#it would be triggering to me so it needs one

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

To love me better

Tags: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna x fem!Reader, american!Reader, forced/arranged marriage, dark romance trope, dead dove, age gap romance (reader is around 21-22, Sukuna is 37), cursing, suggestive language, use of nicknames like “doll” and “angel”, use of y/n, NSFW, MDNI, Sukuna is his own warning, description of violence including murder.

Synopsis: Yakuza Lord!Sukuna owns all of entertainment district. You’re trying to work to put yourself through law school. He has a proposition for you, and you have one for him. Chaos ensues.

An: Toji has entered the chat. I wonder who else will make an appearance. Hey, so this part is pretty short. I’m sorry. I just need to find my groove again.

Part one. | Part two. | Part three. | Part four. | Part five.

*art creds for sukuna image goes to @.maru6 here on tumblr

The sound of the gunshot rung in your ears.

The restaurant was painfully quiet. Before the gunshot, you hadn’t even realized that it was nearing closing time. Almost all of the patrons had left besides the man who your future husband just murdered.

“Get over here,” Sukuna ordered lowly over the phone. He pulled the cellular device away from his ear, and he tapped the end call button.

His eyes slid over towards your trembling form, and he raised an eyebrow as if to challenge you to say something.

Your throat was painfully dry as you looked up at him. Why did you actually believe he’d keep you out of his business?

With another snap from his fingers, the waiter reappeared at his side. His face paled as his took in the grizzly scene at the booth right behind you.

Sukuna handed over the gun to the waiter. “Get rid of it.”

“Yes boss,” the waiter responded mechanically with a small bow. He then scurried off to god only knows where.

This had to be a nightmare. Surely, he didn’t just kill someone right in front of you.

Your body was still shaking, but the adrenaline was slowly tapering down, being replaced with anger. “How could you? We just made a deal, signed a contract, everything!”

Sukuna looked over at you, and he scoffed a small laugh. “I believe I remember telling you that I would keep you out of my life as much as possible. This was non-negotiable.”

“You killed a man right in front of me! I’m an accessory to murder, dammit.” Tears brimmed in your waterline.

“Technically, I killed a man behind your back, kitten. You never actually saw me pull the trigger, now did you? Who’s to say I was even the one who killed him?”

Your eyes widened in horror as he was playing semantics with you. He just put this permanent necklace collar around your throat and immediately went back on his promise.

You looked away from him, unable to truly deal with him right now.

Footsteps emerged from the open part of the restaurant, and you glanced over nervously. What if it was a cop? Surely, the authorities have been alerted? All of the kitchen staff can’t be in on this.

Instead of an officer, a tall beefy man with muscles bigger than your head, black hair, and green eyes walked up. He had a scar on the corner of his lip and a lazy smirk on his face.

“Took you long enough, Zenin,” Sukuna quipped as he pulled out his phone.

“Calling me a Zenin is about as accurate as calling you an Itadori.” The man had a raspy voice and a nonchalant attitude as he casually strolled into the restaurant. Your eyebrows furrowed, contemplating the name he had mentioned. Itadori. Where have you heard that name before? “What do we have here?”

“He’s a grunt of the Gojo Clan. I’m honestly disgusted that he sent someone as incompetent as him to tail me.”

“I was talking about the pretty one who’s still alive,” the man said, slowly eyeing you up and down. “What’s a cute little thing like you doing here?”

Your jaw slightly dropped as he casually flirted with you as if there wasn’t a dead man behind you. Before you could even think of a response, your future husband decided to speak up.

“You’re gonna end up like the bastard with a bullet hole in his head if you keep flirting with my wife, Zenin.” His jaw hardened, staring down at the other man.

“Oh? So it’s like that, huh?” he asked, not losing the smirk. “My mistake then, Misses Sukuna.”

You thought better than to respond based off the look Sukuna gave you.

The Zenin man strolled closer towards the lifeless body with an air of aloofness about him. He looked down at the bloody scene before shrugging. “What do you want?”

Your future husband fixed one of his cuff links on his shirt before sparring the grunt a passing glance. “Mail his head directly to that imbecile’s doorstep with the exception of the eyes. Send one to the Geto man he seems enthralled with, and send the other eye to Hiromi Higuruma.”

“You can’t—!” you blurted without thought. You couldn’t believe he was actually planning on mailing your professor an eyeball.

Both Sukuna and the Zenin man looked at you with amused looks.

The yakuza lord took three calculated steps towards you. He watched you shrink back away from him with reserved pain. He had been building your trust slowly, but it had all withered away with a simple action.

Still, he reached out to you, a curl of your hair around his finger. Your teeth were practically chattering in fear while he was so close. Was he going to punish you for your outburst?

“You’re very naive. It’s rather alluring, but let me educate you anyway.” He slid his palm over your cheek, gently coaxing you to tilt your head up at him. “The man that’s dead on the floor? He had been tailing us for most of the evening. While he could’ve been just gathering intel, he also could’ve been waiting for an opportunity to strike.”

You swallowed thickly. “That’s not enough for a death sentence,” you whispered quietly, carefully. You didn’t want to piss him off, but you also wanted to make it very clear that you were against this. You wouldn’t just acclimate to this type of life, and you weren’t just going to sit quietly while he did whatever he wanted.

His red eyes met yours, and for a moment, you thought you fucked up. “When I’m with my wife, it is. Make no mistake, kitten. I’m very serious about your protection. No one is going to get the jump on me while you’re on my arm.”

He continued, “As for mailing an eyeball to your professor, that’s just a warning. He’s the only person I suspect that would tip Gojo off about our location.”

Immediate disbelief filled you. “You’re simply paranoid if you think a lawyer like Hiromi Higuruma is in the Yakuza’s pocket.”

Sukuna gave you a feline grin. His fingers pinched your cheek in a teasing manner. “Your naivety is showing again, kitten. I have you in my pocket, don’t I?”

Your face warmed with embarrassment, and you mentally scolded yourself for feeling butterflies dance around your stomach. This man is a cold blooded killer. He just showed you what he’s capable of. How could you feel this way from some meaningless words?

“Send me receipts once it’s done, Toji.” Sukuna ordered before he nodded his head towards the door, signaling for you to follow him. His slid his hand down to your arm. He didn’t grab you, but it was enough to show that he wasn’t leaving without you.

What other choice did you have? You were stranded in the middle of the entertainment district without him. Hesitantly, you followed him out of the restaurant, keeping your head tilted down as you mulled over your life choices.

Meanwhile, Sukuna’s body felt… heavy. He didn’t expect disappointing you to have this much of an effect on him. He had played by the rules, hadn’t he? Was he supposed to just allow lowlife thugs to disrespect him in his own territory? Was he suppose to risk your safety and just hope that the Gojo clan wouldn’t strike?

Unfathomable, he thought. You didn’t understand the dangers of being with him just yet. He wasn’t going to risk your safety simply because you were naive to believe you’re untouchable.

Sukuna knew the moment the Gojo clan found out that he had a weakness now they would stop at nothing to use it against him. He would do the same to him, which is why he mailed his “presents” to Suguru Geto. As far as Sukuna could tell, the young man with long dark hair wasn’t in on the Gojo empire, but it sent a message to Gojo that Sukuna knew how to strike where it hurt.

If he took his wife from him, Sukuna would take his beloved too. Both of them would forever be alone, playing this cat and mouse game.

He glanced down at you again and tightened his jaw. You looked like some sort of kicked puppy, believing he had truly betrayed you and found some loophole in the contract to exploit.

His chest burned with barely contained anger. If he planned on dragging you into his lifestyle, he would’ve just said it. He had been very clear and upfront about his intentions, and yet you still believed him to be some sort of conniving snake.

Once you two were at the car, he opened up the door for you and let you get. You flinched as he shut the door a little too hard before climbing in on the driver’s side.

The ride was silent and tense. You felt every single second of it, and it was excruciatingly painful.

The sky had fallen dark, showing off the bright colorful lights of the entertainment district. You stared out the window at the hordes of people club hopping and visiting street vendors.

“How much of this do you own?” Your question surprised Sukuna. He had expected the silent treatment to last much longer.

“My name is on majority of the deeds. If my name isn’t on the deed, I own a good portion of equity in the business,” he answered carefully.

You kept your gaze out the window. The thought of looking at Sukuna made your chest feel tight. “Even the small street vendors?”

Sukuna tapped his finger against the steering wheel. He wasn’t a fan of dancing around the conversation like you weren’t upset with him. “They own most of their business. I merely make a small margin of profit off sales and such. I have no interest in micromanaging properties.”

You hummed thoughtfully, finally sitting back in your seat. You folded your hands in your lap. “How did you know that guy was from the Gojo clan?”

There it was. “I could tell. He was sloppy while trying to take pictures of us for confirmation. The waiter had also confirmed it.”

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Thinking back, you tried to pinpoint when the waiter had said anything about the gentleman behind you.

“Don’t stress yourself thinking too hard kitten. It was a signal you wouldn’t have noticed anyway.”

You took a deep breath, filling your lungs up with oxygen as you tried to settle the waging war inside of you. On one hand, he had done it to protect you. On another hand, he took a life right in front of you.

“It was jarring,” you muttered, allowing for a moment of vulnerability seep through. “I didn’t like being in that position.”

Sukuna quickly looked over at you. He could mark this down as yet another time you managed to catch him off guard. As much as Sukuna didn’t want to admit it, he hadn’t thought about how you must’ve been scared. Your body had been trapped in a fight of flight mode.

He had been raised around death his entire life. His family had been in this business for generations. It was ingrained in him. Everyone he worked with was used to it, or he didn’t give a damn about them to notice if it bothered them.

You were different — not a co-conspirator, not a business partner. You weren’t raised in this life, and while it was Sukuna’s duty as your husband to protect you from it, it was also his duty to make you feel safe.

You didn’t feel safe when he shot and killed that man. It was too sudden. He hadn’t properly explained or given you any sort of warning. He had gotten tunnel vision.

“That’s a fault on my end. I will not put you in that position again, angel.” It wasn’t an apology, but it was all he knew how to do: be better moving forward.

You stared at him in slight disbelief. Admitting he was wrong was something you hadn’t expected from a yakuza lord.

Feeling your stare, he grunted in response, causing you to shift your gaze elsewhere. He took accountability. He gave you his word he wouldn’t do it again, yet you found difficulty believing his word after such an incident.

You shifted your gaze out the window, deciding that you’d just need time to think. You needed to gather yourself, but it appeared as though Sukuna wasn’t going to afford you the opportunity.

“Where are we going..?” you questioned, shooting a look of confusion and slight fear towards him. He hadn’t taken the turn to head back to the student housing. Is this when he offs you?

Any look of guilt or concern had vacated Sukuna’s sharp features. He turned his head to give you a one-over, and a predatory grin curled on his face. “Home.”

“My student housing is…” your voice trailed as you pointed a finger back towards the exit he should’ve taken.

“Oh doll, are you still in shock?” he asked with a twinge of mockery in his tone. “Do you not remember agreeing to stay in the guest room until we are officially married?”

Fuck. You had completely forgotten about the clause. “I didn’t think that was effective immediately. I don’t have any of my things. I need clothes and hygiene products—“

“I can assure you, angel.” His fingers gently cascaded over your thigh until he cupped your flesh with such care that all your senses melted into him. “Despite your incessant worrying and forgetfulness, I have things under control. All you need to do is sit there and indulge me, yes?”

Your body felt warm, and you couldn’t decipher whether it was from his caressing touch or from how he took charge of the situation. Slowly, you eased back into your seat. What else were you to do? Jump out of his moving car on the freeway?

“Good girl,” he praised, giving your thigh a delicate squeeze. Your breath lightly hitched in your throat from the sensation, and your core involuntarily clenched around nothing. His touch felt like flames licking at your thighs.

You tried to will your heart to stop racing, but you subconsciously knew you were willingly going into the lion’s den.

Taglist (50/50): @theuniversesnepobaby @airandyeah @lizatonix @starmapz @everywonuu @totallygyomeiswife @sukubusss @depressiondiaries @t4naiis @hishearttohave @soraya-daydreams @lulunx @s-1-xx @el-lise @prettyngeto @marifujioka @iheartlinds @gina239 @actuallynarii @shxyxyxxxx @krispycreamepie @emoedgylord @nina-from-317 @pandabiene5115 @paintedperidot @dissociativewriter @lmaoshush @ninani-nanina @sadrna @boisenberry77 @tojifush @erwinawesomeness @meanwhilesomewhereelse @safasz @kassfunk19 @moncher-ire @gradmacoco @riahlynn-102 @diduzzula @juiceeypeach @kunasthiast @jinxiewritings @mordacioust @rinofcike @therealjustpeachesback @cutesytwt @loonytunesmith @stargirl-mayaa @dyavorange @beau-regards

[peterparkive]

come back to me | b. barnes

⋆���︎˚｡⋆ synopsis: it’s been three years since you and Bucky called it quits. you learned to live without him, to stop waiting for a knock that would never come. until tonight, when he shows up at your front door with his team and tired eyes, asking for a place to crash. his presence, bathed in the soft light of your doorstep, stirs feelings long buried—ones you thought had vanished the night he did.

-> pairing: post-thunderbolts!bucky x fem!reader

-> disclaimers: so much angst that it’s sickening, yearning, cursing, minor use of y/n, reader and bucky are exes, the thunderbolts are a found family and i make sure of it, bucky has relationship insecurity, unresolved tension, i got carried away with angst (peep word count), bucky and his beautiful dyson airwrap blowout, happy ending.

-> word count: 10k+ (BYEEEE)

-> song rec: cardigan by taylor swift

-> a/n: first ever fic on this blog and it’s angst. i thrive off of tense silence and painful longing. it’s long but worth it (this deserved length)

The knocks come close to midnight. You’re still awake, folding all of your laundry you’d tackled on your day off. You aren’t tired by any means, however, you definitely weren’t expecting the company behind those three even raps on the wooden door of your apartment.

You approach the door with rightful caution—something your years of fighting crime, aliens and evil villains had taught you—but nothing you’d faced before could have ever prepared you for what was on the other side of that peephole.

You almost didn’t open it, backing away with a heartbeat that pumped too quickly for you to keep up. Your breathing grew heavy, like the weight you’ve spent so long trying to lift off your shoulders came crashing down on you again. Yet, there’s a part of you inside that desperately wants to swing the door open, which only makes you angrier—that after all this time, your heart still fails you in the presence of him.

Despite the voices in your head screaming at you from every angle, your body betrays you. Fingers switch the locks and you’re pulling the door open, a small gust of wind following in its path.

Bucky Barnes looks different from the last time you saw him—in person, at least. You’ve seen the new prince charming hair and scruffy beard plenty of times on your television but after a while, his face grew harder to look at so you stopped paying attention. Something once familiar became foreign and you convinced yourself you accepted that.

But there he stands at your front door. Only he isn’t alone, because behind him are the rest of his team of bandits turned heroes; bruised, bloodied and battered.

For a second, you don’t think you’d be able to speak but then your mouth moves faster than your brain. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

It’s silent, and you’re pissed. The goddam Thunderbolts are at your front door in the middle of the night and none of them have the decency to speak. Not even the man who brought them there.

“Is this a joke?” You say, blinking.

Bucky, as if your words snap him out of some sort of daze, raises his chin. “Hi Y/N.”

His voice was as gruff and deep as you remember and the sound of his name rolling off your tongue triggers something you thought you’d long gotten rid of.

When you don’t respond, out of equal parts shock and anger, Bucky continues, “We’re on a mission and it hasn’t been going well. We need,” He pauses. “We need some place to stay. Just for the night.”

There was no way, you think. Maybe you passed out and hit your head, hard enough for your brain to conjure up this sadistic nightmare.

“Seriously?” You breathe, fingers clutching the door with an effort that makes your knuckles turn white.

Bucky opens his mouth but is unable to come up with any words—shame and guilt flickering in every corner of his eyes.

You use the silence to glance around at the other five strangers standing at your front door. They look like they’ve all gone through the ringer; dirty and exhausted. When your eyes land on hers—Yelena’s—your breath falters.

She looks exactly like Natasha under the harsh fluorescent light of your hallway, with a deep gash on her lip and those same rich blue eyes. She stares back at you, tired in a way that makes your heart hurt.

Suddenly, you felt like shit for contemplating slamming the door right in their faces.

When your eyes meet Bucky’s again, that thumping in your heart is undeniable—the one that reminds you of just how much he’d once meant to you, of how you would’ve pulled him inside without question had he knocked on your door years earlier. It was yelling at you to let him inside. Them.

Because that part of you, the one that once loved him and everything that came with him, wasn’t entirely gone. No matter how much you tried to get rid of her.

With a sharp inhale, you step to the side for them to walk through.

Bucky hadn’t expected you to. Of course, he knew the kind of person you once were but he didn’t know the kind of person you are now—you had every right to turn him away and yet, your apartment door was wide open.

His feet feel frozen in place. After a moment of waiting for him to move, and sharing confused glances when he didn’t, the rest of The Thunderbolts begin walking through your door giving you murmurs of appreciation.

Bucky was the last one to step inside.

He feels the energy shift the second he walks through the threshold of your apartment. He hasn’t been inside since the breakup—since the day he practically ripped your heart out with his hand and tried to move on like nothing had happened.

You hate the way he doesn’t bother to look around like the rest of his teammates because he already knows the apartment like the back of his hand. More so, you hate locking the door behind him because that makes the situation all the more real.

Clearing your throat, you spin around despite the fact that your brain still feels as if it’s melting. “I’m Y/N.” You don’t know why you bother telling them your name when surely he beat you to it.

“Oh, we know who you are.” The big man—Red Guardian, you think—laughs, a smile stretching across his face in admiration. “You are Avenger. I see you fight on television. Big fan.”

You blink. “Well, I’ve seen you all fight on TV too,” Your words are laced with bitterness and you resist the urge to side-eye Bucky in the process. “The New Avengers. That’s taken some getting used to.”

Everyone in the room can feel the tension between you and the man who stands near the archway of the hallway, attempting to remain out of the way.

They know you and Bucky used to be a thing, the whole world does. The details of said separation are unknown to most but people have their theories and the creation of The New Avengers is rumored to be one of them.

“For us too, believe it or not.” The woman with a short brown bob and thick accent steps forward. “Thank you for opening your home to us. I’m Ava.”

You give her a simple nod of acknowledgement before the room falls back into quiet.

Then, John Walker who leans against your wall cockily, clears his throat. Your head shoots towards him and you resist the urge you have to drop kick him out the window of your apartment.

You knew him, of course. You’d been there when Sam and Bucky took down the Flag Smashers, and when the same shield that once belonged to Captain America was dripping with blood on live television at the hands of the very man standing in your living room.

“Ma’am.” He nods, offering a mock salute.

“Right.” Your voice is clipped when you look everywhere but at him, disregarding him sassily.

“Is this,” an unsure voice interrupts. It belongs to the brunette man with the shy face whom you hadn’t heard speak until now. He stands near the side table, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket like he’s afraid of intruding by just asking. “Is this you?”

He’s looking at one of the various picture frames on the table, stopped in front of one in particular—a slightly worn photo in a gold frame. It’s of you, sitting cross legged on a rooftop during golden hour. You were laughing, with your head thrown back happily and wearing his sweatshirt that was slightly too big for you. The city behind you was blurry but glowing, making your smile look radiant.

You swallow. The laugh in the picture still echoes in your head and you remember every second up to that photo being taken.

Years ago, Bucky and you sat on the rooftop of a building in Prague. The two of you had been on a mission, a long and exhausting one where you’d figured you both needed a moment of peace among the chaos. On the roof, you watched the sunset together and you practically begged him to take a photo with you to commemorate the night. He refused nonchalantly, and you teased him that he’s never in any photos. He joked that he can never sit still long enough to take them.

“Gives me cramps.” He smiled.

You’d thought that was the funniest thing you’d heard all day. Your laugh was genuine, pure and sweet sounding in his ears as it bounced off the rooftop of the building. At the sight of your easy smile, Bucky lifted up his phone and snapped the photo. You’d scolded him for taking the candid without giving you a warning, but he absolutely loved it.

“‘M gonna frame this,” He stared at it in admiration between your laughter. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Bucky.” You’d whined, a flush gracing your face.

“Seriously.” He turned to you, eyes softening. “Always so damn beautiful.”

The next time he’d come into your apartment, the first thing he had done was place the framed photo on your table, insisting you keep this version because he’d already printed out one of his own.

Now, the picture sat still and quiet, collecting dust because it hadn’t been appreciated since he left.

“That’s me,” You confirm to the man. “A few years back on a mission. Someone told a joke and I guess I laughed hard enough to be worth remembering.”

He nods, a gentle smile on his face. “It’s a good picture. You look happy.”

You blink, the photo staring back at you almost mockingly. “I was.”

Bucky shifts on his feet where he stands the farthest away in the living room. He knows exactly what photo it is without even having to see it because it’s still the lockscreen on his phone, only he never lets people get close enough to question it.

The younger man’s gaze flickers up to you like he can sense the sadness you feel by looking at the photo. He steps towards you, offering you his hand meekly. “I’m Bob.”

Maybe it’s something about his face, or the attentiveness with which he holds himself, but you smile back—small and sweet. “Nice to meet you, Bob.”

You’re still holding Bob’s hand when another voice speaks from behind you. “You’re a lot quieter than I imagined.”

You twist around and there she is, staring at you with sharp but exhausted eyes.

“Yelena,” She says, stepping forward and offering her hand too. “Belova.”

You take it, her grip steady, and fight the urge to say that you already know who she is. It appears she caught onto the fact that you recognize something in her.

“Y/N.” You nod your head back, taking the moment to analyze her face because it looked so much like the one you’d grown to miss.

She swallows, eyes flickering between your own, like maybe she wishes she knew you like her older sister had. “I like your place. It smells like coffee and books.”

The comment makes you huff, a quiet and gentle laugh. “Thank you.”

When you pull your hand away, you take a moment to scan the room full of standing guests, waiting to be told what was appropriate of them by you, who was now their host. You rarely have people over anymore so you aren’t entirely sure how to do this. Your eyes linger in the direction where Bucky stands for only a second, before you clear your throat and shake him off of you.

“Can I get you guys anything?” You ask no one in particular.

“Change of clothes.” Yelena.

“Water.” John.

“A first aid kit.” Ava.

“Snacks, please.” Bob.

“Tequila.” Alexei.

A small “oh” leaves your mouth as The Thunderbolts speak over each other, staring at you with hesitant grins and eager eyes.

“Yeah,” You nod your head. “Uh, the bathroom's down the hall and the kitchen’s through those doors. I don’t have any tequila but I do have snacks, water, and vodka in the top left cupboard.

Alexei practically threw his fist in the air with a joyous, “Yes!”

Bob almost did too at the mention of free snacks.

“There’s also blankets in that basket right there and the remote for the TV is on the coffee table,” You explain, motioning around with your hands and entirely unaware of the way Bucky’s softened eyes fixate on you and your natural hospitality. “I’ll go get the first aid and clothes, but uhm, help yourself to anything. Except if you’re Walker, which in that case, you can sit on the couch and not speak.”

It was a sarcastic joke—one that earns a snort from Yelena and a soft chuckle from Ava. Even Bucky, who remains behind you at a far enough distance, feels his lips curl up in a grin.

“I deserve that.” John nods, plopping down on the couch with an exhausted huff, ultimately just happy to have somewhere safe and comfortable to rest for a little.

Bob and Alexei remain still, neither man wishing to overstep boundaries, especially yours, though they so desperately want to get into that kitchen. Sensing their eagerness, you nod towards the kitchen once more in reassurance. Both of them immediately set off for it, seemingly racing each other to see who can get to the goodies first.

You blink, shaking your head in what was still disbelief before twisting around on your feet to head towards the hallway. Unlucky for you, Bucky still leaned against the doorway to the hall and when your eyes meet his, you nearly freeze in your spot.

You almost forgot he was there.

After so long of him being gone, you eventually got used to not having his physical being pressed to the couch or sleeping in your bed. However, his presence straggled in every corner of your apartment, haunting you in a way that kept you up at night because of how strongly you felt it—felt him. The fact that he’s back inside feels extremely surreal, but something you’d secretly imagined for years whenever you looked at a photo of him for too long or smelled the lingering scent of his cologne on one of your pillows.

You open your mouth, as if you instinctively want to speak, but shut it equally as quickly. You have nothing to say to him. Not right now.

You can’t pinpoint when it starts to feel normal. Not entirely, but just enough so that the silence in your apartment isn’t uncomfortable anymore. Just enough that their boots by the front door and empty water glasses on the table don’t feel like clutter but rather, signs of life.

Maybe it’s when you toss back a shot with Red Guardian, because he insists it’s his way of saying thank you, and his laugh almost physically shakes the apartment with how happy he is to be “drinking with an actual Avenger!” Or when Ava and John sit on the couch, fighting over the remote and arguing about what movie they should watch for the night.

Maybe it’s when you catch Bob carefully folding up one of your throw blankets into a comfy square, before plopping on the ground to eat a granola bar like it was a five star meal. Or when Yelena clamors all over your kitchen in search of microwave popcorn and shortly gets distracted in a conversation with you about your makeup routines, so the first batch burns. You both laugh about it extensively and even more so when Alexei insists you let him eat it instead of throwing it out.

Or maybe, just maybe, it’s when Bob—sweet, innocent Bob—asks where your glasses are so he can get some water, and before you can even get up from your seat on the couch, Bucky’s already on his feet.

“Bottom cabinet, to the left of the sink.” He says over his shoulder, though he’s already halfway there.

You hesitate, lips parting like maybe you mean to say something but no words are capable of coming out. You merely watch him as he moves with ease–like he still belonged, like nothing has changed.

He doesn’t look at you either, not when he opens the cabinet and pulls out the glass without question. Not when he passes it off to Bob like it’s completely normal. Not when he walks right back to his seat on your arm chair in the corner of the room without so much as glancing in your direction.

Suddenly, you’re angry again–that same heat bubbling up in the middle of your chest and threatening to spew out with every second you spend staring at him.

How dare he? Your brain screams. How dare he float around your apartment after everything that happened? How dare he bring his team to the place where you live and just expect you to let them in? And how dare you be so completely and utterly helpless as to fall for it.

You curse yourself and your stupid heart; the one that still reserved a spot for him despite all that you’d done these past years to try and relinquish him. It was impossible to forget Bucky Barnes and you learned that the hard way. Even more so, it was impossible to unlove him. You realize this the more you look at him sitting, with his idiotically beautiful prince hair and uniform that he hasn’t bothered to change out of yet.

As if he could feel your eyes on him, he glances up from where he fiddles with a ring on his finger and your eyes meet for what feels like one too many times that night.

This time, though, you really can’t find it in yourself to look away. Not yet.

His breath hitches in his throat and you notice the way his body goes still under your gaze. He leans back in his seat, slowly but softly, like he’s tired and no longer wants to hide it from you. His tough, soldier demeanor falters for a second, his eyebrows softening at the distant expression in your face.

It was killing him inside, that he was this close to you physically, but so, so far away from you emotionally.

Bucky had been the one to call off your relationship around three years ago. After the whole ordeal with the Flagsmashers was over and Sam had finally gotten the shield back, you and Bucky had decided to move on together. He’d completed his book of amends, having made peace with all of the people he’d harmed and finally feeling like he’d made peace with himself.

The two of you were good–perfect, even—for months after that. You were settling down, taking things slowly, but beginning to live a life that didn’t always require missions every other day and constantly fighting off evil villains.

He’d practically moved in, falling asleep and waking up beside you in your bed, limbs tangled in the sheets like you could stay forever that way. He’d make you coffee in the morning after you’d smothered his face in kisses to wake him, then you’d spend all day together because you couldn’t bear to be a minute apart. You’d walk around town going to restaurants, or shops, or little book stores where he watched you scan the shelves with such admiration, you thought he might’ve jumped out of a romance novel himself.

He took you on dates and never once forgot flowers, no matter how many times you insisted you didn’t need that many bouquets of lilies. He’d stay up late with you while you binge watched one of your ridiculous reality shows, sitting behind you on the couch and pretending he wasn’t engaged though you knew he secretly loved it. He’d smile whenever you danced around the living room of your apartment while you were cleaning, and complained, but ultimately gave in when you’d tug him by the arm and insisted he slow danced with you too.

That was the life you’d dreamed of and just when the both of you started to get it, things began falling out of reach.

Bucky still struggled, hell, you did too, but adjusting to the simple life was a lot more difficult for him than it was for you. He’d still wake up with frequent nightmares where you’d then hold him until he felt safe enough to fall back to sleep in your arms. Sometimes he’d go silent, leave to get some fresh air and not come back for hours. When he did though, you’d always be waiting with a gentle hug and a warm cup of tea—ears open if he wished to speak about it, which he never really did.

Each time he felt like maybe he was getting better, he always fell back into old habits. You helped, of course. In fact, you were the only thing making him happy in his own life and the knowledge of that made Bucky overwhelmed with guilt.

He knew you wanted to settle down, wanted to slowly begin living a life of peace and quiet, with the occasional ‘saving the world mission’ here and there. Yet, he was worried you would never be able to achieve that tranquil lifestyle with him attached at your side. He was used to the chaos, to the noise and restlessness, so it was only a matter of time before he began feeling like one giant burden to you.

Your kindness, your hope, your ability to love without condition were all things that Bucky felt completely undeserving of—wonderful things that you were wasting on him. He’d felt selfish asking you to wait beside him while he tried to fix himself over and over again, so he convinced himself that letting you go was the most selfless thing he could do.

“Bucky,” You had stepped forward, with a frown and tears that threatened to spill over your waterline. “I just, I want to be here for you.”

“I know,” He nodded, trying his best to make you understand though he didn’t quite understand it himself. “But you shouldn’t have to. I don’t want to hold you back anymore. I don’t want you to keep bending yourself backwards for me, it’s not fair to you.”

“This isn’t fair to me,” You shook your head in disbelief. “I want to be with you. None of it bothers me, not if it means I get to have you, you know that right?”

“And what about the life you want to live?” He hummed, water brimming his own eyes. “I’m not going to be able to give you that–none of the peace or the quiet–not when I can barely go to sleep on my own without waking up from these fucked nightmares. There’s, just, so much more out there for you than this.”

Every word that slipped from his mouth was equivalent to someone taking a knife that was freshly sharpened and lodging it in your chest repeatedly. “So what,” You blinked up at him. “You’re gonna leave? After all of this, you want to leave because you think you’re too difficult?”

“Y/N, you don’t get sleep anymore because of me. You say it yourself, you’re so exhausted and it’s because of me. You stay up, waiting for me to come home and I feel like shit the moment I step through that door and see you still awake on the couch. It kills me that you feel like you have to do that, because you don’t and you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t have to wait for me anymore.” He continued.

“That doesn’t matter to me. I’ll do it, I’ll wait for you no matter what.” Your words come from your gut—genuine and determined. “When we started dating, I told you that I’d be here to take care of you regardless of the circumstances. I meant that because I love you too much to let you do this alone.”

“And I love you too much to drag you down with me.” He blurted, just as a stray tear rained down his cheek.

Your body faltered and you paused at the feeling of your heart crack away in your chest. The reality of the situation had weighed on you, and you needed a moment to catch up—to understand that Bucky was being serious.

Sure you’d argued before, over little things that you resolved with a second of alone time, some communication and a shared kiss. However, this didn’t feel like the sort of conversation that could be fixed with a kiss. The expression on Bucky’s face started to make you think that he had already made up his mind.

“So,” Your voice cracked. “So what, this is it? You’re just gonna leave after everything we've been through, after all the time we’ve spent here? This is your home.”

“And it was your home first.” He breathed. “You opened your door to me and so I came in, with all of my bullshit and problems. I intruded.”

“You did not intrude–”

“I did.” He pressed, sternly. “I don’t want to ruin this for you, I can’t. Not when you’re so bright, and full of life, and good. God, you’re so good, that I don’t want to be the one responsible for taking that away from you. You deserve better than me, better than this.”

Had your knees not locked, you thought you might’ve collapsed right there on the floor of your living room. It was a horrible dream, a sick one even. Except, the more you stared into the depths of his, once, vibrant ocean eyes to find them darkened to a storm blue, you realized just how real this was.

Bucky approached you slowly, his gentle hands finding their places on the sides of your hips, holding you up and simultaneously closer to him. “I’m sorry,” He whispered, it sounded more like a whimper past his devastated lips. “I’m so sorry.”

You sobbed almost immediately, dropping your head and letting it fall against his chest. He didn’t push you away, only wrapped his arms around you and held you like it was the last time he was going to—which in this case, it was.

It didn’t feel the same though. His grip was tight around you but his hold was loose, like he had already checked out by the time he’d placed his chin on top of your head and ran his hand down your back in comfort. Regardless, you savoured the moment, melted into it for as long it took to commit his touch to memory. Unfortunately for you, the feeling of his skin on yours would linger like a tattoo for all the years that he’d be away.

Your sadness was shortly accompanied by anger, a feeling completely foreign to you, especially around the man you loved. You were wiggling out of his grasp, and pushing him by the chest to increase the distance between the two of you.

He watched with knitted eyebrows as you wiped the tears off of your face on the sleeves of the hoodie you wore—one that belonged to him. You tried to regulate your breathing, make it as leveled as you could so you could spit out the words, “Fine. Go.”

This time, it was Bucky who felt like he’d just gotten stabbed in the chest.

“If giving up on our relationship is easier for you than sticking around, there’s no reason for you to be here anymore.” You hiss, sudden resentment dripping off of your tongue.

You had every reason in the world to be upset about this, he knew this. He also knew that it was hypocritical of him to be hurt by your words because this was his doing, after all. He deserved this, he reminded himself, your anger and your hatred as opposed to your patience and love. Because Bucky’s days as The Winter Soldier had trained him to be unloveable–to be cruel, and sad, and lonely. That was all he knew and sometimes, he felt it was all he was made for.

“Go.” You snapped when he couldn't find the dignity to move his legs. “Please. Just, please get the hell out, and don’t come back.”

With an empty void where his heart should be, Bucky left that night, for good this time. He didn’t quietly enter again at two in the morning to be greeted by the love of his life carrying a warm cup of freshly brewed tea. He didn’t climb into your bed with you so you could comb your fingers through his hair and lull him to sleep. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t because he knew the distance was the only thing good for you. It was the only thing that would keep you free from him.

That distance held true for three years. No matter how many times you’d see him on your television, whether it was under the guise of Congressman Barnes or now, New Avenger Bucky, you never once ran back to him. It was something you’d thought about many times because god, you missed him more than you’d missed anything in your life, but you weren’t going to fall victim to your own heart.

Instead, he eventually ran back to you–standing at your front door with his new team, his new friends, his new priorities. None of which involved you. Up until the moment he needed a place to stay for the night.

Your attention finally flickers away as you turn back to the rest of The Thunderbolts that gathered in your living room despite the fact that it was well past midnight. Yelena, who sits beside you on the armrest of the couch, immediately jumps into storytime about what went wrong on their mission that resulted in them camping out at your place.

Alexei however, sprawls out on the floor with a small bowl of trail mix in his lap, tossing back peanuts into his mouth like a sport. His focus seems to be on Bucky. With a curious head tilt, he asks during a pause in Yelena’s story, “What’s up with this guy?”

The room falls into a beat of silence and all eyes flicker over to the super soldier, including yours, but you look away faster than any of them can notice.

“What?” Yelena hums.

“He has not said anything at all for the past hour.” Alexei continues.

“He doesn’t talk much, you know this.” Ava shrugs simply.

“Yeah, but he is talking a lot less than usual.”

Bucky inhales, leaning back in his seat and offering the room a small but sarcastic smile. “Just tired. Long day.”

The Thunderbolts nod in agreement, all except for Alexei who tilts his head between you and Bucky curiously. “Well, there is an elephant in this room and I think it is very big.”

“Dad.” Yelena hisses, nudging him in his foot with her own.

Your body tenses on the spot and you swallow the lump in your throat harshly.

“What? I am just curious,” He says genuinely. “They were a thing, no? Her and Barnes?”

As badly as you want to chuck one of your throw pillows directly at the Red Guardian’s head, it’s clear to tell that he was sincerely asking. He’s horrible at reading the room though, you’d give him that.

“There is a time and place,” Yelena mumbles under her breath. “We talked about this, remember?”

“I think this is the place,” he argues. “It feels so heavy in here, like I am crushed.”

You don’t want to look up to catch Bucky’s reaction to his teammate’s words, though you were sure it mimicked your own. Desperately needing to put an end to whatever this was, you straighten your shoulders in an attempt to be casual.

“It wasn’t really a thing,” You say lightly, like it’s not a carefully crafted lie. “We worked together for a long time, that’s all.”

A beat.

“So it was not anything more?” Alexei continues, in between crunches of trail mix. “Because I watched the news and the news said you were dating. But it can be wrong, the news can be wrong.”

Your stomach was churning quickly, like your ribs were bruising from the inside out. You hated talking about it because the wound was still fresh, like a cut that never scabbed over properly.

“We were partners who got close, but that's it. It was work, ” You respond simply, reaching for your glass of water like it would save you from this confrontation. “That’s all it ever was.”

And it hurts to say it like that—to minimize everything that once was between you, but it was the one thing you learned how to do since he left. It made the loss of him easier to manage.

Alexei, finally seeming to have caught on, frowns into his snack bowl and mutters something under his breath about Americans being too vague. Bob clears his throat, totally uncomfortable by the silence and tension, just like Ava and John who focus their attention on the television screen though it was obvious they were thinking about something else. Yelena gives you a small glance–not pitying, but knowing.

Bucky doesn’t say a word, but his hand is curled tight around the glass he sips from, so much so that his knuckles have gone completely white.

It pains him, so much more than he’d like to show on his face, to hear you diminish your relationship to simply business. Because he remembers it all; the early mornings and late nights, the dates and bouquets of unnecessary flowers, the slow dances in the very same living room you were gathered in. Despite having been the one to walk out, he thought about those moments every day of his life and it killed him to know that it was all just passing to you.

In your peripheral vision, you catch it; the way he gazes at the floor like if he stares at it long enough, he might just be able to sink right into it—the look on his face as if he’s watching the life he could’ve had disappear all over again.

The damage had been done and while it should’ve felt like a weight lifting off of your shoulders to say, it only makes your lungs close up even more. Your breathing begins to feel dense and the longer you sit in the living room, the more it feels like its walls are closing in on you.

You push yourself off of the couch to turn towards Bob on the ground and hold your hand out for his empty glass. “You want a refill, Bob?”

Truthfully, he doesn’t but he notices the desperation in your expression for a way out so he nods his head quickly.

You take his glass and set off towards the kitchen. The second you step inside, you immediately put the cup down to grip the edge of the counter. Dropping your head, you close your eyes and try to regulate your breathing but your chest is so heavy, it almost feels impossible.

You feel ridiculous for letting this bother you as much as it was, but how could it not? You’re trying so hard to fight the collapse of the walls around your heart but, god, they’re shaking. Buckling. Breaking. It’s only a matter of time before they crumble completely under the weight of every memory you’ve tried to keep buried.

Why does it hurt so much? Why does it still hurt so much?

You want to cry, your throat burning with the pressure of holding it all back. You inhale a deep breath, one that rattles on the way down. You keep your palms flat against the countertop, like maybe if you hold onto it hard enough, it might keep you from crashing to the ground.

A creak sounds from the floor behind you, soft and careful, indicating that someone has stepped into the kitchen.

“Are you okay?” Yelena’s raspy voice asks.

You don’t turn around right away, but open your eyes with a heavy breath. “Yeah.”

The lie was weak and perfectly unoriginal. Yelena doesn’t call you out for it. She just waits, unmoving.

Finally glancing over your shoulder, you see her—arms crossed over her chest as she leans against the doorframe, watching you with equal parts sympathy and intrigue.

“I feel like an idiot.” You admit, wearing your feelings right on your sleeve. “When I saw him at that door, it was like everything came rushing back and, and I couldn’t do anything but let him in. God, I’m so pathetic.”

“You are not pathetic.” Yelena tilts her head.

“Yes I am.”

“No,” She steps forward with knitted eyebrows. “You are not.”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment. When you can’t find the words to speak, she exhales a soft breath.

“We were in deep shit on this mission,” She explains. “Bucky told us he knew a friend who might be able to help but I had no idea that it’d be you. I don’t think he was even sure you would be willing, but you were the first person he thought of anyways. You didn’t have to open the door but you did because you’re good. Doesn’t sound pathetic to me.”

The admission makes your head pound and you nearly wince at the ache you feel around your temples.

Yelena watches you lean against the counter, your eyes darting around as if searching for an answer that wasn’t there. She swallows and asks cautiously, “What happened with you two?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, the sensation of lingering tears itching the back of your throat. You hate talking about it, but it’s been so long since anyone bothered to ask, that you think you might be able to get through it this time.

“It was his idea,” You say with a shaky breath. “To end things.”

Yelena doesn’t respond right away, doesn’t push—she just gives you room as your gaze fixates on the tiled floor, like it might offer you some clarity.

“He told me I deserved better,” You continue, the bitterness in your soft voice laced with sadness rather than spite. “That I was too good. Didn’t want to hold me back, or burden me. He said he wanted me to live a life where I wasn’t constantly trying to pull him out of the dark.”

Yelena’s gaze is quiet, unflinching as you move to sit across from her at the table with a sigh.

“The worst part about it is, I don’t even think I fought hard enough. I mean, yeah, I begged and I cried but, then I just got mad,” Your brows furrow as you recall the memory, like it physically pains you to do so. “I let him leave—I made him, and he did it like it was the easiest thing he’s ever done.”

You finally look up to meet her eyes.

“So yeah,” you say. “I’m still so angry. Angry that he left and found a new group of people to rely on, angry that I let him and didn’t fight harder for us, angry that I still—”

You stop yourself short, the words halting in your throat because saying them out loud terrified you.

Yelena blinks, softly nodding her head in understanding. “You still love him.”

Hearing her say the exact thing you were thinking makes the back of your eyes sting with tears that have been hiding themselves all night. You pause for a second, because she’s right, and you can’t stand it.

“I remember everything, Yelena. Every single fucking thing and I hate that I do.”

Yelena leans closer on the table, catching your eyes with sincerity. “He remembers too.”

You pause, breath tight in your throat.

“He never talks about it, but I can tell, we all can.” She continues gently. “There’s this bracelet—gold and braided with a star charm—you made that for him, didn’t you?”

Swallowing, you nod, remembering the one night where Bucky couldn’t sleep and you’d insisted on staying up with him, claiming you could do crafts to pass the time. He taught you how to make little animals out of origami and you taught him how to make friendship bracelets.

“He still wears it. Everyday, on every mission.” She explains. “The other day he forgot his phone on the kitchen counter. I tapped it to check the time and that photo of you, the one Bob saw in your living room, it’s still his wallpaper.”

You think your heart might give out right then and there. A single tear drops from your eyes and you dig your nails so far into the skin on your palm, it’s enough to make you bleed.

“Y/N,” Yelena speaks softly, reaching out to carefully place her hand on top of yours. “I do not think he has ever stopped thinking about you—loving you.”

This time, more tears fall before you have the chance to hold them back. Softly, you let Yelena unclench your fists so she can slip her hand into yours to hold.

“Then why did he leave?” You whisper between a small sob.

Yelena frowns, shaking her head. She didn’t have the answer.

You did though, so it was silly you even had to ask.

The night Bucky left replays in your head like a film reel, and his words echo in every corner of your brain.

“I love you too much to drag you down with me.”

It was ironic, you thought, because you’d only started drowning when you were without him. He was not your anchor but rather your life jacket—pulling you out of the deep end when you got too tired to swim. These last three years without him were the longest moments you’ve ever spent with your head submerged underwater.

When he left, you sank all over again.

The quiet chatter has slowly dissipated to a still, and the only noise comes from the gentle hum of the television.

From where you sit in the corner of the couch, you glance around the room at the silence. On the couch, Yelena lays with her head on your lap and her feet tangled with Ava’s, whose sleeping figure matches Yelena’s on the opposite end. Near your feet on the floor was Bob, resting comfortably on top of one of your throw pillows. The rest of the floor is occupied by Alexei and John, who sprawl out with outstretched limbs—Alexei face down as if he’d just passed out from a three day bender, and John using his backpack to rest his head because he refused when you’d offered him a pillow.

You let yourself glance briefly in Bucky’s direction, where he still sits on the armchair in the dark corner of the room. You can make out the silhouette of his fully clothed figure. His head leans back towards the ceiling, a tell he had to be sleeping.

While you don’t want to risk waking any of them up, you’re beginning to grow uncomfortable squished on the couch.

Gently, you lift up Yelena’s head just enough to tuck a throw pillow beneath it so she doesn't recognize your absence. Slipping off of the couch, you adjust her head atop it, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her face to as she hums in delight before sinking further into the pillow.

Reaching into the wicker basket beside the couch, you unfold a fleece blanket and delicately drape it over Bob who’s curled up like a ball. He, too, makes a soft noise of satisfaction, and you swear he mumbles something under his breath that you can’t make you.

Of course he talks in his sleep. You can’t help but smile to yourself at the observation.

Twisting around, you step over John’s feet and over towards Alexei, whose snores are so deep, he seems to grumble with each step you take. With a hushed chuckle, you pick up the bowl of trial mix beside his body so he doesn’t knock it over in his sleep.

Backing away slightly, you falter in admiration at the scene before you. Your apartment has never been this full and you can’t remember the last time you had people over besides that time you hosted dinner for Joaquin Torres and Sam Wilson. Other than that, you’re always by yourself.

Except for tonight.

The team of heroes occupy so much space in your living room, it makes the walls feel less empty—less sad. Regardless of how you felt about them before they entered the threshold of your apartment, you knew how you feel about them now. They’re chaotic, and messy, and unbelievably new to this whole “working as a team” thing, but in the few hours that they’ve kept you company in your place, they’ve offered you more joy and comfort than you’ve experienced in a while.

Beside you, Bucky shifts in his seat. He’s been wide awake the entire time—enough to see you give Yelena the pillow and Bob the blanket, enough to watch you observe his team with a soft, longing expression. The same one he carried whenever he looked at you for too long.

It was endearing, to say the least. To watch you care for his team like they were your own, despite not knowing any of them at all. You’ve always been that way—sweet, nurturing, and just plain kind. It makes Bucky’s heart swell, knowing that at least you didn’t lose that part of yourself when he left.

At the sound of movement, you glance in his direction and, once again, your body tenses at the sight.

“I didn’t know you were awake.” You say quietly, before your brain really registers you’re speaking to him.

He replies, “I couldn’t sleep.”

Blinking, you nod quickly before moving to carefully pick up the empty water glasses from the table. “Me either.”

You struggle to gather all of the cups so Bucky pushes himself out of the seat and moves to help you—against his inner monologue that tells him you’d likely be much happier if he sat down and didn’t move at all.

“It’s okay,” You stutter. “I’ve got it.”

“No, it’s alright, I’ll help.” He answers, picking up the remaining cups that you can’t.

You try to swallow the lump forming in your throat but it’s nearly impossible as you spin around to walk towards the kitchen, and Bucky follows hot on your trail. It’s silent when you place the glasses in the sink and you hate how natural it feels to watch Bucky do the same.

“I can clean these when I get up tomorrow,” Bucky nods. “Before we leave.”

“No, it’s fine.” You shake your head.

“I’ll just do it real quick so you don’t—”

“Seriously,” You interrupt more sternly this time as you finally look at him. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

He visibly swallows at your harshness, but nods nonetheless.

Then the two of you fall back into an odd quiet, where neither of you know what to say to each other but both understand that a conversation was inevitable from the moment he walked inside.

Blinking, you motion towards the sleeping bunch in your living room. “They’re, uhm,” You say. “They’re really great.”

Bucky purses his lips at the casualness with which you speak. “Yeah, they try.”

“Even Walker,” You continue, grabbing a towel to wipe down the counter because you so desperately need something to do with your hands. “He seems different.”

“He is.” Bucky nods, watching you intently. “I think we all are.”

His words have double meaning, this you know, and you hate the way you want to press him for details. Instead, you bite the inside of your cheek and focus on the counter you were cleaning.

Bucky knows he has to talk to you—keep the conversation going—because he knows this is the only opportunity he might get. It really is now or never.

“I’m sorry for asking you that favor.” Bucky says suddenly, sincerity laced in his soft but gruffly voice. “For showing up unannounced.”

You nearly pause, your knuckles squeezing the towel in your hand like it was the only force keeping you on earth. “Would you have shown up announced?” You ask, your words holding a hint of hostility.

Bucky stills. “Y/N,” He breathes, his voice just above a whisper, like he can read all of the sarcasm you speak with.

He watches you intently with a burning desire to fix all of the wrong he’d caused that day he left—to mend what was broken between the two of you because he’s not sure he can live anymore knowing you’re angry with him.

You shake your head quickly because not only was it stupid to have this conversation in the kitchen where a few feet away, his entire team slept, but also, you were petrified of the words that were going to leave his mouth once the two of you finally worked up the courage to talk it out.

“Bucky,” You breathe.

He pauses, waiting for you to go on.

Only you don’t. Instead, your eyes flicker down to the uniform he still has on. With a sudden blink and a change of demeanor, you tilt your head. “Do you want to change clothes?”

He pauses. “I didn’t bring any.”

You don’t know why you suddenly cared whether or not he was comfortable in his clothes. A lot of things, you notice, got confusing when you were around him.

“I,” You pause, hating yourself for thinking of what you were. Deciding it would simply be way easier to do instead of say, you twist around on the balls of your feet and begin walking down the hallway towards your room.

Bucky blinks, until you glance over your shoulder at him.

“C’mere.” You say quietly, your suggestion soft in his ears, whether you intend it to be or not.

His feet move faster than his brain can even process. His head gets foggy as he maneuvers through the hallway. He knew exactly where he’s going because he’d been to your room so many times before in the past. It almost made him sick to his stomach when he realizes that’s where you’re taking him.

When you turn that corner into your bedroom, Bucky stops just outside the doorframe. He glances inside, immediately overwhelmed by the familiarity of it all. It’s practically exactly as it was when he’d walked out that day, reminding him of just how much he’d left behind—a happiness he’d pulled out from right under your feet.

He watches you rummage through your closet, reaching high onto a shelf in search of something. You mindlessly glance in his direction, chest clenching at the way he stands frozen outside of the threshold. He's too afraid to step foot inside which is so weird, because the Bucky you knew once took up space in this room like it was his own.

Tugging down two articles of clothing from the shelf, you twist back to him and hold them out. “Here.” You say. “You left these here.”

The navy blue hoodie and black sweats are folded neatly in your outstretched hands in such a way that almost makes them look brand new. Only they aren’t. You wore them for months after he left because it felt better to sleep in his clothes than it did your own.

Bucky looks from your face and back down to the clothes. He doesn’t want to step forward to grab them—feeling entirely undeserving of walking back into your room after all this time. But you aren’t going to him. So you stand frozen in the middle of your room, waiting for the moment he musters up the courage to come inside and retrieve them himself.

Eventually, his feet make their way slowly over to you, taking the clothes with a gentle ease. He can’t figure out what to say so he gives you a small nod of appreciation before turning back around, heading down the rest of the hall towards the bathroom.

Without him in the room, you’re finally able to take a deep breath. It’s shaky and long as it leaves your chest like you've been holding it all night.

You can’t stand it but somewhere deep down, this entire ordeal feels normal. You’re beginning to realize just how much you’ve missed it—missed him, and that thought alone keeps you wide awake because if being awake means more time with him before he leaves all over again, you’d have to take it.

Minutes pass of you bouncing your leg up and down where you sit on the edge of your bed, when the bathroom door clicks open and a newly changed Bucky emerges. It makes your stomach twist into a pretzel, to see him in the same hoodie you wore that day he left.

You press your hands into your knees, hesitating even more at how ridiculously good he looks in it. “Are you,” You hum. “Are you alright?”

Don’t ask that, I don’t deserve it, was what he wanted to say but he merely nods as he lingers in your door’s threshold again. “Why’d you keep them?”

Swallowing, you shrug. “I was gonna set them on fire, but the hoodie was too comfortable.”

For the first time that night, the corners of Bucky’s lips almost twist up into a smile. “Really?”

“Really.” You nod, glancing at him when he leans against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “That and, I guess I always hoped you’d just come back to get them.”

Bucky falters with an expression that you can’t quite read. A silence washes over the two of you before he exhales, “I wanted to.”

“Did you?”

“I did.”

“Okay.” You hum sarcastically.

Bucky purses his mouth shut with a tilt of his head. “Y/N,”

“You know what,” You say with squinted eyes. “I don’t actually believe that, like at all, but it’s fine. Doesn’t matter to me anymore.”

“Why?” Bucky breathes. “Why don’t you believe it?”

“Because you left, Bucky!” You snap, your anger finally cutting through the surface after brewing all night. “You left and we never spoke again. I waited for you for months—to call or to text but you never did, so yeah, maybe I did believe you’d come back at some point but then I just got tired of waiting.”

“You moved on.” Bucky points out. “That’s good, that’s what you were supposed to do.”

“Yeah, except I didn’t.” You huff, pushing yourself off of the bed to glare at him. “You left because you wanted me to be happy but I wasn’t happy, I’m still not. The life you wanted me to live for myself was only possible if I lived it with you.”

Bucky’s face tightens in guilt as you let your words slip from your tongue.

“Then, I have to watch you on my television screen with your new team, the new people you have to take care of, and it kills me inside.” You don’t bother wiping away the stray tear that slides down your cheek. You look up at him, dead in the eyes and ask, “Are you happy?”

The question catches him off guard. He steps into your room with hesitancy, maintaining his distance but needing to be close to you to shake his head.

You nearly wince as you watch his face contort into a sadness much similar to your own.

“Not happy in the way I was when I was with you.”

The words are genuine, making your ears ring in disbelief. You swallow, but the lump in your throat feels like it might be permanently stuck.

“I have never been the same since the moment I walked out that day. I thought I was doing the right thing, I swore I was,” He admits. “I threw myself into work because I believed that somehow it would make up for what I was missing, but I learned right away that none of this could ever fill the gap that you left.”

You don’t seem to notice when you instinctively take a step closer, your body drawn to his as if your hearts were magnetized.

“You followed me everywhere, Y/N,” He exhales a defeated breath. “There were so many times when I just wanted to run back here, back to you, but I couldn’t because I figured you’d be doing better without me—without my burden.”

“You were never a burden.” You add, shaking your head with a furor you hope makes him understand. “Neither were any of your problems or trauma, and I hate that you think you were. I took care of you because that’s what you do when you love someone.”

Bucky takes a step closer too, though neither of you seem to notice with the way your eyes are trained on the other pair.

“Love someone?” He asks, his voice the most quiet and careful you’ve heard it all night.

It took years, and Bucky Barnes standing in front of you again, to finally admit it: you did still love him. What you felt for Bucky had never been surface level affection. You loved him desperately, like he was the air you needed to breathe and the light against all of the darkness that you’d hid from your whole life.

Loving him had never been easy. It came with deeply shared fears and anxiety of vulnerability and closeness. Though, you never desired an easy love anyways. You wanted a love that was complex and passionate, where obstacles were something you could leap over together if your relationship was built on a foundation of sincere care and respect.

Your love for him was so rooted in your veins, you always believed that your souls were destined to merge—surpassing time and change. You knew for a fact that you’d love him no matter how far apart the two of you were; your heart was his across states, countries, planets, timelines.

There was a vast multiverse out there, much bigger than your brain could even comprehend, and you were positive you loved Bucky Barnes in every single one of them.

“Love.” You nod, the most confident you’ve been about anything in years. “I’ve always loved you, James. I’ve never been able to stop.”

The sound of his name on your lips makes his heart swell, desperately wanting to jump out of his chest and towards you—where it knew it’d finally be at home.

Bucky can no longer deny the way he feels either, only he’s never really been able to. He loved you like you were the only thing on this planet of any importance. Sam saw it, Yelena saw it, hell, so did the rest of the goddamn world. He’d never been the same since he left and nothing ever felt right, not until he stepped back into your apartment where the walls remembered him and whispered stories of memories he’d never forgotten.

He lets out a shaky exhale. “I messed up so badly.”

“I did too.” You nod. “I shouldn’t have let you leave, I should’ve tried harder to-”

“No, hey, no,” Bucky shakes his head immediately, stepping forward so you two are the closest you’ve been in years. His fingers brush against yours, and when you don’t flinch away, he links his pinky with your own. “None of this was your fault, don’t blame yourself. I fucked up, I’m the one who left. This is not on you.”

You remain quiet, the small act of physical contact rendering you speechless.

“You were on my mind everyday. Whenever I got up to speak at congress, whenever I did press for the team, on every mission, every late night and early morning,” He whispers, eyes scanning your face like it was the first time he was getting the privilege of looking at you. “I hate myself for making that decision for you, for thinking we’d be better off. You were my world, still are.”

Everything comes flooding back, the walls around your heart breaking like a dam that was doomed to fall from the beginning. You want to cry, want to break down right there in his arms and hope the Bucky you still knew would be there to hold you.

“I can’t change what I did, but I can tell you what I want to do,” He goes on, hand coming up cautiously to cup the side of your face. “I want to love you all over again, the right way this time. I will spend the rest of our lives trying to rebuild what I tore down, if you’ll let me, and I promise to do better this time and give you whatever it is you want—”

“I want you.” You interrupt. “All of you. I want to know how you’re feeling or the things that keep you up at night because I want to be the one to help you through them. Don’t hide yourself from me.”

Bucky swallows at the desperation in your tone. How lucky was he to have your unconditional care once, and then all over again now, even if he still feels like he doesn’t deserve it. You’re still too good—far too good for him—but this time, he’s determined to be just the same for you.

“I promise.” He nods, his thumb rubbing your cheek like you’re a porcelain doll he’s afraid of breaking.

You place your own hand on his hand cupping your face, before running your other hand through his beautifully blown out hair. He grunts out a soft noise of delight, one that makes your stomach twist.

“God, I’ve missed you so much.” He says.

This almost doesn’t feel real; his touch or the words that leave his mouth, but it is—he is. He’s unbelievably real beneath your fingertips and it suddenly feels like you’re falling in love all over again as you stare at him.

“You came to me first.” You hum, your voice just above a whisper. “Yelena told me.”

Bucky lets out a small chuckle but his eyes still hold traces of disbelief, like he can’t fathom you’re running your hands through his hair the way you are. “She did?”

“Mhm.” A smile begins to curl its way onto your lips, one you can’t deny.

“She’s a rat.” He grumbles, his hands dropping to your waist to gently run his palms over your sides.

“She’s sweet,” You correct, reaching down to grab his non-metal arm and gently pull his sleeve up, revealing the bracelet on his wrist. “And she also told me you still wear this.”

Bucky watches your fingers run over the braided material before his eyes flicker back up to you. “I’ve never taken it off.”

Your gaze meets his soft blue eyes where you can read the longing all over them. It’s been so long since you've seen it and yet, it’s still capable of sending a cacophony of butterflies through your stomach like something out of a dream sequence.

“I love you.” He says out of the blue.

The three words have your breath hindering in your throat.

“I’ve loved you every moment I was here and every moment I wasn’t.”

You don’t know what to say, how to express how much you reciprocate that love, so before you have the opportunity to think about it, you stand up on your toes and press your lips against his.

Bucky wastes no time. He wraps his arms further around your waist and tugs you closer to his chest. With your hands placed on the sides of his neck, you sink deeper into the kiss.

Kissing him feels just like it had all those years ago. It’s warm just like you remember it to be but more passionate, if that’s even possible. For Bucky, kissing you is still sweet but delicate in a way that reminds him of just how lucky he was to be able to press his lips against yours.

You kiss each other with a burning desire to make up for all the lost time, to fill the gap of what was once missing between the two of you—not lost but something simply misplaced. The two of you wished to stay forever that way, and maybe now you would.

“I fucking knew it.” A voice whisper shouts from the frame of your open door.

Pulling apart, you and Bucky both turn your heads in the direction of the hallway. Yelena stands with her hands in the pockets of your sweatpants, a knowing smirk stretching across her face.

You look down like you just got caught doing something you shouldn’t have, all while biting back your smile. Bucky’s face turns red and he purses his lips with a small nod. He side-eyes you as you cover your mouth with your hand, suppressing your small hysterical giggles. Your laughter made him grin helplessly, and he squeezed your hand, gently moving closer to your side where he intended to stay for good.

Yelena smiles. “Ava owes me twenty bucks.”

[phantalgia]

This shit is the fucking worse. I swear. I’m self concious and insecure as is. And my Doctor is making out my suffering to not be that bad. With this whole hyperventilating thing reductionism. Literally good days, good weeks, good months. But sometimes. Bad hours, sometimes bad days. It makes me doubt I suffer.

I havent been able to stop thinking about all the signs that something wasnt right. That this isnt just anxiety. There's a bigger picture here I’m not being told. And I keep getting that help and ability to form that picture taken from.

It doesnt help that my therapist (although he does his best) is also reductionist in the anxiety realm. Like I wish they all would just say yeah you’re complicated and valid. I feel shut off from everything. It's all up to me now.

And because I have to essentially semi self diagnose. It makes it less real or authentic to others. Or that it's "all in my head". Literally sick of "just anxiety". There is no "just anxiety" even if it was it's still just as physical. That is so much strain on the body it becomes crippling when it's chronic or all you know.

Oh but I guess that just means I’m "weak" and need to take responsibility for myself. Whatever gets their inspiration porn addiction going. When I HAVE been taking responsibility. Trying to reach out and getting slapped in the face and told "you’re just anxious". Fuck man. You cant please these fuckers.

And I love my doctor. He could be worse but even he's not immune to the whole thing. I don’t know what kind of culture the medical field cultivates. I can only make guesses based on "capital and co" and heirarchy as the foundation. But it's a real pain LITERALLY going through this shit.

Every week I complain about physical symptoms "just breathe into a bag". But it's like no no no. This shit is just happening passively. Yes there are triggers. Yes I know I’m anxious and highly sensitive. Which NONE OF YOU ABLE BODIED FUCKERS UNDERSTAND.

"Just anxiety" is just the most painful thing to hear. Even people with chronic anxiety or occasional anxiety just say it to others. Anxiety-realism. Literally. Anxiety has been sterilized and become meaningless as a word to describe a sensation unique to each person yet chronic in a collective so high on "the grind" that when some people fall down. And fall down in complex ways. Theyre seen as weak. They have been afflicted with the "anxiety" psychosomatic bug. It's in their brain and cant possibly be seen as an interwoven complex issues of a culture hellbent on extracting every ounce of your money, time, soul, mental health, physical health. EVEN JUST BEFORE YOURE BORN.

It's painful. The strides I've been making in my reach for authenticity, honesty, and transformation. It's often seen as an exaggeration. That going out of the house while second nature to most had been anxiety and stress inducing to me till the point my body couldnt take it anymore along with covid and surgery. That regardless I’m fighting for a life i want given these curses which have at the same time brought me the gift of seeing life differently in more holistic ways. Outside of binary positive/negative norms that people just don’t understand.

I’m fighting hard and the celebration is quieter than a whisper. I’m grateful to be able to celebrate and mourn my body and strides. And maybe the quiet isnt so bad. I can put on my own music. Move and groove at my own pace.

But it is painful. It's painful having been the one lost to time all your life. The after thought to everything. My celebrations go quiet because it's all just me and my Dad's twilight years. To not be sure where to go next. To find connection with likeminded, similar minded creatures. That one day you just "woke up" but it was a build up to that moment for sure. But you just woke up one day. And now you’re confused. Where do you go next?

I want to do more for my communities. But it can be hard. It can even be hard to find a sense of it. When you need help. When I need help getting through a scary episode...who will be there?

It's not hard to imagine a world where we have that culture. But the culture is too realist or worse chronically pessemistic that it becomes narcissistic.

Invisible disabilities are strange. They can put you in the inbetween world. Where nothing is consistent. And people don’t like inconsistency. It makes them uncomfortable. When it's just a reality. It's liminal. I remember saying how last year every day felt like groundhog day. It was the same day over and over and over again. It still is in a lot of ways.

There's a battle of identity insecurity that goes on. To conform to able bodied standards but to also conform to disabled body standards. You cant win in this world. If you’re better it must mean you’re fine. But if not. You must be sick. But if it keeps oscillating between the two. Then you must be "delusional" or "just anxious".

You scream and bang on the door begging them to please look at this. I said that my symptoms were unprecedented to my doctor. And all I got was a "well no theyre not, anyone can have these symptoms given hyperventilating". The curiosity ends there, hit a brick wall. Nothing moves forward.

It's my own little space of hell for me. I thought that the physical stuff was the hell. It really is the least of it. I know what I need and what to do when they happen. What is really hell is other people.

being chronically ill with fluctuating symptoms is so annoying because when it's at it's worst im like "okay i desperately need some type of mobility aid right now, i haven't been able to leave my house in days" but then i'm able to go for a walk one day and suddenly i feel like im exaggerating my symptoms and that i actually can walk fine and it would just be embarrassing and pointless to ask for a mobility aid assessment

but like ... not struggling as much one day doesn't take away from the days that i struggle the most

our pain is valid even when it's not at it's worst and we deserve the accommodations we need even if we don't always need them at all times

[syluses]

HEART WANTS WHAT IT WANTS

𓍯𓂃 PART THREE (3) of the stepdad! sylus x reader series

(3) LOVE ON THE BRAIN

𓍯𓂃 CONTENT: stepdad! sylus therefore step/pseudocest, eventual smut, nsfw, dubcon, slowburn, yandere undertones, all characters are 18+ (mc is presently 23; sylus is in early forties), possessive & yandere behaviors, age difference, daddy kink, unreliable narrator, drinking, non-evol au, modern au, lowkey enemies to lovers, lots of (sexual) tension, loss of virginity, emotional breakdowns, some angst, some fluff, a lil bit of everything; tags will be added as story progresses— but know the story is relatively triggering

𓍯𓂃 SIDENOTE: hi guys sorry for the wait :,) this one’s a lil bit of a slower chapter imo but it’s still super important to the story. the next part or two might also be a lil ‘slow’ by some definition, but it’ll build onto itself do not fear. shoutout to the anon who gave me that song rec btw bc i was listening to it throughout writing this chapter 🫰 amazing taste. anyway without further ado.…. please enjoy :,) ALSO thank u sm for the support thus far!! i’m so happy yall seem to be liking it!! 🥹 if there’s any typos no there ain’t; i might come back to edit a lil later :,) [art credit: @/chimmyming on twitter/X]

He comes like a flashbang into your life.

And to preface this: you get it, alright? that your mother misses your late father, she’s not doing half as well as she used to be and she technically can be considered single, open for the dating market. This is a trying time for you both. God as your witness, you’ve been slipping down the slope while she’s been putting her nose to the grindstone; there’s no shortage of struggle for you both since your dad died- but finally, it’s settling in for her.

The loneliness.

The need for something- someone- more.

And you somewhat bitterly suppose you just don’t qualify, do you?

It was an inevitable thing.

Away from the metaphorical sand you buried your head in, deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before a new man walked into her life- some actually half-decent, upstanding suitor- and flipped your world off its feet.

It wasn’t a maybe. Not a what if, either.

It was a when.

…Call it naivety on your end or just sheer stupidity, though, your sixteen-year-old brain having a lapse in judgement, but for whatever reason, you didn’t think that when would come.

You prayed against it. Childish or not, whether it can be considered a secret little attempt to sabotage your mother’s possible, budding relationships you had no proof of but suspected all the same (you recognize her perfume; not the rich cologne lingering on her blouse when she finally comes back from work)- you’d hoped she’d keep off from it, anyway.

From, you know,…

The whole ‘falling in love’ thing…

You’re not so deluded to believe it’s infidelity, her quietly seeking out another man outside of your father whole years after he’s passed (anyhow, you’re sure the legal side of it, the paperwork, doesn’t hold up the same), but that doesn’t ease the blow that is the idea of it.

Sure. He’s gone. That much is clear to you…The days pass- weeks, two years- and it’s almost like your life has reached a stopover, waiting for him to come back. I mean, sometimes, it’s almost like he was never even there.

…But at night, when darkness comes with its unbroken silence, you lie there and your heart thinks of him. Wherever you remember him, it hurts.

And yeah, maybe your mother seems growingly eager to leave your father behind… to truly make him a thing of the past even in memory- the final thing you have left of him. But you’re not so chummy with the silent suggestion of joining her there.

You don’t want that ‘when’ to come. Desperately, you don’t.

Oh, but it does.

Out of the blue like a comet from the sky, blindsiding you.

Swinging through the door, chuckling at something she’s said over her shoulder, you think, but the amusement on his face is almost too bare, too shadowed, to tell from where you sit.

You jolt in your chair.

The microwave, droning on, beeps, signaling your frozen dinner’s finally thawed out. But while it draws the attention of your drunken mother- otherwise distracted by the stranger she leads inside your little apartment- your growling stomach becomes the furthest thing from your mind in the moment.

Apparently, the stranger— tall, broad-shouldered, all suave with his sidepart and tailored leather jacket draped behind him like a cape— couldn’t care less for what’s cooking, either.

He doesn’t take his shoes off.

For that, you’re grateful, observing him with a reasonable sum of doubt as he lingers by the entry: It means he doesn’t have plans to stay long.

Which is good, because if he did, you think with a morsel of unease, your brow slowly creasing, you might’ve had to consider grabbing the broom and brushing him out.

The con is that he does wipe them off on the mat, though. Evidently, he plans to step deeper in.

His eyes, a ruby red, sharp as a hawk tracking prey, find yours from where you sit at the table, caught unawares as you scramble to hide your bare legs under your shirt, and he raises a subtle, curious brow at the observation.

“Oh,” he cocks his head, the front door- your front door- clicking behind him as he swiftly fixes his slight surprise into a cool, inscrutable mask.

“What a surprise. Your daughter, I presume?”

Distantly, in your head, a warning bell chimes.

…O-Or maybe it’s just the microwave, but—

Your mom turns it off, “Oh, honey,” in lieu of a greeting, she says, giggling as she walks over and sets her purse down on the tiny, round table you sit at.

Her work blouse is at least intact: you’ll give her that much. But her shift ended four hours ago and by the looks of it, she’s forgotten that promise to stop by the store on her way home- clearly occupied with something else- and in any case, you can’t really say the same for the stranger…

Dapper as he is— what with his perfect posture and urban get-up, the image of dashingly handsome, debonair, imposing (yet somehow just a touch weathered, too, however that may fit)- just to list a few traits off the bat— his top buttons are undone.

His hair, a natural silver all the way through, is almost imperceptibly disheveled. And maybe those things could be reasoned for or go unnoticed- to the untrained eye, they would- but you’re a little too paranoid, on alert as this asshole saunters into your house like it’s his, to miss the outlying factors.

The most damning of them all:

The wine-red smear of lipstick on his neck, only half concealed by his collar.

Your heart shudders in your chest.

And this is scary, this is nerve-wracking, yes, suddenly being force-fed the reason behind all the late nights your mother spent out, the whiffs of man on her clothes and the inexplicably giddy mood she’s been in lately- oh, it’s a million negative adjectives all packed in one- but when he strides forward, confident like you wouldn’t believe, and extends a hand for you to shake-?

You wonder if it’s fury, rising above anything else, that broils in your gut and makes accepting it an all but impossible task.

“Sylus,” he purrs as introduction.

And to be honest, that’s what this feels like in the most grandiose, pervasive of ways: the bad guy being introduced.

It’s true that you caught fragments of him: the vestigial notes of bergamot and vanilla that follow after your mother like some ghostly haunting; the odd lifts in her mood as of late; the phonecalls she gets at night that she always dismisses, but not without a thick swallow and a darting look your way before letting it ring— hell, you’ve even heard whispers within her friend circle of some dishy man dropping by her work building, nonchalant with a bouquet of flowers in tow—

Actually being face-to-face with him, literal inches apart, is freshly alarming.

Meeting him is something cinematic and new. Like a chord in the soundtrack dips; a note lowering to introduce the villain as one of the keys shake.

And perhaps comparing the scene, this man, to a movie isn’t so bad a coping mechanism, because yes, as the surround-sound kicks in and he’s all you can hear- that rich voice of velvet and bass to boot- the room going dark as you tunnel in on him before you— it feels like none of it is even real.

The kitchen blurs. The tiles on the wall smearing into one another, fuzzing together in a way that doesn’t resemble the home you know.

Bergamot, subtle but carrying a little bit of a punch, floods your system and inundates you. Vanilla lays the base for it, as sweet-smelling as nectar.

It settles in your lungs like congestion.

Truffle wrap. Marble and stone. The banister: meant to be sturdy.

It is.

He must be within the same age pool as your mom, yet when his penetrating stare briefly shifts over to her (if you didn’t know any better, amused at your reluctance to accept him)- and he grins that damned grin— he looks young again.

You’re actually almost fooled into believing he’s a gentleman.

There’s nothing… inherently wrong with him, you suppose. But none of that, him seeming apparently decent, matters- not when you’d already decided you’d stay loyal to your dad no matter what. N-Not when-

Not when something is wailing in your subconscious, parting cars in its path. Like a siren in the night shaking you awake to tell you something is terribly, terribly wrong. A wildfire. A disaster.

You quietly wonder if being in places he doesn’t belong gives him a confidence boost, or if he’s just impossibly tone deaf to the environment as it whispers in his ear, ‘you shouldn’t be here.’

All the while, something- mystical in nature, almost, like an angel or devil on your shoulder (it could be either)- is whispering to you, too.

Faintly, that voice in your head, deathly-quiet, says stop. Stop this. Nip it in the bud before it—

This is overwhelming. All of it.

You’re mortified and unsure of yourself; a mite betrayed, even, as you toss a cursory glance to your mom who watches on with a look of both expectance and worry, chewing away at her bottom lip.

It’s a little humorous, the faint concern made ten times more obvious in her half drunken state, as she puts herself on standby.

You can’t help but wonder what face you’re making now. If it’s one of shock, anger, or fear. Or an ugly amalgamation of the three— that’s possible, too.

Truthfully, you’re just as hard pressed to distinguish what you’re feeling: unsure of your next reaction. If anything, you might appreciate if she chooses to step forward and help you figure out just what the hell is happening, whether that means by extraction or a gentle hand on your shoulder to help steady you as he tells you his name.

Two minutes ago, you were waiting for your frozen dinner to thaw (really just a block of something half edible, but with the milk gone, you can’t make your routine cereal), thinking you were in the clear to lounge around with panties and a baggy shirt with your mother out God knows where. Now, you’re looking dead-on at what is perhaps your worst nightmare as the kitchen, not so comfortable anymore, fizzles to nothingness around you.

From this close, he’s… Leonine, that’s a pretty good word for him. As elegant and cocksure, relaxed, as a king of nature.

He doesn’t worry about what he will eat tomorrow: his sheer presence is dominating enough to have it served on a silver platter for him. Something about him just tells you so.

But he’s… beautiful in a way, too, you’ll concede that much (and only that much). Said with the best of intents, he reminds you of some prized thing from an antique shop, lacquered and pretty but weathered all the same.

You can’t imagine all the zeroes on his price tag, but he’s definitely an expensive thing. Part of you wonders what the hell he’s doing with your mother: you don’t come from wealth, so if he has any desire to romance her, it’s not for material gain.

…An admittedly endearing revelation. But it doesn’t quite placate you.

You can see the slight scruff of his chin, the faint wrinkles settling into his angular features. The harsh fluorescence of your kitchen isn’t the most flattering of lights, but he fairs surprisingly well under it regardless.

It’s obvious he takes good care of himself. And it’s also clear to you that he knows his worth- but considering the air of snugness around him, and your flowering dislike for him, you can’t help but wonder if he overestimates it.

The guy is a complete fucking stranger. You know him about as far as you can throw him.

A few beats of silence pass on. Each more unbearable than the last as you wordlessly drink the stranger in, his brow lifting with what you can only assume to be the stirrings of a challenge as he waits for you to take his much larger hand in yours.

Your uncertain gaze- made wide at the unwanted suddenness of it all- flits down to that hand. Despite the many jewels and glittering things that adorn his long, svelte fingers, though, there’s a lack of a wedding ring.

You allow yourself to deflate just a tiny bit at the observation.

It’s good to know he doesn’t have a wife and kids waiting at home for him, you sarcastically guess, while your mom guns for him as they sit unawares.

Still. You don’t know this man. You don’t- you don’t know what he’s doing with your mother (but don’t you?).

And he’s…

Perhaps draconian, actually, is the best descriptor.

Parting your lips in a silent breath, trying and failing to provide a simple hello to the guest or your nervous mother to the side, spectating it all, you’re at a bit of a loss for words when your subconscious realizes it’s presented with the quiet comparison of an animal or a devil for the guy— and no in between.

Sweetie, hey- Are… Are you able to talk? It’s… Important.

I… have some news. Not the good kind. Find somewhere to sit down and breathe.

…Breathe, you remind yourself. Yes. Just…

Just breathe.

Yet, his cologne- that citrusy spritz he wears like a coat, a smell you’re so unexplainably sensitive to for some reason, with its treacly vanilla undertones- is all you can breathe.

“Honey,” a thin, yet encouraging voice, your mom’s, calls out, and then her hand does settle on your shoulder as she sidles up to your chair hesitantly. “Say hi to him?”

You blink, lashes fluttering.

…And his stupid hand is still there, outstretched and waiting.

✦

You’ll give him credit for this:

Sylus, at the first opportunity to ditch his bratty, seething stepdaughter after his wife- his only real obligation to her- passes— doesn’t take it.

He had every chance to kick you to the curb now that your mother’s out of the picture. And to be honest, he has every reason, every right, to give you the boot. You’ve only been a complete bitch to him for the last seven years you’ve known him. Not to the point of ball-breaking, not quite, you were only a teenager after all, but it wasn’t extremely far off from that either.

Sylus, by his own volition, stays.

Moreover, he invites you into his home. And yes, you know it’s technically yours, too, but the circumstances of your filling out the rest of your youth under his roof weren’t the prettiest, and you weren’t the most… pleasant of persons to be around. Let alone live with.

Yet every stolen, curious glance he takes of you and the gentle, half smirks in passing- brushing your shoulder like it’s the most casual thing ever, like you never left- is a reminder in its own that this is your place, too. Whether you believe it or not is irrelevant.

If your stepfather’s aim is to reassure you, it’s working.

Slowly but surely.

Four days into the visit, you let go of much of your resistance and let yourself simply… breathe.

The past is the past, and, capable of rational thought, you’d do well to leave it behind. Let bygones be bygones and forgive both yourself and the people around you for former hurts of former times.

It’s called maturing, you quietly decide at the door one early morning, having been all but hauled out of bed, bidding the twins adieu as they hover at the porch.

This little resolve you let bud in your heart and grow is what compels you to wrap your arms around them when they hug you, embracing them back as Kieran mopes in your ear and Luke reminds it’s only for a few days.

It’s not as much to comfort you as it is to comfort himself and his brother.

You’re well aware of this, but keep quiet on the matter; you’re too sleepy to be in the mood to tease him for it, but mentally pocket it for a later time anyway.

Occupying any sort of space with the twins guarantees that you’ll need a decent deck of comebacks on standby. You’ve been adding to yours.

This short business trip of theirs isn’t some long, drawn-out pilgrimage taken to distant lands, despite their theatrics- it’s not even obligatory- but you know very well how eager the boys are to please their father, and if working a few days at one of the subsidiary companies to better the career he gave them will make him preen, then they’ll do it. Gladly.

You wouldn’t call either of them homebodies, per se… but wherever their father is, so is their heart. It’s only natural they’d want to make him proud. You know that.

You understand why they’re going, you do…

It’s just…

Over Luke’s shoulder, your eyes meet Sylus’s only briefly, but a second is all you need to read his emotions.

Propped against the threshold with folded arms and a spark of amusement that’s only slightly obvious, he watches them sandwich you in a big hug.

If it hasn’t been made clear yet— yes, they’ll miss you.

“Oh, so dramatic,” their father comments, not with any shortage of entertainment. You think if he could, he would’ve prepared a bowl of popcorn for this- but while he’s certainly tickled by the sight, there’s something else in his stare as he divvies it between you three, gathered in a tangle of arms and suitcases, that he won’t admit aloud.

Pride, maybe…?

Satisfaction?

Or… Content. That’s the closest word.

You hope Sylus doesn’t see the slight fluster left on you by his flippant remark. Untucking your chin from one of the boys’ shoulders as you stand upright and pat their backs respectively.

“A-Alright, boys, that’s enough.”

“Say it back,” Luke chirps, “say you’ll miss us!”

Sighing, you roll your eyes. “I just said I did-“

“But do it louder! We’ll be gone for three whole days!”

“Yeah! Don’t you love us, sis?! Will you really just stand there unaffected as we turn our backs and go?”

If unaffected means arms crossed, shivering in freezing temperatures with the faintest of frowns on your face, some inner piece of you experiencing a quiet, unanticipated ache at their departure, then yes- by all means, you’re unaffected.

You purse your lips, snipping back with only half the bite, “If you keep pushing it, I’ll email the firm specifically and tell them to keep you dummies there for longer.”

A deep, languid chuckle answers back; like a slowed song with reverb, it hits differently.

Considering your newfound efforts to squash the beef between you both- even if it was only one-sided- you don’t ignore him out of bitterness, but the slight unease is still something you can’t quite shake, so you momentarily survey the porch below (anything but him, stood somewhere behind you), and sniff.

I mean, it’s reasonable to be a little awkward, isn’t it…? You’ve spent all your adult years clinging onto the straws of a grudge your teenage self kept for him- and back then, you were only fiercer, more vocal, in your stance taken against your new stepfamily.

So yeah, while it’s safe to say the worst of that metaphorical storm has blown over, the debris is still absolutely there: the ruined bits you have to cautiously step across and just- try to overlook.

Too low for anyone to hear, you softly sigh.

Just as you determined to make peace with him, though, you tranquilly think to yourself, you’ll too learn how to navigate the aftermath of that silently-signed treaty.

Of course, that awkward feeling in the air, not powerful enough to take precedence in your mind, but niggling all the same, is only temporary.

Two weeks.

“Geez, sis,” Kieran snickers, Luke grinning ear to ear at your other side, the duo forming a flank, “someone woke up on the wrong side of bed, huh?”

“You’ll be late, you two,” a lilting voice from behind chimes in, effectively putting an end to the antics.

You don’t bother looking behind, but the twins’ focus shifts over your head before they slump their backs and sigh, conceding.

Hmph. Theatrical as always.

“Yeah, yeah, we got it, dad! We’re going!”

Rewrapping your robe, you offer a longanimous exhale when Kieran’s lanky arm unfurls from you, the boys finally stepping away for the car. The thin cotton does little to ward off the December cold, its roots digging bone-deep within seconds of lingering on the porch, and underneath it, your tanktop and panties offer not an iota of warmth, either- but you weren’t about to wave them goodbye half-naked, so the robe does its part to cover you.

Within a few minutes, you’ll be curled up in your bed anyway, allowed to revisit the sleep you’d been so rudely pulled from.

Piling into the car, they holler to you, and with a smile you can’t quite fight off, you shake your head at them all the while.

The engine grumbles to life. The idiots they are, they give it a few gratuitous revs (to impress you? God only knows their end goal) and then the gate is opening for them as they peel off.

Dummies.

And then it’s just you and him.

You and Sylus.

You and… your stepfather.

A hand, broad and big but warm- oh so reluctant- places itself on your shoulder, circling the blade reassuringly with its thumb. To your immense surprise, you manage to keep from flinching beneath it, but just barely.

Still. If that’s not progress, you don’t know what is.

With an only somewhat visible shiver, you turn around and face him as he shifts sideways to the door, his chin trained your way as he offers a slight, deliberate smirk. Something like encouragement is used as its subtext.

His hand leaves as quickly as it came, slipping away. Its imprint of warmth slowly fades, too.

He opens the door wide, gesturing with a nonchalant little nod, “Ready to go in?” In flannel pajamas, bare foot, he doesn’t even shiver.

Vacillating, you spare one last look behind you, out to the courtyard with its sprawling, greyed lawn and erected fences, and watch the stillness. It’s a sight worthy of your admiration.

A flurry— the first of the season— begins to fall.

You breathe out. A cloud of white whisks from your lips and blends into nothingness. It’s pretty in the way that it doesn’t last for long.

And it’s freezing but it’s… strange. How this one cold winter develops this way of thawing you out.

Returning to the man in front of you, waiting patiently, you nod, dipping your head on the way past him. Bundling yourself tighter. “Yeah.”

✦

Not long after midday, you’re a fraction through one of your new books- but you decide to put it down.

It’s for a couple different reasons. One of them being that it’s not gotten good yet- the plot moving at a snail’s speed, the protagonist not interesting enough to even remember the name of- and you figure the chapter you’re closing out on now is a good breaking point. The main one, though, is that you’re awfully bored and this house, despite holding not the best of memories, has lots to offer.

When it comes to fun— exploring its labyrinthine rooms, utilizing its many services and amenities (like a personal chef, for instance, or a home theater and gym)— there’s no shortage of things to do.

It’s just with an ounce of unease that you realize those fun opportunities, however, are only half the appeal without the twins.

Annoying, troublesome, experts at exaggeration and being thorns in your side— yes, they’re all of that and then some. But if we’re listing all their shining traits right now, then for the record, ‘fun’ must be one of them.

And yeah, okay, their absence is starting to kick in just a little bit. But it’s not a big deal. I mean, what’s it matter if they’re gone for a few days? You’ll blink and it’ll be over.

They’ll be back. You’ll greet them at the door after they veer into the driveway, waiting there just as you did when waving them goodbye, and Sylus will be chuckling behind you in that rich, unruffled way he does as they herd you inside and divulge their journey.

Heaving a sigh, you toss your book aside on the dormer window and relocate to your bed.

You belly flop on it before rolling on your back to stare at the ceiling.

For only a moment, you close your eyes and let yourself be barraged by the thoughts you’d been blocking out; the unique responsibilities and aches.

You intake an unsteady, deep breath and attempt to manage them all one at a time— but they don’t stand in single-file, eager to attack you from every angle all at once.

The dress for the funeral…

Looking through your mother’s old things…

And then everything that comes afterward of that, too. Whatever that might entail.

As ambivalent as the future may seem, an abstract thing veiled behind fog and uncertainty, you ruefully suppose not wanting it to come won’t stop it from doing just that.

And then of course, there’s the whole booking your flight thing… leaving this place for, if you’re being realistic, probably the last fucking time and then—

Have you even asked Sylus who’s giving the eulogy?

“No,” you mumble before rolling on your stomach again, legs and arms splayed on the bed like a starfish.

God help you. Half of you is expecting for the twins, just as irksome as they are entertaining, to come bursting through your door at any moment and save you from the woes of having nothing to do. To be fair, sitting around and doing absolutely nothing is better than some things- like work, namely (you don’t want to imagine the stack of papers that’s building on your desk during your leave)- but as you quietly ponder the week and a half ahead, you start to worry it’ll be uneventful from start to finish.

Well, as uneventful that a trip begotten by a funeral can be, anyway.

Maybe it’s being wishful- sickeningly optimistic in a situation with no one silver lining- but you’d like to hope you can at least squeeze out some enjoyment during your stay.

As sheepish as you are to admit it, the twins were a staple in that halfbaked idea.

But now they’re gone. For three days. And God only knows why it was so simple a decision for them to make, leaving you behind when right now, realistically speaking, your little screwed up family should be huddling together now more than ever, but—

(‘Why was it simple?’ Well, why do you think…? Because you’ve been so coldly pushing them away and they finally took the hint and-)

You get up and leave your room, traipsing down the hallway. You can’t find it in you to care, right now, about who you might bump into while the house is left to two people and a whole lot of ice.

Sylus is probably in his study, anyway. Assuming he even is in the home right now, but with the long laundry list of errands and contractual deals that require his flowery, hasty signature to be secured, you doubt he spends too much of his time here on weekdays.

As you walk through the stretching halls, you trace the walls with a finger, bored.

You’re stopped in your tracks by a picture- just one of the many lavish decorations- and tilt your head up to stare at it in its entirety.

It’s a big thing; a large, elaborate wooden frame without dust.

Five portraits stare back at you. But you- squished between the cheerful twins, stood before your mother and stepfather who join in a kiss behind your head, smiling lips smushed together as he holds back her veil- don’t don the same delighted expression.

Maybe it’s immature of you, but as the lingering, subtle whisps of something citrusy waft by, you do offer a slight huff of amusement at the image. It’s just so comically awful, nailed to the wall in a frame so stupidly opulent it’s like some boast against poor people— a should-be perfect wedding photo marred by the bitterness oozing off the stepdaughter.

Alright, to be fair, you’re not outright scowling or anything, but the smile you plaster on is so clearly fake it’s hard not to laugh at it—

“She looked like you, you know.”

You must jump five feet into the air.

He adds, raising one wryly amused brow, “Somewhat.”

Startled, you turn to find him staring not at the picture he presumably references- but you.

Your brow furrows slightly, and then he does glance over to the frame as you hover your hand over your heart, clutching your invisible pearls in a moment of deja vu.

A soft sigh. Is this how you’ll be seeing him now…? Every time you happen to bump into your stepfather- evidently not the best at evading him- does it mean you’ll be caught off guard as he stands there, unbothered, before apologizing?

Except, this time he doesn’t. He’s content pretending not to notice your shudder- your fear of him. Ruby-red hues drifting off as his jaw imperceptibly tightens.

Murmuring under his breath as he surveys the illustration almost quizzically, “But wasn’t… quite you.”

Ah, right- the wedding photo. Your mother. You resemble her— That’s what he’s getting at here.

“Y-Yeah…” You mumble back. You don’t have much to offer him, but it’s better than ignoring him: the thing you recently decided you wouldn’t be doing on this trip.

Slowly, you close your mouth. You do a quick once-over of him, and then look back towards the hanging memory.

There’s a certain silence that occurs between you both, then. Simultaneous to it- is a weight dropping in your heart, slowly descending the longer you reminisce on the familiar woman’s profile.

Not only has the stepdaughter’s scornful face been immortalized, but so has your dead mother’s.

It’s in a moment of weakness, perhaps, that you reach out to trail her jaw, pondering the past as it sweeps you up in its nostalgic current.

Your mind is less focused on acting cool and indifferent in front of your stepfather and more on the parent that has been ripped away from you- now stood before you in an intricate frame along a dark wall. So maybe later you might regret showing your belly to him, but right now, you really can’t find it in you to care.

You told yourself the past is the past.

Now, all there’s left to do is commit.

“She looked… so happy,” you’re surprised to realize the voice filling your ears is your own, gravelly from disuse, barely audible. Part of you debates feeling embarrassed, but quickly erases the idea because you don’t think your stepfather would have any real intent to ridicule you, least of all right now.

Your younger self has always been fairly good at believing everyone around you is a sworn enemy, out to get you behind your back, but your stepfather is…

Family, a little voice in the back of your head supplies. And you’re puzzled at the lack of backlash it receives this time around.

You start to wonder if he’s heard, the quiet sprawling for just a touch too long, self-consciousness a breath away as something, his attention, you think, bores into the back of your head, but then he hums and you’re at ease again.

“She was so happy,” he agrees. “We both were.”

Sylus, from the corner of his eye, watches.

Some gear turns in the very back of your skull and begs to ask the question of just what he’s doing here right now; the master bedroom- now his alone, you realize with an unbidden squeeze of your heart- is on the other wing of the house. During the daytime, he’s typically downstairs, anyway.

But you suppose that’s besides the point.

Your eyes flutter down, and then your hand follows. Ghosting along the photo in one sweeping motion before you turn just halfway to face him.

You’re making headway on squashing your beef with him, oh definitely, but there’s a sort of intimacy that comes with standing front-to-front, and right now, you think that’d be overwhelming and weird for the both of you.

He’s not… used to you being exactly nice to him, anyway, or open. Or agreeable. Or- or anything, really. For your teen years, you erected a wall in between you both and actively refused to let anyone scale it— and after you moved out, you weren’t so hellbent on keeping him away, sure, not half as immature and bratty as you had been, but the distance was absolutely still there. Just quieter.

No longer screamed, but rather implied.

For a while, you’d even wondered if he’d agreed upon it. If he threw in the metaphorical towel on building a relationship with you; defeated and exasperated. But you guess he’s a multimillionaire for a reason— it requires dogged ambition- drive- to reach those heights, after all— and you’ve sometimes wondered if meeting Sylus was like an immovable object going head to head with an unstoppable force.

For your part, you’re not so used to this, either. Kind of giving into this… paternal subtext to your nonexistent connection.

It’s odd. New, as it creeps in on you, slowly dialing up the temperature. Though the way it plants its seed is too gradual to make you want to dig it out from the dirt right away.

It’s a foreign thing, yes— when your eyes meet his, an inscrutable, glittering red, and a ribbon of warmth unfurls in your aching chest as you quietly realize he’s there for you, that in this tragedy, you’re not alone— but it’s not… bad, per se.

Not like you’d always imagined it’d be, anyway.

I mean, back then you didn’t even want to imagine it, but now—

Two weeks, your nagging subconscious reminds, and then you’ll be gone. Your… family (the pest-like, ever plotting twins; Sylus, even, the persistent but gentle stepfather you’d kept on hold indefinitely) will become just a speck in the distance as it grows behind you. And then….

And then you’ll be alone. And that was what you wanted, wasn’t it?

But maybe if you had just- not been so fucking stubborn and bent on making a point to your mother, if you had just visited a little more, then maybe by some stretch of inagination you could’ve done something to-

Your soul sinks in your chest. The feeling of regret, terrible and distinct, rips you a new one as you try not to wilt in the silence. But Sylus’s eyes are warm, softening into a pass of concern as he drops his folded arms.

Business-oriented, arrogant, competitive, bound and determined. You and the world have seen each of those facets of him, but the gentler side is one that the latter doesn’t own access to.

When Sylus’s fingers twitch, his arm nearly reaching out to you as he visibly vacillates, you feel a strange flash of endearment towards him.

Your mother saw this side of him all the time, you inwardly consider. Because that’s who he reserved it most for.

Sylus assigned things to one of two categories: his family, and then everything else.

And you- you infuriating, lovely little dragon of a daughter- fell to the former.

There’s all kinds of uncertainty swirling in his eyes, but he settles for a soft clear of his throat, looking you over. The gloss in your stare, the one that hangs over your lashes and refuses to fall as if permanently suspended there, makes him open his mouth, but before he can say anything, you undercut his words.

“What are you doing here?”

You ask. Not in a demanding way: you’re just eager to distract you both from your impending waterworks.

You wonder if he knows; what’s running through his head as you stand there and fidget with the hem of your shirt, rapidly blinking to keep the tears at bay. You don’t remember giving them permission to come, but here they are, knocking.

His brow raises by the faintest tick, and then he smiles an easy, slight smile. Dipping his hands in his pockets to rest.

“The twins forgot something on their journey, it seems. They texted me to grab it for them. So,” he says, giving a loose shrug with one shoulder, looking down the hallway past you, tone as mocking yet sincere as ever, “Here I am, letting myself be treated like some poor… errand boy.”

“Oh.”

Poor is… certainly not the word you’d select for him, but…

He finishes, eyes catching yours in a second of boldness, “I’ll mail it out to the firm. They’ll receive it no later than this evening.”

You give a small nod, looking down to his chest because it offers a convenient escape to his penetrating, sharp stare, and frankly, if you’re getting emotional at some old picture on the wall- then you need the respite.

You rub your forearm, “Well, I’ll just be going now.”

“Where to?” A tiny twitch of his lip tells you he spoke too soon. His chest swells out. Your eyes jump to his.

“If you need a car, you can use any of the ones in the garage,” he remedies. You blanche. “Just point, and I’ll give you the keys-“

“Oh, no, no, no,” you chuckle suddenly, shaking your head. Sylus pauses, quirking one brow as he tilts his chin by a fraction, interest and maybe even a little bit of mirth reshaping his face at your change in demeanor.

“I didn’t mean I was going out,” you quickly add, “Realistically, I probably would’ve just went downstairs and ate something... Or brought a snack out to the sunroom.”

He frowns. “The sunroom might be a bit cold, though.”

“I know. I- I just wanna see how it looks after all this time.”

To your surprise, Sylus lets out a smooth, somewhat short chuckle. At your confusion, he elaborates, “This place is still the same, Kitten,” he chides in a harmless, rather loving tone, “All that’s different is that you’re here.”

…And that this time around, your mother isn’t.

Yet Sylus, as if clueless to the glaring elephant in the room, smirks and doesn’t mention it. And truthfully, you’re grateful for that. Just- you have your questions, those little segments of his short account over the phone that you want to pick apart and scrutinize- but all of that is for later. An indefinite later... Right now is too soon.

You’re hardly keeping your feelings in check as is: you don’t need to pile further revelations of your mother’s death onto the plate. In any case, as much as a gritty, inward part of you would like to know every scrap of information possible- at the end of the day, it’d be unnecessary.

Your mother died the way she did. And all attempts or methods of probing for more context, you fear, would only do more harm than good.

“I guess it still feels the same,” you mumble out an agreement, peering down the corridor towards the stairs, his figure standing tall and unruffled to your side. “All the decorations are the same.”

“Exactly,” he hums, “and the sunroom is no different. You wouldn’t want to… catch a cold on your vacation, would you?”

Vacation is a funny word for it, but you won’t shoot him for being optimistic. You’d honestly benefit from following his example.

You snort softly, sheepishly looking down, “I won’t catch a cold. It can’t be that bad. Besides,” you lift your chin, meeting his gaze- wholly transfixed on you, a glimmering, fascinated red- “Back at my apartment, the AC and heating is usually broken, so… I’m used to arctic temperatures.”

You try to joke, but he doesn’t laugh at it. In fact, his lighthearted smirk ebbs into a thin line as he parts his mouth and furrows his brow at you. Your breath hitches slightly.

The tears that had been beading at your eyes are gone, but now a sense of uncertainty replaces them in your chest.

He unstuffs his hands from either of his pockets. “That’s nothing to brag about,” he croaks.

Your lashes flutter, ears perking under his uneven timber. You… don’t often hear that voice come from him.

He swiftly recorrects himself, saying in a lighter but just as firm tone, “You should take care of yourself. Have you… been well, by the way? How is it back at your old place?” Sylus lowly ventures, before one half of his mouth quirks up playfully.

He leans his back against the wall, localizing his attention fully to you. Not paying the smallest of glances to the large, idyllic photo you stand in front of.

“I wonder,” he starts, “What a day in the life looks like in your shoes.”

A beat of silence passes. In that time, you realize it’s not just a spoken fragment of his thoughts, but a question. You answer accordingly.

Not without a look down the hall, though, silently wishing to exit the conversation as it begins to drag on.

The sunroom, for as cold as it’s advertised, sounds better and better.

You don’t quite laugh, but by some standard it might be considered one. “Well, it’s not really anything interesting. Obviously, it’s not as glamorous as like, you guys here,” you say, “but I’m fine where I am.”

Physically, fine. Although, the level of content you hold inwardly is a bit of a different story.

You’ll keep that on its shelf. Right now, it’s better where it is: in the dark; in the quiet.

Safe with you.

Sylus simply says, “You… shouldn’t settle for less,” impossibly careful with his choice of words, albeit you don’t fully know why.

“I-I’m not,” you jump to justify. You have a growing inkling that this conversation is going nowhere, and you don’t exactly like small talk, so you aim to wrap this up.

“I work hard at my job, but-“

But what? you still don’t wanna die in a cubicle during your mundane 9-5 job? Hmph. Yeah, get in line behind literally everyone else.

Not everybody has the same luxury that Sylus does, though: he’ll die without regrets, knowing he secured riches for his next thousand generations, but you can’t really say the same. That is… assuming you branch off from the Qins and separate yourself from that golden heritage. Which-

You are. You will. These two weeks will either fly by or slug by, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’ll be bidding the boys farewell one last time.

You’ll do the right, reasonable thing, excuse yourself from the metaphorical table that is your stepfamily (who, if you’re being honest, are probably done with you deep down but are too nice- sympathetic in this dark time- to say something), and go back home. To that shitty, cramped apartment with its broken utilities and cracks in the ceiling. To that cubicle; to all the paperwork on your desk amounting to a miniature Tower of Babel.

You’ll go back to the loneliness and uncertainty.

Yet it will just be even colder, then. Knowing that palatial house on the hills, once a backup plan of sorts- a final failsafe if your humble little life you’d been trying to make for yourself collapsed- is no longer an option.

Because the one precious thread tying you to it—

Snapped.

“I work hard at my job,” you try anew, inexplicably having trouble meeting his eyes. “I always strive for better, just- I know how to be content with what I have, you know?”

It’s not meant as a jab towards him, you swear it’s not, albeit your way of going about it could use a little bit of work. Considering you’ve been making all sorts of revolutionary improvements on this trip, though, you don’t think adjusting your tone should be too big of an issue.

At any rate- you’re not about to start this big discussion with your stepfather on career paths and how satisfied you are with yours, though, and that’s where this seems to be headed.

You gesture down the hall with a shoulder and smile if only to be polite.

“But anyway, I think I’ll-“

“You know,” Sylus starts, glancing up to you expectantly, and it’s only right then that you realize he’d been looking at the floor- or, more accurately, your legs- while mulling over something, silent. His words are measured, slow; his hues more obsidian than ruby in the dimly-lit corridor. The vibrant twinkle of scarlet is still there, but a shadow pours over his brow. His slight crow’s feet can be spotted.

He’s pushing forty one now, but it’s strange- how you look at him and don’t notice the age. He’s as virile and manly as ever. In his prime, you’d say.

Silently, you wonder in a breath if all men are like wine in the way that they age, or if your stepfather was a result of a fluke.

I mean, you’re aware that he takes good care of himself. Those boxing sessions he does on the side in the home gym certainly do their part to keep him physically afloat, and his chef only uses ingredients of the highest quality— but still…

It’s not wrong to make the comment that he’s a bit of a genetic jewel.

You remind yourself to tune back into his words, straightening your spine slightly.

Yes, you can acknowledge- in absolutely no weird way, mind you- that your stepfather is an attractive guy. There’s no science to it: he just… is. Your mother certainty knew it; all her gossiping friends, too. You’re not so taken by an old grudge to pretend Sylus’s charm isn’t universal.

“Don’t… take this the wrong way, I don’t mean to be pushy,” he drawls, the image of casual. There’s a wisp of hesitance in his eyes, though. You don’t miss it. “But if you ever want to try your hand at my company,” he leaves the suggestion open-ended, although there’s nothing you need further clarity on.

You laugh nervously, ignoring the inward part of you that perks a little at the offer.

“Ah, no, I… already have a job back at my place. And I think the commute would be a nightmare,” A commute is a bit of an understatement— if you were to hop aboard your stepfather’s panel, you’d actually have to move back out to Linkon or, perhaps more conveniently, just live out of your old bedroom already here.

But for so many reasons, working for Sylus just… isn’t a great idea.

Besides- he’s just being nice to you, anyway. The four of you are in a hard time right now.

You’ve never gotten along well with Sylus, sure, and he’s well-acquainted with your abrasive exterior, but he’s never been half as immature as your younger self in regards to sympathy, so of course he’s trying to make you feel better— you’re his veritable stepdaughter, after all. There’s not many better ways to do that than to offer you an extremely lucrative job that he knows you’ll ultimately decline— meaning he’ll take no loss.

He’s just being polite… Which makes you a smidgen more uncomfortable to acknowledge your bumpy past with him. Here he is with the twins, flying you out and making efforts to comfort you in his own roundabout way after his wife’s died- no doubt dealing with that loss as well- and you’re still trying to fully commit to ‘new beginnings’ and all.

He’s just a man at the end of the day, you realize right then, a pang of guilt fattening your heart. He fell in love with your mother; so much so that he was willing to put up with her insufferable, brat of a child for years on end.

And you were- well, for lack of a better word you were a bitch.

And yeah there’s a million justifications you can make for it, but the point of the matter right now is that you feel bad. You feel like such an intruder, a nuisance, a burden now weighing on his, Luke’s, and Kieran’s shoulders, and-

Sylus shrugs like there’s nothing on them. Glances down to rub his forefinger and thumb together. Dripping nonchalance right from the pores.

“Suit yourself.” He says smoothly, taking your rejection no different than a duck would with water off its wings. “But Sweetie,” he states, eyes clashing with yours as if to add emphasis to whatever he’ll say, “The opportunity will always be up in the air for you. Do you understand?”

Oh, the emphasis is there, alright.

You swallow. “O-Okay.”

“See you, then.”

And then he’s breezing past before you can even clumsily dismiss yourself. Tall and broad and gone.

His heady cologne remains in a subtle draft and then that, too, disappears.

R-Right, you blink, sighing out a big breath you didn’t realize you were holding all along.

The sunroom.

✦

His large hand, extended like an offering, slightly falters when he understands you don’t have a lick of desire to shake it.

Maybe you’re a bit hangry, yes, and you’ll admit that probably does no favors for your current mood as this ridiculous scene unfolds before you- but all these emotions that bud inside you now, flowering no different than weeds, entangling themselves as they expand- are very much valid and real.

You’re still positively pissed and confused and above all, hurt that she’s been going behind your back and flirting around without so much as telling you.

See, of course you had your ideas and creeping little doubts— it was hard not to what with the way her schedule was warping in front of your eyes, how she seemed just a pinch happier than usual, giddy, almost— but being faced with the truth of it all in its real, physical form is a different matter entirely.

And-

And how she could do this to you? after- after what happened with your father?

Well, you just don’t fucking know.

But she’s doing it to you right now, anxiously peering at you from your side, and she’s smiling.

A beat of silence occurs, loud and tedious.

His hand stays out, dangling like a modifier, and it’s like the sumptuous asshole knows you’ll change your mind and backtrack or something: as if that’s all he’s used to, people parting like the Red Sea and bowing for him without question.

…Audacious: you’ll admit that much. But you’ll give him no more credit than that, as kind of backhanded as it is.

Time slows. In reality, no more than two seconds must’ve passed, but as the eyes of your mother drill into your profile both in a mash of expectance and worry, and your heart lodges in your throat, it feels like you’re stuck in a time capsule.

You’ve been standing here too long. This enigmatic, admittedly dashing stranger (Sylus, your mind- seemingly having shut off in the moment to lend your senses full control- helpfully contributes) has been in your home too long and—

Mentally, you scold yourself for visibly balking. You steel yourself against him and school your expression.

This is your house.

He won’t make you feel like an outsider in it.

The silver-haired man, with the scruff on his chin and the punch of whiskey underlining his fancy-shmancy cologne, with his sharp red eyes, drops his hand back to his side and actually laughs at your blatant rejection of him.

“Very hospitable, I see. I like that,” he tosses behind his broad shoulder to your somewhat mortified mother as he, egregiously enough, goes to take his shoes off at the door, a hand in his pocket. “Your kid is as bold as you are, honey.”

Honey?

…Honey?

You grow a mite afraid in that moment, internally struggling to pinpoint just what degree of involvement this awful yet handsome guy has with your mother.

How deep into this little… fling of theirs are they, anyway?

She opens her mouth, looks at you, then closes it. Blustering out a laughing apology, she leaves your side and flutters over to him. You don’t know if you’re thankful for the reprieve, the momentary alone time to your own thoughts, or unbelievably hurt as you watch her take his jacket and hang it in the coat closet, happy to do it despite the turmoil hidden beneath all her inebriated twirling.

On the inside, your world is fracturing down the middle, drifting apart steadily like the planes of Pangaea— but this stupid awful guy just shrugs out a kink in his neck, turning back to your mother (who’s only slightly embraced on your account) to swoop down and thank her with a peck to the lips.

The rest of your weak appetite for microwaved dinner flies out the window.

And in your undies and that old beloved tee of your late father’s, you take the chance while they’re distracted to hop off the chair and fly up the steps.

For everyone’s sake, you hope the guy— Sylus, your mind so helpfully provides as you sob into your pillows— is only temporary.

♡ tags: @leftpoetrymoon @valhalla-soulstealer @gingybimby @crowsandapples @novthirty @mcdepressed290 @jadeloverxd @satansdaughter123 @blitziwitch @luminaaaz @eialovescats @noliniodeaes @dramaticalsachan @loudhologramturtle @softiepeachess @reni502 @datfangirl @lilyalone @thatsbunnysmind @lioria @floooring @babyx91 @rosie279 @calistaxoxo24 @kingheinrey @msturi2u @theplaid-wearingmoose @blueseachelle @themonotonysyndrome @crazyartist0001-blog @librarydame @deathlycrow @whdhjfjvjvjfjdhsj @terriblesoup @floofycookie @sdlyoongi @hikaakox @melba1982 @crimsonsylus @miuangel @ravynstreasure @corvo-core ✦ ask to be added to the taglist! just make sure you have an age in your bio (17+) ✨ hopefully i got everyone down lol :,)

[harmonysanreads]

Hello! Wanting to follow up on one of your previous posts about Phainon, cause he has been living rent free in my mind. Cause like, being with a hero is almost sobering experience I feel- especially with someone like Phainon, who Aglaea has described as more or less being the perfect hero. Someone who is willing to take on the people's hopes and dreams and make them his own. In a way, his heart will never truly be your own, cause it also belongs to the people he has sworn to protect and serve. Regardless of how understanding or patient you are, I imagine a rift would begin to form between the two of you. Now, with this in mind, imagine a certain cloaked figure taking advantage of Phainon's folly. Flame Reaver witnessing you quietly enduring current Phainon's unintentional neglect, ie his attention being averted elsewhere when you two are together, continuous post-poned or rescheduled dates, or just the general feeling of being under appreciated. Even though deep down you know he cares and adores you, it still stings. But rather than "inconvenience" Phainon with your grievances, you bear it and grin through it all. Not wanting to burden him further with your true feelings on the matter.

Flame Reaver, ever the opportunist, decides to use this to his advantage. Capitalizing on his current self's mistakes, and becoming the succor you need. Presenting himself as Phainon in order to spend time with you when you need him the most, while his true self is occupied elsewhere. Monopolizing and cherishing every moment he has with you like its his last. Which it very well may be. And naturally, you notice the change, outside the obvious change in attentiveness from "Phainon", but also the way he carries himself. No longer your bright eyed, and bushy tailed puppy of a lover. But something more…mature, or even dangerous.

The question is, will you choose to see past his carefully crafted facade, revealing the wolf in sheep's clothing before you? Or, will you indulge in the beautifully crafted lie and revel in the ignorant bliss of your new found relationship?

So, I've been thinking about this concept for months now and I've gone through four drafts in exploration of it but, nothing had managed to satisfy me. Because I kept on having this nagging feeling that I was... missing something, the actual distinction between Phainon and Flame Reaver to be precise.

Then, version 3.3's story was released and we got to see a bit more of Flame Reaver's ‘personality’ and it clicked for me. I would've typed this down sooner but the past two months have been ridiculously hectic for me, so, apologies :')

The thing is, Flame Reaver is less of a complexly intelligent life-form and more of a... worn down, broken television that only displays one channel from time to time, the buzz of its antiquity persistent throughout. A small rebellion against a set of strictly constructed programs but, shattered nonetheless.

They say, even a broken clock is right twice a day. There may be nothing but a dreadful darkness surrounding the Flame Reaver's vision and only his objective may be the beacon which keeps him adrift that abyss, but still, there is a factor that triggers his long corrupted consciousness from that blind chase — you.

When Flame Reaver catches sight of you in this cycle, still tormented by the unfiltered radiance of the sun, he feels a harrowing ache somewhere within him. It's horrifying, because it pierces through that torpid haze and jolts that remaining humane fraction within him.

And so, he abandons all fragments of reason and forfeits before you.

Insects are lured in by sources of light, humans spectate the way they jump into their demise and question, how could they be so foolish?

When Phainon sees this, the supposed architect of his nightmares, grasping onto your form, croaking your name on repeat — he shudders. He cannot even find it in himself to blink, because he recognizes the way those bloody fingers cling to your skin, those distorted crises begging you to live — it is an all too familiar scene.

The end of that tragedy is but a blank page.

[thewritingfairy]

↪ 18. For justice knows many faces

PREV PART trigger warnings: character death, (past violence), (past) emotional + medical + physical neglect, drugging, delusional batfamily, anger, medical emergencies, anger, tell me if I forgot any main m.list     series m.list     bad ending m.list

Willow is gone.

Willow died.

Her injuries too great, your ‘brothers’ hadn’t held back at all. They had broken the founding rule of Batman, don’t kill. Sure Jason already had broken it quite a few times (as well as Damian, but that’s a different story), but for Dick to ignore this rule? You don’t know how to think, you don’t know how to feel.

Everything was a blur, everything was silent and most importantly the investigation of the police was lacklustre. They didn’t even question Francis. It was as if they looked at Willow’s family and decided it was of no use to get justice.

It pisses you off. It pisses you off to the point you do something stupid.

You publish the file.

You don’t give it to the police, no, because when you tried they dismissed you. They said; “it’s Gotham, shitty things happen all day. It wasn’t someone important, there is no reason to investigate.”

How dare they act as if Willow is unimportant? How dare they act like the judge and executioner at the same time? How dare they tell Francis and his parents that their loved one is nothing to them?

Everything feels like a blur, you go through the motions, you ignore the dizziness that has been shouting for you to shit down. You ignore how your hands shake as you start to fall and you ignore how Francis calls out to you when your head hits the hospital floor. You need to call your boss, you need him to read the file. You need to tell him who your family is, they deserve to pay. Your morals mean nothing, not when your family ignores theirs.

All that matters is justice, justice for Willow. Not for you.

Your vision slipping as you try to push yourself up, your body shaking as if it’s preparing for a seizure and your mouth fills with the taste of blood. Your eyes roll back and there goes your vision, there goes your control as your body does all you don’t want it to.

It feels as if your own death is near, and right now you wouldn’t mind it.

Too bad your friends would, they already lost Willow, won’t you stay? Won’t you live so that you can destroy your family? Won’t you live so that you can become the person your mama wanted you to be?

For Francis can’t believe it, not only has his sister died now you are on death’s door. Not because of your illness, or any usual reasons. No, your medication was messed with.

And Duke immediately knew who did it, Bruce.

His anger was to not be messed with, Gotham’s anger is not to be messed with. For not only is the manor now being stormed by anger citizens the Penguin is making a move. A move that will cause everyone to turn against the Wayne family. A move that will call for Batman to destroy the family that influences him. For Justice knows many faces, and Penguin isn’t afraid to take over (even if it harms his criminal reputation).

He knows that it’ll take time, he knows that it will be hard to convince everyone to turn against the Wayne’s. For they have done so much for Gotham.

But when you wake up. He’s certain you can do it.

For justice knows many faces.

And you can make it happen, you just have to stay alive to do so.

NEXT PART I know the chapter is tiny and a bit messy, but I'm trying to figure out the good ending. It has to get worse before it becomes better. I promise

taglist CLOSED: @prettiest-thing-in-the-morgue, @bunniotomia, @devotedlyshamelessdetective, @princessbonnie-bell, @seemee3, @pix-stuff, @venomsvl, @amber-content, @stove-top96, @frank-vanderboom, @leeiasure, @1abi, @shadowytravelerlover, @chericia, @lithiumval, @lingxio, @cssammyyarts, @marsmabe, @foolishseven, @kore-of-the-underworld, @bunbunboysworld, @homeless-clown, @miashico, @alwaysholymilkshake, @1cxndy, @kittzu, @rtyuy1346, @exactlynumberonekryptonite, @hopingtoclearmedschool, @artistwithcreativeburnout, @alishii, @vanessa-boo, @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @91-kya, @ryuushou, @jjsmeowthie, @justthere1956, @depressed--therapist, @xzmickeyzx, @cheappremingerfromdelululand, @plsfckmedxddy, @itsberrydreemurstuff, @trashlaternfish360, @leogf, @dirtydiavolo, @lilyalone, @welpthisisboring, @kenman00001, @nxdxsworld, @icefox8155, @ironsaladwitch, @holderoflostmemories, @asillysimp, @wisefuncherryblossom, @eyeless-kun, @marina27826, @muggleloveralways, @ironsaladwitch, @shyenemyperson, @iamaunknownsecret

[trannyradfem]

Oh I have a fun story!

So, I have a cat, and she's unlike any other cat I've ever had. When we first got her, she was scared of us, but the next day I had accidently sliced my finger on a piece of thin corrugated cardboard when moving things around to make more room for her play area, and she came RUNNING to me. She prowled into the desk cabinet I was adjusting and hissed at it, looked around in there for a bit, and then came out and looked up at me kinda tilting her head to the side. I now know this is what she always does when something confuses her. She tried to protect me even though she barely knew any of us in the home.

Later on, I visited a close friend from out of state, and tried to introduce my cat to her cats. Her male cat was lazily laying on the floor, belly up, and slow blinked at my cat. My cat immediately hissed at him and hid back into her carrier. She NEVER hisses. My friend brought her into our car and sat with her while I visited so she wouldn't be super on edge the entire time. We started joking about her hating males, but now I genuinely think she actually really does after having her for a while.

She ended up kinda imprinting on me, and now follows me everywhere I go, always sitting in my lap or laying on me in some way. If she can't lay on me, she rests a paw on my hand or my arm. It's so cute I sometimes tear up. I've also been through a lot of shit, and she has seen me struggle with PTSD. Oftentimes, if I'm dissociating, she'll come sit in my lap and smash her face against my hand until I snap out of it. She literally grounds me when I'm not able to do that for myself.

I also unfortunately have a male upstairs neighbor who has violent rage fits, and will start slamming around his furniture, screaming, swearing, the whole shebang. It triggers the fuck out of me but I've told the complex and called the police and it doesn't last HOURS anymore, so that's probably the best it's going to get. My cat cannot stand him. Whenever we go for a walk together through the apartment building, she always tries to go to his floor and hisses at his door. 💀 She generally doesn't like strangers, is mostly afraid of them, but I had never seen her hiss at a person before that.

But that's not all.

There was one time I needed groceries delivered during an acute flare up, and a very sweet black woman showed up with them. She saw I was weak and limping, and offered to carry my groceries into my kitchen for me. I was so, so touched by this gesture. We ended up having a really nice conversation that was uplifting for both of us, talking about struggle and perservering, and also family. I was a little worried my cat would be afraid, but she walked right up to this lovely woman and started bunting her hand. Later on, when my cat met my best friends mom, who is genuinely a really good person, she did the same.

Whenever I take her out on a walk, she avoids males like the plague, and gets aggressive if they get too close. She hates them. Any time a male cat walks up to her perching window, her tail poofs up and she goes on high alert. But if it's a female cat, they just kinda stare at each other and slow blink. She's even made friends with our neighbors (female) cat.

She's just like me, fr.

[zozo-01]

in which you know the end is coming and all you can do is hold him close and pray you do not bring him more pain then he has endured <3

"He's coming into his own as the Deliverer."

A calm voice with a robotic tinge spoke up from behind you, taking your eyes away from Phainon playing with the kids around him.

"Yes, I suppose he is," you say with skepticism in his voice. There was always this feeling of distrust towards Lygus, and you have never been able to put your finger on it. Perhaps it was his pragmatic view of the world, or the way he's invested in the success of the Flame-Chase, despite doing nothing to help the Heirs. Maybe you're just extremely paranoid and he's just a kind person- robot?

"Phainon is so close to completing his transformation. I wonder if you're ready for it as well." Lygus looks at you with a tilted head. Unease starts to fill your body. You don't know what he's trying to imply, but the fact that there was an implication made you sick.

"Of course, as is the duties of all the Heirs, I shall stand by him into the Era Nova." You don't mention the dreams you've had. Nightmares so vivid, you're convinced that they are your memories somehow. The bodies of your friends all bloodied and laid out across the land. Your eyes a blood red and an animalistic rage taking over. Phainon standing over you with blood on his sword.

Your golden blood.

You haven't mention this to anyone, fearing that you might cause panic while being so close to your goals. You don't remember Lady Tribbie mentioning that anyone else can receive Janus's blessing. Not that this is a prophecy, they're dreams. Manifestations of your fear and uncertainty over the future. Not an omen of what will come next.

(You don't know this yet, but your dreams were sent to you from beyond the stars. They always knew when the end were to come. It would be kind of them to send their child signs of your doom, even if they sent the same warning over and over again.)

"Are you alright? You seem lost in your thoughts." Lygus didn't sound sympathetic or even pitiful, just curious. "Would you like to confide in me?"

"No," you say sharply. You weren't about to spill this secret to someone you didn't even trust. "I'm fine, Lygus. I've just had issues with sleep."

A self-satisfied smile appeared on his lips. You gave him all the information he needed, even if you didn't say anything specific.

"You are starting to remember, Emanator?"

"What are you talking about?" You hiss under your breath, not wanting to ruin the precious scene in front of you.

"Your kind has always meddled in Ravagers' business, despite Terminus and Nanook being more alike then you think." He starting to walk back to the Demigod Council. He looks back with what you think is a amused stare. You could never tell with the fabric covering his eyes.

"I will wait for you at the start of the new cycle, once the Deliverer completes his final trial." With that, he walks away, like he hasn't upended your entire world view.

Your head blazed with pain, agony seeping into every muscle and bone of your body. Somehow, Lygus triggered the Black Tide within you, it's dark thoughts making you want to destroy everything in sight. How did he know about this little secret of yours? Aglaea had swore that no one would every find out, especially your sunshine in hero form.

Panic and fear flooded your brain and just about when you felt like you were going to burst-

"Starlight! There you are!"

His voice soothes your through your pain, a powerful balm against the Black Tide. It helps you regain your thoughts, feeling like a normal person again. Or at least as normal as you could be.

His arms wrap around you to lift you up in the air. If there was one thing about Phainon, it's that he will never shy away from showing your love for you. In his words, he fought so hard to be worthy of your hand, why shouldn't he show it off any change he gets?

By the Titans, you adore this overgrown puppy, If it were up to you, you would make him forsake the prophecy and live your final days in peace. Just you and him. That would be the Era Nova of your dreams.

"I saw Lygus talking to you earlier, is everything okay?" He tilts his head with enough concern in his eyes to make your heart ache.

"No, everything is fine." You held his face in your hand, staring into the sky blue eyes you have grown to love. "Everything is exactly as it should be."

He beams that bright smile of his and leans down to kiss you. You almost forget about Lygus' words and melt into the arms of your lover. If only you could pretend that your days were not numbered, and that you could spend the rest of your life like this. You hold him tighter, pleaing to whoever is out there to keep him safe, keep him with you.

But nothing lasts forever, and the end comes for everyone. You just hope that it will spare you the pain of losing everything again.

(All things come to an end, that is the philosophy of the Destruction and Finality. It will be interesting how you change once you remember your past and Phainon ascends to his duties.)

so............ his new trailer has me feeling things.......... i want him to be happy ok :'3 also, i don't know if i've mentioned this, but all of these little drabbles are of the same reader and is (kind of) connected to this huge fic i have for phainon and a secret reader hehehehe

or: take this as my offering to get good pulls for phainon <3333 may all phainon wanters be phainon havers!!!!

bonus: my crack theory rn is that phainon's real name is Khaos (aka the last cycles kephale holder) and he just keeps the same name no matter what hehehe

[the-toxic-tarot-reader]

Hey Sexies, Sex Life Pick A Pile Reading 18+

Divider credits - @cafekitsune

So this is sexual life read, I know you can already see so many goddamn paragraphs in front of you, but trust me its just me holding space for you guys, cause I know triggers and I want you all to take your time before grabbing all your eggs in the basket. Be patient and remain calm as this reading is not meant for everyone.

To all my queer babies, I am straight person, please hold some space for me, this read is open to imagination, add fingering, anal, toys wherever you like. Consider this as your own personal space.

Also just a little request and heads up, this reading came into fruition because of not just me but your energy as well. Thank you for coming here, and bringing your energy, just want to say that do not direct your sexual energies in my direction. Its your energy, you can use this reading to spruce up your imagination, but be mindful of directing it towards me. I have heard and experienced many cases of evil eye, toxic tarot readers and energy harvesters already. I just need you to be mindful of where you direct your sexual energy to.

Minors Do Not Interact, and seriously I am very serious about this, your impressionable minds really shouldn't be reading this.

If you are in an abusive relationship currently, please do not engage with my reading today.

The series of pile reading can contain a lot of talk about rough play and bdsm. This can be triggering for some and also highly manipulative for others especially if you are someone obsessed with Divine Feminine or Divine Masculine, I don't want you to tolerate some sort of sexual advances that can be highly abusive to you, yet you make-believe yourself through this read that abuse masked as love is what a divine partner would do to you. Also this is no double standard against all such people who believe in those things, but this is a reading about sex life not your typical future spouse reading, so do not come here with a rope of expectation of one person only, its a sex life read so there can be many people.

Also for people who know and understand their sexual style, but had only one person as their past relationship who ended up being abusive to you, the people channeled here aren't them, they can be your future partners or you yourself, but if it does feels like them, I would like you to take a break and hold some space for yourself, and understand what state of mind you are in right now, if you still feel like your sexual preference is something that's actively controlled by this abusive person in your mind's reality, then please pause and take a break from this read.

And for others who didn't have any past abusive partners yes specific people did came through, but they can be referred to more than one person. Also this read is meant to be an appreciation of your sexual nature than what people expect of you, be very mindful of the difference between labelling and resonating. This reading is not meant to justify abuse done by degenerates, so be very mindful of that.

How does your eating style affect people?

Pile 1 -----> Pile 2

Pile 3------> Pile 4

Pile 1

You make them question, who they are, what their type actually is, cause whatever you and your type is, it is something they didn't know they wanted it until you came into their life. Their dick/pussy wants to tell them how much they like it, but their heart and minds, can't seem to agree. But the greed, the instant heat once they see you, they go feral, they hate you but that's what they like about it, you make them go crazy and wanna fuck you like bonkers, hooters if anything else. They wanna fuck you so hard that they make themselves surge or trick you in their dungeon through kindness just to fuck you rough. I heard "fallen grace". they wanna make you fall from grace, you can be an angel to everyone on the outside, but they want to taint, make addicted to their cock/pussy sex. They could be gossipers, would crave to taste your mouth and every word you say, they would tattle tales on you, confide in you in silence. Would never accept the pull and their lust for you, but want to fuck you so hard right now. If they could keep fucking till the night ends, they will. They fall for you so abruptly.

"You make me wanna do you more"

Your eating style is the one they do when you fight, rough, evasive, sending pleasures and thrills down the throat kind. They want to rough fuck your face every single time you get angry at them. Their dick/ pussy wants you growling at them. Don't get me wrong, if you need any help or don't have a place to stay, they are more than likely to take you in their humble abode but with their own agenda in mind and you know what that is. They want you to shower in front of them, N-A-K-E-D. All clothes lying on floor. Sitting on their dining table, with you and all of you in front of them, they wanna savor it, eat it cause its so divine. "Ah ha! So Divine". They are swimming in pleasure.

Your tongues is a gateway to Divine, the power source, that's what they feel for you. You re-energise them, give them back this energy they never felt in all those years of their life. You are their light. Ever since you left them, they are wondering where is all my energy gone, not realizing it was you re-energizing their energy.

"

My heart's on the line

We've got an audience

I'm running, I'm running I'm running, I'm running

You're the moon and I'm the tide"

Liam Miller's Love and Devotion

Seems you ran back to them after some break up or chaos and immediately the friction is sensed, you both are embroiled in an argument, the heat takes over, nothing can stop this anymore..... this breakup sex is all you need. I see them sitting on one legged rotating chair, a sofa or couch or even a seat in theatre, you block their view, sit on or in front of their face while they are watching something important, block their view, now they are pissed and blast, fucking starts, it doesn't matter if everyone in the theatre is looking, you are pounding or getting pounded on by them, and they won't stop till you cum or make them cum......

Some of you embody that slender eyed Jennifer Wingett beauty, so seductive, so sexy, yet so graceful, men want to make you fall from that grace, to see that inner baddie within you. They love you in your sarees if you own any. A lot of songs came through from this person, you or they could be pianist, singer, musician. Dang there are weird stepsister concept roleplay you or they could be into. You will always be their muse, no matter what you say. It gives me a lot of cat energy, Ashlesha, Dhanishtha, Purva Bhadrapada and Punarvasu could be significant. This could traced back if you knew your birth time. Cow yoni, Uttara Phalguni and Uttara Bhadrapada could be significant. I am getting all the Uttara nakshatra, including Uttara Ashadha, I feel like you guys are result oriented people.

And maybe they like that about you, that you start what you finish no matter how much they try to hold back ecspecially when they are holding back their cum.

"I have heard, I have heard this too many times, you are just so beautiful and whimsical, you bring me the daylight, I'm afraid of your love and devotion, I'm afraid for your love, Take heaven and back to hell"

This is Liam Miller's song but I kind of changed it to express their feelings. This is what's happening with them, they push and pull with your energy. You are someone so out of their league that they can't even define it. Its something else, they are not the type to feel this way about anyone, but you are such a charming suave, they are vehement over you, in a competitive way. They have never seen someone sway or completely outshine them the way you do. So they are charmed and alarmed by you at the same time. Now someone's name could be Bai Lu and also Bai Lu is a stunning actress from China. Just like her, your work ethic is incomparable and you stand out not only as a beauty but your work as well. They could be so jealous, obsessive yet smitten by you all at the same time. "You did something to them", they are so tragically in love with you . They described you as HOT, whimsical, studious and re-energizing at the same time. You have this young Maiden's energy, always curious, like a butterfly, flying from one poppy flower to another. Now poppy flower has opium in it, so I feel like your taste or addictions change rapidly. They desire to be one of them. All your ex's might want you so bad, yet cannot openly say it, its cause you choose them, they want to be chosen by you. And that's why there's this vehemency being directed at you. People can try to be forceful with you at times only satisfy their ego and themselves only to realize, you won't even choose them. Your skills outshine their talents so you power play your way up the top to keep egoistic fools from dimming your light by outsmarting them.

You are really playful and casual with your energy as well and people either hate it or love it, but something about someone like you who feels so much pressure from people around you for seeming so intimidating 🙄to them, not that you actually are, this energy of casualness adds its charm to you. You make it look so simple and easy when its a lot of work. People see this and underestimate your power and then get played by their ego, hurt themselves and then take their anger out on you which isn't fair to you. And sometimes it reflects on your sexual life as well where the ones who treat you right (not the abusive ones) find you so elusive and playful to the point that they may replace or try to find someone like you to blow them down there, cause insecurity gets them, their fear of you leaving them, makes them want to find the same joy you used to give through someone else so they can pretend to their hearts that they never lost you. Your seduction is something else, people would literally want to be seduced by you

I think your mere presence in people's life fills them up with energy, after you decide to walk away, they feel and understand the loss of you in your absence. Also I saw a disturbing presence when I came back to end the rest of your reading. It was a zombie like figure, trying to stop my work. Be careful of sucking dead people with no emotions or understanding of orgasm or intimacy who may try to belittle your human experiences. Plus I couldn't pull my cards in this energy, literally feels like your tricks to do the sexual things you do are being hidden away, to protect your energy or to restrict you, idk.

Its like all the cards came face down. I guess they don't want you to know how your eating style affects them..... they feel ashamed of being left by you and honestly that's their insecurity, all we can do is hold space for such people, that's it.

Literally your energy is so flighty, that people might try to stop your work, eat your brain, use your impatience against you to keep you looping or make you repeat the same task one hundred times just to keep you circling around them. Be careful of making risky or bad deals with people who don't like you and want to see you grow old running around a cubicle. Your energy is super movement and growth oriented and people might feel ashamed and bullied to get distracted by you and your energy, unable to let you go, while you are already moving on. For one they deeply crave you despite trying to hide their shame cause some of them despise your move-on energy as well.

Songs : SZA - BIG BOY

Pile 2

I am immediately channeled "Be humble, sit down be humble". You make them weak on their knees, they cannot sit, walk, stand or get up after getting fucked or oral by you. You weaken them. They need every single part of you, eyes, thighs, body or mind, everything sitting on them or inside them (if its a women). They want you, just now, then, 2 days ago, yesterday in between conversations with their friends. If I say they want you every single day within them, or them in you, I won't be lying. Though they have matured from that phase, they still want you. New Woman by Lisa coming through. They wanted to hug you while sneakily sliding your cock or pussy in them so bad, I'm sure they would do it to you. I am hearing a disappointed "That's a phase, I'm sure", but I think and feel that this is short sighted view on your or their part (maybe they are trying to convince themselves) but they are not sure how convincing you, your essence, heart, body and mind is to their mind. Cause I'm getting that if they had a basement, they would very likely kidnap you and keep you there, they would do it. Its giving wind you down concept to me. The ending scene of "Hidden Face" the Korean version comes to mind, where a women is trapped in what seems like a bdsm dungeon to pleasure the other women's needs. They would do witchcraft on your internal organs if necessary just to lock you in (extremely weird now) . They are so so obsessed with you. They would like their soul to be drawn within you and your sacred space.

The heart that you hold for them though is everything they have ever cherished, as you let them do whatever they like, love them regardless of who they are, they will want to come back and rekindle this love relationship with you, if its an ex . If its an already existing relationship, they are someone who can't wait to lay their eyes on you, head rest on you, or simply fuck you every single morning while looking in the eye before going back to work. I'm getting bareback fucks while you are sleeping to wake you up cause they love you so much, and they want to keep fucking you day and night, early morning to night. I am hearing "they insist, its a request so please comply with/within me", before you say yes or no to their sweet request they are already within you, talk about sex starved but I think they are starved for you. I think they are constantly trying to request you to let them fuck you, but maybe you try to evade their request or fail to complete your tasks to materialize this request especially when they are craving you all day and all night long. They are trying so hard to evade your questions just to jump in right next to you and....... you girl, you are avoiding, maybe you fear you will pass out, after having taken all of their requests.

It just feels like sex triggers some self love and self hate in you and your intution often gets kicked in a back burner , oh wait I just realized, you were the one coming with this be humble energy, this other energy that often gets humbled so often in the relationship and is fleeing is also you. So maybe you lose a lot chunk of confidence in playing submissive roles in sex plays. So maybe there's some identity crisis going here, maybe its you who is not able to see or understand your own highly divine energy, you kinda fumble it, and make a mess cause you are so rooted to believing that you are the fumbled one, that (you.... strangely enough you don't see, how badly you fumbled with this one right here. ) Ok let me explain what happened right there, you mistake your partners as people who are messing with you or fumbling you, when its you who hasn't accepted the sexual side that comes out of you, and then you blame your partners for bringing that side out of you. Now I am getting the message that while fumbling with your own energy, you mistook them as some sort of perpetuator for bringing this side within you.

Cause they are strong, smart, sought after by many people out there and everything that you ever looked for. I also think you are kind of trapped in your head and aren't able to feel your own confident and dominant side despite having it all within you, I think you are trapped in this submissive receiving connoisseur energy, which isn't bad in it of itself, but it kinda makes you feel emasculated or no fun, did you get what I mean. Its because you aren't participating in the sexual act itself but just getting accepted too get used by somebody. I just feel like you aren't actually receiving anything because you aren't asking for it, you are just taking what is being given to you and then this person comes, gives you what you asked for and you are left speechless..... cause they brought out YOU. I think its the fact that this person is so much like you in their confident side in so many ways that you not being able to resist or say no to them and the familiarity plus love they bring into the relationship feels like binding to you which you feel is directed towards you by them, which in turn makes you feel like they are manipulating you when its all you in your head. You know how some tarot readers and weird Christians say that "The enemy doesn't want me to succeed" type shit when its them who didn't prepare, plan or show up when its time for them to do so. They just want to shift the blame to others, that is exactly what has happened to you, you love them, but are dead scared of the commitment or the idea of following through the next steps of "falling in love". You shift the blame onto them, for loving you, overthinking that they were manipulating, scheming or plotting something behind your back. Babe, you just can't handle the sweetness, (only applicable for healthy relationships of course)

You may end up confusing your own submissiveness with you being unsafe, rather than understanding that your willingness to submit is not you being manipulated but you feeling safe. Feeling safe could feel alarming to you guys. This seems like a trigger mechanism, but they like and love it whenever you deep throat and choke on their dick, and then start crying, I think they won't like to force you, but your vulnerability, your emotions is something they wanted to see for long.

I think they love it when you kiss their lips after choking on their cock like that. They love the taste of your lips covered in their juices. I think given how you give into their demands like that, they would like to choke you every single day, but since this is towing to your energy, and if you haven't recovered from your past traumas, they might remind you of some brutality in your past, (for some people they could have suffered childhood abuse in a church or temple or mosque, or some holy place by some priest, that specifically came through in here.) but I think something about their energy, make you rewrite this traumatic sexual history as a loving memory of being consensually choked by your partner. They replace shit memories with love.

Also this is what I mean when I said you fumble your divine energy yourself, and mistake it for this person fumbling you for this divine energy which might be true, but this person isn't betraying you or liking your sexual energy over you, but they like and love you for you, its just you really didn't even know who you really are, and this energy of yours is so good at receiving and knows of her worth to ask for what she deserves rather than being used by everyone, they truly see you for who you are, a beautiful serpent is how they would define you. Too humble, finishes last, always loves them despite anything or everything, they have started loving themselves through you. But I think you still keep telling yourself that this gentle not so warrior like soul isn't you, cause you don't trust that instinct. You are so honed into your warrior like energy due to your survival mechanism, you kinda think that gentle soft person inside is the fake bitch you often pretend to be to appear promising individual in front of others, but in reality your inner self is just as kind, forgiving, humble and loving as that, you just don't seem to realize it, cause you never got to live like yourself, since you were constantly kept in survival mode environments. That's why this pile is getting too long, cause you are too wrapped up in your self doubt

And they think you also know less about yourself, sometimes lesser than they do. I am also getting that you choke them while kissing, they are screaming and gasping for breath in my channeling. "Girl you left me breathless". Maybe for some of you lilith or sun or, mars in leo or scorpio placement or venus or atmakarka in 12th or 8th house They don't know you much but you don't know yourself either, but you don't even see, maybe even despise seeing your own divine energy, which makes you someone who plays hide and seek with themselves and run away at the sight whatever you think your inner divine energy is like, which I think seems like someone very unproductive, lazy, fake bitch to many of you, due to the nuanced layer of other people's opinion. I think more people who have loved you wish you were gentler to yourself, you aren't seeing yourself rightly my love, that's why while starting this read, their energy clashed and came similar to yours, because you tend to take shape and copy people's energy bully yourself into letting their thoughts shape your inner value and worth. You are a very gentle person, rahu in 12th or 4th house, rahu in chitra nakshatra, gemini in 12th house. Gemini, Libra, Pisces and Rahu are energies that try to copy others and emulate them to transmute that energy for themselves. So you really lose a sense of yourself, while picking up their energy which continues to love you for you and start conflicting with that energy of love, thinking they love you for another alter ego or personality which you think isn't even the real you but its the gentleness they fall for, the one which you dismiss, disregard, and throw away ruthlessly. This is a necessary change they would like to see within you, and they personally would like you to see and cherish this part within yourself

Gosh what changes would you like to see within yourself now that you see the world within yourself collapse? How would you love you, not them, you, not them but you? Read that again. What is it that you want to do for yourself? Read that again to enjoy yourself, as many times as you like. You are not bad for having desires, if reading my post is getting you off, just do it. But make sure to direct that energy to yourself while appreciating how dang true this is to your energy and how much you love it for its experience. I'm just a writer, not a sexual energy harvester, so let me let you know that I'm so thankful and honored for this energy, thank you so much. But if this is getting you off, just say I love me to yourself. Don't direct all that energy towards me(your tarot reader). All right then, Blessings be. Goodbye

Channeled Song : Lauren Aquilina - King

My humble advice give an ear to this song

Pile 3

First of all you all are so good holding conversations. Next you are sensitive and can sense people's needs and take care of them, ( especially at night 😈), your person wants to come through so bad, their laugh or jokes could remind you of youtuber Tanmay Bhatt. Dolly Bindra coming through as well. I feel you guys are so fun and eclectic to be around. You guys are definitely people on the chubbier side. First things first, you guys are sooooooo good, like the way your energy was so straight forward and good to me for no reason. You are soo organized and well prepared, you help people stay organized and give them solid advice if anything else. You guys could be very intuitive, Thank you for interacting with my energy🙏, happy to help the way you do (intuitively)!

I'm already getting a miss perfectionist tendency from you, argumentative when things aren't written in succinct manner, Very mindful, Very demure, Very Virgo, Very Libra energy coming through. Like I do by cover by Jay Park coming through...

First of all they are happy with you, if that's one of your complaints and bigger doubts in this relationship (cause seems like some of you are currently in one, ) yes it is arguably one of the happiest relationships to them no matter how much you guys argue or go home without each other sometimes (not tryna gaslight you, but if someone abusive is leaving you all alone to fend for yourself this is not your reading, I am talking about two people giving each other space not ghost treatments,) , its always love in this relationship, however someone in this relationship maybe be busy and failing to return calls. {Okay that specifically wanted to come through for someone here}

Dang, chubby or not, you all are my big butt ladies and gentlemen, (the name Peter could be significant) they love it when you wear those pink color corsets or blouse, take it how it resonates, and let them grab you by your hair and let them keep their dicks down your throat choking you while you cry from it, while your sweet angel face makeup and mascara washes down your face. They love clicking your pictures in front of mirror while your butt and back faces the mirror and they are deep down your face. They love flashing you off. Biggest marry me signs are ("your tongue" is what I heard them say) your after care rituals, like you love your partners and give them this beautiful clean job, maybe you use very different yet useful techniques to get them off, and ("AAAAAAAAH", the sigh of relief) its so refreshing and amazing at the same time. Armpit jobs could be a thing. I'm getting a very youthful or lolita face but an energy of bold, mature and confident women. I'm also getting a lot of Magenta and different shades of pink. I'm getting Sigrid, a European singer who sang the song Mirror. Also give me someone with appearance of with Nana Osaki's with Nana Komatsu's vibe profile from anime NANA. You are so full of life!!. New Orleans could be significant.

Dreamy, dreamlike, your ways of eating them out and sucking them dirty makes them so horny even if its in their dreams, it makes them so hornyyyyyy. Like girl what are you doing to them? Its invasion of dreams, if there was a dream police, they could have got you handcuffed on their couch for this crime, and you know to do what to you again and again. COWGIRLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

Oh man girl you invade their thoughts keeeping them stuck in their workplace, not able to move from their chair cause they go blank or your thoughts distracts them maybe mid-meeting people catch them daydreaming about you, the day passes, work doesn't finishes cause they were still casually daydreaming about you. Girl you could have been or are there workplace employee and I heard that you keep their work hanging. They def want to take you backstairs and fuck your guts in the back room. "I think they call this love" is coming through, all they dream about is your eyes, all they long for is your touch.......

Sheesh girl and you are a keeper. You are worth it, you are their luck, their charm. I feel like people feel dominated by you without you even trying to dominate them, they want you to be their mommy, if you are a daddy they would want you to breed them just by the lick of that tongue. Its soooooo good. I'm also kind of getting that you are such a daddy material, people will want to marry just after having rounds with you, not realising you were just dating around. I feel like people are far more serious about marrying you than you would even give thought to.

Okay this specific pile has different message for both men and women, For men, your partners want you to dominate them, not only do you dominate them well, they think you are a golden opportunity to have sex with. They adore you, and value this cas(ex)ual friendship with love. You are such a giver to them. Maybe you guys have stack of sugar babies to choose from. Not objectifying your partners here, you just like to spend luxuries on them. "You are fetch" - mean girls

Man you are such a catch! They feel like you are onto marrying them just because you spend cash on them. Damn! you have such an affect on them, you treat them like no one has ever treated them before, Your lovers may have a tendency to dogpile over you, lets just say part of it is also because of the way you eat, its not just your money. You make your partners go crazy over you. Damn!!!!! And they don't even realize that that's just your dating style not you being serious enough to get married to them

For women, your partners melt over you, they feel like they are melting on your tongue, every bloody damn single time, you are so soft, so gentle, yet so motherly, people wanna give up their everything and melt in your softness. They love getting that mommy domination by you. You are worth everything their money, their favours, your partners want you to shower so much love on them, like they love it when you invest your time, energy and love on them. "Can you please keep giving them more?" Girl everybody is mental over you!

Now take that man energy as your masculine side and women energy as your feminine side cause I'm getting that you are invading dreams for people who would like to spend their money on you and you make the people who you spend your fortune on a fucking nutcase! like people think you are an invasion regardless. Some might feel so locked in your thoughts, they may feel like hiding from you, cause your thoughts drain their energyy or kinda keep them stuck everywhere in life. Its as if these people could blame you for invading their privacy, when all you did was look at them from an end of the street or a corner of the room. Sheeeshhhhh!!!!!

Listen whoever you guys are, give me some tips if you chose this pile.

Yikes, though you need to be careful, some people might get depressed and feel like they can't have any better in their life, and might get so sad of the rest of the options in front of them. Like you usher a huge change into people's lives, its as if they want to change themselves to be better and worthy of you or sometimes in some cases I feel like they don't see any end to this misery of being rejected by you, so some succumb to suicide? Dang! wtf, sheeesh!!!! That's a lot coming through.....

I had a girl in my hostel who was often plagued by the thoughts of causing someone's suicide just because her boyfriend rejected a girl and chose her, the girl ended up doing suicide, cause the guy rejected her. This could be the case for some of you, be careful out there, never blame yourself for someone deciding to do something wrong over their own incapability to handle the rejection. It was so scary, the situation scared the fuck out of anyone who heard of the start of their love story. I also had a cousin whose lover threatened to kill himself if she ever broke up with him. She was so scared of her own boyfriend. My god! be careful of crazyysss.

I heard, "You are the cure, You are the pain", dang pile 3, that's a scary level of jumpscare of a channeled words coming through from the trail of broken hearts that you have left behind. Honestly its somewhat scary.

Oh now I know why I took such a long break from you and your pile. Your type of pile is scarily beautiful. Idk if there are any other words to describe that. Like I was getting so much headache from the start of this pile. I think you get a headache from the affect you have on other people ! My oh my! I confess, I too once had a huge obsession with a guy, and man the way I was scared to death of being rejected and refused by him. Though I never explicitly told him of this obsession of mine, he got to know about it, and once he saw all that I had been hiding, I had to change to be a better person to give myself all that validation to myself his mere presence would do to me, cause my ego was so hurt, knowing someone as powerful as me could feel like she was on her knees just because of some random dude's stare (how much someone was giving to me without giving much effort to it.) Like all the breadcrumbs were more than enough for me, I secretly wanted more, but I never told him, he gave me more (let's just say he gave me good loving, but I wasn't comfortable with it cause I was in a state of lack myself), I got scared and ran away. Starved myself from him, his kindness and healing energy not realising it was all that minimum he gave me that got me obsessed with his kindness and then realised that it was something I had to give to myself. I was starving myself of my own love, cause I was so normalised to lack.

Dang!!!! Trust me I had to take a whole lot of years of adulting to get over him, and I still kinda struggle with his thoughts cause Iam still so out of touch with myself.

Trust me, people go through a transformation after meeting you. Maybe you guys are 8th house stelliums, I had a 8h synastry with this dude. I am the house person. I think you have had people who secretly want to be you, just because they don't see or value themselves, they end up seeing all their value in you or through emulating you. Also I am seeing that you guys can have a habit of uglifying yourself, cause when you have stalkers this strong, oh god, creepos can't leave unless you make them, but sorry that doesn't works, even if you try to be ugly, it doesn't work. People will always remain obsessed with you regardless. I'm sorry to be the bearer of the creep alert news, but you will have to accept it, I understand its a curse that comes with someone like you, but this is the reality. Some of these unhealed individuals will forever remain your creepy stalkers. Sorry.....

Lots of words like Paparazzi, zombie chasing meme, their rampant memories, Them making rampant and crazy rage run behind YOU , AAAAAAAAAAAH, RUUUUUUUNNNNN,

Another one of your affect is, people know and are aware of the truth you bring, they are aware that they need to heal, and that they lost you in a competition of lovers who were competing for your love. Its as if their minds know the truth yet they are in so much denial, its cause, they haven't started working on themselves yet, so once they start doing inner work to see themselves and provide themselves for what they really want, they will be able to detach their feelings for you, as they will be able to provide that blissful feeling for and to themselves on their own without your help. People who haven't come to this realisation might literally do give up anything for you, their home, parents, betray any rule, system, or government, kill for you type of themes coming through here. Dang!!!!

Also you are hella mysterious, like there can be some manipulative tendencies to you, like you are good at hiding your hands while playing the game, so you know exactly what is it that people are starving for from you in a relationship. So suppose you want something, you will stop giving morning kisses to your lover, till they bring you what you want. You leave them begging for more.....

Whew! Aren't you taking too much space! Sorry the pile below you is pretty shy when it comes to dirty talking, so they are tryna escape, and they are telling me to give you more info. Sorry pile 3, don't wanna bore you with so many paragraphs, gotta confront pile 4. Both of your piles are very mysterious yet deeply private about your sex lives, so some of you might have felt drawn towards pile 4. I'm also hearing that pile 4 don't want to confront themselves and their sexual energy so they fled to this pile to feel better about themselves. Sorry for taking so much space. Thank you for holding space for pile 4 and letting people hide under your dominant aura (Sun exalted, Sun Nakshatras, and Leo coming through) , but I am sorry, its time to confront pile 4, I mean get Pile 4 to FUCK or get FUCKED , so thank you so much pile 3, I'll be signing off your energy.

Thank you for you time Goodbye

Channeled song : Yung Kai - Blue and Mad Tsai - Boys Beware

Pile 4

Ok you guys are soooooo shy, damn! like don't you wanna date somebody. What is this relationship abstinence for? I am just saying don't overdo it, if its something you would like to change in future, otherwise you can stay in your comfort zone. I am also getting some of you have given up on love already cause life has been so disheartening. I think the affect that you have on people for now is your hardness towards them in love as a subjective matter. I am also getting some of you started off relationships as minors and were abused a lot during those years. Sorry if this happened to you. Being closed off to feeling vulnerable with others/ or going into a relationship might seem like a distant dream to you now. I am so sorry for this experience. Hope you are doing well

Megan Trainor's Dear future husband is coming through. People who have been entranced by you and got affected were like "Take me on a date, I deserve it babe, don't forget the flowers, every anniversary, cause if you treat me right, I'll be the perfect wife, buying groceries, buy-buying groceries". For women, I think people feel this pull towards you like you are the perfect wife once they get to know you better and wanna take you out on so many dates.

You know, I couldn't do this read for a while, like the only card I could pull was 7 of cups in reverse and then the energy just changed, like I felt this weird headache for no reason. Idk. But just as the reading says what your energy is like, 7 of cups in reverse is practical vibes. You are very practical when it comes to your sex life and dating. Nevertheless the practicality of dating scares you to the point and extreme you can't describe as you are afraid of letting people get to know the real you, as you have a fear that they will make you beg for them, their love and affection on your knees . I also heard scream, so there can be some masochistic affection patterns that you don't want to repeat. Be careful, take it how it resonates, but I think they could make you desperate and leave you screaming for more affection which is why you try to mask cause you guys are painfully shy and sensitive to people hurting you.

Also the fact that I had to mention which cards I pulled out which I never did in any of the other piles kind of tells me that you guys are fact based. Idk Kama Sutra, book text to bed vibes coming through. Like you guys could be the type to buy books on how to give blowjobs and apply them in real life, and the rest is history. I think you are very experimentative in bed, kinky and stuff, but always trying to do things and learn your partner and their preferences rather than learning your own, I'm also getting that you are fast learner as well. But idk, why but like I got this energy of assumptions, its as if you assume that the people you engage with are using you, rather than deeply entwining themselves into you. The star card and judgement came in reverse, so I can say that this is an energy not feeling deeply understood but more of a energy that assumes everyone around them is here to waste their time/ or just use sex and their body as a coping mechanism from the stresses of life. This type of assumption based thinking could be due to you trying harder to understand others to please than understanding yourself, leading to friction and conflict between you and your partner.

Though there's so much dedication in learning something new about sex/connecting with people even while trying out what you learnt in those books but it feels harder when applied to people in real life as you assume people nowadays don't like to stay to be known, seen or recognized for their vulnerability, and sex has become more of a way to seek validation or attention, so you may feel as if intimacy and depth of connection that is usually experienced by people during sex is lacking, so maybe the expectations of getting the same bookish hot, steamy, sexy romance are lost. Now I am not attempting to call your desires to be bookish , but it kinda feels like you were set up for disappointment, also this issue could also be due to you not wanting to change yourself to suit other people's need, not realizing that you actually feel more comfortable pretending to be someone else than letting people see the real you, so you kinda blame people for expecting you to change yourself when all they want is to change your habit of closing off yourself.

So you kinda assume that people don't really like the real you when you don't allow people to see you for who you really are but instead pretend to be someone else to get to know them better and then assume that they want to change the entirety of you when all they really want is for you to open up once they find out that you were pretending to be someone else in front of them the whole damn time. So when you finally find the one, who calls you out on your pretense and is still good towards you and wants to still fall in love with you, you drive them away for its hurts your ego to be seen, and their interest in you to fall into you feels scary to you despite knowing those feelings might be genuine, cause you are scared that once they get to know the real you, they might leave.

But also I want to call you out on this, with peace and love, Stop checking and fact basing everything about sex (also stop checking your phone so much ) and just enjoy sex the way it is. Its like you often and always question and base your sexual knowledge on hard facts, instead just go and do the act! Someone's age here could be 31 or they were born on the 31st.

Just fuck and go with the flow... why you breaking my flow and so resistant and frigid to change and confrontation (trust me that can be your partner coming through for some of you). Its like feeling your own emotions is such a big deal to yall. It sorta gets me real angry how you all want to refer the book for everything, even want me to refer to tarot card meanings, my god, just do the first thing that comes in your mind. Please stop being so overly rational.

Life doesn't always works that way. And I can already channel you pulling a "Seriously?" in disbelief because you are unaware and spirit literally wants to knock some sense into y'all or "Please don't scold me anymore" despite being aware of this and still choosing to ignore it and acting as if I am being irrational, but sometimes life doesn't makes sense and it doesn't have to make sense. You don't need to get rational, logical answers outta everything, stop being a pesky brat, seriously. I know and understand you are the types who don't want accept life just as it is cause you are scared of losing your passion and drive for life but daddy/mommy look, you can't just rebel without a strategy in your head, and accepting the situation doesn't mean allowing the environment to do whatever it pleases with us, it means understanding that the more you stay like the same person you were yesterday, life will keep feeling hard to you, life will keep hardening you so you ought to stop getting pissed at life being hard and calmly face it and plan a strategy to fix it. Now that's what healing and accepting life looks, it does not mean settle for less. It means making more despite what life not going your way.

You guys might be a Sugar Daddy/Mommy archetype. Some of you could be into fairies or ethereal stuff or dreamt of flying high in sky/ UFO's/ Aliens/ Extraterrestrial Life/future aeronautical/aerospace engineers, or just people trying to build levitating or floating cars using electromagnetic repulsion with built in magnets in cars or roads, or astronauts or engineers and data collectors of NASA, data miners all of these professions coming.

Yes Healing just means something as small as not getting pissed when your co worker messes up and calmly feeling the feeling of disappointment and moving on and making new plan by not giving into anger and frustration as that is a waste of time, and calmly getting work done saves time. I am also getting that you are a very time bound person (even in sex). I am also feeling like I am the one getting triggered despite handing out this advice, so I'm sorry. But this feels like genuine anger like IDK why you guys give me this chill pill slow motion vibes, this reminds me of my soul tribe. Like these are the same issues I go through at times....

Your eating style can feel inexperienced but also a bit forceful, its like sex doesn't flow in your life, it is structured, very air and earth sign energy as opposed to water sign energy coming through. Ok it seems like you or your partners could feel like they will have to force themselves onto you for you experience the pain, they love the noises, moans and sexy faces you make when you sit on them, they want to steal you like that. The moment I adjusted my energy to see you in your light, I was finally able to see how the cards meant to say you are complete within yourself, yet you feel so incomplete because of other people's words and feelings about the way they would like to release or express their feelings. Maybe because your previous partners were a bit of masochists and loved to give you pain, you kinda feel like you deserve it? which by the way includes unjust services ,ambushing someone against their will, abuse, beating and turning you into a coward incapable of being independent on your own. Which is messed up, stop being in this energy and practice safer rough sex with cool people not abusive idiots.

Like there are 2 things that are coming through, first its very symbolic how you all are pile 4, cause you embody this essence to leave people completely satisfied yet you feel so unworthy within yourself in your lower mindset state, you feel this constant need to be more refined in a sexual manner, (its like your perfectionist tendencies are killing the vibe of raw, wild and unrefined sex) that your own mindset of not being good enough is killing your own pleasure. I am also seeing this bullying energy of feeling shame in yourself. Please report these bully of yours, I hope you have already done that before engaging with my reads

You know what I am getting pile 4, you might have meandered around pile 3, but this energy is so different, like I also feel like you guys could have went as far as to exchange destinies or places with pile 1 or pile 3 to feel enough within yourself, cause these 2 piles were the only ones who weren't coaxed by me, pile 2 also had to learn somethings about themselves, but seems like you don't want to be the pile that wants to learn about their own sexual preferences or love options anymore, you have kind of accepted the abuse, this world has given to you, which is so sad. I'm really very sorry that you had to go through this. But there are better things in life, and maybe right now you are in a break, but there's always something better to look for. You just haven't seen it yet.

Its like you were in this energy of "I know I am doing it right" , didn't listen to your partner's suggestions, turned them off, they left you and then met someone abusive who at least didn't reject you but tore you to pieces and shattered you but because this abusive person stays with you, at least this loyalty (that's secretly boosting your ego) is what you now call LOVE. See that's what's blocking my energy right now. I am also getting you guys could be Filipina or from Fiji or Phillipines.

See even if you feel you are doing it right, I feel like you don't even know or understand what you are doing right, there's this lingering energy of getting assaulted as a child, I feel like you don't know or understand what you like or prefer in sex cause instead of trying to be satisfied, you are so full focused on trying to please others and seeking validation and overthinking that your smexual style leaves people unsatisfied because of which you go towards abusive people who groom you more into thinking like baby or a stunted adult so that you can give up the last of your autonomy to access your own sexual pleasure. Only because you don't want to accept the fact that you leave some people unsatisfied, your ego makes you go towards people who stunt your thinking capabilities, wow "Dumb ways to die" coming through. You thinking is a sign of life in humans, once you stop thinking, it means you are dead. So you kinda go to metaphorically go towards groomers and people who can groom and stunt your liberal thinking abilities to that of a 7 year old. See this is one of the bad patterns that people who go through child SA go through. And I am bold enough to state it as it is. Now whether this is your story or not, it is for you to decide. Be aware of your patterns.

I heard sexual pleasure granted by divine. I think you have a lot of problem accepting the kind of body and sexual pleasure the divine has granted you an access to, this might sound really cultish, but be careful on how you interpret my words

" Your sexual pleasure is the pleasure universe has given you indiscriminately so that you can access what it feels like to get high, it isn't bad to feel high at times (in fact its good) but overdoing it, letting other people control your highs and make you submissive by constantly invading your boundaries to control the way you reach that high is disgustingly evil" That's one of the reasons why infantilization of adults and any type of grooming, even if it is grooming of adults, its considered bad.

That's what I'm getting, your ego of seeking a loyal partner who wouldn't leave you makes you stay in abusive relationships, where people try to control your sexual pleasure and the way you feel it, you endure this abuse to keep such people around, cause you love them but you don't realize that they won't love you, they just do it to feel a sense of control over you, because you give them that feeling. Yet you do this and endured this abuse on your body to keep them around as it deeply hurts you to be cheated on or left behind or not being good enough for a certain someone.

So what I want to say is, if you allow people to use you constantly and not take autonomy of your sexual pleasure, you will never get the type of satisfaction you want nor will you ever satisfy the people you want to satisfy, cause all you are doing is just letting other people use your body and never really feel the intimate, sexual romance sex brings with it. You know what's 8th house in astrology? Its the house of transformation, death, sex, taboo, things you do in secret type of energy. You know why those porn videos on internet never suffice, cause they aren't the things one does in secret, its all for show (Rahu energy) just to look like a certain type of way, the real thing is passionate, intimate, sensual and so wholesome at the same time.

To put all these concepts in this house together means you gotta bring a change within yourself (transformation), or simply let your raw self out. Now there are many negative connotations to this house, but in all honesty, honey you gotta feel it. You gotta understand that in real sex, once you get all these dustys off of your life, partners see each other and love each other for who they are, you can't keep hiding forever.

Now I'm seeing these fake weird self help gurus, sexual help gurus, now I am not telling you to do exactly as I say, but if you are a part of cult that tells you that getting fucked/married by men is the greatest feeling ever, and a wife shall not or should not ask for more, even when she is dissatisfied with the foreplay and if the dude isn't even taking an ounce of an initiative to to help your sexual needs with toys, or calls your desires devilish or even names your kinks as shameless and sinister, then sis/bro you need to take autonomy of your sexual pleasures, and get out of this mindset, also this relationship assuming you have since you are engaging with my reads, no matter how much it boils your blood. I can channel you guys crying, please take your time with this read, if this is your pile. You know what is right for you.

I am getting that you are running from this message. But Liam Payne's song is coming through, you are the tide honey, these messages are the moon (intuition).

I also think the people you imagine as your prince charming or you once used to (cause I'm betting on the fact that you are out of this abusive relationship) , they are literally dumbasses who think all you wanna do is get forced upon on a daily basis, and these idiots who don't understand your rough desires are literally calling you a slut, sex hungry person on a daily basis, when they don't even understand your sexy. Its like eating dirt from the face of earth. What the hell sis? Stop fantasizing about them

Also I think you often leave the people who tend to understand you and your rough desires, cause you fear them having this affect and power on you but once you get acquainted with them, you will feel so satisfied, tasted, satiated by them and they will love the energy you bring into the room as well.

I am also getting this Aphrodite (Greek goddesses are coming though a lot, you might have an altar for Greek Gods). I feel like you have this insatiable energy to you, like people are never satisfied with you, either they want none or they want more and more of you. Anahita the Zoroastrian goddess of fertility, also coming through here. The story of Emperor Augustus freeing Vedius Pollio's slave and abolishing slavery coming through here. Wow but you guys could be into studying history or law as well. The story of Augustus gives me this sense of freedom that you haven't felt in a long time as it was bottom necked and gradually closed off after long and long years of abuse and grooming and indoctrination of ideas that weren't truly yours. I am getting a Trident, which reminds me of Hindu God Shiva and Greek God Poseidon which in my opinion refers to breaking off this sheltered state that was suppressing your inner anger and needs. I am also getting so much water energy with Aphrodite, Anahita, Poseidon and Shiva, I feel like this refers to you, finally allowing yourself to flow and breaking of the barriers that were crossing your personal boundaries. Its as if you are finally becoming one with this eternal state of flow which Universe follows and letting your tenderness show and flow....

Currently some of the affects you have on people who don't like you as much is that you kinda encourage them to force themselves on you, and they think them slut-shaming, embarrassing and emasculating you off of your confidence is dimming your shine and turning you into a better "women". Disgusting, literally disgusting if anything else. They would want you to kneel yourself infront of them and everything that they like. For example they like superman, then you too should like superman too and never complain about that red underwear worn outside a full-set of covered clothes as being cringe even if you think that way. These abrasive people just wanna leave you unsatiated wanting for more, knowing damn well they cannot possibly satisfy you while they try to love bomb you and breadcrumb you in pieces to keep you in their shackles.

While the people who understand you can't seem to get enough of you, they love to make you scream and reach you ecstacy with their own hands cause they love you like that. They wanna rough fuck you like there's no tomorrow, they love making love with you. Also eating your ass or getting eaten by you. I heard they haven't had it in a while and they miss you and want you do that. Maybe you guys are good at eating A$$. Like damn, some of you could be LGTQIA+, take it how it resonates.

Girl, something about your energy tells me we are friends, even if I call you a dumb hoe. You do have this girlboss energy to you.

And the affect people have on you can be so diverse, I am specifically picking up Jungkook from BTS and Jinu from Kpop demon hunters. I am literally seeing people divorcing because of you and that affecting you guys as well. This is kind of a scary energy, but I am picking up Jinu allowing demonic forces to feed off of people which is morally very wrong. So something about your life being disrupted by a big person with name, fame and power could be significant. Just one day by BTS coming through significantly, specifically "Just one day I want to hold your hands, just one day I want to be with you"

Like they could feel like its illegal or even wrong to touch you, hold you, they could plead you to please let them go for another round. But it feels wrong for their colleagues or other employees to know about. I just feel like you make them happy. Bruv I ain't gonna lie, this feels like straight up, workplace abuse (ok but I am also getting someone you had a solo with/masturbation session maybe is missing you and is also currently in a office, and maybe they are the one getting abused in office, idk which one of you is getting abused though, I am sorry if you or any one of your partners are going through that.

All of their collaborations are stuck in one place because of you and your sensual affect. Like they are forcing themselves to concentrate on work to forget all about you. Like their only source of joy is their own work now and their individual work only. They are not asking for help or taking one even if they need any. I feel like this person feels more motivated to abuse people since meeting you and forcing themselves over you or getting forced by people (basically rough sex). I don't know if they have acted on this feeling, but I think you are stuck in a company of very closed minded people who don't understand rough or bdsm typa sex and relate their animalistic desires to r wording or getting r worded by people. Ok what the fuck? Get out of here sweetie pie. I am also getting that this is someone who wants voyeurism and public sex, they don't understand the frequency of having private sex with you. OMG, Idk who this Mogambo is, leave him. Something about Equator or Ecuador.

I am seeing that they feel very determined to move in their life, but due to karma hitting this person back, all of of their investments are going in drain.

I think positively (affect you have on people on good people specifically) you have quite the dreamy affect on people, maybe you are really good at wooing them. I am also seeing you have bad habit of misunderstanding your own skills, talents and acknowledgements. People might feel as if you kinda tease people a lot, especially in public. Idk why I am channeling that Kris wu and some dudes from burning sun scandal. I feel like maybe sometimes people feel like you aren't worth it and might compare your behavior to those of uglies, only to realize you were an abundant sugar daddy or sugar mommy archetype, devil in reverse here, people may feel trapped in your fantasies doesn't mean you have done something wrong here. Maybe the previous person we channeled did fake accusations against you. "You reap what you sow" maybe that's how you answer people and they don't like it. I am also getting you have a similar affect on people who love you where they become attached to you and hide their true feelings and insecurities in front of you. They believe they need to look their best, or the perfect for you. I think you are idealized as this dreamy person a lot. Like if you decide to take them on a date they will decide to be the perfect partner for you.

I think your sex appeal wins over people's subconscious and dominates their fantasies whether you like it or not, they kind of love portraying you as this cold hearted Vincenzo typa mafia and traitor and would love to win you over regardless of how bad they think you are, and here you are dying and crying in insecurities before all this glow-up. They could imagine you basking in sunshine soaking up all that sun. Like they see all that sun illuminating within you. Cause there is an edge to you and people literally creampie over that. And you silly you are still trying to let people use you up thinking that as good sexual experience, when people want you to dominate them. damn!!! you gotta straighten up pile 4. People will love you the way you are, I am getting jump over you, they will literally be over the moon to have a person like you, I am chanelling Megan Fox, Beyonce and Ariana Grande in your energy, like we literally channeled Jungkook in this pile, what I don't understand is why are you so unsatisfied with yourself?????? You just gotta let loose, stop being so frigid. I am literally getting that women could start ovulating over you (some of you could be girls who could make other girls go crazy). Now god knows what sorta domination fantasy you got onto them with your face. But really stop being slaves of other people's opinions of you. You guys can have scorpio ascendant or pluto in your first house. There's a theme of being a sex icon or eye candy and objectification, since I do not want to channel those unhealthy energies nor make you feel unseen for chanelling your persona not the inner you. Iam sorry if this pile didn't have that many sexual messages, instead a whole damn lecture right there. Don't let other people abuse you and use you to finally feel like everybody loves you, no, your beauty lies in you not allowing people to take unfair advantage of your insecurities and growing tf out of them. This type of dip in self confidence could also be due to some fake allegations against you in the past.

"Show me how it gets better" - its an affirmation, how does it get better by you being you and yourself, show this world how it gets better by the way of you being who you really are. - Sah D' Simone

You are more than enough. You don't need to tolerate all that abuse on a daily basis to feel if you are beautiful enough to be loved and not left behind. Also I feel like you are tired of being jealous of others for getting better treatment than you and being bitter of yourself, but this is isn't a solution right? You got to stop misinterpreting, and create misunderstandings.

Like people literally love getting slutted up by you. They would want you to ask them out on a date. They might want to slut their lives up for you sometimes in public. You can spice up their lives. I am getting Demeter the Greek Goddess of agriculture and harvest. I feel like you guys could have many earth sign placements. Your touch is very sensual it feels like Midas hands to them. I am getting a very hands on vibe from you, even with Engineer coming through before, I am getting like a sexy mechanic vibe through you guys. "Your hand is very sensual" I heard. I heard Kingly star or royalty so Magha nakshatra could be significant. Th disney movie Encanto coming through. Just like Bruno who was wrongfully ostracized, I think its obvious that despite being the right person in the room and getting persecuted, people recognize this rebel streak within you and want to tame this baddie.

Takedown by Twice, a soundtrack of K-pop demon hunters, is a song where the main character Rumi contemplates if the song is ready to be sung, as the demons aren't bad but were turned evil by Gwi-ma. So she knows its not all in their hands. So she wants to create a more empathizing version which everyone enjoys but in secret. Are you hideous on the inside or do you not understand yourself? Cause Twice choosing to sing the original version even in the credits without any modifications seems so symbolic to me, its as if no matter what they do, they will have to surrender to their company's whims and hide their own scars in real life, no matter the happy ending of K-pop demon hunters. I feel like you guys are given a choice by a Gwi ma of your own if its really necessary to hide these scars or embrace them? Is fulfilling these materialistic desires really going to make you happy?.

Channeled song : Burning Bridges by Sigrid, Takedown by Twice

I humbly advice to kindly give it an ear.

[secretaccountlol]

TRIGGER : DUBCON— SMUT ! This is Mohawk mark.. he’s not a super nice guy lol.

This is my first ever dubcon so I’m like super nervous about it lmao

Cw: AFAB reader. I mention the reader wears panties n a bra and he does cup your breast (describing as fitting in his hand but no description of size)

Kinks are ; fingering, biting, degrading (whore, slut and things of that nature) praise.

Summary: You’re a supervillain Mohawk mark… takes an interest in… :0!

This literally came to me in a fucking DREAM yall (yes apparently i dream fanfic now!) so if the plot is bonkers.. don’t blame me — er well.. blame my brain which is still blaming me okay whatever enjoy

Guys.. I’m so nervous to post this idk why..

Your powers are undefined ; but you are strong enough to *hurt* mark. 

If you like this I’ll post the second part. So repost and leave a comment letting me know what you think! I read everything sent to me :)

Your mom is a supervillain.

You found out when you were younger. On accident.

Of course, you first assumed she was a hero—what with her fancy get up—but, then, you saw the news. And surprisingly quickly, you realized that this wasn’t the case.

At least, she did it for a cause, though she did occasionally swipe a few shiny artifacts for herself. If the British museum could steal precious artifacts and be praised for it, why couldn’t she?

Despite this, didn’t change your family dynamic.

Your mom was still a kind woman who instilled within you a sense of justice, taught you the value of family, to be kind to others. Your mother was saint in your eyes, even if she could be… impish to others.

So, imagine your surprise when she comes crashing into through the back door of your house, bloodied and bruised. Suffice to say you aren’t very fucking impressed.

“Oh my god mom! Are you okay?? What the hell happened?!”

Your legs move faster than she can react, you haul her up with one arm walking her to the couch.

“Language, baby. And I’m fine. It’s just a flesh wound.”

“No! Fuck that—sorry.. but mom, this isn’t a flesh wound, who did this to you?! Tell me!”

Your hands shake her slightly, as her eyes trail from yours. This is the part she never lets you see.

“Mom. Please?”

“I’m going to get the first aid kit.”

Your mom slowly lifts before you push her back down.

“No. I got it. After I patch you up, I’m goin’ to find that bastard and put him in the ground.”

Your mom groans as she bites your name from her lips, “No! This is exactly why I don’t let you see me like this, I don’t want you to follow in my footsteps. You’re a good kid.. you don’t need a record. To always have to look over your shoulder. It’s not like it’s the first time I’ve been beat, darling.”

“Mom. Following in your footsteps would an honor.”

Your mother sighs, her mouth opening to speak you hold your hand up to stop her.

“But, I understand you don’t want me to and I respect that. But mom, there’s no reason for them to .. to beat you halfway unconscious like this! It’s not like you’re killing anybody.”

Your mother scoffs, “Baby, I don’t even have a bruised rib, if anything that new hero took pity on me.”

“New hero..?”

Your heels dig into the floor as you turn toward your mother, med-kit gripped in your hands.

There’s only one new hero you knew. Same one caused destruction on a daily basis, if you didn’t know he was a superhero, you would have probably assumed he was a villain too.

Now that your mom’s getting older, she’s not as fast as she used to be. You find yourself helping her out more than she cares to admit, which meant even more close encounters with that fuckface.

You try to keep your peace, but it slips away from you the second you see her bleeding, holding a towel to the new gash on her scalp.

“That fuc-freakin’ dick head in— in ..invin— god what is his dumb ass name?!”

“Invincible, darling.”

“Yeah, him! He did this to you mom?”

Your mom is quiet again, staring through the window.

“Mom. So help me god.. if that’s who hurt you—“

Your mom’s head quickly whips away from the window, her body tensing before relaxing.

“Baby.. it’s fine, I’m fine, let’s not worry about it. Come on, just patch me up—“

Anyone else wouldn’t have caught it, but you know your mom.

You bolt to the window before she let out a sound of disapproval.

That blue fucker hovered around your neighborhood, scanning the multicolored rooftops, most likely looking for your mother. Your eyebrows furrow.

Not the first time you’ve seen him, fought him.

Your mind zips back a memory of your mom on the news, running like prey from him and his merry little band of freaks. Your fist became fury as you tore through those streets, you couldn’t get a good hit on him though, didn’t matter at the time, you were only there to make sure your mom escaped, she did so you left.

Words were exchanged— hot and heavy and that was just the first time you fought him.

But this is different. This is your home, an advantage, no masks or multi-colored friends to help him.

“Don’t do anything stupid. We shouldn’t alert them of our home base!” Your mothers words hissed from her mouth, but your ears were brick walls.

The house shudders as you speed out the door, your shoes leave skid marks on the pavement as your head whips around before locking your eyes on him.

“Hey! You fucking corpo shill!”

Invincible’s head ticks as he searches for your voice.

“Over here, dumbass! Shouldn’t you be less of a directionally-challenged asshole from that high?”

Your grin splits your face as he spots you,

“Damn, who pissed in your cereal?”

“Same person who gave you that fuck ass haircut.”

His smirk made your blood rise as he hovered just above you.

“I actually quite like my Mohawk, makes me look sexy, don’t you think?”

His fingers tangle through his hair, brushing it slightly out of his face. You can admit, he’s… Hot.

At least, good looking, his skintight suit accentuates his curves and abs.

“Really? Do you also think it’s sexy to beat up old women too?” Your fist tightened, your stand widened.

A breath gets caught in throat as a chuckle slips out, “Hmm, I don’t remember beating up any old women,” his finger taps his bottom lip.

“Buttt, I do remember chasing an old hag through the streets, why? You know her?”

“Old… hag?”

“Ooo, I take it you do, huh?” His head tilts, as your eyes twitch.

Your name falling from your mom's voice causes both you and Invincible heads to snap to her.

You watch as Invincible’s tongue swipes over his lips, “Oh, there you are, been lookin for ya—“

His body shifts towards your mom, his eyes no longer focused on you, good. More words rush out from his mouth towards your mother, you can’t make them out though, the blood from your adrenaline pumps sucks the air quiet around you.

Your fist whirls back, as your body slugs its weight into the punch.

Your soft skin collides with the hard jaw of Invincible, a mini sonic boom blasts the dust away from both of you as your eyes lock with his, and he stumblea backwards as his neck tweaks.

“That.. actually hurt..?”

You don’t wait for him to catch his breathe, another strike to the gut then an uppercut.

No words, just movement.

Compared to him, you know you're not evenly matched, but if you just keep moving..

Keep moving.

His hands catch yours, fingers clench in a crushing grip. “Whoa, I wasn’t expecting that. You— you got few punches in there!”

You tug your arm as you try to gain distance,

“Tsk, nah can’t get away—“

Shit..! Think— think!

You dash into him, closing distance fast as your head reels back.

CRACK!

Your skull connects with his nose, blood sprouts his nose as you rip your wrist away.

“Mom! The garage door.. Open it! We can—“

Your body slides up the driveway as the force of Invincible’s punch whips you back. His arms wrestle you down you, pinning your body onto the concrete.

“Nuh-uh, none of that working together bullshit!”

“Fuck you!” Your body writhes underneath him,

“Ooh yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t ya?”

Heat blooms in your lower half, as his half-lidded eyes rake over you.

“You‘re fuckin’ disgusting!”

“Yeah baby, but what are you?” His hands slide up your neck, tracing over your trachea before his fingers grip in an unwavering hold, your head stretches back as you try to gain more air, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth. Your hands desperately try to scratch at his face, and his fist raisea.

“I ain’t into hittin’ innocent people but you don’t too innocent to me to right now, heh.”

“Invincible!”

His head tips up as yours tilts back, your mother.

And your savior, your P-f High power gun gripped in her hands, red beam instantly knocks him backwards.

“Fuck! My eye!”

You scramble to your feet running towards your mother, you don’t get far, your enemy is already tackling you to floor of your garage.

“Goddamn, you're slippery!”

“Yeah, you’re a fuckin’ idiot!”

“Mm, an idiot that’s got you pinned”

“Really? Because to me looks like you’re the one who's pinned.”

A laugh bubbles out from you as watch him scan the room.

Your garage was your solace, your place to work—also conveniently your weapon’s locker, your automatic weapons beams train on his back.

Your head tilts, “What now, Invincible..? You move, this whole place lights up.”

“Think I’m afraid of some fuckin’ guns?”

“Mm, no, but these babies are pretty high powered, wouldn’t want my neighbors to get shish kebabs by a stray laser, now, wouldn’t ya?”

“Darling, don’t be rash, we don’t— we don’t need to hurt anyone else.”

Your mom's voice is ice to a searing wound.

His palms squeeze the curve of your wrist, “Yeah, darling. We don’t need to hurt anyone else.”

“Mom, close the garage door, now.”

Your eyes don’t leave his, they can’t.

They fester in you, piercing darkness that you both mirror.

“Howdy neighbors! What’s goin’ on here?”

Both you and Invincible break eye contact. His head turns to look behind him, his grip loosening allowing you to sit up, his hands still rest on your wrist though.

It’s your neighbor, Holly.

You all blink, your mother is the first to speak, briskly walking past you both.

“Oh hi, Holly! How are you?”

“I’m just doin just fine, just wondering what all the commotion was about, ‘n I wanted to make sure y’all were okay!”

Holly’s hands clasp together, as she begins side stepping your mother to let herself inside.

“Oh! Uh, we’re just fine. Ms. Holly.” You try to raise a hand to wave at her but his hand won’t budge causing you to scowl, mouthing ‘let me go!’

“And who might this be? I ain’t seen you around here before!” Holly grinned, you’re not sure if you’re relieved or pissed, such a nosey neighbor.

“Oh..! Him? He’s.. uh just.-“

“Boyfriend.”

“Wha—“

His knee inches against your crotch, a muffled gasp slips through his fingers as his hand covers your mouth, mustering a disarming smile.

“Sorry, she gets so embarrassed when I actually say it. “

Your tongue slithered against his palm, his eyes wince with disgust but his smile remains constant. His knees push deep into your crotch, a shudder rings through your body.

“I — uh.. we were wrestling.. that’s the noise you heard earlier.”

“Oooh” Holly eyes light up, “Hmm, what’s with that get up? If I didn’t know any better looks like you're wearing that, what’s his name? Invin….”

Invincible’s eyebrows twitch; you take the opportunity to bite his fingers making him yank away.

“Yeah, you mean Invincible! He’s a big fan boy, aren’t you?”

His eyes shoot darts at you, his smile disappears as he faces you.

Your mother pipes up, “We— uh, just got back from the comic con in town! So, he was dressed up! And that’s why I’m so beat up looking, yup!”

“Aww, you two are a bunch of nerds, huh? How cute!”

“Yup.” You let out a high-pitched laugh, “Hey, sweetheart. Help me up, would ya?”

His teeth graze his lips as his mouth twitches into a quick frown, “Sure can, baby.”

He damn near yanks your arm out of its socket as he pulls you to your feet, you trip over your own body, but Invincible steadies you, his hands gripping your waist as you find your balance.

His lips grace your ears in a seemingly loving gesture to your neighbor.

“If you think I’m goin’ to let you leave my grasp after the shit you pulled?”

His fingers squish into supple skin, strained air hisses through your throat,

He pulls back to gaze upon you, lips slightly apart, your heart fluttering in unnatural rhythm.

A snort fills the air as you feel heat rise to your cheeks under his watchful eyes. What are mere seconds feels like hours before he turns to face Holly once more.

“My name is Mark, Miss Holly. Pleasure to meet you.” His hand stretches out to her as the other rest comfortably on your waist, tucking you practically under his arms.

Holly grasps it before he bends down to kiss it, winking at her.

Fucking bastard.

“Ooh, you sure know how to pick em’, neighbor! I like this one.” Holly’s giggle makes bile rise from your throat but you chew it down.

“Ha, yup sure do..” You pat his chest, grinning at Holly.

“So, Holly..” Your mom’s voice snaps Holly out of that cutesie reverie, “We’re about to go inside so—“

“Oh! Yes, that’s what I also wanted to say! Remember, the neighborhood get-together is starting soon, so I wanted to give your complementary picnic blankets!”

Holly skips over to your mom, pulling two fluffy blankets from her purse before plopping them in her hands.

“Oh, um! Holly I’m.. well since inv— Mark! Is here I’m not sure we’ll be able to come..!”

“Aww well, I’m sure he’d wanna join, it’s fun for the whole family! Right, Mark?”

You clear your throat before attempting to speak,

“Well, H—“

His hand squeezes your hips, wince of pain oozes down your spine, making your knees almost buckle. You lean on Mark for support; he welcomes your weakness.

“Yeah! I’d love to go, but I definitely need to change out of … this costume, heh. Come on baby.. let’s... refreshen up inside, hm?”

Your eyes muster as much displeasure as they can as ushers you to the garage door.

“Wait!”

Your mom's panicked shrill spooks Holly, as she looks between you to her,

“Don’t worry, we won’t be too long. Right?”

Mark’s unnerving smile irks your mother.

“Yeah, it’ll be quick, mom. Promise..”

Your words heave out of you, your lips uptick into smile, trying to ease your mom's anxiety as Mark drags you into the hallway.

Mark flips you against the wall, pinning you by your waist, as he towers.

“You know I was jokin’ when I said you wanted to fuck me. Didn’t think it was true.”

“Fuck you!”

“Mmm, really wishing it into existence, huh, darling?”

“Fuck yo— you don’t get to call me that!”

“Aww, but your mommy does? Why can’t I? Hm?”

You throw a right hook, which is easily caught and pinned next to your head. “It’s crazy how making you horny just makes you sooo weak.”

Your ears burn with shame, “What— what the hell are you on about, dude?!”

His knee rest just under your crotch again, bumping ever so slightly.

“Your mom’s still out there, as that— what’s ..that bitch’s name again? Holly? Havin’ to listen to Holly’s incessant yapping worried about her child being beaten to a pulp. But really, you’re in here about to get your back blown out. Isn’t that funny?”

His knee grinds into you, light pressure, enough to spark a little pleasure, not enough to get off.

Your hand free hand shoots to his shoulder to push him away. But that’s not what happens, your nails dig into his shoulder as you grind back into his knee, chasing more simulation.

Your mouth twitches as you reach his eyes, fury meets with lust.

“Shit, look at you.. all wound up like this? Are you always this sensitive?”

His words growl against your neck as his teeth nip against your skin.

“Shut up.”

“Don’t wanna.”

His tongue leaves a long stride of saliva up your throat before sucking and your hips stutter as the hickey forms.

“Ah! Not there, you asshole!”

“Shut up, you’re not the one in control right now.”

Strings of saliva fall against your hot skin as he admires his handiwork, his fingertips brush against the blooming bruise, a low involuntary rumble levels out of you as you track his movements.

“So fuckin’ hot. Open your legs f’me.”

Your head twist away from him, the chagrin of it all has you gulping for words.

“Come on, be a good slut for me.”

Eons pass as your legs inch open, your eyes can’t meet his anymore, all that rage replaced with guilt, with desire.

“Look at that. Is that a wet spot in your pants already?”

“I— ..I don’t”

“You don’t, you don’t what?” Mark mocks you, his fingers fiddle with your waist band.

“G-god! Just get on with it.”

“I don’t like your tone.”

“Wh-..what are you, the tone police? Just.. fuck, just fuck me already. If you’re gonna do it, do it!”

“Beg.”

“I—... I am not begging!”

“Damn, I guess I should go ahead and call for backup.”

Your eyes widen as you neck snaps back to trace his features.

“What?”

“I mean, I know where you live now, and your mom? She’s gotten away with a lot of shit over the years. She’s like you, slippery. Imagine the praise I’ll get for catching her, imagine the years she’ll get for all the stolen merch.”

Your eyes search his for doubt, none found.

“Please..” Your eyes cast downwards.

“Hm?” You hear his grin forming.

“Please..fu..”

“Come on, you’ve been sayin’ it to me all day. You can do it.”

“Ple— please fuck me..”

His growl of approval has your body shivering as his hand shoves down your waistband.

Your body jolts, his fingers slither to your clit.

“Invincible!” Your hands settle on his shoulders again your head struggles to stay upright.

“Mark.”

“H—huh?”

“Name’s Mark, scream that instead of invincible.”

“I’m not callin’ you a fake ass name, Invinc—..!”

“Good, cause it’s not fake.”

“Wait. You really told Holly, your real name? How fucking stupid are you!”

A sharp gasp keeps you from hurling more insults as his fingers pinch your clit.

“Sure fuckin’ did, don’t worry bout forgettin’ it either, You’ll be screamin’ it in a minute.”

His fingers don’t ease you in, they’re coarse as he rubs harsh circles against your aching pearl, a whimper continually rips through your throat as Mark peppers it with bites and slobber.

His other hand roams your body, shifting itself under your top and into your bra, the swell of your breast fits perfectly in his hand as he pinches your nipples, and a burst of moans tremble through your mouth as he tweaks your pebbled buds.

“Yeah, let me hear those slutty moans.”

“Invincibl—“

The stinging pain of Mark’s teeth sinking into your shoulder makes your hips buck against him as you whine. Your nails dig into his skin, trying to mirror the pain he’s inflicting.

“It’s Mark.”

“Fuc—fuck you...”

His chest crush against yours, your arms weakly try to push away as his hand snatches your chin down to look at him.

“Open.”

You squint, a silent challenge. His fingers press harder against your clit, you bite your lip as a moan threaten to pry your lips open.

“Stubborn, huh? Fine.” His voice was flat, unimpressed with your sudden reigniting confidence.

Mark’s fingers travel down your lips, spreading the growing slick down to the opening of your cunt.

The feeling leaves goosebumps crawling underneath your skin.

A horrifying, sinking sensation that leaves you shuddering in breaths.

His eyes bore into you,. Watching. Observing every twitch of your lips, your panicked inhales. His fingers trace circles around your entrance before ramming two fingers into your hole.

Your head whacks the wall; a crack forms under the divot you’ve made against it. Your mouth stretched as you pound your fist against his chest. Your back arches as his fingers stretch open your cunt, “Invic—Mark!”

He seizes the chance; his lips hold yours captive as his tongue shoves down your throat, drool drips down your chin as your pink muscle weakly fights back.

Your vision grows spotty as the air from your lung wheezes out of you. Your hands squeeze his shoulders as muffled whimpers are swallowed whole by him.

Your silent plea of mercy are heard as the audible pop of your lips separating fills the room.

Your eyelashes flutter, your pupils dilate stare at him, as your rhythmic pant flows out of your swollen lips.

“Fuck. Look atcha. I’ve barely done anything, and you’re in shambles.”

“You’re fuckin cra—ah..!”

His fingers curl in your sweet spot, “Hm? What was that?”

“Mar..mark!”

“Yeah. That’s better.”

Your pants are ruined, more of your slick trickles down as his fingers pump, there's an undeniable, wet shlick your pussy makes as his digits are plugged into you over and over.

Your knees buckle as you slump back, mumbling his name like a mantra, as he continues to bully your aching hole,

“Mark! Mark— pleas..ah!”

“Please what? Is this all it takes? One fingerbang and you’re ready to surrender? Fuckin’ weak.”

A pathetic whimper sobs shakes through your body as he shoves you harder into the wall, his fingers gaining a new angle, sinking deeper into your cunt.

“Be a good fuckin’ whore and cum for me, seems to me that’s the only thing you’re good for.”

Your hand raises; your nails scrape his cheek as you slap him.

“ ‘m I’m not— mhn! Not weak!”

A low chuckle rumbles through his chest, his thumb finds your clit again, rotating those rough waves of pleasure.

“Sh—I can’t!”

“Thhhattt‘s it, on cum on these fuckin’ fingers,”

You feel euphoric as that delicious hot pressure bubbles from your core, your eyes roll into your skull as his psychotic laugh echoes through your mind and a rapturous wave of pleasure is replaced with overwhelming dread as he doesn’t stop.

Your hips jerk involuntarily as his fingers drills you through your high.

“Mhm! Maarrk! Plea—! Sto..ah!”

“Come on, give me ‘nother”

“Nooo..!” Your fingers grip his wrist, as your head shakes furiously.

“You can take it, you’re not weak remember?”

“ ‘m not!”

“Good. Take it then.”

The squelch of your cunt is all you can hear as Mark’s lips captures yours, as your body tenses, your head attempts to pull away from his.

His free arm grasps the back of your neck your lips smash together, stealing your breath.

Your legs give out as your second orgasm hits you like a truck.

A Mark-shaped truck.

“That’s it, fall apart.”

Mark’s fingers stretch your cunt out with one last stroke, your hole twitches around nothing as he pulls away.

“All fucked out now, hm?”

A soft growl rumbles from you,

“Nothing to say?”

His tongue glides up his arm, encircling his fingertips as your juices mixed with his saliva as you watch him deep throat his fingers.

“Gross.”

Your arms wobble as you use the wall to inch yourself up. Your feet trip as you try to make your way into your room.

Mark snatches you up before your ass hits the floor.

“Fallin’ for me already?”

“Oh my god, fuck off!”

“Didn’t your mommy teach you manners?”

The garage door whips open as your mom screams your name.

“Speak of the devil.” Marks brows raise,

“Could I get some clothes, lady? Can’t show to the neighborhood bash in my ‘wrestling gear’.”

“You—“

“It’s okay, Mom. I’m fine, you should go get the clothes. Maybe we still have some of dad’s old clothes?”

Your mother’s face lights up in anger.

“I am not giving him your fath—“

“Please.. mom?”’

“Baby, bu—“

Mark’s costume wrinkles as you grip the material, his hands mirror yours, hands stroking your waist, unwavering smile.

“It’s okay, I’m okay. He— he won’t hurt me.”

A silent signal of trust.

Your mom obeys, brushing past you both, a glance over her shoulder before vanishing into the hallway.

Your eyes settle upon him again, scowl plays on your features as a smirk played across his.

“Why are you still here? To torture us?”

He tuts, “Why so morbid? I just wanna be your pretend boyfriend for a bit, babes. Have a little fun, won’t you?”

“No.”

“Too bad.”

His eyes lower, flicking between to your lips then back to your eyes, your breath holds as his thumb brushes your bottom lip.

“Here.”

You both jump as your mother’s voice sliced through tension.

Your mom’s arms outstretched, your dad's clothes neatly folded in her hands.

“Bathroom is down the hall, door to the left, get cleaned up there.”

Mark turns on his heels, his hand hovers over the clothes, grin playing on his lips as he leaned,

“Thank you, mom.”

His head turns to you in an owlish manner, “I’ll back back, babe.”

You stand next to your mom as you watch him skip down the hallway, the creak of door shutting sends rush of release.

Your mother’s arms wrap around you hastily,

“Are you okay, baby? Her hands stroke your cheek, moving your head, stretching your neck.

“Oh, these bruises..! Did he—?”

Your face feels hot as your mother runs her fingers over your hickies, you usher her hands away, cover your neck as you avoid her gaze.

“It’s fine, mom! We uh.. talked things through. Af—after a bit…”

Your mother’s eyes trace the new crack forming in the wall.

“I see..”

Her eyes snap back to you, “Did he say what he wanted?”

“Just wants to go the block party with me? He said if I don’t .. do what he wants he’ll rat us out.”

“Shit.”

Your brows fly up, hearing your mother cuss, is unprecedented, your hand rubs her chin as she exhales.

“Okay. Plan, we do what we he wants to today, then we get the hell out of dodge and move base again.”

You bit your lip,

“Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

“I just don’t know what he wants. Why he’s toying with us..”

Your mom tilts her head back, her eyes close.

“My guess..He wants to be entertained.”

“What’s a man gotta to do get some food? Maybe we should head to the block party early, babes.”

Your father’s clothes fit him surprisingly well. He almost looked.. like a regular well adjusted human.

Piercings now adorned his face as well.

A brow piercing, double looped ear piercing, and snake bites.

“You have piercings?” Your face quirks to the side as you scan his face.

“Yeah, take em out when I’m doing patrols, why you like?”

His grin makes your temperature rise.

“Shut up.”

…

Part 2

[antithetical-bolter]

Out Of The Woods

Chapter 1

Shoutout to @antisocialfiore for helping me with the title!! This is my first fic I’ve posted to tumblr so any tips on how to keep chapters organized and whatnot would be lovely. Hang in there while I figure it out lmao. Chapter 2 is written and will be posted shortly <3

5.0k words | Seasoned ER nurse Iris McDowell finds herself pregnant after a one night stand with Robby, who is predictably handling things very poorly.

Warnings: unplanned pregnancy, discussion of abortions, excessive use of the word fuck, commas, and em dashes.

Tag list: @antisocialfiore @snowflames-world @eviemonroeer

Page dividers by: @cafekitsune

Next

Iris

Well, shit.

That is most definitely two pink lines.

On three different tests. Iris Elizabeth McDowell, you fucking idiot.

Just my fucking luck, that getting tipsy and fucking the very hot and very emotionally unavailable attending would result in a god damn pregnancy. I’d been blissfully ignorant the last 3 weeks - my periods have never been all that regular but as soon as the nausea and the sore boobs hit I knew it was time to face the music. And sure enough, the music was telling me that I was pregnant. With Michael Robinavitch’s baby.

Robby, who has barely made eye contact with me past what was required for patient care since it happened. Robby, who let it slip at the bar that he had been interested in me for months now. Robby, who I was unfortunately in love with. Had been for an embarrassingly long time now - so him up and leaving the morning after the best sex of my life triggered a full blown crisis. Almost a decade of pining, all for one (admittedly spectacular) night. The whole debacle had me briefly considering finding a new ER to work at, but I decided I wouldn’t let a man dictate my life. Even if it was that man.

Do I want to keep it? I think so? Should I want to keep it? Probably not.

It’s not like I’m some young new grad nurse who doesn’t have a career. I’ve been an ER nurse for more than ten years now, working at the Pitt for all but the first two. I’m damn good at my job, so much so that I occasionally fill in for the charge nurses, and I have a great support system. But the thought of having to tell Robby that I’m carrying his child? Genuinely makes me want to puke. Again.

I have money, a 2 bedroom condo, a regular enough schedule that daycare wouldn’t be an issue. But do I really want to be a single mom? Put my body through the fucking wild ride that is pregnancy? Oh god. Pregnancy scrubs? The absolute worst. Not to mention actually giving birth.

Thankfully, the universe has seen fit to give me a single win in all this, and I have the next 4 days off to figure out how to be normal at work again. First order of business - call my OB. A brief phone call later, I have an appointment for 9:45. Just over two hours from now.

Fuck, I could really use my mom right now. Not like we were ever super close, with her living on the west coast and me getting the fuck out of my tiny ass hometown right after high school, but I’d like the option to call her and freak out. Both her and my dad were killed in a car accident just over three years ago, and somehow this scenario had never crossed my mind. I have an older brother who lives back home in Washington, but we have very different works views and I highly doubt he would be a good source of familial support. Cue the tears - but they feel cathartic. A release I desperately need right now.

My therapist is going to lose her ever-loving mind. A quick look on her patient portal reveals that she has an opening this afternoon, so I guess that makes 2 wins from the universe for me today. I’ll take what I can get.

I am very picky about my medical providers. Working in the field myself means I have seen some shit doctors, and I just flat out refuse to put my care in the hands of someone I don’t trust. My OB is the best of the best, and she’s really earning her copay right now.

The transvaginal ultrasound was quick, confirming that I definitely have something cooking in there. The tech asked if I wanted to hear the heartbeat - but I said no. I’m right at the six week mark so a heartbeat can be heard at this point but I am not ready for that just yet. Not until I decide what I want to do. My OB, bless her, ran me through all of my options. She knows I know them, I’m an ER nurse after all, but it’s like all my schooling and experience fell out of my brain the second the stick(s) turned pink.

She encouraged me to take my time making a decision, since I have a few weeks to make a choice either way. We went through what it would look like to keep, terminate, and adopt. Having all the information laid out in front of me makes me feel both better and far, far worse.

She also tells me that no matter what the father wants, this is my choice. That I should lean on my people, and find someone I trust to tell. That if I do decide to terminate, I need to have someone with me after I take the medications to make sure everything progresses as it should.

I leave the appointment armed with 4 different pamphlets and 3 sonogram images that I have yet to look at.

Therapy is significantly harder. Erica, bless her, has been my therapist since I moved to Pittsburgh for college when I was 18. She knows me far too well - immediately clocks that it must be hard to be dealing with all of this without my mom’s support, which triggers a crying spell. Once I’ve recovered from that we move on to how I’m going to tell Robby.

“I don’t know, Erica. He’s barely looked at me since we slept together, I can count the non-patient related words he’s said to me since then on one hand and none of them were particularly nice.” That man needs therapy more than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s an incredible doctor and great to his friends, but ever since he fucked up his relationship with Collins so badly that she left the state he’s been especially moody.

“How do you think he’s going to react to this?”

“Not particularly well. He’ll freak out, not speak to me for a few days, and then inevitably come back around and say that he’ll help me with whatever I choose. I know that if I decide to keep it that he would help, but that it would be out of obligation and that is not what I want. I would never keep him away from his kid but I can almost guarantee that I would be eternally fucked up over it.” Erica nods thoughtfully, taking a pause to formulate a reply that won’t send me over the edge.

“Maybe you should start by telling someone else, then. Maybe Samira, or Dana? Someone who will support you unconditionally without any emotional baggage taking up space in the back seat. They could help you decide what to say when you tell him, and support you if it goes as poorly as you think it will.” She gives me a very pointed look before continuing. “Also, and really think about this before brushing it off, maybe this conversation between you and Robby will help you both. A push that requires communication where there is a gap right now.”

“I - I, ugh. I just really, really don’t want to have to do this with him. He really hurt me when he just up and fucking ghosted me. Especially because he spent the whole night prior telling me that he’s been wanting to kiss me for months, and a whole bunch of other shit that he clearly didn’t mean.” He doesn’t seem like the type to spout bullshit to get a woman into bed with him, but I really cannot come up with another reason for him to be acting this way.

“It’s fair and reasonable for you to be scared. And if he screws this up, you have my blessing to tell him to fuck off. But no matter what you choose, you will be okay. It might suck for a while, but you will come out the other side.” The unspoken words are loud - that I will be okay but that it’s going to take a while for me to get there.

“I know you’re right but it’s hard to see right now.” Pretty much impossible, actually.

“That’s okay, I’m here to remind you. Your homework this week is to tell someone you trust.” Sad that I don’t consider the father someone I trust, but he definitely is not making that list right now.

“I’m going to call Dana literally as soon as we hang up - Samira’s working right now.” She nods in response, flashes me what I’m sure is supposed to be a reassuring smile but it just doesn’t land. We schedule an appointment for next week and then we hang up. I give myself 10 minutes to spiral before I pick up the phone and call Dana.

Dana picks up her phone on the third ring.

“Hey, kid! Where are ya?” I can hear the sounds of what is likely a bar or restaurant in the background and belatedly realize that there’s ER social plans today - most of day shift is gathered at the sports bar near the hospital to watch the first Penguins game of the regular season. Hockey is one of the few sports I will watch voluntarily, and I definitely told Dana I would try and make it out tonight.

“Shit, Dana. I totally spaced, had a bit of a personal crisis. Can I call you later? When you aren’t surrounded by our coworkers?” I hear a booming laugh in the background and immediately place it as Robby’s. Because of course he’s there. “Can you just, uh - text me when you leave the bar?”

“Hold up, Iris, wait. Are you okay?” Her voice changes, drops lower and sounds muffled. Like she’s covering her mouth while she speaks in an effort to afford me some privacy. She knows something happened between Robby and I, and has had a front row seat to whatever the fuck is going on right now so she’s sensitive to the fact that I might not want him knowing about said personal crisis. Little does she fucking know that he’s going to be quite privy to the details when I’m no longe actively in a state of crisis.

“I mean, okay is not really the word I would use but I’m safe and not currently in any physical danger.” Very much not okay, but I don’t want to make her change her plans for me. It’s so rare that we’re all able to see each other outside the Pitt and I know she values this time with her friends.

“Iris, honey. What’s wrong?” I don’t answer, but I do start to cry. My best efforts at keeping my sobs quiet are unsuccessful. “Oh fuck, you know what, never mind, I’m just gonna come over. Hang tight, okay?” I hear the screech of a chair as she presumably scoots back and stands up. Her voice is quieter as she speaks next, having moved the phone so she can talk to whoever else is at the table. “Change of plans, guys. I have to go. Enjoy the game and I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

The crying has not slowed in the thirty seconds it takes her to get outside.

“Dana, really, I appreciate it but you can stay and finish the game. I can wait.” I must not convince her, because she laughs at me. Fairly so, given that my words are very much broken up by sobs.

“Absolutely not. I’m on my way, I’ll see you in ten minutes.”

She arrives in eight.

I’m waiting by the door, and open it before she has a chance to knock. I’m still crying - no longer sobbing, but a pretty steady stream of tears track their way down my cheeks. I see the question forming on her lips but I beat her to it and hold out my three positive tests for her to see.

“Are we happy? Shopping? Making an appointment at the clinic?” Classic Dana - no big reaction, just thoughtful statements of action. Unfortunately I don’t know what I want.

“I don’t know yet. Took the tests early this morning and was able to get in last minute to see OB to confirm it. I’m just about 6 weeks along and I have no fucking clue what I want to do.” She closes the door behind her and immediately pulls me into a tight hug. Rubs my back with one hand and runs the other through my hair, tells me that it’s okay to not know what I want and that she’s here for me no matter what. Does not ask me who the father is. Unfortunately that is the biggest piece to this puzzle and I know I need to tell her.

We move to my couch and she makes me drink some water before continuing to fill her in. I decide it’s best to just fucking do it - no preamble and no backstory.

“Robby’s the father.” That stops her in her tracks for a second. Her eyes go wide and I can tell she’s working extremely hard to keep her own emotions under wraps.

“Well, shit. So that ‘thing’ that happened between you guys in September was sex?” I nod. “And, let me hazard a guess here, he freaked the fuck out and now he’s unable to act normal around you.” I nod again.

“That about sums it up. He left before I woke up and any effort I made to talk to him about it ended with him getting snippy and walking away from me. My texts went unanswered so I just stopped trying.”

“What an asshole - I’m so sorry, Iris.” She leans over to pull me into another hug. “Are you going to tell him?”

“I mean I kinda have to, don’t I? Would be a real dick move of me to not tell him about this. Even if he doesn’t deserve me speaking to him ever again.”

“I think that depends on what you decide you want to do. If you want to keep it, then yeah you’re gonna have to tell him. But if you don’t, then we go to the clinic this week and he remains none the wiser. Either choice is okay, whatever you decide to do will be the right decision for you.” I take a deep breath, enjoying having her here to support me.

“See that’s the thing, my first instinct is that I want to keep it. I’ve always thought that I could go either way on having kids, but now that it’s staring me in the face I can’t imagine not going through with it.” Saying it out loud all but confirms my decision - this is happening. I’m going to have a baby. And I’m going to have to tell Robby.

“Then that’s what will happen. I’ve got your back through all of it, and if you want me to hide upstairs while you tell Robby I can do that. I’ll even chase him out if he acts a fool.” She’s serious, and I love her for that.

“Might not be a terrible idea. The last thing I want is for him to be involved purely out of obligation.” I debate stopping there, not divulging the depths of my (extremely unadvised) feelings for him, but I’ve already gone this far so what’s the harm in spilling the whole story. “I’m like, stupidly in love with that man. Have been for a long time, and I was happy to have it kinda live in the background of my life up until recently. He approached me at that party we had for Jesse and we hit it off, and he was really sweet. Told me that he’s been wanting to kiss me for months and that he hasn’t been able to get me out of his head. We each had a few drinks, but I wasn’t drunk. A little tipsy for sure, but sober enough to consent and be smart about it. We even used a fucking condom! Then he was gone when I woke up and you’ve seen how he’s been since then.” She grimaces a little before responding.

“Yeah, he’s been in rare Robby form. Very broody. But, Iris, I really think he meant what he told you. Handled it terribly for sure, but he’s so thoroughly fucked up in the past that his ex literally left the state. He’s probably just trying to protect you in his own, very fucked up way.” I laugh and try to wipe away the tears staining my face, but they just keep coming.

“Well he’s doing a terrible job. Is it crazy of me to make him go to therapy before I let him really be involved? Is that, like, blackmailing?” The last thing I want out of all this is for my kid to be hurt in the same way - their dad hot and cold, unable to really make a commitment to be present in their life.

“Maybe a bit, but I fully support you in that. I actually think that’s plenty reasonable, and if he gives you pushback then he’ll hear about it from me.” So quick to jump in and support me, even when the problem is one of her best and longest friends. “If it makes you feel any better, the second I said your name at the bar earlier he looked like he was two seconds away from taking my phone and checking on you himself.” A mirthful laugh escapes me at that - it does not make me feel better.

“Then blackmail it is. Now, how the fuck am I supposed to have this conversation with him when I can’t even get him to say three consecutive words to me that aren’t directly work related?”

We spend the next hour brainstorming, and by the time she leaves I feel better. I have a loose plan, my tear ducts have long since run dry, and I no longer feel like I’m about to majorly fuck my whole life up.

I make myself a list before I go to sleep - things I need to buy for first trimester health, food I should avoid, and symptoms I’ve been experiencing so I can be as informed as possible.

My list exhausts me (that, and the tiny human I’m currently forming) and I fall into a blissful, dreamless sleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

I spend the next few days making more lists. Baby names, furniture, birth plans. If there’s a relevant list to be made - it’s currently up on my fridge.

My first day back at work since The Event (TM) is fine, I guess. Dana greets me with a hug and a quiet check in, and while this isn’t that out of the ordinary it is unusual that she pulls me off the floor to do it. I feel Robby’s eyes track us as we walk back in from the ambulance bay, especially when we get closer and Dana does not smell like she’s just come back from a smoke break.

I treat Robby to his own taste of the silent treatment. No niceties, no attempts at small talk. Strictly patient care and work related conversations, and honestly conversations is a generous word. Terse exchanges is more accurate. Not even a polite smile in his direction. I don’t let it get in the way of my job, and if I do say so myself I really knock it out of the park nursing wise. Even escaping to the bathroom a few times per shift to puke doesn’t get in the way of my determination to keep up my ‘everything is fine’ facade.

Three shifts pass in this manner, three shifts where I can feel him fucking watching me like he knows something is up. Thirty-six hours of me sitting on the biggest fucking secret I’ve ever kept when all I really want to do is yell “Hey, fuckface! You ghosted me and it sucked, and I’m fucking angry about. By the way, I’m pregnant with your child. Get some god damn therapy if you’d like to be involved!” And then walk out, middle fingers up, leaving him to stand with the aftermath of his actions.

But, unfortunately, I am a professional adult so I don’t do that. I do heavily fantasize about it though.

Samira notices that something is up right away, but she is also on a long stretch of shifts so we agree to hang out when our work weeks are both done. We meet for breakfast (at 8pm) at the closest Denny’s and she spits out her coffee when I tell her that not only did I sleep with Robby, but that there’s going to be literal life long consequences for it come early June.

“Oh my god. I would ask if you’re okay, but I think I can answer that myself. When are you going to tell him?” I shrug as I finish my bite of French toast.

“Great question. He’s been fucking frosty with me lately and it doesn’t have me feeling very generous towards him. I know he deserves to know but god the thought of that conversation makes me want to punch a wall.” Another bite of toast. “I know that a few weeks after we slept together was the anniversary of Pitt Fest and Adamson’s death, but the way he’s been treating me does not make me want to tell him. It makes me want to be spiteful and keep it from him until the last possible second, so he can be as blindsided as I feel right now. Very immature of me and I won’t do that but it’s nice to entertain it for a bit.”

“He’s clearly fumbling the bag pretty hard right now, but you and I both know he’s going to do the right thing.”

“I know, and that’s almost worse. If he’s going to be all emotionally constipated while attempting to be present I am going to lose my shit. Dana said she thinks I am well within my rights to threaten him with therapy, so I think that’s my game plan.”

“That’s - that’s actually a great idea. If anything will get that man into therapy it’s the threat of potentially fucking up his child’s life.” She chuckles a bit. “Can I tell Jack? I will obviously swear him to secrecy but it might be nice to have him in your corner.”

“Please do - but if he tells Robby before I do I will kill him.”

“And I will help you hide the body. Also, he’s picking me up from this meal so if you’d like to fill him in yourself you’re about to have your window.” Like she summoned him, Jack Abbot walks in the door. He immediately finds Samira and she waves him over.

I decide that I do not have another long, emotional story in me and just spit it out.

“Hi, Jack.” He looks at me a little weird, we’re friendly at work but I don’t think I’ve ever called him by his first name before. “Welcome to the party, you’re about to hear some very classified information so prepare yourself.” He stares at me, a little stunned, but I just keep on talking. “I’m pregnant and keeping it. Robby’s the father, but I haven’t told him yet.” His jaw drops open, and he has to open and close it a few times before actual words come out.

“Uhhh, wow. Fuck. Are you, uhm, are you going to tell him?”

“I mean, yeah. Not sure when or how, but yeah. What’s your opinion on me using this as an opportunity to threaten him into therapy?” This gets a loud, genuine laugh from him.

“I think that’s a wonderful idea. You want my therapists number? I’ve given it to him multiple times but he’s clearly never used it.” Abbot doesn’t wait for me to answer, just pulls a card out of his wallet and hands it to me. “Are you doing okay? Managing symptoms alright?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks. Freaking the fuck out, but okay.” With that, I decide I’ve had enough social interaction for the day. “Now that all that’s out of the way, I’m going to head home. Samira, love you, thanks for the support, and Jack I’m a little sorry to drag you into all this but thankful that you’re here anyway.” I leave them at that, dropping enough cash to cover my meal and all but running to my car so I can have my next meltdown in peace.

I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I let another two full weeks pass before I even consider telling Robby. Erica, Dana, and Samira are all on my case a little bit but ultimately don’t push me too hard. My OB and therapist have both been informed that I’ve decided to continue the pregnancy, and the appropriate follow up appointments have been scheduled.

It takes an extra long session with Erica, complete with roll play and multiple outcomes of the conversation for me to feel even slightly ready to broach the subject with him. We decide that I’ll attempt to talk to him after our next shift together, a rare night where neither of us have to be in the next morning.

Dana knows, and as she leaves out the ambulance bay doors she shoots me a very encouraging thumbs up and a ‘call me!’ While I wait for him to leave. I don’t have to wait much longer. 10 minutes pass before I see him walk out, backpack slung over his shoulders and thick winter jacket thrown on like it’s armor. He doesn’t turn his head to look at me as he passes.

I parked at the very end of the lot today, hoping to use my car as an excuse to follow him for a bit. As we approach my green Honda CRV, I know it’s time to bite the bullet.

“Hey, uh, Robby? Can we talk for a sec?” He pauses, takes an AirPod out, and turns to face me. He looks like shit. Tired, like he hasn’t had a good sleep in weeks. I feel mean for thinking it, but I’m glad he’s getting just as much (little?) rest as I am.

“I’ve got somewhere to be, Iris. Now’s not a good time.” He may be facing me, but he’s not really looking at me. Fucking infuriating.

“It won’t take long, please. It’s kinda important.” Fuck him for making me plead to have a conversation - this is starting to feel a little humiliating. I can feel the tears forming and threatening to spill out, but he isn’t looking at me so he doesn’t see them.

“Not now. There isn’t really anything for us to talk about. I have to go, I’ll see you later.” And with that, he’s got his AirPod back in and is walking away. Fucking dick. The hot sting of rejection sits heavy in my chest, and I have to take a few minutes before I feel steady enough to drive home.

I work myself up pretty well on the way home, moving from shame to anger. I kick my shoes off in the entryway and slam my bag down, feeling like I need to scream. I decide a run will suffice and quickly change into my running gear. As I slip on my shoes and grab my running belt I decide there’s something I need to do first, and pull my phone out to send the riskiest text I’ve ever sent.

Iris (7:58pm)

Hi, asshole. I have been working up the nerve to talk to you for weeks, but since I apparently don’t deserve even five minutes of your time I guess this is how you’re going to find out.

I attach a picture of the tests and hit send, and then immediately send a follow up.

Iris (7:59pm)

Before you have the fucking audacity to ask, yes it’s yours and I’ll be keeping it.

I immediately put my phone on do not disturb and start my watch so I can track my run. I hit the pavement with a vengeance. My feet feel heavy beneath me, and it takes me longer than usual to feel warmed up enough to really run. I blast my angriest playlist, and run until I no longer feel like murdering the father of my unborn child.

I hit my favorite smoothie place on my way home, and call Dana as I walk and warm down.

“So I told him.” She gasps. “But, uh, over text. I tried to talk to him as he left but he blew me off and I was just so fucking angry and maybe jumped the gun a little, but it’s done now. I went for a run as soon as I got home, I’m walking back to my place as we speak.”

“How are you feeling about it, hon?”

“Terrified. Have not checked to see if he’s responded. Maybe a little elated? But like, in a manic way so maybe that’s not a good thing.” Dana laughs and reassures me.

“It’s alright, kid. That’s a big step you just took and you tried to do it in person, so fuck it. You want me to come over?” She asks, just as I turn the corner onto my street. My heart all but stops as I see an unfortunately familiar suburban parked in front of my house, and my breathing stops with it when I see that the man himself is sitting on my front steps.

“Oh fuck.”

“He’s at your house, isn’t he?” She’s far too smart for her own good, or maybe she just knows him too well.

“Yup.” God dammit, past Iris. Did you really have to send those texts?

“I can still come over if you want.” Seriously considering taking her up on that.

“No, I’ll handle him. But, maybe later? If and when I need to cry about this?”

“I’ll be waiting by the phone. You’ve got this, kid. Give him hell.”

[anneangel]

Yes, the guy has practically built a fortified alter ego, a bad boy facade that drives him to continue to have confidence and courage. But that's all it is, a facade, a well-crafted and carefully constructed character since he was a child.

It's hard to see what's behind those well-built walls, but he really did have a taste for fatty foods, rock bands and fantasy books/cartoons and games (probably an escape valve, while he had to take care of his brother and his father was away hunting monsters). Even as a teenager, sex and looking like a bad boy seemed to me more like an escape valve, I think there's an entire episode about it in… season five I think, one where the girl tells him that he was just a guy with "daddy issues, lonely, and that it was tragic".

I haven't seen much of Supernatural, but I remember that every episode where they were younger, flashbacks, Dean seemed like just a very young boy, from whom too much had been demanded, overwhelmed by having to take care of his brother and having nothing for himself. Of course, he needed to build a persona for himself and tell himself that "everything was fine."

A part of him seems to have wanted to have a normal life, but the other part doesn't know what to do with it. He hasn't had a normal life and doesn't adjust well to it when it's pushed into him.

The supernatural life is all he knows, and as terrible as it is most of the time, he's so adapted to it that having to leave it for a "normal" life is a huge trigger for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. It's not like he's a soldier who came back from war; he's been doing this since childhood. These are traumas that are already part of his personality, since they've been there since his early childhood, so they're structural scars.

I think it's very well put that he talks all the time in catchphrases and doesn't know how to express himself naturally when he needs to, and he also doesn't know how to manage his more fragile emotions.

He just puts all this in a "don't touch" box and leaves it gathering dust.

So, yes, if he had had a 'typical' childhood, from the inclinations he shows, it seems that he would be more of a fan of fantasy works and D&D, with some taste for metal, not a jock.

I don't even think he would be a fan of cars, since his love for the Impala seems more linked to the fact that it was an item of his father that was passed down to him. He seems to me to be someone who is very lacking in paternal (and maternal) affection, considering all those episodes where he thinks that his only role in front of his father is to protect Sam, it often seems that he feel that, for his father, he is not as important as Sam.

So the car grows in importance, being first an item of his father that was entrusted to him, then an item that guarantees him independence (since he can go far away), then an item that he uses to attract other people's attention and look 'the best' having it, and only then, last, develop an affection for the characteristics of the car itself and his attachment to it.So yeah, if he had a typical childhood, I don't see that happening.

So, yes, he wouldn't be a jock, or even a 'bad boy' false figure, I suppose, if he had not been cast into a supernatural life.

say it with me again for the people in the back:

IF GIVEN A NORMAL CHILDHOOD

DEAN 👏 WINCHESTER 👏 WOULD 👏 NOT 👏 BE 👏 A 👏 JOCK 👏

THAT BOY HATES EXERCISE AND HEALTHY EATING

AND HAS CANONICALLY READ HARRY POTTER AND LORD OF THE RINGS

IF GIVEN THE CHOICE, THAT BOY IS N O T SIGNING UP FOR ANY SPORTS TEAMS

[fanfictionsweetheart]

“Do You Trust Me?”

Pairing: Koenig x Reader

Summary: Sleeping with her commander in a safe house is always risky. But how can she resist when he knows just how to get her off.

Trigger/Content Warning(s): smut, rough smut, dark smut, knife play, dom/sub, object insertion, dirty talk, humiliation kink

Word Count: 522

A/N: this is an old kinktober drabble from my ao3. First bit of Koenig on here. lol. This is a filthy idea I hope you enjoy.

Tags: @staley83

“Stay still, shatz, do you trust me?” Koenig asked the young woman he was kneeling over on the bare mattress of the rickety safehouse they were gonna be holed up in for a while.

Her clothes had been cut off and her body was flushed as she looked up at him. She was shivering with need. He could practically smell her arousal.

“Yes sir.” She chirped.

“Gut, very gut, you’re doing so well.” He praised.

One of his large hands was groping her breasts while the other twirled his favorite knife around after cutting her clothes and underwear off with it. She whimpered at the sight of it. She looked into his eyes after a moment of staring at the knife. All she could see was his eyes, he’d left his sniper hood-like mask on.

He’d offered to take it off but she told him not to. There was something so dangerously erotic to fucking her commander in the mask he wore when he did what he did best. His hand moved to cup her cheek, she keened into his touch.

“Spread your legs.” He ordered her.

“Yes sir!” She chirped once more and did as he said.

He trailed the knife along her body so gently it felt like a feather. Yet knowing it was a well cared for and sharpened blade that had taken numerous enemy soldiers lives caused goosebumps to prickle up on her skin.

“I’m going to fuck you with the handle of my knife, katchen, and you’re going to be a good girl and cum for me.” He instructed her, “Ja?”

He was always amazing at asking for her consent. She whimpered but verbally assured him she was okay.

Koenig grinned and grabbed his sheath and slipped the knife back into it, not wanting to hurt himself or her with the razor sharp edge. He swirled the end of the handle around her clit, being certain she was wet enough for his plans.

He slipped it inside soon after making her squeal loudly. She gasped his name and looked at him, watching how his pale eyes darkened dangerously in lust as he watched the knife slipping so easily in and out of his secret lover and subordinate.

Her moans echoed off the bare walls as he fucked her with his knife. Her eyes were glittering as she took what Koenig gave. He fucked her with the handle harder, his dirty talk in both English and German only added to her arousal.

It didn’t take long for the orgasm he had demanded of her to crash over her. She whimpered and whined his name over and over as her thighs shook.

“Good girl.” He praised.

He didn’t remove the knife handle right away. He sat back and pulled his personal phone out. He ordered her to stay still and removed the sheathe from the knife and took a picture of its blade glinting in the dim light of the room, the handle sheathed by her glistening lower lips.

Below his mask Koenig smirked at her. That would be a favorite picture of his for a long, long time.

[vampyrixdarling]

HI HI!!! i love ur writing omg, and if ur reading this then have a good day!

If this request is okay with you then may i request a (present) two time x singer!reader fluff hc? ive been having this idea for a while now lol😭 okay thats all thank you for reading!

— 「𝑻𝑾𝑶 𝑻𝑰𝑴𝑬 𝑾𝑰𝑻𝑯 𝑨 𝑭𝑨𝑴𝑶𝑼𝑺 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑾𝑯𝑶’𝑺 𝑨 𝑺𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑹」

Two Time x Reader (Gender Neutral)

warnings: Stalking (not yandere), mentions of blood, mentions of scars (this should not be a trigger warning). Aside from that it’s all fluff!! Or at least kind of. I tried.

Note: Hii!! Thank you so much! It always means so much when people compliment my writing! I’m a bit confused on what you meant by “present” though.. I’m ASSUMING you meant Forsaken?? If I’m wrong, please feel free to send me another request clarifying and I’ll fix it! To be honest this is not my best work, I’m sorry :(

Word count: 1,172.

❥ Be prepared to get really creeped out but also flattered at the same time. They’d obviously have a massive crush on you. And once they meet you, they’re unintentionally a very, very creepy fan.

❥ They would tend to distance themself from you when they realize they have a crush on you. They keep it to themselves and would rather die than ever tell anybody. I think it would be really hard for them to form any sort of romantic relationship due to guilt with Azure and the Spawn.

❥ They worship the ground you walk on. They’re not as dedicated to you as they are to the Spawn, thank god for that, but they’re devoted nonetheless. I think it would be fair to call them one of your biggest fans. When they fall, they fall hard. They also praise the Spawn for being considerate enough to let them meet you.

❥ I think some of the survivors would recognize you as well. Of course, they’re not over-the-top about it. They’d tell you how cool it is to meet you, and they’d give you tips on how to best survive the rounds this hellish place puts you through. Of course you didn’t believe them at first, why would you? But that timer on your watch was ticking down, and you had a feeling you wouldn’t like what happens when it turns to zero. You can’t help but notice somebody scrawny in the corner of the room, just staring at you. The eye contact is quite frankly really uncomfortable. Though somebody named Chance soon hints at what their deal is. They don’t mean any harm, they’re just… different.

❥ Two Time is not close with any survivors in particular. Most of them find Two Time unsettling, and usually don’t go out of their way to strike up a conversation with them. You’d be one of the few people to initiate conversation with them. And aside from their… interesting personality, they seem genuinely nice to talk to.

❥ Two Time would wait until you’re alone to approach you. With a smile that makes the hairs on your neck stand, they’d ask you a lot of questions, nodding each time you nervously conversed with them, and confirm or deny a rumour they asked you about. Of course, if you told them you weren’t comfortable, they’d back off immediately. You just hoped they didn’t take it to heart too much. You also don’t ask about how they know so much about you.

❥ They tend to stalk you. They don't know it's wrong and creepy, and they certainly wouldn't let you find out. They're like paparazzi in a way, except what they do isn't out of malice or the intention of humiliating you. They're just... curious. And a little obsessed. You never gave much thought as to why they always seemed to appear when you needed them the most during rounds: sneaking up behind the killer when you were sure all hope was lost and backstabbing them with that same unnerving grin that stretched across their face.

❥ Some nights they’d wake up from vivid nightmares that they swear felt real. The blood never comes off. No matter how hard they scrub their hands, they can still feel it. Crimson that felt so warm, yet so cold. They go to you whenever they get like this. They don’t like it when people watch them cry, but somehow it’s a little different with you. Their wide smile never fades as tears stream down their face, but it helps when you hold their hand and speak gently and softly to them — when you assure them that they’re okay, when you massage small circles on their palm, as well as the backside of their hand where a certain religious symbol resides. They never let anybody they’re not close with touch them, and that applies to you. So the fact that they allow you to just shows how close the two of you have become.

⤷ They’d find the sound of you singing to them to be calming. It redirects their mind elsewhere and allows for a much welcomed distraction. Your voice would be just above a whisper as you sang to them, and their shoulders would relax.

❥They aren’t sure how to handle affection, whether that be touch or words of affirmation. They don’t believe they’re worthy of it. But they can’t deny that it’s nice when you assure them that you really do mean what you say, and you wouldn’t say it at all if you didn’t. Their guilt makes them believe they don’t deserve anything good that happens to them, even if they did get a second life from it (though not really). They sacrificed the one person that truly loved them, and they’re never going to move on from that fully. But you’re there with them. You’re there no matter what. And that means more to them than you think.

❥ They like it when you trace their scars with your fingers, and they like it even more when you kiss them. Half of them are self-inflicted, and half of them came from god knows where. You assume from rough rounds. It makes them feel flustered and they don’t know what to do or say, so they tend to stay stiff while you try your best to make them feel relaxed. They don’t pull away though.

❥ They’d enjoy writing lyrics with you, though sometimes you need to reject their ideas because it sounds like it could be the next “I love you Jesus” by Trisha Paytas.

❥ They’d love to hear you practice your songs in front of them. They’d praise you, give you criticism, and overall just be grateful you’re performing for them at all. Write a love song about them? They’re head over heels. You once tried to teach Two Time how to sing. It didn’t go well. It’s safe to say that they will not be attending karaoke.

❥ They like writing down each and every interaction you two have. Journaling has become a hobby for them, they enjoy it a lot. It’s a nice coping mechanism and distraction from the hell you’re all in. It’s cute, honestly, if you can even read their handwriting.

❥ They have a bad habit of ‘accidentally’ sneaking up behind you when you’re writing lyrics or practicing your singing. They compliment you and you jump; you swear to god your heart almost exploded.

⤷ It’s also unnerving when you can practically feel their hot breath on the back of your neck. You scold them whenever they give you a fright, and they smile, claiming they truly did not mean to — however, your reaction was quite ‘cute.’

❥ They didn’t listen to music at all before. You were sort of the first artist they were actually introduced to. Sometimes when you two are alone in your cabin, you promise them that once you two get back home you’ll give them front row tickets to your next concert. Maybe even a VIP pass. This seems to give them something to look forward to.

[sxpphotales]

guard reader x hyun ju au because WHY NOT. BECAUSE IM STILL DEVASTATED OVER HER DEATH AND I PROMISED EVERYONE THAT I WOULD WRITE A HUNDRED FICS YEAH.

guard!genderneutral!reader x hyunju where reader and hyunju knew each other before the games and got reunited in squid game spoilers for season 3, TW for blood, gore, death, angst 3.6k words of just pure pain — the longest half-shot i have written bc it’s not my usual oneshot styled writing, but still DAMN that was LONG

when you first joined the games and placed the triangle mask over your face, you thought that was it. you thought you could finally escape the desperation of poverty and just live by yourself. you thought you deserved it. then you realized what you’ve gotten yourself into.

the trigger trembled in your grip and you couldn’t see straight. the scent of blood uncomfortably filled up in the small space where you were told orders of which players you had to slaughter during the first game. you bit your tongue and shot through, exhaling with a shiver coming down your spine as you cleanly landed a shot into another player’s head. you prayed that god would somehow help you. that you will be forgiven for your sins at some point. even if the sins were too grave to be forgotten or forgiven.

you wanted to make money. you lived off of your close friend hyun ju’s savings, trying to help each other out, but you never landed a single job and you just ached to yourself, feeling disgusted about your parasitic behavior. ever since she came out as trans and you provided a shocked reaction (not out of disgust but simply as a shock since you know hyun ju so closely and her past), you two started to distance each other. out of guilt, you purposefully came to join the games as a guard. little did you know about the contents that followed.

as your scope traversed the map, trying to find the player you were chosen to kill, you witnessed someone. someone you are familiar with. hyun ju, you whisper under your breath, pulling away from your weapon and staring at the woman in your scope. your eyes widen with shock, surprise, fear. this game was a killing game—why was she here?

the voice repeated the number of the next player over and over. just then, the square masked player opened the door and spoke, “guard 20. what are you up to? follow the instructions.” you nervously nod and turn back to kill the next player. you shakily sigh, but you notice hyun ju crossing the finish line and your immediately suppress a smile of relief. now, you just had to somehow convince her to leave. but the rules were clear. if you removed your mask, you would die.

you sucked in a breath, trying to be silent underneath your triangle mask, as you walked in a singular line over to the dormitory. a gun placed in your hands, you stood directly to the right hand side of the square mask director as he spoke on about the debts everyone had accumulated. you noticed hyun ju in the crowds and held back the urge to wave at her. you just kept your gaze on her the entire time. hyun ju, the special forces soldier who had so much to offer, now in a place like this. your stomach churned.

after the voting started, you begged in your heart that hyun ju would vote no and that everyone could be freed. but humanity continued on and committed to greed. they needed more. and your eyes shifted from hope to horror as the lights flashed blue at every touch. your eyes faced hyun ju and you mouthed no as her hand hovered over the blue button, but she couldn’t see. you winced and shut your eyes as the vote for O counted up one. soon, the votes stated it. continue the games. that singular vote that changed the entire story.

the voting ended and you were told to guard the room. as hyun ju walked over to the restroom, you followed in silently, feeling hyun ju’s wary glance. you didn’t say anything as the two of you stood in the empty bathrooms. “why are you following me?” she sharply asked, her voice strained but calm as always. the opposite of how she used to talk to you back when you two were still friends.

“leave the games, player 120,” your artificial voice called out, “you shouldn’t continue playing.” with those words, hyun ju’s cautious gaze turned to disdain. “who are you,” she asked as she turned around fully, putting herself up in a stance. the gun remained in your grip, but you didn’t dare to lift it let alone aim it at hyun ju.

you continued on: “vote X the next game. you have to leave. there is no point in staying in these games.” you peered into hyun ju’s eyes, so predatory and dangerous, the complete shift of what you are so used to seeing. “you saw everyone die. you will meet the same fate.”

hyun ju just coldly gritted her teeth, clenched her fist, and got ready to fight. you weakly whispered a please but it was no more than a whisper. “what do you see me as?” hyun ju said. you closed your eyes, exhaling sharply through your nose. you promptly turned around and nodded. “good luck,” you tell her and exit. she stares at your frame with confusion. such a stubborn person, it reminded her of you—the person who she loved the most outside of these games.

you wanted to tell her that you were you, but with the mask separating your identity, you didn’t dare to say anything.

ever since then, you decided to somehow protect hyun ju. even if it was the last thing you were ever going to do.

—

you vividly saw her grow closer to other people and your stomach churned. you didn’t know why. you knew that forming alliances in this game was both poison and remedy. you wanted what’s best for her. she must have felt so lonely and out of place here, especially after all of the discrimination and hate she faced outside. so why did your heart ache every time you stood out to guard and you saw hyun ju laughing with the group?

the six legged race ended and you smiled brightly as you saw hyun ju cross the finish line. your steps hurried and you almost ran over to her, but then you realized. you couldn’t. you slowly took steps backwards and stood behind the square masked manager, who spared you a glance of suspicion. you kept your head down. you felt shame. you shouldn’t feel so jealous whenever she talked to others and you shouldn’t feel glad whenever she survived. you practically abandoned her. you left her. you don’t deserve to feel these emotions that you once harbored for her, even if they still remain.

the next voting began and you crossed your fingers behind your back. your strained gaze weakened and your heart stopped as hyun ju voted to stay once more. it wasn’t a shock, but it was despairing. you wanted her to leave so desperately. but she couldn’t.

you gazed straight at hyun ju and stood in front of the door of the girl’s restroom as she and player 095 headed over. was young mi her name? you didn’t let your eyes leave hyun ju and for a second, you thought she saw you and your face. you thought her gaze softened and she called out your name. but instead hyun ju protectively had a hand in front of young mi, a girl of small stature and a nervous glint in her eyes. she was pretty. you pursed your lips and stepped aside.

it didn’t take long for the next game to begin. mingle. you were in charge of the slaughter. whoever didn’t have the correct amount of people in a room or weren’t in a room at all were your victims. you aimed your shot and fired at the unfortunate participants who were eliminated. your expression was motionless. you peered into one of the rooms and you saw hyun ju again, panting and her pupils trembling. you wanted to open the door, hug her, tell her it’ll be alright, and go back home together. but you couldn’t. you simply fired the next shot at the man who crawled and wailed in front of you. for once, you were glad that she couldn’t see your face.

she would’ve felt disgusted just like how you do about yourself.

rounds passed and numbers were shouted. each time, as a man or a woman crawled away from you, screaming and teary, you ended them swiftly with a bullet to their throat. and somehow, each time, you were standing in front of the room that hyun ju was in. as if the gods were telling you that you had to admit it one day or else consequences would follow. unfortunately, you weren’t the type to listen to such voices.

then everything got worse when you headed into the space after all doors were locked and your eyes landed on young mi, sobbing quietly in front of the door. you could hear hyun ju’s desperate screams as you aimed at young mi. your finger trembled. couldn’t you somehow maybe save her? just aim at her leg and tell her to stay quiet. just somehow—

you froze as the other guards fired at young mi. she didn’t even yell out in pain. she just silently slid down to the ground and fell. you lowered your gun. your pupils trembled as you imagined hyun ju’s expression. you knew how close she was to young mi. and you couldn’t do anything.

when the other guard slapped your back and gave you a look through the mask that said what’re you doing, you finally snapped back into reality and headed back to await for the next round.

before you even knew it, mingle was over. the lakes that swirled in your eyes glistened excitedly as you saw hyun ju now vote to leave, but then your pupils thinned in fear. even if there were people who wanted to leave, majority vote said that they had to stay. hyun ju, you thought to yourself. that was the only thought you had.

after people were announced dead from the brawl in the men’s bathroom, you watched the special round emerge. the lights went out and people with forks and fists were going rogue. you weren’t a part of that group that handled the brawl afterwards, so you weren’t even supposed to be thinking about it. but for some damned reason, you were so worried about hyun ju. you knew she was an ex special forces soldier and she was one of the best fighters you could’ve ever seen in your entire life, but she was kind. she was oddly so kind that you knew it could cost her life.

then, the rebellion bloomed. people from the X side started to pour out from the door and firing at the guards. you were one of the soldiers that barely survived. you gritted your teeth, reloading your gun, and firing at some of the other players. then, you saw her.

hyun ju.

on the other side, promptly ridding almost all of the soldiers that came into her view. you were almost so dazzled by her fierce gaze that you almost got hit. you leaned against the pillar with a racing heart and reddened cheeks. straighten up, [y/n], you told yourself. you did everything to make sure everyone but hyun ju was your target. you needed to talk to her somehow. at least by the end of everything. then you saw her suddenly rush back to the room. you followed pursuit swiftly after instructing the rest of the guards to continue fighting. as you ran up to her with a panting breath, you stared at hyun ju from behind.

you didn’t know why. but you felt as though you had to.

“cho hyun ju,” you called out, your distorted voice tearing through the air. hyun ju stopped in her tracks at the mention of her name, immediately turning and aiming her gun at you. you knew she didn’t have any ammo. you were frankly glad because she would’ve shot you otherwise.

“don’t take another step,” she said coldly, planting her feet to the ground.

“i am not here to hurt you,” you stated. you glanced around and walked up to her slowly, stopping before she could run up and attack you. “why did you join the games?” you asked.

“it’s none of your business,” she said. you pursed your lips—the answer that was expected but still ached. “you’re the same guard from before, yeah? why are you asking these questions? who are you?”

you wanted to simply rip off your mask and laugh, saying it was you the entire time. you wanted to run up to her and hug her tightly, begging her to leave. you wanted to have her look at you with love again. your fingers twitched and the voice in the back of your head screamed take off the mask. but you didn’t.

“hyun ju,” you said, your tone faintly leaking out of the voice changer, “please. just leave.” you heard footsteps rapidly approaching and turned around, trying to stall the rest of the guards before they got to hyun ju. she just stared at your leaving presence with horror and confusion then returned to the dormitory to gain more ammo. you stood still as guards ran past you, heading to the dormitory. once again, you couldn’t ever help her.

the rebellion ended and apparently, the officer saw it. the head square guard with his neat, black outfit saw your act of unneeded kindness. he called you to his room and you followed protocol, entering his office with sweat streaming down your forehead.

“what was that behavior, guard 20?” he coldly asked, his face unchanged from his disappointment. “i’m sorry. i won’t repeat that again,” you spoke. you didn’t know what else to say.

“if i have to catch you interacting with the players in a more than necessary manner again, i will deal with it accordingly,” he stood up from his seat and clenched a grip firmly on your shoulder as he whispered, “do not mess the games up.”

you didn’t care about the games. you only cared about hyun ju.

—

even as young adults, you and hyun ju were practically the closest of best friends ever since high school. you met her in 11th grade, graduated together, and became roommates as soon as you entered college together. she wasn’t loud or extroverted, but she was soft and gentle. she always hug you with warmth. she always stared at you like you meant more than you would ever know. she always had that glint in her eyes that made you wonder if she wanted to be more than the current relationship you carried with her.

hyun ju was never just a friend to you. she was the one that made you overthink everything. every bit of her smile, words, twitch of fingers, touch, and presence made you wonder if she loved you back. this was before her transition.

but even after she confessed about her gender, your feelings were firm. you still loved her. but the shock of the fact that the person you saw as your best friend and one of the most important men in your life held such a secret from you and felt insecure about it. you didn’t stare at her in shock that night because you were disgusted. you stared at her in shock because you realized that she was genuinely too scared to tell you. her best friend. the person that loved her from the start.

that was almost half a year ago. now, you were just a forgotten friend. but to you, she was everything.

—

the rebellion ended and the human chandelier was displayed. you gritted your teeth in fury and disgust. is this what they called humanity?

you saw how lost hyun ju was behind her eyes—her irises were dulled and lost its light. she couldn’t even think properly. you blamed yourself for that. you wanted to just tell her that everything was going to be okay because the two of you were going to escape together. but you couldn’t. not with the officer watching over you with the threat that hung above your head like a carrot on a stick. you were just a mule that was utilized by the front man and the officer to haul the burdens of human sin. just so they wouldn’t have to do the bloody work themselves.

you couldn’t help hyun ju anymore. finally, the hide and seek game came into view. you already knew about the game beforehand and frankly, you hoped hyun ju would become a seeker. you knew she would almost immediately win with a safe pass. but as the blue ball rolled into her hands, you just prayed she could fight through it. you knew hyun ju. she wasn’t weak. but you were still terrified.

hyun ju ended up teaming with the pregnant girl and the old woman. you bit your inner cheek. you didn’t wanna call them burdens, but you knew that they were a part of the reason why hyun ju wouldn’t be able to simply zoom past these puzzles. nevertheless, you were hopeful. that was hyun ju—she was always too nice and generous. she never put herself first for some damn reason. she just had to be kind.

that’s how she was too back when you two were roommates. always offering the first bite to you when she bought the food. always sleeping on the couch if you fainted first on the bed, sprawled out and exhausted. always letting you pick the movies to watch during the weekends. she never dictated over you. you loved and hated that about her.

you didn’t say anything as the game time counted down. you grew anxious as the sound “player 120 pass” didn’t resonate into the space for a while. you tapped your feet and clenched your fist until the other guard next to you had to hiss at you, warning you to shut up unless you wanted to be punched to silence. that didn’t help your anxiety though.

then after a while, you heard it.

“player 120” you gasped “eliminated.”

by then, you dropped the gun you were holding onto the ground and your skin paled. the other guards side eyed you or asked what the hell was wrong with you, but you didn’t respond. you couldn’t hear anything other than the word “eliminated” echoing into your ears. you kept whispering, “hyun ju … hyun ju … hyun ju …” under your breath as if it was a curse sent by the deities. was it hyun ju or her death that was your curse? perhaps it was both. the gods sent down a saint to remind you of your cruel humane instincts and the gods took her back again to remind you of the fact that you didn’t deserve her.

6 months and all you could tell her was to leave. even if it was for a good cause, your last statement to her was leave. or was it “what are you talking about, hyun ju?” the ridiculous words you accidentally spewed out of shock and surprise when hyun ju came out to you. the last words that were said directly to her.

what could you say? you knew she could’ve survived. and you couldn’t blame anyone. you only blamed yourself. if only you convinced her to vote to leave. if only you actually told her that you were you and helped her escape. if only the voice in the back of your head was a bit louder.

as the games ended and the other guards rushed in to kill the rest of the seekers who couldn’t escape, you rushed in to find hyun ju. to find her corpse. and when you arrived, you had no weapon. your hood was down from the rushed pace you were running in. you stared at hyun ju, laying face down near the door of a small room, and a wound leaking now dried blood from her back.

you fucking nice asshole, you thought to yourself, kneeling next to her head and slowly reaching out with trembling fingers. you softly rubbed her cheek, hoping to feel warmth. your fingers touched just under her chin, hoping to sense a pulse. you muttered please so many times that you forgot your role and you prayed so desperately that you questioned if it was even God you were praying to. you just did it over and over and over.

the warmth was absent and the pulse was muted. you removed your mask, uncaring of the consequences. you could see hyun ju’s deceased, open eyed corpse as if it was a museum display. you fell forward, hugging her body, weeping loudly as your cries echoed into the lifeless maze, and your tears stained her face. your throat was raw and human. you screamed with your real voice, not the artificial one that hid behind a mask. you just violently cried, begging to have the one woman who didn’t deserve it to be alive once more. to listen to you apologize. to listen to you plead for forgiveness.

the other guard witnessed your tragedy. you heard no click. you heard no bang. you just heard your own cries as everything faded to black. was it better that you were staring at hyun ju til your last gaze? or did it worsen your guilt as your echoing cries were the last thing that your auditory senses caught before it faded to dust? say something hyun ju, your breath slowed, tell me that you hate me. she couldn’t; dead or alive, you knew she couldn’t.

that was who hyun ju was.

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[thewritingfairy]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚Birthday

trigger warnings: none main m.list        series m.list      bad ending m.list    

It’s your birthday, you are one year older once more. You are still alive, and in just a few years you’ll be as old as your mama when she met Bruce.

But you won’t fall for a man with nothing but empty promises, your mama taught you all you need to know about dating. You know who you want to be. So here you are in front of her grave smiling brightly.

You left the family, you left that damned family behind and you gained one you would never trade. Not even for you mama, sure you wish she was next to you on your birthday. But this was the way your life was meant to go. This was the way your life was destined to go.

So don’t worry mama,

your child has grown up.

And they are never letting anyone bring them down.

no tags as this is a birthday special for me lol