barnes in silence anyway toward the training facilities. It doesn't matter what you know and don't know. He's going to kick your ass anyway.

"Feet wider," he says, coaching you on your swing. His blue eyes have somehow darkened, and along with the faint beard, he looks positively dangerous. "Not too wide."

"I know how to punch, Barnes," you whisper under your breath. He's not meant to hear your words, but he does anyway.

"Oh yeah? Punch me then. Go for it." His voice is challenging in the way that reveals he knows he could block any swing that comes at him. But he wants to see what will happen. Your mention of Hydra loosened a memory in his brain somewhere, and though he can't quite place his finger on it, the memory told him you're anything but the kid he's treating you like. He wants to know what you really have inside you.

Your annoyance gets the best of you. You aim for his face, the way your mother taught you. And she taught you well, teaching you all the self-defense skills you might need moving through the world as a woman. But she did not teach you how to fight super soldiers. That's an entirely different world.

Unsurprisingly, Barnes predicts your move and his metal arm comes up to meet your human one, halting your punch mid-swing. His palm fully engulfs your fist, your knuckles slamming into the metal with a ringing sound.

"Fuck, that hurt," you seethe through your teeth, gripping your hand in pain. And yet, you still smile. You mean for your words to sound irritated, but they betray how much you enjoy getting a swing in. "Didn't have to do me like that, Barnes."

He ignores your pain, though secretly it pleases him to find how much force is truly behind your punch. Nothing, of course, his metal arm can't take, but strong enough. "Language, kid. Go again. And this time, try not to be so obvious."

Despite his advice, it's impossible. He predicts every one of your strikes and counters them with four times as much strength as you possess. You give him everything you have, and nothing lands.

"This would be a lot easier if you let me use my powers."

So far, Barnes has refused to let you fight invisible, not that it would have done you much good without a proper suit. But you're tired and sweaty, your hair falling from its ponytail and sticking to your face, your muscles aching and your heart beating fast. Barnes hasn't even broken a sweat.

"Unless you learn to fight without your powers, they'll do nothing more than level the playing field. You need to be at an advantage if you're going to survive."

Survive. You've done plenty of that already. You want better than survival. Barnes recognizes the look on your face, the one that expresses the desire plainly. He knows the feeling, drifting from one day to the next and wanting more than that.

His voice softens a bit. "We can call it quits for the day. Get some rest. We'll go again tomorrow."

He didn't intend to be so kind. It just sort of happened, drawn out of him by the not-so-innocent girl who still has a lot to learn but can hold her own better than most.

---

Tomorrow. Tomorrow's8 like the day before, 9 am at HQ, wait for Parker to get his ass up the elevator so Stark can begin, get sidetracked by coffee, and then finally return to the task at hand.

"Give this a shot," Stark says, handing you what looks like nothing more than a vaguely human-shaped paper suit. "Not exactly protective, but it's a new technology. Should conform to your abilities."

"You did this overnight?"

"Of course. Get changed."

The suit has little support and definitely no protection. You feel like a fingernail could rip a hole through it if you pull on it wrong, let alone a knife coming at you from an angry enemy. But it's a start. An impressive start. You stare at yourself in the mirror of the bathroom as you shift, the suit shifting along with you.

Back in the training facilities, where you know Stark and Parker will be waiting, you remain in your shifted form. They don't look up as you enter, somehow having not heard you, and instead are engaged in a heated discussion with Barnes about something you don't understand. So you creep up behind Parker, lean in, and whisper into his ear.

"I think it works."

You feel a little bad, but only for a moment. Parker jumps straight out of his skin, screaming a scream you didn't know was possible from the kid. Stark lets out a laugh as you rematerialize, and Barnes even cracks a smile at your prank.

"Yeah, yeah, I'd say so." Parker's voice quivers.

"Well, what do you think?" Stark asks.

"Very thin," you say, aware that much more is visible than you really want. "I feel like it's going to rip at any moment. And there's not a whole lot of support in this area."

You gesture vaguely at your chest, not knowing how best to explain to a group of men that a sports bra is a necessity for fighting, but knowing you have to make them aware all the same. You can feel Barnes' eyes on you, a little less polite than the others, and you find you like the way he eyes you up, a bit like a puzzle to be solved or a strategy to be devised.

"Right, right, I'll get on that. Only a prototype anyway," Stark responds nervously. "Back to work, Parker. Hill, Barnes, back to training."

Bucky tries his best not to picture what you might look like without that suit, but it leaves little to the imagination as you saunter away to change again.

And so the days move forward. You've never before been so busy or exhausted in your life. You just graduated college, which is a feat in itself, but all the training, all the work, keeps you on your toes so that by the end of the day, both your brain and your body are tired.

Still, you improve and get better at sparring Barnes, even taking him down a couple of times on your own, though you suspect he's going easy on you.

"Again." Barnes is already on his feet and helping you to yours. Today the sparring room is particularly warm, and you've long forgone your sweats for shorts and a sports bra. Barnes has lost the shirt as well, and his chest glistens with sweat beneath the fluorescent lights. Maybe it's the heat or maybe it's him, but the whole thing feels a bit dreamlike. Here you are, sparring with a man who could take you to the ground with one arm alone, and he's letting you kick his ass every once in a while.

But there's no way you can do it again. You feel destroyed by all the slamming onto the mat.

Barnes is doing his best not to be distracted as well, but those tight shorts and the top that reveals your midriff have to be on purpose. It's easy to admit to himself that he likes you, might even be attracted to you. You fight hard and relentlessly, rising to every one of his challenges and not backing down even when you're tired. You've already come a long way since that first encounter, and Barnes has come to look forward to the two hours a day you spend together in the gym. He had tried to tell himself it was the fun of having a new sparring partner, but in truth, he knows it's the determined glint in your eyes, the way you bounce on your feet in excited anticipation of the fight, the way you collapse on the mat after a hard session, chest heaving deep breaths in and out. But what he likes most is your heated gaze when he pins you to the ground, or even better, you pin him.

"Knock me down one more time and you can be done," he challenges. The familiar determination returns, though a flicker of doubt remains behind your eyes. He can tell you need encouragement. "Remember to use your size to your advantage. Don't let me get ahead of you. Keep me guessing."

You do your best. You really do. You hold your own for almost two minutes, but it's obvious you're only barely staying ahead of him. As soon as you falter, Barnes has you flat on your back on the mat without much resistance, immobilized by a knee on your thighs and his metal arm trapping your hands over your head. His free hand plants by your head and holds him up to prevent him from actually hurting you.

You gasp underneath him, trying to disguise the weird flicker of desire with breathlessness. He looks good from down here, all sweaty and dark and serious. But you're also a bit too tired to care. "I'm out, Barnes. Let me go."

Let me go. Please.

And that's when the memory returns. The full, real memory, the one that has been tickling the edges of his brain since he first saw you. You, a kid, his mission. Kidnap, don't kill. A small voice, your voice, begging. Please, let me go. What has he done?

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, standing up quickly.

"Language, Barnes," you say teasingly. But he doesn't laugh, simply exits the sparring room, abruptly leaving you, speechless and alone on the floor. What just happened?

After a moment of confused silence on the mat, you brush it off and stand, heading to your room for a shower. Stark offered you a place to stay at HQ, and you happily agreed. Though you loved being back with your mother after four years away at college, you cherish your independence. A room at HQ offered you just that.

A nice shower would certainly make you feel better after that confusing interaction. You pull on your robe and shower shoes, leaving your clothes behind so as to carry one less thing. But as you pass down the hall toward the showers, you can hear Barnes' voice drift through the slightly open door to his room.

"I remembered," he says. "It was her. I'm the reason she's--" He cuts off, appearing to be interrupted by whoever he's talking to on the phone. You pause by the open door.

"I know that's not me anymore but I'm still responsible," he continues. "I have to tell her."

Again a pause. By now it's apparent he's talking about you.

"No, Steve, we aren't a team. We aren't partners. I'm helping Tony out. I don't care if she doesn't want to work with me anymore, this is part of my redemption. I have to tell her."

The conversation seems over. You rush to the showers, not wanting Barnes to realize you were listening the whole time. Apologize, he said. Apologize for what? You've known him for a whole of four days and he's been nothing but polite to you. Cold, at first, but he warms upon acquaintance. And then he's downright sweet.

So sweet, you realize, for someone so damaged. He has every right to hate the world, and though he walks through it with a healthy dose of cynicism, he never lets that cynicism touch you. If anything, he's outright positive around you, an undeserving brat. A kid, really, though you don't like when he calls you that. You know you can be naive, positive on the verge of artificiality, and yet he never tries to burst your bubble. In fact, he seems to relish it.

The shower feels nice, but it does nothing to assuage your fears. Maybe it's you who has done something wrong? Now you're spiraling. You have to find out what's going on or it's going to drive you crazy.

You know what you have to do. You have just about seven minutes of invisibility before your shifting gives out. In those seven minutes, you can duck from the showers, sneak into Barnes' room, snoop around, and make it back to the showers unseen. Plenty of time. But you have to go nude. Now would be a great time for the suit, but no such luck. Naked it is.

Out in the hallway, all is quiet. Barnes' door is still ajar, but when you peek your head in, the room is empty.

Easy.

Where to start? His phone is a dead end, being one of those ancient flipping kinds rather than a new, high-tech smartphone. He has few personal belongings, the bed is made perfectly, and his closet contains only clothes.

The drawers of the nightstand are empty. Or nearly empty. At the back of the top drawer is unceremoniously shoved a small booklet with a pen stuck between the pages. It's worn and supple, as though held a thousand times and read a thousand more. You flip through, finding a list of names, some crossed out, others not. Your name does not appear, but something about the list tells you these are not ordinary names. These are the names of his victims, people Barnes hurt as the Winter Soldier. Your heart aches and your stomach clenches, the reminder of his past jarring against the kind demeanor you've come to know. But deep down, you know this isn't him, know he's a good man, despite it all.

You know better than most the first-hand horrors of Hydra's super-soldier experiments. Of anyone, you can relate best to the experience Barnes has been through. Your memories of that long week are blurry, but the pain remains, forever seared into your mind. You can only imagine a lifetime of that pain.

The sound of the door opening jolts you from your reverie and you close the drawer quickly. But you soon realize your mistake. Barnes would know he left the door open, would know exactly how he placed his book in the drawer, would recognize something was off. Unfortunately, you're right.

"Hello?" he calls into the darkening room. The evening is coming on fast and the sun dims to barely glimmer, casting the space in shadow despite the large windows on the south wall.

Bucky knows something is off the moment he finds your room unoccupied, having gone there with the express purpose of confronting you about his actions earlier in the afternoon. And though he has no way of truly knowing, he suspects you are now here, in this room with him, invisible to his gaze. Bucky shuts the door behind him and waits.

You're trapped. You don't have long before your powers give out; already the suffocating feeling that begs you to take a breath is coming on. And Barnes has closed the door, effectively sealing you in, as you can't open it without him knowing for sure that you're here. On top of that, you're clothingless. You've run out of options and Barnes seems to sense this. So, he waits, drawing out the moment of tension, building the suspense.

"I know you're here," he says finally, his voice soft and barely audible. "You can't hide that well. Next time, dry your feet off before you go leaving wet footprints all over the place."

Oops.

"I--" you begin, and immediately Barnes' eyes snap to where your voice originates from. "I'm sorry. I overheard your conversation with Rogers. I shouldn't have but I know it was about me."

Barnes sighs, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah, you're right. I have some things to explain. Though I'd much prefer talking to you if I could see you."

You hesitate. "Only a slight problem there. I'm not wearing any clothes."

If it had been any lighter in the room you would have seen Barnes blush. Instead, you watch him pull his shirt over his head. He hands it to you blindly, the shirt off his own back, soft with wear and long enough to cover the tops of your thighs. It smells of him, salty with sweat and sweet with the scent you've come to recognize only as him. You shrug it on and shift back.

"I'm sorry," you say again, having trouble concentrating with Barnes' bare chest at your eye level. Is that an old bullet wound on his shoulder? The reminder of a knife across his stomach? You can't look away, even at the seam where man meets metal.

Barnes shakes his head. "No, I should be the one apologizing."

He pauses for a moment and tries to begin several times before finally forming a complete sentence.

"It's my fault you're like this, that Hydra tested on you. It was me who kidnapped you, it was me who followed orders, it was me who completed the mission and got you hurt. And I'm so sorry."

You're so frozen in shock that the absurdity of the situation doesn't even register. There's nothing under this shirt, no underwear, no pants, no bra. And here you are standing in the bedroom of your greatest inspiration, listening to him apologize for being the one that facilitated your kidnapping, for being responsible for all the injury, the pain, the nightmares, the isolation, the...

It all comes flooding back, the things you had forgotten, or simply chose to not remember, and one of those things is his face.

You thought you'd dealt with impact. So many hours with a therapist, and you realize all you did was suppress the feelings, not confront them. And then you break, all the anger and sadness and frustration flowing from you at once.

"You piece of shit." Your voice begins as a whisper but soon amplifies nearly to a shout. "You monster, you bastard, how could you? How could you?"

All this time you forgave him for the damage he'd done, excused it as brainwashing and manipulation from Hydra. But now that it's you he's involved, you have somewhere to direct your anger, and you take it out as a shove straight to his chest.

He didn't expect that one. The words he understood. He accepted those, accepted that you would hate him forever. But then you're pushing and hitting him with all your force. Barnes could fight back, could hold his ground. But you need this, so he lets you shove him into the wall with a newfound strength. Finally against the wall, with nowhere left to go, you turn to pummelling his chest with your fists, repeating the words over and over, how could you, how could you, how could you.

For a moment, he lets it happen. But eventually, Barnes reacts, grabbing your wrists and holding them to his chest in an attempt to calm the fury that rages inside you. Surprisingly, at his touch, you still, slumping against him once the anger is replaced with nothing but sadness. That anger, one you never truly realized you'd harbored since your capture, bled from you all at once, leaving you exhausted.

You don't notice you're crying until a soft thumb wipes a tear from your cheek. Barnes releases your hands and wraps his arms around your sobbing body, pulling you close. "I'm so sorry," he repeats in your ear, his words a whisper against the rage inside your head.

Is it hours, or only minutes, standing like that, wrapped up in him, his skin so soft against your cheek? Time has ceased to exist, melting into the nighttime that encompasses the room in near pitch-black darkness. Your breath calms, your heart rate slows, the tears dry. He's only a man, a broken, misplaced, lost man. But he's also impossibly kind to you, caring enough to train you day after day, to pick you up when you fall down, to ensure you're happy here at all times. That's the man you know and rest your cheek against and seek out for comfort in this moment, despite him being the reason for your anger. But he's not truly the reason for your anger, only an easy outlet standing right before you.

This is not how Bucky had expected this to go. Perhaps to never see you again, yes. But to hold you in his arms, certainly not. And not just hold you, but comfort you. It surprises him how much he finds he likes it. And he can't ignore the fact that you're here in his room, wearing his shirt and only his shirt. He doesn't try anything improprietous, just wraps his arms around your waist, but it's not lost on him that your supple chest is pressed against him and the delicious scent from your still wet hair is filling his brain with a flowery cloud. His stomach clenches at the thought of burying his face in that smell for the rest of the night but he pushes it aside. That's not why you're here. That's not what you want.

But your next words surprise him. You pull slightly away, tilting your splotchy face upward towards his to look him in the eye. You take a ragged breath and speak.

"I forgive you."

Bucky is taken aback. That's not why he made this confession, not to seek your forgiveness. "You don't have to do that."

"I know. But I do. And I know you think I'm just a kid--"

Barnes lets out a short laugh, cutting you off immediately. "Jesus Christ, that's not true. You're not a kid. You're smart and strong and capable. And you've seen the ugly world for its true self and choose to remain good and happy all the same. I'm not like that and that makes you wiser than I'll ever be."

He takes a deep breath, unsure if he should admit to the feelings he desperately wants to express to you. The way you're looking at him, with a mixture of hesitation and admiration, makes the words tumble from his mouth without a second thought.

"But somehow being around you makes me want to be good again. Not for my sake, but for yours."

"James, I--" You've never used his first name before, but it falls deliciously from your lips, the sound of it nearly distracting him from the finger you run across the stubble on the cleft of his chin. Nearly. He captures that hand in his own, holding it there against his face.

"You don't have to forgive me. I don't deserve it," he repeats, eyes falling shut to the feeling of your thumb pressed to the corner of his lips. He still holds you close, the other arm wrapping tight around you, and though verbally he rejected the comfort your warmth offered, his body says otherwise, desperate for the acceptance his brain refuses to give into.

"Stop punishing yourself," you whisper. For a moment, he almost feels that he could.

And when your lips find his, soft and delicate, he forgets why you're even here in the first place, forgets his guilt and your anger, forgets even to react.

His lack of response has you pulling away, worried you've done something wrong, but then he's chasing your lips with his own, leaning forward to meet you halfway, gathering you impossibly tighter to his chest. He pauses, mouth mere centimeters from yours, eyes still shut, a deep breath heaving from his chest. He wants more, wants to kiss you again in all the places that count, but he can't quite yet.

"What was that for?" The question's not an accusatory one but simply curious. Have you always looked at him in this light since day one? Has he just not noticed?

"Are you blind, Barnes?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "None of that last name shit, doll, we've moved on to a first-name basis."

But your words are enough to surge him forward, this time capturing your lips in a dominating kiss that leaves you gasping for air. He takes advantage of your open mouth and presses his tongue to yours, seeking to fill his soul with your all-consuming warmth, to wrap it around him like a cocoon of your scent. His fingers slide down your back and slip under the shirt you wear, his shirt, grasping at the bare skin of your ass, filling his hands with your supple flesh.

You moan softly under his touch, relishing in the feeling of being encompassed by someone so large and so strong. The vibranium arm, which you expected to be harshly indelicate against your relative fragility, caresses you with the same gentility of the other. The intense contact sends your heart racing like it did all the times you were pinned below him on the sparring mat. Will he pin you like that in bed? Hold you down while he fucks you within an inch of your life?

The thought rouses a heat between your legs and stirs butterflies in your tummy. You don't even know if that's where this is going, but it invades your brain anyways. You're sure Barnes can feel your racing pulse beneath his lips when he kisses your neck, sending your nerves haywire as he creeps toward the neckline of your shirt. He inhales your scent, the hot air of his breath fanning your cool skin.

Everything about this is sloppy, the wet kisses dragged across your skin, his tongue tangled with yours, your fingers tugging at the hair that brushes the nape of his neck. Even his hips against yours are messy and rough, the heat of him leaving your core feeling slick, the wetness of it rubbing between your naked thighs. And then Barnes is sliding his hands back up your body, this time under your shirt, and tugging it over your head, his lips leaving your skin just long enough to toss the item to the ground.

You expect him to keep surging forward, to lift you in his arms and take you to bed like you want him to. But he pauses instead, hands cradling the back of your head, his eyes staring intensely into yours. Or you think he's staring into your eyes.

"Are you okay? Is this okay?" His voice is full of concern but raspy with arousal all the same.

"Yes, James, yes, I need more."

"Well, I would, it's just that you've disappeared on me again." One look at your hands and you know he was looking right through you, not at you. The swirl of emotions--pleasure, arousal, timidity even--sent you shifting without your knowledge. You can't help but laugh.

"Let me see you, doll," he groans, sounding exasperated that he can't rake his gaze across your naked flesh or find all the places he wants to touch you because they're invisible.

"You first."

A heated understanding lights up his eyes, still vibrant in the darkness of the room. Slowly, he releases his grip on you, relenting to not knowing where you are in space. You take an invisible step back to get a better view of the specimen before you. With one hand, he unbuckles his belt, sliding the leather from his pants and dropping it to the floor with a thunk. And then his pants are gone and he's left in his boxers, tight against the bulging muscles of his thighs.

And other bulging things. He doesn't hide his attraction to you. But still, you do not reappear.

Bucky begins to worry you're never going to, that maybe he's taken things too for. But then, a soft finger trails across his neck and he jerks in surprise. You're tracing the plain of his chest with a feather-light touch, dipping into the indent between his collarbones, feeling along the puckered scar of a bullet wound and the long slice of a knife. He feels healed beneath your touch, but it's not enough to satisfy the insatiable hunger building in the tightness of his groin. This entire evening has been a long, drawn-out, build-up of tension, and if he doesn't release it soon, it will snap like an overstretched rubber band.

He makes his move.

Apparently, Bucky's senses are just as perceptive here as they are on the sparring mat. His metal hand shoots up and wraps around the wrist of the hand on his chest, despite being unable to see it. The other reaches out and grapples at your invisible body in the dark, somehow finding your waist. He doesn't need to see you to manage to flip you around and press your back against his chest. In your surprise, your invisibility falters, and you flicker out of your shifted form with a flustered squeak, one hand suddenly pinned between your back and Bucky's rock-hard chest.

He holds on with an iron grip and walks you toward the bed, holding you up to prevent you from tripping in your ruffled state.

"You're taking too long, doll," he mumbles into your ear, and you feel his chest rumble with the vibrations. Your free hand flies to the one around your waist, which is slowly creeping upward toward your breast to twist at the sensitive nipple. "I know you like it when I pin you on the sparring floor. I can see it in your eyes. I'll take you like that right now if you give me the word."

Fuck, you want nothing more but you can't breathe enough to get the words out, opting for nodding vigorously instead. But Bucky wants words, gently prodding you forward to get a verbal commitment out of you. He will never take you against your will again. So you manage a long, drawn-out please and suddenly you're face-first in the sheets, bent halfway at the waist, your ass grinding against the delicious bulge pressed against your aching cunt. It pleases you that he has been thinking the same wicked thoughts as you when he slams you to the mat over and over again in training.

Bucky pulls your arm out from underneath you, joining it with the other and holding them together with his metal fist at your lower back, forcing your chest further into the mattress and your ass higher in the air. There's no way for you to move, no matter how hard you try. But you don't try, won't try. Bucky has you right where you want to be.

"Tell me if it's too much," he murmurs in your ear and you breathe an affirmation. His teeth nibble suddenly at your ear lobe and you squirm, the sensation of his breath fanning your skin sending goosebumps along the trail of kisses he leaves down your spine. Somehow, you know this is only the calm before the storm, the gentle caresses of a man who's about to rearrange every organ in your body, all the way up to your heart if you aren't careful.

It doesn't matter to you that it's pitch black in the room; you wouldn't have been able to see anything with your face shoved into the comforter, even if the lights were on. But Bucky's starting to regret having left the lights off, wishing he could better see the curve of your hips, the swell of your thighs, or the bloom of his handprint on your ass when his hand comes down with a smack. He resigns to being satisfied by the mewling gasp that escapes your lips and your soft pleas to Do it again, harder.

So he does. Smack.

And then he's sinking to his knees and you can tell because he leaves a wet stripe of skin with his tongue over the globe of your ass and blows a shock of cool air across the rawness of your skin.  He replaces the sting of his hand with the bite of his teeth and then a kiss to soothe you again. The rollercoaster of sensations has you moaning against the mattress and rocking your hips toward his face and Barnes chuckles at your movement, your actions giving away the desperation you feel to have his tongue move to more sensitive places.

He is happy to oblige. You hadn't even noticed you'd been squeezing your thighs together until he slid a hand up between them, forcing them apart. It's a blessing your legs aren't doing any work to keep you up anymore because they feel like jelly under his touch. The hand between your thighs moves higher still until you feel his thumb pressed to your sensitive clit, warm and twitching with anticipation, desire coursing through your veins and dripping from your wet cunt. Your ears barely register that he's speaking, the blood is pumping so hard in your ears, but his words are exalting.

"Look at you, so wet for me." The hand around your wrists tightens just slightly. You are surprised by the extreme control he has over the cool metal fingers, and you almost wish he'd use those on you instead. And then he says, "you like it, don't you, doll, being at my mercy," and you forget all about the arm and decide it doesn't matter what hand presses down with a gentle strength on your clit as long as he doesn't stop. And he doesn't. Doesn't move, doesn't flinch or twitch or falter, just holds steady until your gasping mewls die down just enough for you to say, "yes, all for you, all for you, all..."

With those words, his thumb slips, between your slick folds into your pussy, finding the soft spongy flesh and pressing down again and you cry out with a careening moan that tapers off into a silent sob. He's taking his time, picking you apart, pulling at the laces that bind you together, and undoing them to release the tension he knows you harbor. But what about him? Is it not torture for him?

You breathe in a rough gasp, enough to squeak out a few more words. "I thought we were going too slow for you."

He laughs, he actually laughs, at your words, but relents.

"I hear you, doll."

I hear you. Oh wow. His tongue replaces his finger and you lose all coherence, able only to blubber some iteration of his name as the smooth muscle traces circles around your clit, finally allowing your orgasm to build with a steady contraction in your pelvis. Barnes moans between your legs like he's never tasted chocolate or buttercream or any of those other wondrous flavors and there's only you. And that moan sends you overboard, the vibrations diffusing down your legs and you tremble into your first orgasm. Your first orgasm.

He keeps going, riding out the waves of your high until you're crying that it's too much, James, too much and he pulls his tongue away from your oversensitized clit only to move down your legs. He's working you up again, teasing the smooth skin of your inner thigh with gentle nips and kisses until your body is craving release again, your cunt clenching around nothing but the memory of his mouth. He is deliberate in his ministrations, methodical in the way he must be with his missions. The flood of your first orgasm has dripped steadily down your thigh and he cleans you with his tongue, dragging upward along the sticky trail of your musky release until his tongue makes contact again and he pulls an orgasm from your desperate body once more.

He still hasn't released your arms.

"You know how long I've wanted to do this?" he groans, as you shudder again into the pleasure of his touch. He kisses back up the length of your spine while you twitch under him, his free hand dragging shock wave after shock wave from your cunt. It strikes you that this man is truly 106, not 26 like his body suggests, and you absentmindedly wonder if that's why he's so good at it, that he's had years to practice. And then his cock is pressing against your folds and you forget the notion halfway through thinking it. "You're so good to me doll, so good for opening up for me. Wanna feel your tight pussy around me."

You push backward, or do your best to without the employment of your arms, wanting desperately to feel him inside you. He is warm and all-encompassing and part of you thinks his cock spilling his seed inside of you would complete you like nothing else. But you know that's a bad idea and you can hear him already unwrapping a condom (where did he get that from?) and your body trembles with the anticipation. You haven't even seen him yet but you know he must be big, the way he grunts when the tip of his erection teases your entrance.

When he enters you it isn't gentle like the stroke of his tongue. It splits you open with a rough thrust, the laces of your heart fully undone and releasing you from their confinement. You choke on your own air.

And then he's releasing your arms, and before you can react, Barnes has you lifted, your back to his chest, your knees shoved roughly into the mattress so he can stand and fuck you from behind. The metal arm finds your neck and forces your head back, his lips dragging hot against your soft skin and muttering filthy praise into your ear, his hand gently on your throat to hold you there. Your hands fly to his, not to pull him away, but to convince him to squeeze, just a little bit harder. The pressure is grounding, and then the hand around your waist is trailing toward the bud of your clit and rubbing in urgent circles and you let out a silent gasp as he thrusts into you at a pace astounding for the position you're in.

You come hard, over his hand, around his cock, and for the first time Barnes falters, stunned by the intensity with which you clamp around him and if he hadn't made you come two times already he might have held out a bit longer to pull another one of those stunning orgasms from your slick cunt. But you're sagging, using him to hold you up against the exhaustion of repeated abuse so he releases, riding the wave of pleasure you started. Bucky groans out your name, surprising you with the gentleness of it on his tongue despite the rough hand around your neck.

When he releases you softly back onto the bed, you sink heavily into the mattress, feeling high on pleasure and drunk on his hands. He pulls away and shuffles around the room, and if you had had any energy left you might have complained at the loss of him but as it sits nothing will rouse you from the intense desire to simply fall asleep.

He continues to move about and then... the lights go on? You groan at the harsh treatment of your eyes as they adjust. But Barnes returns and pulls you against him and apologizes for the rude awakening.

"Sorry, doll," he mutters. "Wanted to get a better look at you." His fingers glide along your back and his face nuzzles into the top of your head, breathing into your hair as you press your forehead into his chest. Despite being exhausted himself he trails his hands all over your body, exploring the side of you that has been shoved into the sheets for the better part of the evening. You let him, although your nerves feel fried and oversensitive to touch.

"Watch what you do with those hands," you giggle as his fingertips brush over a nipple, "unless you're ready to go again."

"Already looking forward to next time?"

"You wish," you tease, but already you know for certain that there will be a next time.

[capseycartwright]

okay but buck and eddie + "pretending you're going to kiss your best friend to see how they're going to react, they grab your face and kiss you back" from the kissing prompts

Eddie would, without question, move heaven and earth to make Christopher happy. It’s not something he’s ever had to doubt about himself - Christopher is his main priority in life, and Eddie would stand on his head for hours if it meant he got to see his son smile. All that being said - he might have bitten off more than he could chew, with this one.

Christopher was in El Paso for a week. Pepa had been going there anyway, and she’d taken Chris to see Eddie’s parents - despite Eddie insisting he could take Chris himself. Their work schedule wasn’t too bad, that week, and they had three days off in a row without having to use any vacation time, so he could have flown out there, but Pepa - and abuela - had insisted Eddie take some time for himself, which was not something he was very good at, so instead, Eddie had decided to surprise Christopher with a total room makeover.

Chris was the definition of a tweenager - he was hitting the age where everything was starting to be totally embarrassing (Christopher’s words, not Eddie’s) and so he thought his room was too childish. It’s just - Eddie hadn’t had the time, before now, to clear the room out, repaint it, replace all the furniture - the works.

Buck had been on board from the second Eddie had suggested it, and three trips to the hardware store, a whole day of painting Christopher’s room a seafoam green, and one very stressful trip to Ikea later, Eddie was sitting on the floor of his sons room, Buck looking entirely too self-satisfied as he pointed out Eddie was definitely building Christopher’s new desk wrong.

Eddie glared at his best friend. “Did you look at these instructions? It’s not exactly my fault that I put it together wrong,” he huffed, throwing the crumpled paper at Buck. “There’s pictures, and no words.”

“That’s supposed to make it easier, Eddie,” Buck said, smoothing out the instructions. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. We’re firefighters, we’re not going to be defeated by flat-pack furniture. Well, I won’t be - I don’t know about you.”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “You’re real cute, Buckley.”

Buck looked up, grinning. “Aw, you think I’m cute?” he teased, making kissy-faces at Eddie, leaning in impossibly close - close enough that Eddie could feel the huff of his breath against Eddie’s own cheek, close enough for Eddie to be able to study every flutter of Buck’s eyelashes. “You think I’m cute. You think I’m the cutest ever,” he continued, his laughter genuine and bright, filling in every crack of Eddie’s heart as always. “You think I’m cute, and you want to kiss me.”

Buck was probably joking, Eddie realised - but something about his words, they made something snap inside of Eddie.

His feelings for Buck, they had changed, a long time ago - in hindsight, part of Eddie had to wonder if their friendship had ever truly been totally platonic, given how deep the connection was, from day one - but Eddie had really accepted he had been in love with his best friend right after he’d gotten shot. The moment the bullet had torn through his shoulder had been a strange one - it was as though Eddie’s life, past, present, and future, had played on some sort of desperate, sped-up, movie-style preview, and his heart and brain had gone into overdrive. He hadn’t been sure of what it had meant, until he’d woken up and seen Ana where he wished Buck was, and he’d only lasted a few more days before breaking it off with Ana.

(“It’s Buck, isn’t it?” she’d asked, more perceptive than Eddie had given her credit for. It felt like the movement took every ounce of strength in his body, but Eddie had nodded. “I hope it works out, Eddie,” had been the last thing she’d ever said to him.)

But Buck had been with Taylor - and he’d been happy, for a long while, until they’d broken up pretty amicably. They’d wanted different things, out of life - Buck wanted a family, a house in the suburbs and a happily ever after, and Taylor’s vision of her future hadn’t looked like that.

(“It was too big a difference, to find a compromise on,” Buck had shrugged. “I want a family - she doesn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to ask each other to change our minds on that - but we’re still friends, and I’ll be okay.” He’d sounded so sure, that Eddie was helpless to do anything except believe him.)

The breakup had been months ago, now, and Buck had all but moved in, since, spending all his time with Eddie and Christopher and all those feelings Eddie had buried for the six and a half months Buck and Taylor had dated for had come back with a vengeance, and Eddie had felt like he was drowning in how much love he felt for Buck.

So maybe Buck was joking -

But Eddie wasn’t, when he dived across the floor and cupped Buck’s face in his hands, pressing his lips to Buck’s in a desperate, urgent kiss. He’d imagined so many versions of their first kiss - slow, and romantic, exchanged over dinner, desperate and hurried, exchanged in the midst of an emergency. Eddie had never imagined this - never imagined the way Buck was frozen, in Eddie’s grasp, never imagined feeling too scared to pull back because he was worried that would be the first, and last, time he ever got to kiss Buck.

Eventually - Eddie had to pull back.

“I’m sorry,” he managed, trying to wrack his brain for an excuse for his behaviour. Could he blame it on the paint fumes, maybe? Say that they’d addled his brain and gotten him a little high? They hadn’t worn masks, when they painted, after all.

Buck’s grip on his wrists was tight, stopping Eddie from moving away. “Do you think I don’t want this, Eddie?” he asked, his cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink, eyes wide and sincere as he looked at Eddie.

Eddie had never felt more embarrassed in his life. “You didn’t kiss me back,” he pointed out, wishing Buck would let him move away.

“You didn’t give me a chance to,” Buck said, and before Eddie could say anything else, Buck was kissing him again, slow and unhurried, as though they had all the time in the world to do this, to figure out how best to fit together.

Eddie couldn’t help the surprised noise he made against Buck’s mouth as the younger man pulled him into his lap, the way Buck’s strong hands gripped his thighs and easily maneuvered him unfamiliar - but not unwelcome. “Do you really want this?” he found himself asking, steadying himself by holding tightly to Buck’s shoulders.

He’s not sure he’d ever sat in someone's lap before, as an adult. It was kind of nice.

Buck nuzzled his face against Eddie’s neck, breathing deeply for a second. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Eddie,” he admitted. “I can’t remember how it feels to not want you - to not want this, us, our family, forever.”

“Our family,” Eddie echoed softly, brushing Buck’s sweaty, gel-free hair back off his forehead.

“Is that okay?”

Eddie nodded, leaning in to kiss the worry off Buck’s forehead. “It’s more than okay, Buck. It’s perfect.”

(It was hours later, when Eddie looked in the door of Christopher’s bedroom, a half-naked Buck doing his best to distract him as Eddie surveyed the wreckage of half-built flat-pack furniture littering Christopher’s floor.

“Chris is home tomorrow,” Eddie sighed, reaching back to run a hand through Buck’s hair. “We really need to finish.”

Eddie didn’t need to look at his best friend to know the younger man was grinning. “How do you feel about getting a TaskRabbit, Eds?”)

[multistoty]

The moon is a loyal companion.It never leaves. It’s always there, watching, steadfast, knowing us in our light and dark moments, changing forever just as we do. Every day it’s a different version of itself. Sometimes weak and wan, sometimes strong and full of light. The moon understands what it means to be human.Uncertain. Alone. Cratered by imperfections.But there’s something about the darkness, the stillness of this hour  that creates a language of its own. There’s a strange kind of freedom in the dark; a terrifying vulnerability we allow ourselves at exactly the wrong moment, tricked by the darkness into thinking it will keep our secrets. We forget that the blackness is not a blanket; we forget that the sun will soon rise. But in the moment, at least, we feel brave enough to say things we’d never say in the light.There are no rules when it comes to survival. Truth that came too late was as useful as a meal to a dead man. Darkness was a beautiful thing. The kiss of a shadow. A caress as soft as moonlight. The most dangerous sicknesses are those that make us believe we are well.He wanted to trust her, but a lifetime of mistrust made it impossible. She was the starlight to his darkness.The ghosts, they never go away. They call to you in unexpected moments, their hands lacing with yours and pulling you down paths that lead nowhere.She consumed him in a different way- the way her eyes made everything jump inside of him when he looked into them, her laughter, temper, the way ehe sometimes struggled for words, the way she jaw twitched when she was angry, the thoughtful way she listened to him, her incredible restraint and resolve in the face of overwhelming odds. When he looked at him, he saw the the capable crow she could have been, but he also saw the soldier and solider that she was. This was why love was so dangerous. Love turn the whole world into a garden, so beguiling it was easy to forget that rose petals were as ephemeral as feelings, eventually they would wilt and die, leaving nothing but the thorns. Fear was a poison that people mistook as protection. Making choices to stay safe could be just as treacherous. It smelled of her; of apples and magic and cold,moonlit nights.Nothing has been safe since the moment he laid eyes on her. And yet he don't want to look away. Kaz’s smile turned seductive, all shameless curves and immoral promises. An invitation to places that proper young ladies didn’t think about, let alone visit.Tonight he was smiling like a wicked prince, escaped from the stars, ready to spirit her up into the heavens. The crow used to think love was like a house. Once it was built, a person got to live in it forever. But now the onyx haired boy wondered if love was more like a war with new foes constantly appearing and battles creeping up.For centuries the Fates were locked away, but now they wish to come out and play.If they regain their magic the world will never be the same, but you can help stop them by winning the game. She didn't make being alone seem lonely as Kaz had always secretly feared. She made it seem like an adventure, as if every moment were the start of a story with endless possibilities. As much as he would never agree, the bastard of the barrell  reached out to the broken parts of her like a caress. The type of touch that moves through damaged flesh, past fractured bones and into a person's wounded soul.Kaz looked down on her from the dark nightstand where he’d perched himself. His long legs draped negligently over the edge of the furniture as his hands played with an apple and a knife.He didn’t need to erase his pain; he needed it to propel his into action. Just because it was a negative emotion didn’t mean it wasn’t a valuable one.“I'm not going to tell you to trust me, because that's a terrible idea. You don't want to be the hero, you want the happy ending- that's why you came to me. If you do this, that will never happen. Heroes don't get happy endings. They give them to other people. Is that what you really want?”

[starshipsofstarlord]

Stuck in 1903

Part Two

Masterlist

Summary: Damon and Bonnie had come to your rescue, or so you thought, but it is Kai’s every intention to get close to you again

Pairing: Kai Parker x reader

Warnings: angst, smidge of fluff, mentions of smut, mentions of death, mentions of murder, bad friendships, mentions of poison, swearing

Word Count: 2052

Find Part One Here

divider by @firefly-graphics

If the Other Side continued to exist, then you would be there rather than this subordinate prison world which had been designed for one bad witch. Kai's own kind feared him, you had experienced him mentally draining your energy, he was a chore to put up with, but he could do much more than that, you had learnt from Bonnie. He fed off magic, physically stealing it from bodies and items that harboured any of it, which had poisoned his mind to hunt for power. Your friends had informed you that he had murdered his siblings, well some of them anyway, and had attempted to do so to more of them. And now you knew, with supporting evidence, never to trust Malakai Parker.

Without Damon and Bonnie you had to resort to fending for yourself, which was not at all difficult since this version of Mystic Falls that you were trapped in was quite literally a ghost town. The forever enveloping silence was torture, though the method of ignorance had not been designed for you; it was all for Kai, and that unsettled you. There was one more thing that you had been dreading - the possibility that you could not escape from the remote isolation without the aid of the guest starring siphon himself. This hell was built to contain him for eternity, but now there was magic that he could use to his own advantage nearby.

Your cheek rested upon the side of your hand, mushing the flesh whilst your elbow was poised upon the countertop of the kitchen island in the Salvatore house. All of your concentration validated your deep thoughts, of which you were broken from as a plate was placed directly in front of you, a pancake decorated with chocolate chips and syrup to form a smiley face. Damon was the culprit as he threw a tea towel over his shoulder, expectedly looking at you.

"I'm not hungry." You informed the vampire, who simply frowned at your lack of an appetite. "I ate yesterday, which was technically today." Beneath the table, you crossed your ankles, as you earnt a sigh from your well aged friend; he clearly was not impressed by your behaviour. But you didn't know what he had expected from you, you had been trapped here for longer than you could remember, and alone until you had discovered the man that had been outcast by his own family. At the time you had not known of his murderous tendencies, and had wanted nothing more than to get away from him, and you wouldn't like to admit it but you even missed him a little.

He was annoying and cocky, and withheld crucial information from you, though there was something that contradicted that all. Whenever any one of your friends had suffered the fate of death, they were always attempted to be brought back to life against the natural order of things. It made you wonder and doubt a little if they had even tried to resurrect you. In this separated reality, there was no jurisdiction so that you could know, though each time that either Damon or Bonnie looked at you, you could swear that there was guilt written in their gazes.

"Look I knew being stuck here with Kai must have fucked you up-" he should have bit his lip, his assumptions were anything but correct. And that was proven as you defensively darted out of your seat and jabbed your finger in his face, making him pivot his jaw back. There were many things that were 'fucked up', and supposing that you were one of them because you had died after sacrificing yourself to ensure that they all continued to live just didn't settle right with you. The context of the morbid situation did not help with condoning any reassurance at all, in fact, it gave a spine to your lack of faith in him and the others in the first place. Out of everyone, it was inherently worse to be here with Damon, all he had cared about was his precious Elena as well as himself, and after existing for well over a century, that was insurance that he was never going to change.

"It wasn't him who did that to me, it was roaming this damned place by myself, I had no one. And as crazy as it sounds, I think spending time with the notorious Malakai Parker helped me keep what was to spare of my sanity. If I'm not wrong, I may even say that I've found more being here than dealing with the bullshit y'all cause back home." Perhaps your words were a tad harsh, if Bonnie were in the room you were sure that she'd have a somewhat understanding of what you were saying. Though she was not, and thus you had to deal with the harshness of her best friend all by your lonesome. And it seemed that you had rattled him, apparently he couldn't handle the truth.

"Then why don't you run back to the sociopath? When we discovered that you were here, we found the pair of you attached to the hip anyways. And with him inside of you, I'd never seen you so darn happy, better here with him than tempting me to drink bleach from the way that you constantly complained when you were alive; I swear you were worse than Donovan." It was on your mind's own command for you to take a step back, and away from the toxin that Damon had so cruelly spat at you. Ans the way that he compared you to Matt made you angry; it was though he were ignoring that there were valid reasons for the blond to be the way that he was - after all, the monster before you had practically killed his sister. A laugh renegaded out from your mouth as you realised that you had been right all along, none of them cared. You were just a burden that stopped them from having a perfect life together. If this were a book, then this would be the beginning to your villain arc, and ironically enough Damon saw himself as one of the good guys. Now that was utterly ridiculous after every reckless thing that he had ever done!

"Have it your way then bloodsucker." All along, you should have trusted your guy, and from now on you knew that you would listen to it. And strangely enough, it was calling you to Kai, maybe it was because he was your last resort to escaping this imprisonment that had been meant for him alone. Turning on your heel, you heard Damon flop the towel down on the side and sigh, though you continued to walk, appeasing your better judgement elsewhere. "Wait." He tried to convince you to stay, belatedly understanding the mistake that he had made, but it was no use, you were already on your journey of getting as far away as possible from him.

The Mystic Grill, it remained to be familiar in your eyes as you entered. It was empty and void of drunken assholes and narcissists that you had wasted too much time on. The only person that you missed in the modern alternative was Matt Donovan, he was the only person that didn't treat you as though you were invisible or a nuisance. You wondered how he was coping with your absence, knowing him, he was probably relieved that Damon was gone. But you weren't, because he was here with you instead. Trailing your fingertips over the counter of the bar, out of the corner of your eye you saw a lonely glass of bourbon that was sat there as though it were lamenting you with mockery. You tried to hold your sentimental sob inside, but it was practically impossible. It tore through your body, bellowing out from your mouth as you stifled and fought through your tears.

A hand caressed the landscape of your back causing you to jump and flinch from the unexpected contact. One thing that you had learnt from evading and eventually experiencing the qualms of death, was that you could never be too careful. For no more than a second you had predicted that the intruder to your pity party was Damon, that he had followed you as you tried to distance yourself from him, but alas it was not, instead of being greeted by a fretless vampire, you were condemned by the sight of a powerless witch, of whom had purposely interjected your moment of cracked emotion and wore a brave smile for you. Wiping your eyes with the back of your sleeves, you couldn't help but snap at him. "If you're here to finish what we started then tough luck Parker, you've been here long enough and you have two hands, figure something else out."

His tongue darted out to swipe at his own bottom lip, as he raised his hand, showcasing his offering to you. "I was only going to see if you wanted a pork rind, you look like you could use one." Sighing, you dug your hand into the pungent packet that was littered with dust and crumbs, retrieving a few treats for yourself as you placed them in your mouth. "And now should be when the poison kicks in..." With your hand, you gave him a little shove as you tolled your eyes at his homicidal comedy. "Come on, that was funny! I'm funny!"

"If you say so, there's not very many people around to give you an honest opinion." It was true, the only other human like lifeforms impartially close by were Damon and Bonnie, and well, you weren't going to scurry back to them anytime soon. "And if you had poisoned me, then you would know that I would be fine and dandy in not so long, It wouldn't make a difference if that wasn't the case either, I mean I'm already dead, what could be worse than that?" Kai looked at you with shock; he didn't know that about you, that you had actually suffered a final breath. Now he thought about it, the grand scheme of things he didn't know much about you in general, though he was prepared to learn. He had often found death to be fulfilling, satisfying even, but he'd never thought about its victims being so beautiful. Yet here you were before him, by chance the one force that could motivate and help him find a way out of this jarring hole of reaping misery.

"You're here, that's all that matters." As soon as those words fled from his lips he realised exactly what he had said, and a blush framed his features. "I um - that wasn't what I - you know, yeah..." He scratched the back of his neck as you shook your head at this new side that you were seeing of Malakai. His parents called him Malakai, of course he was going to become a killer, but right now you saw nothing more than an embarrassed boy whose skin had flushed as an affect of his own words. From your experience, everyone was either the killer or the killed - you two were one of each. Like ying and yang, you fit perfectly, it was a balanced divide that was settled on whichever rhythm played out in the air. And to correspond with that thought you walked over to the jukebox, a song beginning to play which made Kai want to cover his ears. "I hate this song." He told you; he really did, if he could murder it, he would without a doubt.

"Then don't listen, just dance with me." You extended your hands out to him, to which he begrudgingly reached for. And as he snapped his eyes open, he realised that was all a memory, and that goddamn song was still playing. All he could think about was you, he had seen how upset you had been to die, and yet you were gone again, and it was all down to your so called friends. One was standing before him as he sat in chains, imprisoned against a chair. "Are you here to punish me?" He asked Bonnie, wanting nothing more than shut his eyes and see your face again.