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buckyalpine · 2 years ago

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always you’s angst only ending … feed us a tiny lil drabble of maybe bucky not stopping until he and bruce and maybe even shuri (cause bby’s the smartest) find a way to bring her back?

like he enters the portal, scoops up her body, and kisses her back to life. then throws her over his shoulder, locks her in his bedroom, and makes love to her for like a week straight.

“she’s barely been back for a month- AND SHE’S ALREADY PREGNANT?!”

- ur local angst slut who’s actually hella sensitive and cannot handle this shit, gossip girl 💋

Always you angst alternative ending

18+

Okay YES, if your a pure angst fiend, you may ignore this but I'm here to mend hearts from the sadness that was this fic.

Warnings: Angst, FLUFFFFFFF, Smuuuttttt, happy ending

5 years later

Bucky refused to accept you being gone. He tried to heal, going to therapy, grief counselling, medication, writing letters, everything under the fucking sun to help him come to terms with the fact that he’d never see you again.

It was impossible.

It ate him alive.

He was physically stronger, pouring all his time into the gym to find a way to numb the pain but he was more mentally fucked than ever.

It had been 5 years, nearly 6 and the raw pain he felt was still fresh. Every night, he'd wake up searching for you. He couldn't let go, holding onto the pieces you had left behind. He wrote to you as often as he could, keeping a locked diary of things he wanted to tell you, letters he knew no one would see but what else could he do when he wanted to talk to you so badly but you weren’t there.

That didn’t stop him from finding a way to pour his heart and soul somewhere.

_________________________________

Happy Birthday babygirl, I wish I could wake you up with kisses today, tell you how special the world is with you in it, make you pancakes, feed you in bed because I know you’ll cuddle up in the sheets until noon. Buy you a pretty dress, take you out, maybe even go dancing, even if its just me and you and Steve’s playlist of songs from the 40′s. I’d hold you close to me all night until your feet were sore or until Tony told us to turn the cheesy music off.

I know he secretly ships us (Peter taught me that word)

If it were up to Stark, he’d throw you the biggest birthday party ever; that wouldn’t stop me from trying to sneak you away for some more birthday kisses. birthday cuddles. Birthday sex...is a new song Sam introduced me to.

I wanted to do so much with you today sweet girl. Show you how much I love you on your special day. I should have shown you before it was too late. I regret it every single day. I’d give anything for just another day, just so you’d know.

It was always you.

Steve brought you some flowers today, Sam brought some balloons. I hope you see them from wherever you are. It’s not the same without you here angel.

We miss you baby.

I miss you.

Till we meet again, JBB

_________________________________

Hi Baby, I know it’s not a special occasion, I have no real reason to write today. I missed you though. I wanted to tell you about how I jumped out of a plane today and all I could think of is how much you would have laughed because I didn’t use a parachute. You’re laugh is the sweetest sound in the world and I’d give anything to hear it just one more time.

Sam recorded it all, you would have been the first person he showed the footage to. I’d probably ignore you both and then you’d probably tease me about being grumpy and I’d want a kiss to feel better. And a hug. Maybe some cuddles. Please?

Also you’d be proud of me today, Red Wing broke and it wasn’t my fault. Promise. I even apologized to Sam after but he doesn’t think I’m being sincere. And I’m not because red wing is a little shit. So is Sam.

I miss you sweets. I wish you were here. It hurts. Everything hurts.

I hope we meet again. I’ll never let you go.

Yours, JBB

_________________________________

My y/n,

I’m sorry. I should have told you. I regret it everyday. I’ll never stop trying to find a way to get you back.

I love you,

JBB

_________________________________

It’s been almost 6 years. It still hurts.

Till we meet again, JBB

_________________________________

I can’t anymore. I need you back.

JBB

_________________________________

There were some days where Bucky was able to focus, writing as much as he could, spilling all of his feelings onto the paper, a tiny part of him hoping that one day he’d be able to give you all his letters so you’d know you were all he could think of.

Then there were the days where sobs tore through his body, his breathing labored, only managing to scribble three words before crumbling into a dark abyss. Bucky wracked his brain every single day; if you were able to go back once, there had to be a way to get you back again. Bruce and Tony had spent countless hours in the lab trying to find a way to reopen the portal but nothing led to you.

*****

Bucky stared at his burner, pressing call and ending it before it could go through multiple times before finally letting it ring. There was only one other person he could turn to. He knew he wasn’t going to be immediately welcomed back into Wakanda but this wasn’t just about him. Everyone wanted you back. Nothing was the same without you there. If there was a 1% chance to get you back, he had to try. His chest felt tight as the jet landed in a secluded area having arranged a private meeting with Shuri, the one person he trusted with his life.

"I-I have a favor to ask" Bucky's eyes were already pleading with her, his heart racing as he approached her, ready to fall on his knees.

"Anything Sergeant Barnes" Shuri smiled, sensing he was there for something urgent, nodding for him to continue. There was zero hesitation as she immediately agreed to come back with him to try and get you back, bringing her own lab equipment with her so she could work with Bruce. After filtering through a number of timelines and timestamps, she’d managed to pinpoint the portal to find you but it wasn’t without its consequences.

“You understand you may not return” Shuri whispered as Bucky threw on his tactical gear, insisting on getting you all on his own while rest of the team watched in pin drop silence, reluctantly letting him go alone “And y/n...we can get her back but there's a chance she may not...”

She squeezed his hand before he stepped onto the platform, not wanting to finish the sentence but he already understood. He knew it was possible he’d find you again but it didn’t mean he’d find you alive.

“Then at least I get to say goodbye” He gave her a strained smile; he had to bring you home one way or another. If this was how he had to go, he would run happily to his death; he’d be at peace knowing he died trying to find you. With the push of a button, he was instantly thrown into a warp, transported to where you had last been with Nat. Everything came to a halt as he found himself at an abandoned hydra base, the cold nipping his skin. Bucky blinked, his vision focusing on the fuzzy figure laying on the ground, his feet moving before he could process anything.

There was no one else around.

It was you.

His doll.

His y/n.

He sprinted to you, tears clouding his vision as he approached you, dropping to his knees, both fear and hope fighting for dominance. He found you. You were there. But would he ever actually get you back? Were you even breathing?

“Y/n?” Bucky cradled you to him, scooping you in his arms and chasing the portal that had already began to close. He held your face to his neck, his metal hand protecting your head, holding you securely against his body as you both fleshed back to the present.

The team gasped as he appeared on the platform again with you safely tucked in his arms. They didn’t dare move, everyone holding their breaths while Bucky laid you down with you still in his arms, his hand softly stroking your cheek.

“Y/n? Doll?” His heart was beating erratically, your skin was warm, a glimmer of hope burning stronger as he gently shook you, pressing his cool metal hand against your face. “Please”

“C’mon doll, come back to me baby, I have so much I need to tell you” He pleaded, his warm breath fanning against your face, tears brimming his eyes. Tony and Steve itched to whisk you off to the medbay while Sam silently shook his head, wanting to give Bucky an extra minute, hoping you’d be able to wake up in the super soldiers arms where you belonged.

“Baby, wake up sweets” Bucky couldn't help himself, pressing his lips softly to your forehead, trailing feather light kisses down your face while cuddling you. “C’mon I l-love you” His voice cracked, his lips finally pressing against yours. They were still soft, warm, you had to wake up, you had to-

Your lips stirred, your eyes cracking open, taking your first breath as your eyes focused on Bucky.

“Sweetheart?” Bucky's eyes grew wide, unsure if he was dreaming or not, scrambling to hug you closer, cupping your face gently.

“Bucky?” Your voice was a raspy whisper, leaning into his touch, feeling his tears fall onto your skin as he pulled you into his chest.

“My doll” He let out a soft sob, cradling your head as you buried your face into his neck, moved to cling onto him, the last thing you remembered was darkness and now you were in his arms again surrounded by his warmth, his scent. Everyone stayed rooted in place, tears falling freely, dying to grab you, hug you, hold you again but they were not about to separate the two of you, not after how badly Bucky had yearned to get you back.

“Bucky” You wept, your mind still piecing together how you were back but it didn’t matter, not when he was holding you again.

“Hi baby” He whispered against your hair, wiping your tears with his thumb, cupping your face, kissing you all over before capturing your lips again, relishing in your touch, feeling your fingers card through his short locks. You lost yourselves in each other, the rest of the world no longer existing.

“Okay white wolf, When do we get to say hi to our girl” Sam snorted, sniffling seeing you tucked in Bucky’s arms, the brunettes lips curved into a smile for the first time since you’d been gone. Bucky loosened his hold around you, helping you to your feet, giving you one more kiss before letting go.

“Come here” Steve scooped you up immediately after, struggling not to squeeze you tight, “We missed you sweet heart, so much”

“Hasn’t been the same without you” Sam gave you a once over, determining you were well enough for a slightly bone crushing hug before having you grabbed away by Tony. Tony wasn’t able to say much, biting his bottom lip to keep it from trembling, hugging you the longest, reluctant to let you go. You were engulfed in Nat’s arms as she wept, squeezing you like her life depended on it.

“You saved me” She whispered in your hair, her tears falling onto your skin, “Don’t ever do that again” She hissed sternly, grabbing your face to look at her, “Don’t ever ever do something like that again”

“Give me my baby back” Bucky grabbed you, tossing you over his shoulder as soon as everyone had gotten their hugs and kisses, not interested in giving anyone a second longer when he needed you so badly. You squealed, giggling as he carried you straight down the hall towards his room without glancing back. As soon as he locked the door, his hands were all over you, holding you tightly to him.

“Your baby?” You shyly whispered as he rested his forehead against yours, nodding and chasing your lips.

“M’never letting you go again doll, never” He trailed kisses down your neck while unbuckling the straps of your gear letting it drop to the floor. “I want to love you, I want to hold you, I want to make love to you, I want it all with you”

Bucky tore your clothes off, hoisting you up to wrap your legs around his waist as he carried you over to the bathroom, turning the hot water on, hot water pouring over both if you. The steam made you woozy, your body turning into jelly under his touch as he massaged your muscles with delicate touches, his lips ghosting over every bruise and scar that had marked your skin. You let out a needy whimper, staying close to him, your butterflies erupting in your tummy every time he touched you.

“Bucky please”

“I want to love you so badly baby, love you the way you deserve” Bucky willed himself not to take you right there, focused on rinsing off and grabbing a towel, carrying you over to his bed. He tossed to towel off, climbing on top of you, neither of you having the patience for a slow build or teasing. Your belly clenched feeling his hard length rut and rub against your bare cunt, your slick coating his cock.

“I need you” He rasped while you whined, wrapping your legs around him, bucking your hips up. “You have no idea baby, God I need you” His eyes were pleading with you, his cock starting to leak feeling your arousal.

“Wanna feel you Bucky” You spread your legs for him, your breath hitching feeling the tip of his cock rub through your folds before pressing into your entrance.

“Gonna make love to you so good sweet girl” Bucky whispered as he started to push his cock in, his heart beating faster, cock growing harder feeling your heat pull him in deeper. He groaned, letting his body weight fall onto you as he started to thrust, pleasure consuming both of you immediately.

“JAmessss” Your gasp melted into a moan, your head pressed against his pillow as he filled you, stretching you open, letting you feel every ridge and vein of his cock. “Stretching me to so good Buckyyy”

“Yeah? You feel so good wrapped around me baby” He rasped, his orgasm already creeping down his spine as he pressed sloppy kisses all over your face, overwhelmed with emotion and the feeling of you under him. Your moans made him twitch, nearly growling when he felt your nails dig into his skin as he kissed your cervix with each roll of his hips.

“I missed you so much baby, didn’t know what to do with myself, I-I couldn’t breathe without you, couldn’t live-” Bucky could feel tears brimming his eyes, struggling to keep them away, “Fuck I missed you so much, I felt like I was drowning every single day”

You sniffled over his words, your heart connected with his, squeezing your thighs around his waist, desperate to keep every inch of his body pressed with yours.

“It-it was always you” He kissed your forehead, as he kept you caged under him, moaning against your skin.

“I love you” you cupped his cheeks, brushing his tears away, his nose lightly bumping against yours. You pulled him down for a sweet kiss, only pulling away for air. All of it was so much all at once, the quietest cries and softest kisses, feeling every inch of each other, making up for lost time. Bucky pulled the covers over you both, wrapping you in a cocoon of warmth, hiding you from the rest of the world, savoring this moment with just the two of you, his sweet girl back in his arms again.

He let his arms roam across your body, stroking your waist, your thighs, gently cupping your breasts, softly suckling your nipples, his body trembling as he tried to hold his climax off and make this moment last forever.

“M’gonna marry you, you know that?” His hands came to lace with yours, pinning you against the bed, eyes locked with yours. His pace didn’t falter, thrusting into you, loving the way your pussy fluttered around his cock, rolling his hips so he could push into you deeper. “W-will you? Will you marry me babygirl”

He knew you had just come back but he wanted nothing more, unable to stop the words from slipping out. You let your own tears fall down your cheeks, pulling him impossibly closer.

“Yes” You whimpered, sniffling back sobs as he stroked your head, smiling against your lips.

“Gonna make you my wife baby, marry you and take care of you until my last breath” He started to fuck you faster, panting, the muscles in his body tensing.

“Tell me more Bucky, please?” You whined, your heart aching for more, everything you’d always wanted with the one person you’d always been in love with.

“Oh baby, M’gonna get you pregnant sweet girl, have a family with you, everything with you, take care of your swollen belly, make love to you even when you’re full of me, show you how much I adore you princess” You gasped as he braced himself, his grunts growing louder, his body heat radiating off him, unable to stop the pleasure that was growing.

“Tell me your mine baby” He whined, wrapping his arms around you while you threw your head back, your eyes rolling back at the feel of his pubic bone rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves with each thrust.

“I’m yours Bucky”

“Fuck don’t stop y/n, please, I need it” His voice was needy, desperately clinging onto your body, craving to hear nothing else. “Say it again doll”

“I’m yours Bucky, all yours soldier” You moaned louder, your legs shaking around him “I’m gonna cum”

“Cum with me baby, same time, please”

“BuckyBuckyBucky- You cried our, your walls staring to flutter, ready to fall off the edge with hi.

“M’right here, I got you, togther, c’mon, cum with me princess” Bucky rolled his hips, pounding you into the mattress, biting down onto your neck as he felt your nails scratch down his back while white hot pleasure tore through you, your pussy milking his cock.

“FUCK JAMES” Your body trembled as he fucked you through your high, burying his face into your neck, his lips brushing by your ear.

“YES, Yes baby, my good girl, my sweet girl, s’perfect for me, yes, I’m gonna give you my cum, get you pregnant, have a baby with you, take care of you, love you, all of it with you baby, fuck- I LOVE YOU- UGGHHH-

Bucky collapse on you, filling you with his cum until the bed was damp, his body jolting from sensitivity each time you fluttered around him while kissing his temple. He hardly moved, a steady stream of cum still pouring into you, staying connected to you the entire night, cuddling you next to him.

“I finally have my baby back, my sweet sweet baby, she’s back”

It has been nearly a week since you were back but you hadn’t left Bucky’s room once. You only took a few moments to eat and sleep, the rest of the time wrapped up in each other, connected in the most intimate way possible, while whispering sweet nothings,

It was everything Bucky needed. Emotional. Warm. Soft. Loving.

He couldn’t help the tears every time he was inside you, he finally had you back, wrapping his arms around you every time you made love, making sure you knew exactly how much he had always adored you. As much as he wanted to take you apart in every way imaginable, he couldn’t help but slip into missionary every single time, wanting to see your pretty face, feel your body, have your legs wrap around him as he came inside you.

*****

You threw on your coat while Bucky slipped his arm around your waist while you both made your way down, passing through the living room on our way out.

“Damn future Mrs. Barnes” Sam whistled, along with the rest of the team, everyone gathered for a night for a movie. “Where you off to?”

“The three of us are going out for dinner” Bucky smiled with a child like grin, snickering to himself while the team looked at you with confusion.

“Three?” Steve cocked his head, noting the way you shied into Bucky’s chest, giggling while he kissed your head, his hand slipping down to brush over your belly. “THREE?”

Steve’s eyes grew wide as he shot out of his seat, pointing at your tummy. “THREE” He whipped his head to Tony, Nat, Sam and Clint who slowly connected the dots. “THREE”

“For fucks sake, it hasn’t even been a month Barnes” Tony snorted, while everyone pilled onto you both, a large mess of hugs and tears.

“You didn’t waste any time, huh” Sam wiggling his eyebrows while Bucky wrapped his arms around you, his hands splayed on your tummy.

“Never again” He whispered, tilting your chin to kiss you deeply, “Never ever again”

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jackdaw-and-hattrick · 2 years ago

Text

Hey Brother

Inspired by Loli-kolinaki by larunde

Dick and Danny Greyson were close. The nine and seven-year-old seemed almost more like twins. That was until tragedy struck the Flying Greysons, both parents dying and the youngest disappearing without a trace, leaving Dick to his own devices until Bruce Wayne came to the rescue. He would come to be known as Robin, then later Nightwing, never stopping his search for his missing brother. Over time, as no new evidence came forward, Dick became convinced his brother was dead. He would be half right.

Danny Fenton didn't have many memories from before he found himself in the Amnity foster system, but what he did know he treasured, holding soft memories of kind smiles and high-flying acts. He did his best to stay connected to his roots, maintaining his acrobatic training and Romani. Then came his accident, and all that took a back seat. The accident had an odd effect, bringing back memories of falling through the broad green he now knew to be the Ghost Zone. As his relationship with other ghosts improved, he began spending time with Desiree, both bonding over their shared heritage, separated by centuries as they were. She came to care for the boy (he would not call her good, never good, but she was sweet, and that was enough)

A twenty-one-year-old Dick was having what could be called a mental breakdown. Jason, his brother was dead, and the last time they’d talked had been a screaming match two weeks before his death. His adopted dad was midway through his own shitstorm and was generally being a bitch intent on getting himself killed as well, there was a literal child following them everywhere and the damn insult of a clown was still standing. He was high when he said it, with no idea anyone was listening, let alone the consequences it would have.

“I just... I wish I had my brother.”

“So you have wished it, so it shall be.”

Desiree at least had the decency to give Danny a heads-up before sending him to a separate universe to help mend his long-lost brother’s fractured life. The rules were simple; Danny could not do anything to reveal his identity, and could not return to Amnity until they knew who he was. He could use his powers, but quickly realized that if he was going to get through to his brother’s family he’d be best off at least pretending to be human. There was no Phantom without Amnity, instead, Gotham got Magpie, a man more on vacation than a mission with a spirit box on his hip and a penchant for areal silk.

Things maintained like that for a while. The Bat colony was making progress; Tim had been successfully put through therapy and had more or less stopped incessantly stalking Danny. That was until one day a chill ran down his spine. Danny did not know Jason Todd, so when he found the kid wandering around with no memories and a soul barely hanging on to a broken body, he had no idea that this was more or less his brother. Still, he took care of him, helping nurse him back to health. Eventually, Jason decided to start working with Magpie under the name Cardinal, keeping his distance from the Colony until such time as he can look at them without wanting to punch someone (luckily being Cardinal means he can do that without questions)

#danny phantom #dp x dc #jason todd #dick grayson #Magpie au #hoping I’ll write something for this but who knows?#digital art #sketches #I have struggled so much with trying to name these characters

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sehtoast · 6 months ago

Text

Slices of a New Life (Depowered!Homelander x OC)

18+ | 4.3k, brief somno smut scene at the double divider mark, hurt/comfort, home remodeling, domestic bliss/turmoil, nightmares, shared showers, doctor appointments, emotional breakdowns, lingering trauma, mirrorlander, spidersona oc | Fic Directory

The nightmares were the worst. His body would heal… for the most part, at least. Cuts would mend, scars would form, that chipped molar would become the new norm– at least until he stopped panicking at the thought of seeing a dentist.

But his mind?

It never did forget. Not even the trauma he endured in the labs as a child was ever really far from the front of his mind. And now?

Now there was something new. Something fresh and horrible.

Something all too happy to pervade his dreams and rip him from what little rest his anxious existence could even get these days. Night after night, day after day.

If it wasn’t full blown nightmares, it was panic attacks– or were they anxiety attacks? Fuck, at this rate, who cares?

God knows it’s taken him long enough to get used to standing under the water of the shower since then, but would he ever get used to living again?

Well.

If one could even call this living. The closest he’s gone to outside since Benjamin rescued him has been to see Doctor Edi, and even that was mortifying.

“Goodness!” The old woman had gasped when she entered the room. Benjamin had snuck him into Vought Tower. It scared him half to death to get carried up the side of the skyscraper now that he could no longer fly, but the web-head insisted he needed to at least get some degree of medical attention after everything, and there was no way in hell Homelander was going in through the front door willingly or letting some stranger poke and prod at him. Doctor Edi was the only one he’d see, albeit reluctantly. If nothing else, the idea of maybe getting something to help him sleep at night made him a little less reluctant.

Setting foot in the tower felt like a massive mistake the moment they entered. Ben’s old apartment stung his heart like nothing else, and the walk through the halls had been petrifying despite the fact no one even recognized him in his beanie and hoodie.

And now, sitting before the doctor?

It didn’t take long for the humiliation and shame to turn to rampant anxiety and dread, quickly spiraling far beyond his control until his breathing became rapid.

“Shh,” Ben coos, hands rubbing at his shoulders. “He’s been like this…”

He wants to yell at Ben to shut his mouth– he has not been weak. The shame he feels now brings him back to then, back to the cell, back to that guard humiliating him, hurting him day after fucking day. It grips him by the chest and squeezes every part of him until he feels like he’s suffocating– chest too tight, lungs won’t breathe, heart too fast–

His head is under the weight of that boot again and that fucking cattle prod is going to press against his back soon and–

The chatter between Ben and the doctor fades into garbled words, but he’s at least still visually grounded. No haziness or swirling yet. He’s had a few of these already. It’s only been four weeks since he’s come home, but…

“Once a day,” he hears Ben say clearly. “Every other if we’re lucky. Shh, pumpkin. It’s okay…”

He knows that, he just can’t make it stop once it starts. The roar of the firehose pummeling him against the wall, the clanging of the baton outside the cell, the coldness of the cement floor all fill his mind.

Homelander barely registers the feeling of Ben’s jacket being draped over him, but it does somehow soothe his nerves– if only a little. Focus, focus… Just fucking focus.

“...considered therapy?”

I don’t need fucking therapy! He shouts inside his head, teeth grit as he hisses a shaky breath. The lights are too bright. His skin feels too tight, he’s itchy, too hot. Stop trying to–

“He doesn’t want to.” Ben answers, then their banter fades out again. Something about his fear of being recognized... Homelander clenches his eyes shut and shoves his face against Ben’s chest, knuckles white as he grips the edge of the padded examination table like his life depends on it.

Somehow that helps.

The two talk for a moment longer, surface level details of what he'd gone through and the extent of his mostly-healed injuries are shared, then suddenly they’re alone and Benjamin is whispering in his ear.

“Remember what we talked about? Breathe, pumpkin.”

Easy for you to say.

But he tries.

“That’s it… Just us now,” Ben whispers. “Proud of you. M’sorry to put you through this...”

No… I’m sorry.

But the words don’t come out. He just clings to his little spider and keeps trying to control his breathing, just like Ben said.

In… and out.

In…

Hold it…

Out. Slow…

“Attaboy.”

At least by the end, after a lot of unpleasant poking and prodding and blood draws, he gets a lovely bottle of sleep medication. He prays it’ll work.

He’s back to sitting on the couch, feet kicked up on the coffee table as he flips through channel after channel, app after app. Ben’s out for the night. Some stupid fuck just had to blare their sirens loud enough for him to hear…

He feels rotten without his little spider around to distract him. The voice in his head tends to seize its opportunity without Ben around to soothe the both of them. It begins with a ringing in his ears, just like always.

Could you get any more pathetic?

He groans, tapping the tip of the remote against his temple as if that would silence his other half.

“We’re not doing this…” He mutters under his breath, jamming his finger down on the volume-up button to drown him out.

Face it tiger, you’re cooked. Demoted to house pet.

It’s been like this since Ben broke him out of that fucking supe prison. Hell, his other half taunted him in there, too. There was no escaping him, nowhere to run, nowhere quiet. He’s just about to start a whole argument when he hears the telltale sound of the window sliding open and shut.

Saved by the bug. As usual.

John breathes a sigh of relief instantly. They say their hellos and he follows Ben into the bathroom like some sort of lost puppy. Seems that all he is these days.

“Anything fun?” He asks, sitting on the ledge of the tub while Ben wets and tousles his mask-flattened hair back to something decent.

“Mm, some dickhead tearing up a bank.” Ben says. “Called himself Shocker. Guy was a little weirdo, honestly.”

Homelander huffs a short laugh, betraying the way he truly feels. This is the only way he can be involved in heroics now. Hearing about it, watching it on the news, seeing little videos from bystanders on social media. More than anything though, he hates that he can’t be there. He should be out there protecting his little spider, making sure none of those rancid fucks put a hand on him. It’s been a long time since he’s seen Ben injured, but still…

“Hey, how’d that movie end?”

“Stupid.” He says. “The main guy got killed, the blonde girl lived. Typical horror movie. They put the killer through a woodchipper though. That was cool.”

“Typical horror movie,” Ben echoes in agreement, letting out a big yawn right after.

The bug offers him a hand, which Homelander takes without hesitation. They wind up in bed, cuddled up close to wind down for the night. He hates to admit it, but he really is extra clingy these days.

Back when he was stuck in that cell, he’d lay on the cement floor and weep, praying that it was all a dream and he’d wake up to his Benjamin. It would all be a bad dream; he’d be okay, he’d be at home and safe. But then his eyes would open the next morning and he’d still be in that cell, still on that floor.

Sometimes he’s scared he’ll wake up on that cold slab all over again.

He falls asleep to fingers raking softly through his hair, warm and content to keep his head atop Ben’s chest, hearing thumps from the heart that claimed him. And he’s okay for a time, completely and utterly okay.

Until he’s not.

Until he’s back in that cell– until the door swings open and in walks that guard and fear paralyzes him into a perfect ragdoll to be thrown to the floor.

He’s beaten bloody. Cut and battered, thrown about like the worthless sack of nothing he is, and then that boot is on his head again, prod pressed to his back.

“Beg,” the guard orders. “Beg for your life.”

The sharp crackle of electricity shocks him back to consciousness, but the words fly off his tongue anyway–

“Please don’t!”

He jolts, damn near falling off the side of the bed if not for the thwip of a web grabbing him by the center of his heaving chest. The room is lit only by a faint blue glow and he can hardly see, but he knows that sound better than anything.

“Hey– s’okay. You’re good; you’re safe...”

And he knows that voice.

For a moment, he thought he’d never hear it again.

His breathing is fast and ragged as he comes down from the panic.

“Fuck…” He pants. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Every fucking night with this. Every single fucking night…

The table light gets flicked on once he’s calm enough to release Ben from the closest thing to a death grip he can muster these days. Tears of frustration well in his eyes despite his best effort to hold them back.

They don’t take much more than a second to spill free once Ben's arms wrap around him.

“Sorry,” the bug murmurs as he disconnects each little strand of webbing stuck to him that tugs at his chest hair.

Homelander snorts. Ben must think he’s crying like this because it hurts. To be fair, it is like having the world's smallest and strongest bandage torn off, but he’s had worse.

He’s had so much worse.

“Did you take your pills?”

“Yes, I took my fucking pills, Ben.” He snaps. “For fucks sake, I–”

But he stops. He always feels guilty after this– after all of it. The waking, the screaming, the agitation and short-tempered remarks. He’d never admit to it, but…

Ben doesn’t respond to his outburst. The bug never did. Years together now, and Ben’s always been so sickeningly tolerant of him, never cracking even when it’s written on his face clear as day that he’s on his last leg. Patient, even if he sat there in tears from the things Homelander had said to him. Understanding…

He doesn’t know where the fuck Ben gets it, but he’s glad at least one of them is levelheaded, even if it does piss him off sometimes. It wouldn’t hurt for the boy to snap and yell back once in a while. At least it would even the score…

He’s groggy and miserable the next day. He wakes with a groan, eventually letting Benjamin drag him into a shower. He’s gotten better with standing under the stream, though he still can’t help but recall what it was like to be on the receiving end of the blistering torrent of that hose in the prison showers when he does.

So, as usual, they take it slow. Ben enters first, holds a hand out, leads him in. Hugs him close and slowly walks them backward into the water until they’re both wet and all is well. He leans his head atop Ben’s shoulder, eyes shut as they stand under the warmth.

Benjamin has the day off. In theory, they could stay there all day. Whether or not the hot water would last was another thing entirely, but they technically could.

He hums contentedly as a soapy loofah roams his body. The one benefit left to crawling out of bed in the morning was being spoiled rotten by his little spider. He never could decide what he liked more: the skincare routine or the hair washing.

Even with his hair buzzed short, Benjamin still took his sweet time raking and rubbing suds into his scalp, even massaging his temples. It definitely alleviates the tension, that’s for sure. But then there’s the face wash… Thumbs stroking his cheekbones, smoothing out the worry lines on his forehead, booping the tip of his nose.

Oh, how he adores it all.

Even when they’re done and Ben helps carefully shave away the overgrowth of his facial hair, he loves it. Two kisses pressed to his cheeks, some kind of serum and moisturizer, and Ben assures him that he’s the most beautiful man alive.

Their morning is spent messing around with the layout of the house. Most things were put away within the first week of his rescue, though he was in no condition to help. Ben spent that time building all kinds of furniture at his bedside, dragging it with ease to its new home in some corner or wherever else he saw fit. Slowly, over time, the house became a home, and today was for finishing touches. All they had to do was rearrange a few things here or there until it was perfect.

Homelander snorts a laugh when Ben drags the couch an inch or two to the left while he rests on it.

When they finish, he can’t help but feel something tugging at his heart. Something he… really hasn’t ever felt.

Sure, he had the cabin. That was a house and it was his. It was nice and all, but it wasn’t…. It wasn’t this.

Not even the glory of the penthouse could touch the way this makes him feel.

Emotional was definitely a word for it.

How could he not get choked up? Looking around, seeing his dream... The love of his life, pictures of them together, a cozy kitchen, inviting living room, soft lighting because Benjamin knows how he feels about bright overhead lights... The only thing that was missing was the stereotypical white picket fence, but he could make an exception for something so small when everything he ever dreamed of is right here.

“You have to talk about it at some point.”

“Fuck you! Fuck! You!”

He doesn’t mean to be so harsh. Doesn’t mean to shout or grit his teeth or any of it. But he has to protect himself.

“I know it’s shitty, but keeping it locked up isn’t helping, y’know.” Ben tells him, calm and collected as ever. Suppose he has no reason to fear a dog that can no longer bite. Well, not that he was ever afraid to begin with.

“I already said I’m not seeing a fucking therapist and that’s final!” He seethes, shaky finger pointing accusingly as if to remind Benjamin that he knows this answer already. “I–”

“I’m not asking you to go to therapy,” Ben says. “You can’t anyway until I twist Stan’s nuts hard enough to get you to exist legally on paper and stuff– still can't believe the fuckin’ board brought him back– I just… Can’t you talk to me?”

Homelander presses two fingers to each of his temples, massaging the frustration and headache throbbing beneath his skin. “It’s still a no– for fuck’s sake why don’t you ever listen!?”

“Because it’s for you, you goof!” Ben leans back on the couch as though this weren’t the most heated argument they’ve had since Homelander lost his powers. “I grew up in therapy, babe. I’m a good listener. I promise.”

“No.”

“Why?” Ben asks immediately.

“Because–”

Because I don’t want you to know every humiliating thing that’s happened to me.

“I–”

Because I can’t bear to see the way you look at me change again.

“I–”

Because I’m so afraid you’ll see me as more worthless than I already am…

“Fuck you!” Of course his words come out choked. Of course he’d have to give himself away in such a pathetic manner. He realizes he’s been pacing the whole time, agitated.

There’s nowhere to go. No blue skies nor clouds in which he can hide. If he leaves, he’s bound to be seen, bound to be recognized. There’s nowhere in the house he can go without Ben fucking finding him eventually.

His hands grip at his borrowed shorts, clenching, knuckles turning white. Too much– too warm, too loud, too quiet, can’t get enough air, can’t–

Pathetic.

“God damnit!” Homelander roars, sinking to his knees, eyes clenched shut with all his might. His palms press tight over his ears, shielding himself from nothing and everything all at once. He curls in on himself, like a turtle hiding in his shell– but he hasn’t got that. He’s like a nerve, raw and vulnerable, utterly at the mercy of the world.

He can’t hear Benjamin approach, can’t feel the kiss of air as the bug squats before him and just stays there. He just holds himself like that, lip bit between his teeth, eyes shut like gates that would open for nothing and no one as he blocks out the world.

He's that little boy in the lab again, rocking himself in the corner– his only comfort.

He's the man in the cell, curled up in the fetal position against a cold, hard floor.

He is anger and rage, sadness and woe, helplessness and desperation. And he feels so small…

He is a dog ready to be put down at any moment by a world from which he can no longer protect himself. A world that is too much for him to bear.

He can’t release his pain into it.

He can’t give the world one more fucking hold over him.

“Are you sure? I can take you to my stylist. She’s super cool.”

Homelander shakes his head. That would require going out, plus he’s not sure he’s ready to feel a pair of clippers shear his head again. Not after they buzzed him nearly bald in the supe prison. Seeing himself look so wrong was…

He doesn’t want to go through that again.

He can’t go through that again.

Ben was off for another day. He’d just been formally appointed as captain of the new and improved Seven, a clean slate all except for the web-head himself. Stacks of contract papers littered the desk in the bedroom, and even more were splayed out upon the table in front of the couch. They’d been sitting for some time. Homelander had been watching a documentary about Pompeii while Ben sorted through so much legal jargon it was a miracle the bug’s head didn’t explode.

A hand ruffles John’s messy hair. Four months of growth and it was getting a bit out of hand. The sides and top were at an oddly equal length, and he was looking quite shaggy. Benjamin’s offer hangs in the air, but Homelander can’t quite find it in himself to agree to be at the mercy of someone, even if it would be to his benefit.

“I thought you finished picking through your contract.” John says, trying to shift the focus elsewhere. “What’s with this one?”

Ben smiles at him, grinning wide and proud.

“This one’s about you,” he says excitedly.

Homelander’s brow furrows and he leans forward immediately. Anxious thoughts ripple through his mind. Are they trying to come after him? Would they take him away again– oh god, oh god–

“It's nothing bad, I promise. I’m getting you everything, and I do mean everything.” Ben tells him. “I’m not letting them raw deal you. Like I said, I'm basically twisting Stan's nuts. But anyway, uhm, where to start… The stack over there,” the bug points to the corner of the table, “is to get you the shit that’ll prove you exist. Birth certificate, state ID, social security number– all the government goods, basically. This one,” Ben points at two different stacks, “is to get Vought off your ass for good– except for Doctor Edi, since you said you’re comfortable seeing her. But that can always change if you want.”

John just sat in awe, brow furrowed as he listened.

“Also, basically any claim that you’re their ‘product,’ and therefore theirs, will be made into the bullshit it’s always been. Just in case they try to pull that at any point. I just… I’m trying to cover your ass every way I possibly can. I know a guy who knows this one cool lawyer. We got this.”

“I…” Homelander begins, but he can’t think of anything to say. Even a thank you feels insufficient.

Instead, he leans forward and pulls Ben into a kiss, sniffling and blinking back tears when they part.

“I love you,” Ben tells him firmly. “I’m not stopping till I know you’re a free man with the world as your oyster.”

When Benjamin wakes, it’s to a fullness slipping in and out of his core. Delicious pressure clouds his sleep-hazed mind in the best of ways, and he knows the culprit without even turning over. Hot, heavy breaths pant into his ear, fanning down the curve of his jaw.

“Mmm,” he hums. “G’mornin, pumpkin.”

Homelander acknowledges Benjamin with a kiss to his nape. He thrusts slowly, basking in the pleasure rippling through his body.

“So good,” Homelander gasps. Little broken moans escape him with each movement as if any second could spell his undoing. “Couldn't– couldn't help it. Needed you…” he admits.

A smile cracks across Benjamin's sleepy face. He's almost positive of how this whole thing started, same as it always did. Homelander probably woke up half hard and tried to offset it with some light grinding, but it wasn't enough.

It never is.

“Almost… mmm, almost,” he pants, clinging to Ben like his life depended on it. Each roll of his hips came faster and harder until he was rutting sloppily, chasing that release so desperately. “I– oh, fuck, I’m–” he mewls, suddenly choking off his whimpers into a tight, precious moan. His hips halt and quake as he spills, body stiff as a board.

Ben rocks gently and revels in the little strangled breaths gasped against his neck. This is good, he thinks to himself. Not solely because it felt good– it always did– but because Homelander's confidence had taken such a sharp dive after everything he'd gone through, and it was nice to see him be bold like this again.

He feels a hand creep down between his thighs, finding his stiff nub and pressing circles to the head of it. It was Ben's turn to hum a moan, his turn to clench and rock until the soft waves of bliss lapped at the shores of his mind and body, crumbling him so gently and powerfully all at once.

He moans Homelander's name for added effect. He prays it lifts that surge of confidence even more.

The two lay slumped together for a time, basking in the afterglow. Ben reaches back to run his fingers through John’s hair, murmuring the first “love you” of the day.

Not even the morning sun could shine brighter than the smile on his precious Johnny’s face in that moment.

He didn’t understand Ben sometimes.

The bug had bought their home outright after the previous owner moved out to live with her kids.

“I specifically wanted something a bunch of flippers didn’t fuck up, y’know?” He’d said when Homelander asked about it.

See, there were several things about the house that were… unique. Totally pink bathrooms, blue kitchen cabinets, just a ton of outdated aesthetics overall. But there was nothing wrong that necessitated fixing, so he didn’t get why Ben insisted upon shutting down the spare bathroom to remodel it.

It was a mess. His job was to keep Ben company and, to be fair, it was more interesting to watch him yank the toilet off the floor than browse whatever mud was playing on TV.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” He asks, head leaned into his hand as he sits atop a step ladder.

“Uhh,” the bug shrugs. “Mostly. I mean I watched some videos and called my dad, so… Besides, this is just the destructive part– which, y’know, is the fun part.”

Fair, Homelander thinks.

“Besides, you’re gonna like it when it’s done,” Ben says as he carries the pink monstrosity into the hallway. “I’ll let you pick the new toileeeet~” He sings while beginning his trek downstairs.

Homelander rolls his eyes, but he is admittedly a little excited at the thought of picking out more things for their house. They’d only been living there for six months, but it felt like an eternity– like it was theirs this whole time and they only needed to find it.

He hears the front door open and rolls his eyes at the realization that pink eye sore is going to sit on the curb until trash night and the whole neighborhood will know they’ve been using something so hideous.

“You better put a tarp over that thing,” he calls out when he hears Benjamin coming back in. “Nobody needs to see our shame.”

Ben’s giggles ring in time with footfalls ascending the stairs.

“Oh? I thought you didn’t mind the pink throne?” He teases. Benjamin has a chisel and hammer in one hand, as well as a pair of protective gloves, glasses, and a respirator mask in the other. He offers them all to Homelander, then nods in the direction of the bathroom. “C’mon, you’re helping me chip the tile off the walls.”

“I am not wearing that,” he says flatly.

“You are if you wanna break stuff.”

“You’re not even wearing a mask, I–” he tries, but stops short when Ben yanks his Spidey mask from his back pocket and dons it. “Ugh. Fine…”

At least they look ridiculous together.

#homelander #homelander x oc #homelander fanfiction #homelander smut #depowered homelander #homelander x reader #the benlander agenda #antony starr #the boys

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shotmrmiller · 11 months ago

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What if, after a few days of 09wife moved all the way across the barracks and not seeing her, he realises that he does miss her? And then he tries to regain her affection, but she - logically- can't move on that fast. I suppose she would also need therapy or at least a support person/system - most likely the rest of the squad (who didn't know everything - especialy the motel thing - and might tear him a new one for it).

Pretty angsty all around, I guess.

holy shit.

i actually gasped because i completely forgot about him going away to scratch his itch in a hotel.

christ. i wrote that? i was clearly going for the jugular then.

he pisses me the fuck off.

honestly, i think that'd be a huge dealbreaker. idk, him genuinely doing what she said, knowing how much she loves her husband, which technically means she loves him too, is so callous.

it almost seems on purpose. simon's no idiot, and if he truly felt like he owed her nothing, which is why he did what he did, then i don't see him caring for her at all.

but idk. i'm probably just blind to a situation that could change his perspective of her without it having to be life or death, on his part.

ooooh, maybe her like doing stuff that normally a wife would for him, and ever since she just disappeared, he's come to miss it.

if he came back to base with a torn mask, it was always mended come morning. he always woke to a warm cup of tea, and it was always fully stocked.

he got used to the smell of her body wash permeating his quarters every time she showered.

he got used to seeing smaller shoes perfectly lined up next to his heavy work boots.

he got used to opening his door and seeing the lights on, a scented candle lit, and you, sticking your head out from the bathroom, welcoming him back home.

simon thinks that he simply got used to having you around, and he never really noticed how much you did for him, or meant to him, until you fizzled out of existence.

his masks after a particularly grueling mission stay broken and torn. he can't sow for shit, so he just tosses it and grabs another.

his room now smells like his cheap 7-in-1 body wash every time he showers.

there's a space next to his boots, and it seems so abnormally empty, even though nothing is out of place.

whenever he comes back, his quarters are dark and cold. it smells like it's been unlived in for a while, and when he looks at the bathroom, the lights are turned off and the door closed.

he takes off his mask and sits on the cot that he hasn't bothered to put away in case you come back— even though it's been almost a year since you left him.

anyway, yeah. he'd have to grovel to hell and back. there is no sliding up beside her like what you wanna eat tonight as an apology.

he'll have to be clear, concise, and both of them definitely need therapy.

and soap needs to fight simon for your honor, maybe even toss in a, "maybe she's better off with me than ye, aye?"

#multiverse cod

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childlikegoblinqueen · 2 months ago

Text

SCOM WRITERS NOTES! For Criminal…

Darius and Willow (and Hunter)

First? Some mental health stuff.

I’m back and my brain is working overtime not to panic and obsess about things that are currently out of my control.

Not easy. I’m sick to my stomach most days and raising my kids who are now WAY more aware than they were when they were literal babies in 2016 and have a lot of thoughts about *things* takes up a lot of headspace.

I’m going to continue to (try) distracting myself with fan fiction and writing notes… but I may be slower because of everything.

So see below for a few notes about Criminal and how Darius’ (and Steve’s) actions after Willow’s actions frame things.

Darius’ track record of truth versus omissions of full truth is BAD in SCOM. I know that a LOT of folks thought I was deliberately anti Darius etc and that is something that they are entitled to believe, but certainly I was working more with the idea that people are messy AF, especially people coming from an underground resistance to a fascist government, and Darius had other hang ups considering his own relationship with Hunter’s predecessor.

Darius made bad decisions that he meant well by at the time and sometimes even overcompensated to fix which ended up costing more to begin with. This is a REALLY HUMAN PROBLEM. He chose to dive back into government (and mend and reform it) which means it was IMPOSSIBLE for him to share certain things with others on the outside.

In SCOM Hunter, coming from the place he had been all his life needed distance from anything involving government. The two things just couldn’t fit together and as Darius had admitted (and Bria twisted) he’d felt sick when he saw Hunter realizing just how badly he’d failed at not mentoring him, but being in his life.

That said? Everything he had done (for better or for worse) was to protect Hunter and keep him out of government affairs so he could remain a private citizen.

And a big one, that displayed a TON of bias was how he handled the situation between Willow and Kikimora.

He has a lot of compassion for Willow and recognizes very well how someone can be pushed SO FAR PSYCHOLOGICALLY when it comes to the thought of a loved one being hurt and abused.

Further? Kikimora (unlike Hunter and Willow) was a grown ass adult when this occurred (more on that later in the story).

Torture is NOT Willow’s go to by any means. She felt outside her own body when she acted as she had. A feeling both Darius (and Steve) are likely to understand. And they believe she deserves a chance at healing.

So taking her memory and getting her into therapy was part of protecting Willow and Hunter at the time. Not only did he see her as a child who couldn’t process her emotions over not being able to protect someone she loved, but he saw her actual horror at her actions.

This shouldn’t be definitive of her future anymore than Hunter should be defined by his time as a child under Belos.

#toh fanfic #the owl house #hunter noceda #sweet child o mine #toh hunter #a03 fanfic #spotify #willow x hunter #willow park #huntlow #toh criminal au #darius angst #hunter and darius #toh darius #darius deamonne

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queenshelby · 8 months ago

Text

An Illicit Affair

Part 41: Houses

Pairing: Cillian Murphy (46) x Reader (23)

Warning: Age-Gap, Taboo Relationship, Infidelity

When you arrived at Cillian's apartment later that day, you couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and anxiety. You had always been independent and strong -willed, but after your injury, you had felt vulnerable and helpless. Thus, having the man you loved look after you was both terrifying and comforting.

"Are you really sure about this?" you asked softly, looking up at him with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. You couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed by the thought of living with Cillian, even if it was only for a short while.

Cillian nodded, his eyes soft as they met yours. "Yes, I'm sure," he murmured, reaching out to gently push your hair back from your face. "I want to be there for you, to support you and help you through this difficult time," he explained gently, his voice warm and reassuring.

"And, if I'm being completely honest, I've missed having you around. So, if this is what it takes for me to spend more time with you, then I'm all for it," he continued, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

You couldn't help but feel your heart flutter at his words. It had been a long time since someone had cared for you in this way and, despite all the challenges that lay ahead, you couldn't help but feel grateful for Cillian's support and understanding.

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion as you looked up at him with a mixture of gratitude and love. You couldn't believe that this man, who had once been your boyfriend's father, was now not only your lover but also your caregiver.

Cillian smiled gently down at you before leaning in to press a tender kiss to your lips. "You don't have to thank me," he murmured against your mouth. "I love you , Y/N. I want to be here for you, in every way possible."

***

Over the weeks that followed, Cillian did, indeed, take care of you and you were becoming more self-sufficient by every day that passed.

Your body was healing but, more importantly, so was your heart.

You spent every day with Cillian, watching Netflix and ordering take-out food, or sometimes just reading books, talking, and laughing together.

Cillian was incredibly patient with you and always made sure to make you feel comfortable, never pushing you to do more than you were capable of.

It was a slow and steady recovery - physically and emotionally - but with each passing day, you found yourself falling deeper and deeper in love with Cillian.

As your body mended, you also discovered a newfound vulnerability in yourself that you had never acknowledged before. It was a strange feeling to be so dependant on another person, especially considering that your life before the accident had been one filled with independence and determination.

After a while, you managed to get out of the wheelchair and start using crutches, which allowed you to move around Cillian's apartment with ease.

The physical therapy sessions in London were demanding and left you exhausted but, each passing day, you noticed an improvement in your overall mobility and strength.

The daily sessions were indeed strenuous, but with Cillian by your side, encouraging and cheering you on, it was bearable.

You fell into a comfortable routine, one which became your new normal.

"I want to get rid of these before we are going to the awards. I don't want to be there, in a fancy dress, with crutches," you told Cillian one morning, pointing at your crutches which were lean against the wall near the front door, but he reassured you that it would be fine.

"I know, but you shouldn't push yourself too much babe, alright? Don't worry about it. You will look stunning regardless," he said, brushing a lock of hair out of your face, and you smiled at him gratefully.

"You are getting an Oscar and I want to support you by not looking like an in injured little bird on your arm," you said, trying to laugh it off, but Cillian frowned, his eyes serious.

"I am not getting an Oscar Y/N. I am just nominated," Cillian corrected, positioning his fingers on your cheek to trace the curve of your bone structure.

"Well, I personally think you picking up that little statue is a given, but we shall see," you teased, leaning into his touch.

"Well, I suppose we'll find out soon enough," he said, a hint of nervousness underlying his voice, but that hint of nervousness was not because of the impending academy awards. It was because of the ongoing legal battle against his ex-wife Danielle and the charges that had been brought against her. These were all matters he had shielded you from and you knew literally nothing about how bad things had become.

Cillian was a great actor and pretended that everything was fine whereas, the truth was that, for almost two months now, he not only had to deal with some negative press because of Danielle's actions, but also with strenuous court proceedings and appeals with regards to her care.

Having been admitted to an institution for treatment, it was no surprise that she tried her best to manipulate the situation by using Max against Cillian, reminding him over and over again that his father's actions led her to do what she did.

She wanted you gone from their life after the mess you had created and the fact that you now lived with Cillian angered Danielle greatly. Danielle, however, wasn't the only one who was angered by this. Max, too was angry, but not just for the reasons as his mother was. He believed that, despite his protests, Cillian had chosen to put his relationship with you before his relationship with him.

"You should have ended this once and for all after mum found out and none of this would have happened," Max thus told his father during the last hearing in court just a few days ago, but Cillian remained adamant that you two, as consenting adults, were able to choose what it was you wanted to do in your lives.

"Max, it's not that simple. Your mother has manipulated our marriage for many years and I stayed with her to protect you from, well, shit like this," Cillian said, trying to remain calm while explaining the situation to his son.

Max sneered and shook his head. "Tell yourself whatever you want dad, but all of this is your fault. You had an affair with my fucking girlfriend for crying out loud, and then you're surprised when Mom goes off the deep end?" Max said, disdain evident in his voice. Cillian sighed deeply, running a hand through his short hair. He knew that Max was angry, and rightfully so. But he couldn't let Max believe that Danielle's actions were solely his fault.

"Max, I understand that you're upset. And I'm sorry for that, I truly am. But I didn't force your mother to do anything. She made a series of bad decisions, and now she's paying the price for them," Cillian continued with a heavy heart.

"She certainly is and you still got what you wanted, didn't you?" Max sneered before telling his father that he should end it now at least. He told him to choose between you or him, which left Cillian torn between a rock and a hard place.

"Max, I am not going to break up with Y/N," Cillian declared, his voice firm as he looked upon his son with a mixture of sadness and determination.

"Then I don't want to see you again, dad. You may as well be dead to me," Max replied, his voice filled with anger and resentment. "You chose her over me, over mum, and it's fucked up," Max added, before storming out of the courtroom's foyer following the hearing.

Cillian couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt as he watched his son leave, his heart heavy with the weight of the situation.

He knew that Max was angry, and he couldn't blame him. But he also knew that he couldn't just end things with you, not after everything they had been through together.

"He will come around," Dermont said, who had come to most court hearings with his friend for moral support.

"I hope you're right," Cillian murmured, his eyes clouded with worry. Max's rejection cut deep, and Cillian couldn't bear the thought of severing ties with his son permanently. "I can understand why he is angry and upset with me but, fuck, I cannot just end it with Y/N," he told Dermont as they waited for his solicitor who was still inside, talking to Danielle's attorney.

"You aren't with her simply out of pity though, are you?" Dermont asked, his voice carrying a slight hint of concern as he looked at Cillian with a curious gaze.

Cillian looked back at his friend and shook his head firmly. "No man. I actually have feelings for her," Cillian confessed, his voice steady but hesitant. "She's helped me see things differently, opened my eyes to things I never realized about myself. And I really love her," he admitted, a hint of vulnerability in his voice.

Dermont nodded, understanding the gravity of Cillian's words. "Then you have to follow your heart mate and give Max some space to come to terms with this," he advised, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder in a comforting gesture.

Cillian nodded, acknowledging Dermont's advice. He knew that Max needed time and space to process everything that had happened, and he was determined to give him just that.

As the days went by, Cillian found himself becoming even more invested in his relationship with you.

Despite the challenges that lay ahead, he was determined to make it work, to support and care for you in every way possible and even though you saw staying with him at his apartment as a temporary solution, Cillian couldn't help but imagine the two of you living together long-term.

He saw it as a chance to start anew, to leave the past behind and build a life together and when, one later afternoon, he came home with a few brochures for houses in a different suburb of London, you became curious.

"Suburbia, huh?" you said with surprise as you looked over the brochures Cillian had set on the coffee table. "Are you looking to move?" you asked, not knowing that Cillian wanted you to move with him.

"Well, I think us staying in the same apartment building as my son isn't the best of ideas right now. I want to give him some space. He deserves that and I was thinking that, maybe, moving out of the city would be a nice change," Cillian explained, a hint of uncertainty in his voice as he looked down at the brochures on the table.

"Don't you have a house in Dublin?" you asked, genuinely surprised. You never thought about Cillian living in the busy city of London, at least not full-time.

He shook his head. "I am going to put it on the market soon. It holds too many bad memories to be honest," Cillian replied with a shrug, a pained expression crossing his face as he took a deep breath. You could sense the pain in his voice, the sadness that lingered behind his words as he recalled all that had transpired in that once happy home.

For a moment, you reached out to take his hand in yours, to reassure him that you were there for him, that you would be there for him through every victory and every loss. "I get it, but I am just surprised, you know," you simply said with a nod, squeezing his hand gently in yours. "So, you want to stay in London then permanently?" you ought to ask , a somewhat expectant smile gracing your features as you regarded Cillian with curiosity. There was a definite hint of hopefulness in your tone, one that you couldn't quite suppress.

Cillian nodded, looking at you with a steady gaze. "Yes. I want to make this work between us, and I know that your life is here, so it would make sense for me to live in London permanently, right?" he explained, a hint of determination in his voice as his eyes never left yours.

"Well, it would, but I don't want you to live here just for me," you murmured sincerely, looking up at him with a concerned expression.

"I intend to build a life here for both of us, Y/N," Cillian replied, a gentle smile spreading across his lips. "It would be our home, a place for us to enjoy together, and, maybe we could even get a dog and, I don't know, have kids or something one day," he continued, his voice strong and steady.

"You want to have kids? And a dog? With me?" you asked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in the conversation.

Cillian nodded, a smile on his lips. "Yes, with you, one day, not right now," he said emphatically. "Unless you don't want kids, or a dog, of course," he added, a hint of uncertainty creeping into his voice. "I mean we could always just get a cat or something," he then stammered , quickly regretting the word choice as he saw the surprised expression on your face.

"A cat!?" you laughed, shaking your head and playfully fluttering your eyelashes at him. "I am, uhm, I am not really a cat person,"

you murmured, still chuckling lightly at how absurd the idea seemed, but Cillian merely raised his brows, a playful grin tugging at the corners of this full lips.

"Well, I can cater to your preferences then, how about that?" he asked, his voice still soft, but now tinged with a slight hint of challenge, one that, if you didn't know him, might have given you the wrong impression.

"Sounds good but, just to let me get this straight, you actually want me to move in with you permanently?" you asked, placing the brochures down on the coffee table as you turned to face Cillian fully.

Cillian nodded, his gaze steady and determined as he looked at you. "Yes , I do want you to move in with me permanently," he said, his voice clear and strong as he took your hands in his. "I know it's a big decision and not one to be taken lightly. But I want you by my side, Y/N. I want to build a life with you," he continued, a hint of vulnerability in his voice as he looked at you with a mixture of love and hope.

You sighed softly, your eyes never leaving Cillian's as you considered his words.

"Okay, but no cats!" you said, laughing as you responded to Cillian's proposal. The idea of sharing a home with him felt both exciting and overwhelming. You had always been fiercely independent, but Cillian had managed to wiggle his way into your heart and life in a way that you couldn't deny. "And I will think about starting a family together one day, but not any time soon. For now, let's just keep practicing making babies, okay?" you winked at Cillian who broke out in a deep laugh.

"Practicing sounds good to me," he smiled back before pulling you into another deep and passionate kiss, a promise of things to come.

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neptunes-sol-angel · 1 year ago

Text

Something in your way? Pick the picture(s) that you're drawn to the most then read the corresponding message for insight on what your possible blockages are.

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Pile One 🦇

You say that you want love, but your actions aren't matching with those words. Let me explain why, and there's actually two reasons, but what both sides of the collective that were drawn to this pile have in common, is remaining stagnant in illusions. What's right in front of some of you, is a way forward from what hurt you to what will free you, if you let go of being stuck in the past of things that were not for you. This includes for a lot of you, looking for closure from someone that rejected you in a way that was passive. What's on the other side of this blockage is knowing that you're looking at the wrong way, you keep turning to moments in your life that made you feel unlovable and are internalizing it obsessively to the point where you feel like there's truth and some godly justification for why someone mistreated you or saw you as someone with no worth. You create your own closure, by leaving this person or these people where they are. You don't need their permission to go on with your life to find your family, your true friends, romance, and your real soulmate which is yourself. I love that you're giving yourself time to heal, your body does too, but your mind and spirit is in need of some self-love ointment to mend those lies you keep feeding it. You can't keep this war zone going in inside you, by rendering yourself powerless or staying in this false sense of control because of situations that brought you down the moment you felt that you could be vulnerable. In another guise of how this blockage is making people stuck, is how some of you have caught the ick of avoidance from the person that hurt you, by keeping yourself in a shell. Isolation to get yourself together is fine, when it is healthy. It becomes unhealthy when you know damn well that being reluctant towards wholesome connections and holding back from the possibility of feeling joy, love, and comfort again by sabotaging the other relationships you have in your life with people that love you and the people that want to get to know you and love you too. You aren't cold. You aren't non-chalant. You aren't shallow. You know that's not you. The "bad" or the "hurt" doesn't stop, even when you try to shield yourself from it and in that same linear fashion, the "good" that you'll experience doesn't stop just because of that one bad experience, but those good outcomes can swiftly spoil by not recognizing how unstoppable you can be by changing the narrative. The chalice is yours, and yours only.

Pile Two 🦇

Y'all are trying to "work" away from grief that you are supposed to feel, and it's not unreasonable for why you want to. This feels like an overwhelming feeling of anxiety. Like death that surrounds you. This could pertain to a literal death of someone close to you, or endings in your personal life that have happened, but I'm also picking up irritation and overstimulation with hearing and experiencing chaos that impacts people nationally or globally. You want to rest from this, and ironically, you get that escape by keeping yourself busy. This may not feel like a blockage, but overtime it's going to reveal to you why you need to exert this energy instead of continuing to keep this buried. This can look like talking to someone you trust or a professional about what you're feeling, but I'm also sensing something relating to community, maybe group therapy is something to look into. Overworking for some people in this pile, is going to lead to burnout in which you'll have no choice but to make some changes in your life to relieve this exhaustion on your mind and body, by adding or adjusting activities that will push you to eventually confront what you've been trying to avoid. The same way that too much investment in the spiritual plane can leave you ungrounded, being too involved with material plane could make some of you need to make some space somewhere for your faith. In general, what you guys really need to hear, is that things are going to be ok, whether it's from a higher power, a friend or family member, or even a stranger. You guys need that motivation to know that you can get through what's troubling you or making you uneasy without neglecting parts of yourself that need your time and care. Even if therapy is something that you can't afford, try forums or web browsing for free group activities that are local for you. I emphasize working with others, because above all you need support the most right now, your blockage comes from feeling like most of your problems are for you to deal with alone. You shouldn't suffer in silence because people made you feel like that's what it takes to be strong in this world in order to reach a resolution. Working is going to of course pay off in the end, but you get there by working smarter, not harder to the point where you're depleted before you even reach the finish the line. I also want to mention that these new things to add in your life don't have to be serious, it's about the healthy things that make you realize that there's more to life than just things that you have to do or what to do for survival. Make sure to play in order to compliment the work that you're doing, both materially and healing wise.

Pile Three 🦇

Your blockages comes from the choices that you make in your life that are influenced by others, but in your mind you think that you are making them for you. There's this burst of energy that I'm feeling that's raw and powerful, but misdirected. This feels a lot like some of you are in that part of your journey where you're confusing liberation with something that you're actually repressing. A lot of you have rage that you haven't properly expressed because of how other people might see you or this belief in your head that what you're feeling is unreasonable. This is manifesting as you wanting to embody this rebellious energy that you're subconsciously wanting to act against others, but this translating to actions that make you rebel against yourself and your true nature. This energy reminds me of Kat from Euphoria. She had this power trip of wanting to empower herself in an act of self-love and embracing her sexuality, but she didn't know that she didn't have to do sex work in order for this to happen. This isn't an attack on people who do sex work at all, this is more so about people who do sex work because they're unsure of how to convey their emotions over something that hurt them in the past and how they want to construct their identity. You have this passion, but you don't know what to do with it, but you're learning and even if it leads to something you regret doing or something that you realize you didn't actually love to do, don't punish yourself for it or call yourself an imposter. Growth isn't the end result, it's your acknowledge what needs to change and your initiative to make those changes. You're onto something bold and transformational, you have more than enough power to do it, your blockage, is just in how you subconsciously still make your choices about other people instead of what's good for you. Don't succeed in order to prove something to others, succeed because you have something to prove to yourself. Don't box yourself into trends and concepts that you barely understand yourself, dig deep into the semantics of what your purpose is and why you choose to live it, not because of what others say. This feels like pile one, but is a bit more widespread. Some of you desire a soft life, but are denying yourself of it because the world has shown you nothing but what's rough. Some of you have the option to choose a path that's supposed to shape the rest of your life, but you're making that decision based off of your parents or people who don't have to live with those choices. Some of you are labeling yourselves divine or dark feminines, but is it based of true spirituality or patriarchal concepts that you've been exposed to? Some of you are chasing after lifestyles or beliefs but you don't know why. Think about what it is that you want to do and who you're doing it for.

#divination #intuitive #psychic #pick a card #tarot #spirituality #pac #tarotblr #Spotify

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