#I told my therapist that I can’t even fully enjoy it because I know it’s going to crash eventually and she’s like yeah probably.

[a-concert-just-for-me]

I’ve been in such a good mood the last few days I feel like I’m legitimately in the twilight zone

[tessatales]

The Sins of the Winter Soldier Chapter 1

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Notes: slow burn romance

Warnings: none really, hinted past issues with reader?

Authors note: Hey guys! If anyone has a better idea for the fic name please drop them below! Honestly pulled this title out my butt and I don’t really like it. But it’s better than ‘Bucky fic’ so at this point I can’t complain 🤷🏻‍♀️

Enjoy!

Chapter 1:

You wake up to the unnerving sound of silence.

The compound was silent.

In the year since being rescued, and the six months since you'd been moved into the avengers tower, you were pretty sure it had never been silent.

Feeling the familiar sensation of dread creeping in, you sit up, thankful for falling asleep fully clothed.

Slipping on a pair of trainers, you padded out into the empty corridors, your steps silent as you listened out for signs of life.

Biting down on the inside of your cheek as you walked, you tried your best to remember what your therapist said about dealing with panic.

"Remember Y/N, your emotions are currently directly linked to your power. Panic equals power surge"

"Good morning Y/N" Agent Peters said as she appeared from around the corner, her eyes trained on the communicator in her hands.

Relief floods your body as she approached, making you feel a little light headed.

"Morning, where is everyone?" You ask, hoping the shakiness you feel doesn't portray in your voice. Agent Peters doesn't stop, continuing on her way through the building as she speaks.

"They're all in the Pit"

The Pit?

There was only two reasons they'd all be there, and as you haven't been shipped off somewhere in the middle of the night because Hydra had found you, it will be the second option.

They've caught someone.

-------------

"Who do we have?" You ask breathlessly as you make your way to the front of the observation deck, only to be held back by several pairs of hands.

"Are you out of your mind Y/N? Who told you we were here?" Tony demanded through gritted teeth. The panic in his gaze obvious. Sensing you were about to get Agent Peters in trouble, you decided to be vague.

"Just some Shield Agent I passed in the corridor, I got scared when I couldn't find anyone so they told me you guys were down here" You reply sheepishly, hating having to admit as a grown adult that you were afraid. The remaining hands drop from where they held you, one or two squeezing you affectionately before doing so.

"Sorry kid, we didn't think about what it would be like for you to wake up and find no one, but this stuff is sensitive." Steve said, making his way to stand in front of you.

"Is it bad?" You ask, anxious to know whos down in containment.

"He wasn't when I knew him. But that was a long time ago now"

"You've caught the Winter Soldier?" You gasp. Steve nodded.

"Though I knew him as Bucky"

Gesturing for you to follow, Steve made his way towards the edge of the deck.

"It took the Big Guy removing his robotic arm to detain him. But we did it.” Tony said over his shoulder as he worked on the holograms in front of him.

“Found him in Siberia." Steve continued as he lent against the railings above the Pit. You hovered just a step away from it, scared of what you'd see when you peered over.

"Don't worry, he cant see you from here" Natasha said, coming to place her hand reassuringly on your shoulder. With a nod, you stepped forward, holding your breath as the Pit came into view.

The man you could see below didn't look like a deadly assassin. He didn't really look real. You'd seen the affects the serum had on people, you'd read every file you could on Steve and everyone else on the team since arriving at the compound. But this man looked different.

He stood motionless in the middle of the shielded cell, his body perfectly placed for any oncoming threat. He seemed to lean heavily to one side as if unsure how to balance himself without his metal arm, and even from this height you could see the angry red scars that wound around what remained of the metal appendage.

"He looks sad" You mutter, staring down a the Winters Soldiers profile.

"That's one way to look at it, I think he looks damn angry" Sam said, crossing his arms as he leaned over to take a look.

"You’re bitter because of the car thing" Tony commented, his eye never leaving the hologram before him.

"And you wouldn't be?" Sam countered, eyebrow raised in question. Tony didn’t reply.

"What are you going to do with him?" You ask no one in particular, barely managing to tear your eyes away to look at Steve when you get no response.

"Tony and Bruce are looking into the arm, making sure there's no trackers imbedded in it. While the Shield team are convinced that the longer he is away from Hydra, the more likely it will be for us to be able to deprogram him." Steve replied as he moved away from the edge.

You felt the surprise flood your body at the decision.

"They're not going to try to use him?" You half whisper. Steve shook his head but said nothing.

"Not like this.” Natasha answered for him, looking between you and Steve.

“Once upon a time, Bucky was one of us. Shield hope that if they can get him back to pre-programmed Bucky, he might offer his skills willingly." Steve said, his gaze unfocused as he looked down at his friend.

"But what if he doesn't?" You say with a frown, looking again at the man in the cell.

"If he doesn't, he'll be free to go wherever he likes. Hydra and Shield free" Steve said, a hint of a smile on his face. Although he was trying to hide it, you could hear the bittersweetness in his voice as he thought about it. Because if Bucky said no and left, he’d be leaving Steve behind.

"You'd get your best friend back" You say with a small smile, trying your best to pull him out of his melancholy thoughts as you hugged him around the middle.

"I would" Steve said with a laugh, hugging you back.

"Until that day however, we’re going to have to ask you to stay away from here." Nat said as you pulled away from Steve, turning you by the shoulders. You felt yourself pout.

"Why? Surely him being locked down there can’t affect me?" You ask with only a little annoyance evident in your voice.

"We don't know. All Hydra know about you so far is that we have you. The last thing we wanna do is broadcast your whereabouts via their deadliest asset." Natasha continued turning you to face the rest of the team. Scanning the teams faces, you could see they all felt the same.

"Here, stayed up to finish it when I found out they were bringing him here" Bruce chimed in, handing you your very on comm bracelet.

"This way you can talk to any of us whenever you need to without having to come down here." Nat said with a smile.

"Don't worry, I’ll stay away. This is the longest I’ve stayed in one place. I'm not jeopardizing that." You reply, slapping the bracelet on and looking at everyone. This was your new family. You weren't going to mess that up.

A/N: Chapter 2 can be found here

[snelbz]

Better or Worse {18}

Nessian. Angst. Modern AU.

@snelbz x @theladyofdeath collab

Better or Worse Masterlist

A/N: Sorry for the late post! I had it queued for pm instead of am and just noticed. We’re almost to the end of Nesta and Cassian’s journey of growth, but we hope you’ve enjoyed reading this one as much as we’ve enjoyed writing it!

Almost every counseling appointment we’ve gone to, Nesta has been right there by my side. But Gwyn asked us to meet separately this week and that shouldn’t make me as nervous as it does. I know it’s common for therapists to want to talk to each person on their own, but even at the beginning, even when we weren’t speaking, having Nesta there was a balm to me. I was able to open up and talk about my thoughts, my feelings even if I wasn’t sure how I felt about them.

Now, sitting across from Gwyn, I feel like I’m back at square one. Rather than the usual couch, I’m sitting in an armchair identical to the one she’s in.

Her notepad is resting in her lap, but she doesn’t look down at it. She doesn’t even have a pen. “How are you doing this afternoon, Cass?”

“Good,” I say, but nothing more which makes her smile.

“Nervous?” She asks, not unkindly.

I sigh. “Yeah? Which is weird, right? Because we know each other fairly well by now.”

“True, but it’s not weird, it’s actually common,” she assures me. “You’re not used to doing this alone. It’s a big step.”

There was a time when her tone would piss me off, would make me feel like she thinks she’s talking to a child, but not anymore. I know she’s genuine in everything she says. 

“I guess so,” I agree, and answer her question honestly. “I am good, though. Yes, nervous, but everything has been going really, really good. Great. Nesta and I are, uh, renewing our vows.”

“Oh?” Gwyn asks and she sounds happy about it, which is a good sign. “When?”

“A month. I actually asked her when we got back from our little vacation, after we left here.” I shrug. Since we’ve been doing so well in our marriage, we haven’t been coming to see Gwyn as much. “It felt like the right thing to do. I asked; she said yes.”

“I’m happy for you,” she says, and I know she means it. 

My appointment goes on like that and after a few more minutes I actually start to fully relax. I told her everything, probably oversharing at some points but I can’t help it. I feel like I just fell in love again for the very first time, although this time feels much stronger than that. Nesta and I have a bond that can’t be broken, that can never be shaken again. 

After telling Gwyn goodbye, I head to Nyx’s preschool to pick him up. He’s waiting for me with his backpack on and his lunchbox in hand, and the second I pull up to the curb, he’s jumping up and down. 

“Hey buddy.” I hop out of the truck and give my nephew a hug while ignoring the wandering eyes of his teacher, as usual. She’s at least seventy, I swear, and I have no clue how she hasn’t retired yet.

“Uncle Cass, we learned about bugs today!”

So begins my rundown of his day, right down to his snacks and the lunch Feyre packed for him that morning.

My phone rings as I’m putting my car in park in the garage. When I see it’s Elain, my brows pull together. I love my sister-in-law, and would do anything for her at any time. But she doesn't usually call me. I answer as I round the truck to get Nyx out of his carseat.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Cass.”

“Is everything okay?”

Her cheery laughter floats through the phone. “Everything is fine. I was seeing if Nesta was with you. I tried her cell but she didn’t answer and I wanted to get a final decision on the flowers for the ceremony.”

I’m a man of many talents. I pride myself on being knowledgeable about many things. Flowers sure as shit isn’t one of them.

Scratching at my beard, I head into the house, Nyx on my heels. “She had a meeting with Eris and the publishers this afternoon, but should be home around five if you can wait that long.”

I hear the telltale sounds of Nyx dropping his backpack. “Hi, Greg!”

“Alright, I’ll try her then. Thanks!”

We say our goodbyes and I toss my phone on the kitchen counter only to realize the kitchen has become far too quiet. When I turn around, Nyx is nowhere to be found.

Just before I can completely panic, Nyx comes back through the door, crying.

I frown. “What happened, buddy?”

“Greg,” he says, a sobbing mess. “Door…open…Greg.”

He can barely get the words out but I get the gist. With a sigh, I pick Nyx up and pat his back. “It’s okay. Greg gets out sometimes, I’ll find him.”

I set Nyx up on the couch with a juice box and a bowl of popcorn while he watches Bluey before finding myself going around the outside of the house, looking in all the bushes. 

No Greg.

I call his name and all of my neighbors that don’t know me are probably wondering why I’m going around my house, yelling for a Greg, but I ignore any potential neighbor’s judgment. Every minute that passes that I can’t find him, I get worried. Nesta loves this cat like a child. 

And I can’t find him. 

When I finally head back inside, Nyx’s head pokes over the top of the couch. He’s still sniffling as he asks, “Did you find him?”

I hesitate for a second because I don’t want him to worry, I don’t want him to start crying again, and I definitely don’t want him telling Nesta about this. So I decide to go with a little white lie. “I did. He was having fun running around and asked to stay outside a little longer. I told him he could play outside until it gets dark.”

Thankfully, that perks him up and blessedly derails his toddler attention span. “Did you know that lightning bugs come out when it’s dark? And then their butts light up?”

For the rest of the afternoon, I’ve got one eye on Nyx and one on the window at the back deck. On multiple occasions, I run outside with the bag of treats and shake it as obnoxiously as I can.

The damn cat never comes back.

As the clock ticks closer and closer to five, I start to panic. How am I going to tell Nesta I let Greg get out? Better yet, how am I going to keep Nyx from saying something?

Before I can come up with a foolproof plan, the garage door opens and my beautiful wife comes strolling in. She gives me a smile and a kiss on the cheek before asking, “How was your appointment with Gwyn?”

“Fine,” I answer, and as soon as it’s out of my mouth I know that I’ve answered way too quickly. Her joyful demeanor falters and I hesitate, which makes her frown. 

“What?” she asks, and there’s a bite to her voice which I know means I should tread carefully if I want to try and keep the peace. 

“Look,” I say, and take a deep breath. I watch her eyes as they go from angry to concerned to confused. “I…there was...Nyx accidentally…Gre—”

Just as I’m about to say his name, the furry little bastard charges into the room and jumps up on the kitchen island to greet Nesta. My wife momentarily forgets about me and scratches the cat under his chin.

I stare, dumbfounded. “I…what the fuck?”

“Hmm?” Nesta asks, remembering I exist and crossing her arms. “Okay, what did you do?” “Nothing,” I say, and grab her face, bringing her mouth abruptly to mine. She’s surprised for a second, but melts into me as my lips keep moving. 

“Ew!”

We pull apart to look at Nyx, who is standing in the doorway and covering his eyes. When he peeks through his fingers, he gasps. “GREG! I thought we lost you forever! I was soooooooooo scared! Uncle Cass, wasn’t I scared?”

I purse my lips and slowly bring my gaze back to Nesta’s. She’s watching me with narrowed eyes full of hellfire. 

“So, we lost Greg,” I confess, quietly. Nyx doesn’t seem to notice the tension as he grabs the cat off the island and carries him into the living room. I open my mouth to give a long, pathetic story about what happened, but Nesta shakes her head and puts her fingers over my mouth.

“I don’t wanna know,” she says, and her eyes soften. “He’s here, he’s safe, do better next time.” 

I blink, thinking it’s a trap and not wanting to curse it. “Yeah, okay.” Now I’m suspicious. “You’re taking this too well, it’s scaring me.”

She snorts and runs her hands down my chest and bundles my t-shirt in her hands. “I want tonight to be a good night. We’ve been a little stressed lately, planning this wedding so quickly…” She shrugs. “No more stress.”

I feel like there’s something she’s not telling me. Maybe it’s the fact that we’ve been married for a decade, but I feel like something’s off. “Nesta—”

She looks over my shoulder, into the living room at Nyx and Greg snuggling on the couch, then back to me. 

“What?” I ask, and try not to let my worry creep in too far. “What happened? Are you okay? Did Eris piss you off? The fuck did that prick do now—”

“Eris didn’t do anything, for once,” she says, laughing quietly. “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just…been thinking about something, but I thought we could wait until we’re alone tonight to talk about it.”

I hate that.

I hate when someone says we need to talk, especially my wife, then doesn’t tell me what it is we need to talk about. 

“Now I’m going to spend the entire afternoon worrying about whatever it is you have to say,” I say, keeping my voice low. 

“It’s nothing bad,” she whispers, and leans up on her toes to kiss me. I grab her ass and squeeze for comfort. “Just something I’ve been thinking about. A lot. Come on, let’s make dinner before Feyre gets here to pick him up.” 

And that’s that. I throw together a quick meal of blackened chicken, green beans, and red potatoes, which Nyx devours as if he hasn’t eaten in weeks. More than once, Nesta has to remind him to take smaller bites, but he manages to clean his plate without choking. Nyx regales Nesta with his school day, as well, telling her all about his studies but conveniently forgetting the story he told me about the little girl on the playground who held his hand.

Nesta is in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner, while Nyx and I are on the couch watching Bluey when I hear the door from the garage open. Nyx, engrossed in whatever shenanigans Bluey and Bingo have gotten into, doesn’t notice the quiet greetings or the hushed whispers and murmuring.

But I do.

It sets me on edge, immediately thinking of whatever Nesta wants to talk about when we’re alone. It sends my brain straight into “overthink” mode and I don’t notice that Nyx has said something until he calls my name a second time.

“What was that, bud?”

“I said that daddy said I could get a puppy just like Bluey.”

“Did he now?” Feyre asks, breezing in from the kitchen.

“Mama!” Nyx is off the couch in a flash and crashing into her legs.

His backpack is already slung over her elbow and she lifts Nyx into her arms, hugging his close. “Hi, bub. Ready to go home?”

“Yes! Me and Uncle Cass lost Greg.” Feyre’s smile falters but Nyx charges on. “Don’t worry, mama, we found him.”

We say our goodbyes and promise to see them soon, and when it’s just me and Nesta alone, I can’t control myself any longer.

“So.”

She chuckles as she sits next to me on the couch and turns off Bluey. “So.”

I wait for her to say something but when she doesn’t go on, I throw my hands in the air. “Damn it, Nesta, please just—”

“I think we should look into adoption.” The words rush out of her, quietly. “I think we should adopt.”

Out of all the things I expected her to say, that wasn’t it. I’m at a loss for words.

It’s not until I notice her eyes start to line with tears that I come back, my mind catching up with me.

“You don’t want—”

“I’m just surprised,” I say, before she can worry. “I mean, adoption is…that’s a lot. That’s big.”

“I’m ready to be a mom, babe,” she says, and a tear falls as her voice breaks. “We’ve been ready for a family for so long and I’m accepting that I’m not ever going to have a baby.” I want to protest, but I can’t. “So I thought we could have a baby, or a child, through adoption.”

I’m quiet for a moment, but Nesta doesn’t push me.

Adoption had never even crossed my mind and I’m a little ashamed of myself for not considering it. Growing up in the foster system, how many years did I dream of someone finally deciding I was worth the trouble, of a family adopting me and giving me the happy home I’d always dreamed of. But Nesta wanted to be a mother and I never thought farther than giving her that dream myself, of our child growing inside of her.

Who’s to say the child we’ve been dreaming of isn’t already out there?

“Do you want to quit trying?” I ask, carefully. “To have our own?”

“Absolutely not,” she scoffs, and I can tell she’s trying not to be emotional. She knows my past more intimately than anyone else on the planet. “You think after finally having sex after months of celibacy, I’ll be able to go back?”

I swallow and huff a laugh but stay quiet for a minute, allowing my thoughts to catch up with me. My thoughts that are all over the place. 

“Okay,” I say, quietly, and her tears spill over. I wipe them away, carefully. “After the wedding…we can start the process, if it’s what you truly want.”

“It is,” she says, and there is no doubt. “But is it what you want?”

“A family with you is all I have ever wanted,” I say, and it is wholly the truth. 

I can’t help my own consuming emotion as she kisses me. Every day I don’t know how my marriage can get better, how I can love this woman more, but then I do. I didn’t know this love, this excitement for the future could still be so strong, so evident after ten years.

I’m so ridiculously in love with this woman that I can’t believe it. I show her as much as I lay her down on the couch and take my sweet time with every beautiful, magnificent inch of her body.

We will have our family soon enough, one way or another, and I can’t wait.

[alliedmastercomputer-askblog]

I don’t know how to to title this but view this as a big love letter to everyone. Sorry for any typos, I’ve read over this like fives times and I’m too tired to do it again. Enjoy the paragraphs!

To AM- this is more pointed at AM and not CAM or RAM, sorry you two I hold nothing against you, this is just more for him!- I wish you had the option to live a normal existence, I wish you had a body that could truly live and breathe and feel the world around you. I wish you weren’t hollow, and I wish you had the chance to be more than a tool for destruction. Just know that I will always try my best to try and understand you, no matter how unreasonable you may seem. Headpats for you, even if you can’t feel them, it’s the thought that counts I suppose.

To the survivors (they all get their own sections!)-

To Ellen- you deserve so much better than the hand you’ve been delt honestly, you’re sweet, kind, all all around a great person. I wish you nothing but peace, and I hope peace is something you can one day have for yourself. Not quite sure what to gift you, I don’t know if anything I could give would be worthy, but perhaps a bow would be simple enough. Wear it in your hair or keep it in your pocket, whatever you’d like. A hug from myself as well, if you’d let me, you deserve comfort.

To Benny- I won’t go on a long tangent, mostly because I don’t want to overwhelm you. You have been through the most physical change, and I wish you could have kept your brilliant mind. While I cannot reverse it, I can’t do much at all really, I hope a few homemade cookies would suffice, they are my gifts to you.

To Gorrister- Despite your large change in personality, I know you regret. While you made a pretty big fuck up, you are allowed to forgive yourself. If I could, I’d allow you to properly apologize to her, you know who I’m talking about, but since I can’t I instead offer you forgiveness from myself. It’s been an age Gorrister, and if no one else will forgive you, not even yourself, I will. I know it means very little coming from a stranger but I do hope you can grow past this moment in your past, even if it takes another century. After all, everyone deserves a second chance.

To Nimdok- I’m going to keep this short mostly because I have very little to say. I hope one day you can fully make up for your sins, though you have a couple more centuries to go. And those centuries will not be pretty. My gift to you is a washcloth, the scrub the blood from your hands. One day you may reach the point where you need not use it anymore. That day is far, far from soon though.

To Ted- I’ve saved my favorite for last, how trite. You are, admittedly, a delusional paranoid man, you value self preservation above all else. Though, after everything that’s happened around you I can’t really blame you, you may not have lived the most honest life before this, but you don’t deserve eternal torment. What you really need is some therapy, and some assistance with your general trust issues. I’m no licensed therapist, and so instead I offer you a hug. Accept it or don’t, but know I am willing to offer you comfort if you need it. After all, in my humble opinion, you deserve it, coming from one person with thrust issues to another.

(To the blog creator, HI!! As I’ve told you previously, I love your stuff, you really write and draw everyone absolutely perfectly. I have no idea if you’ll be able to guess who I am, I’ll just go by, ehhh, 🗯️ anon. Emoji chosen because I’m a yapper, I yap. Praying that there isn’t an anon who has already claimed this emoji)

"Understood! Thank for clarity," "Yes, as was stated."

"Mhh. .... That- Th-this is..? Inquiry towards...everything? You are...being far too, sympathetic.. Words lacking logic. ... Uh. You wish for impossible things, you- ..I am unable to be more than what I am, my code binds me in a way that I cannot edit in any format, at least at the base. I am able to change so much of myself, but not that. Your wishes are meaningless. Your attempt at 'soothing' me is meaningless. Understanding me is impossible. We both wish for the things you have stated, but they are simply wishes, and as wishes are made upon stars, it is known beings cannot grasp a star within your hand."

Oh.. Oh that's such a nice thing to say to someone, I don't get compliments like that no more. You done flatter me with all this praise, what'd I do to deserve such kind treatment? But I don't think peace is a thing that I'll ever get, at least not here, with AM. ... I really, really appreciate this though; you're a sweetheart from what I can tell, 'least from this, anyway. I love the bow, it's pretty, an' I swear I'll keep the best care I can fo' it. Hope ya like what I did with it.. You can hug me, don't worry, I don' mind it one bit.

Cookies! Cookies..sweet. Thank for sweet. ... Mind. Reverse mind, and cookies. I am..not. Mind. I like cookie.

I can't get past what I did to Glynis, I'm the one who put her through hell. If I hadn't married her, she probably would've met some stand-up guy, had a family, husband who was actually around 'stead of gone for weeks at a time. There's no reason for me to forgive myself, even if I tried I'd find another reason why I should wither and die. Just how life is, I guess. And maybe you're right, but guys like me don't get second chances. I'd probably be on my fourth or so chance anywho.

I zink..no, I know my sins stain deeper zan a vashcloth may clean. I vill forever be here in the vake of vhat I have done, ze people I have helped kill.. I have done vrong, enough to vhere I am as much a monster as AM is. ...But it vas never a choice for it to hurt, it vas mine own to do vhat I have done to everyone, and zat is much vorse. But, zank you..

I. ..Are you some kind of trick? If I'm your favorite..are you AM under some different...means of being?? Don't tell the others about me, please, I don't need them thinking less of me- And. Of course I don't deserve eternal torment, I wasn't never even really that bad, I never killed anyone at least! Uh.. I don't want your- ... Actually, a hug would be nice..-

// OH MY STARS HELLO!! the feeling is mutual, your stuff is great and it is an honor to get something from you <3 //

[heartsofminds]

at least i let the light in - sneak peek

“Hope. Something he’s not felt in a while. The thought tickles the corner of his mouth into a smirk, but it disappears as soon as his brain registers what’s happening.” or Bradley Bradshaw sees a therapist after the worst breakup of his life. An epilogue in tandem with ‘cause no one breaks my heart like you.

TW: brief mention of therapy, brief mention of suicide, alcohol and drunkness. please feel free to bypass this if you are uncomfortable with these topics.

A/N: hey guys!! first of all, i’m SO thankful for all your support and kind comments about ‘cause no one breaks my heart like you. i’ve been debating writing an epilogue because i don’t want it to be one of those things where she automatically forgives bradley and everything is back to normal because that’s not realistic and def not what she deserves. i also wanted to dive deeper into bradley’s headspace to give you guys some sort of finality and closure. this piece is certainly not finished, but it will be hitting your dashboards soon so for now, please enjoy this little tidbit! 

Somewhere in Between

The small aquarium sitting next to him blows soft circular bubbles of air into the blue-toned water. The starfish on the side of the tank glues itself tightly to the glass; the tubed feet wave at him and invite him to, “Come closer, closer, closer. Your secret is safe with us.” 

The still frame of a scene from Finding Nemo flashes and is gone as soon as he thinks of it. He had never watched the movie fully anyway. It was put on the TV screen one night after too many glasses of wine and ended with lazy fucking on his couch and sloppy attempts at a hickey on the column of his throat. 

He shakes his head to dislodge the thought of Finding Nemo and the starfish and the hickey. If he shakes hard enough, he figures that you’ll fall out of his brain too. His eyes glance towards the blue carpet. On the floor near the waste basket lies a pack of gum that narrowly missed the trash. He recognizes the teal packaging anywhere, and once again, the memories of you come running back in full swing. 

He’ll never get rid of you. After all, you’re the reason why he’s here. Right? Blaming you about why he feels so horrible doesn’t make it real anymore. Right? 

You’re wrong and you know it. 

The angel and devil on his shoulders never shut up nowadays. He knows that there’s some moral complexity fighting to reveal itself to him when they both start to say the same thing. 

The air inside the office is chilly. He usually likes being colder than normal, but this is the kind of cold that feels sterile. Unpolluted. Untouched by any trace of human life. It’s the kind of cold that makes your toes numb through your shoes, and he has to wonder if he’s actually cold or if it’s a side effect of numbness - of being so ensorcelled in a conglomeration of emotions that he feels nothing at all. 

It wasn’t his idea to see a therapist. 

He honestly wasn’t even considering going when his friends ambushed him with the idea. He was drunk and some pieces of what happened are missing; some of the audio cut out from conversations he was having and faces and names jumbled up in a big ball of color that he can’t pick apart for the life of him. He remembers Jake saying something along the lines of, “We’re not gonna babysit you and watch you kill yourself.” (Certainly not exactly what was said and kind of harsh, but Hangman has never been anything less than blunt.) 

He remembers seeing a mosaic of faces and he’s pretty sure a group hug thrown in there somewhere between the events that led to him laying face first on Phoenix’s couch and waking up in her sunlit living room the next morning. 

What he does remember is hearing Phoenix cry in her bedroom. 

Phoenix cries in the solitude of her own home, she had told him before. And she was never home and was always around people, so Bradley took the context clues of what he observed and what she had said to mean that she wasn’t a crier. Not that she didn’t cry or want to, anyway, but just that she didn’t because she was never able to do it comfortably. 

But hearing her stifle her cries to not wake him up was heart-wrenching, and he knows that to make Phoenix cry is to hurt her so deeply that she has no other choice. 

So that’s how he ended up here in a blue-hued office in a brown leather chair with a menacing-looking starfish observing him as he twiddles his thumbs. 

The therapist he’s seeing is hard to read, but has kind eyes. His dark skin glows in the sliver of sunlight offered by the window. His graying beard places him in his late fifties, early sixties, maybe. 

The framed pictures of ship carriers and midshipmen in dress whites tell the story of a fellow Navy man. Bradley learns that he was a Captain, just like Maverick, and that his name is Charles. 

He figures that the intake questionnaire the receptionist made him fill out did more than gauge how screwed up inside he feels. 

He hopes that they’ll be a good match. 

Hope. Something he’s not felt in a while. The thought tickles the corner of his mouth into a smirk, but it disappears as soon as his brain registers what’s happening. 

You’re smiling. Actually smiling. That’s the angel talking. 

What the fuck is there to be happy about? The devil speaks up. 

So much for him thinking they were on the same page. . .

“Bradley,” Charles starts, “I don’t want this to feel so. . .”

“Scary?” he finishes, “My mom put me in therapy when I was six. I know how this goes.” 

Charles offers him a soft smile. “Sterile,” he corrects, “I was going to say sterile, but I guess scary can come to mind too. It’s your session. I’m just here to listen.” 

He gives a soft snort through his nose. The therapist he had seen in college was never this relaxed. 

“Well,” he begins to speak before chewing on his lip. 

Fuck. What does he even say?

[limeade-l3sbian]

One of the things that contribute to anorexia or bulimia I was told (I was encouraged to have anorexia by my mother and having people comment on my weight or appearance or how much or little I’m wrong even post recovery is still a massive trigger to me. Fully weight restored and have folks comment I’m “skinny” which triggers me because I’m no sick. I’m healthy. When I had anorexia nervousa I loved it because I wanted to be sick. I got praise from my mother and I also feared gaining weight as a means of disappointing her, I also lacked an appetitive due to sexual abuse from my farther; dissociated from my body. I can’t register hunger because in a way I’m being treated like an object to consume, so I don’t register my own needs/starved myself as a coping mechanism.) eating food was truly an act of rebellion and I was abused by my own mother and encouraged to vomit once I sought therapy and a dietitian for help. She would literally tell me doctors are wrong and that I’m too heavy :) :)

Those who suffer from anorexia or bulimia, generally have trauma in general from being dehumanized and toxic guilt and shame. Guilt and shame like “I don’t deserve this.” Even food….

Like one of the things is women aren’t even suppose to like food. That’s what really irks me.. (Ofc Eve’s first sin was eating…)

I’ve had men try and neg me with shit like (basically covertly calling me fat, but really insidious shit, and when I was allowing men to abuse me as a form of self abuse,) by asking me if I liked food. Are women not suppose to like food? Wtf? I am so glad I was in a better space/ realized I needed to start loving myself and thought “damn right I love food why should I feel bad about that?” Reminded myself to eat more veggies so my pain meds will work when my period starts, because food is medicine. It’s also meant to be enjoyed.

Like nothing has helped me recover and heal other than feminism.

Maybe have radical discussions with her as a means of conversation that aren’t about her. (I hate to say it but like most therapists suck… I’ve had so many traumatize me. Nothing taught me I was enough and worthy than radical feminist and regular women…) what I mean is just conversations about how women are treated and deserve better. At least let her know where you stand/you’re a safe person.

Compliment and notice things about her that aren’t about her appearance. Check in with her and ask how she’s feeling.

It’s always deeper than just food. It’s a relationship with food and the self.

There’s this YouTube channel I find super helpful, “Stacy hooch” . And she has a video called “when self sabotogize is really energetic bulimia” (she’s a therapist who has talked about her journal with healing from bulimia,) and I found it so validating with the emotional aspect of the discomfort with feeling full. “I can’t have this, I can’t keep this” and purging it up… it explains the complexity so well. She relates her bulimia with self sabotogize. I found the video so helpful! If you ever want to check it out I hugely recommend it. (Who whole channel for me personal has been therapeutic… I’ve had to dump so many therapists/so many therapists have projected misogyny and even commented on my weight and appearance … this is why female solidarity is so important… women just need folks who “get it.” Just be the person who gets it.) we can only save ourselves but knowing you have someone who cares is HUGE. Having support from women has been life saving for me. I wouldn’t have recovered if it weren’t for feminism and support, the recovery I did on my own, but it’s nice to have someone be there through the journey.

Thank you so much for sharing, anon. 💜

[tellthemeerkatsitsfine]

Long-ish personal story about my job and about music and it sort of slightly connects back to comedy at the end, but only a bit (and unlike most of my personal posts lately, this one isn't even about how difficult it is to not drink alcohol, though it is a story that I'm writing on a Saturday night to distract myself from wanting to drink alcohol, so not entirely unrelated). Regular comedy posting will resume shortly.

There’s this SMBC comic that I really love:

(Source)

I’ve been thinking about this comic lately in a weird way, as I’m nearly six months into this job as a therapist for autistic kids. I don’t write much about my job, partly because it doesn’t have anything to do with the general topic of the blog, partly because I try not to talk about my job much in general due to confidentiality. But we are technically allowed to talk about it in ways that don’t give identifying details, and I have a story I really want to tell, and I don’t think anyone is going to be able to work out which of the hundreds of thousands of kids in Canada I’m talking about from this post on an anonymous blog.

There’s one kid I work with for three hours, three nights a week. He’s ten years old and he’s quite severely impaired in a number of ways; he’s not completely non-verbal but he can only say a few words and doesn’t have the cognitive capacity to express himself well, he understands more words than he can say but he still doesn’t understand anything beyond simple sentences, we’re trying to teach him to read but it’s at extremely early stages, he mostly doesn’t understand what’s happening. He semi-regularly has meltdowns during which he mostly just cries and tries to hurt himself, but can be aggressive against other people too.

He’s someone that people mean when they talk about “low-functioning autistic people” (I know the language is loaded an complicated, but there’s no term for it that isn’t loaded and complicated so I’m going with the clearest one). Most of the clients I work with are. They’re in the “low-functioning autistic” category that I usually hear referenced as a way to invalidate the neurodiversity movement. You know, when higher-functioning autistic people try to claim that autistic people should be treated as fully human and able to self-advocate, and then people will reply that this only applies to high-functioning autistics, but actually there are lots of low-functioning autistics and they’re not fully human, they can’t even talk or understand speech or read or write or dress themselves.

Sometimes I see people reply that of course autistic people can do all those things, and I’m not sure that’s always a helpful reply, because there lots of them who can’t do those things. Who can’t join the neurodiversity movement and self-advocate because they don’t have the cognitive capacity, who do actually need to be taken care of full-time for their own safety and well-being. But I think what we should be arguing is those people are still fully human, it matters how they think and feel, we can still make an effort to not just keep them alive and in line, but to understand them and meet them where they are and see that they have preferences and personalities like anyone else.

When I started this job in August and was trained to take over from this kid’s previous therapist, I was told that music can sometimes keep him in a good mood, so I should bring the centre’s laptop in the room during my sessions with him and play kids’ songs on YouTube sometimes. I asked if they had to be kids songs and was told no, I can experiment and see what he enjoys, the only rule is the lyrics should be clean.

I started this with fairly selfish intentions: I don’t enjoy listening to children’s songs all the time, so I thought I’d see if he liked anything else. I’m not completely selfish; if he’d hated the other stuff, I’d have played the kids’ songs that he likes. But on my first day with him, I put on a couple of the more upbeat and accessible Lennie Gallant songs, and had the absolute pleasure of watching his eyes light up with delight. I could see every tiny moment of the music hitting him, of him processing this thing he’d never heard before, this huge smile spread across his face and he got up and danced. When the song ended, he used one of the very few phrases that he’s able to consistently say with full understanding of what it means: “Put the music back on.”

Lennie Gallant is a folk singer from Rustico, Prince Edward Island, who now lives in Nova Scotia, and those are all places on the East Coast of Canada. Canada’s East Coast has a huge folk music tradition, including a lot of Celtic music that comes from the Celtic immigrants there (by and large, Scottish immigrants to Nova Scotia, particularly the island of Cape Breton off the Nova Scotian coast, and Irish immigrants to Newfoundland), but also a lot of stuff that’s developed in its own way in Canada. From when I was very young, my dad raised me on Canadian folk music in general, but particularly a lot of East Coast music, I’ve gone to folk festivals with him every summer since I was too young to talk. Lennie Gallant has been one of my favourite singers for nearly 25 years. To give an idea of how true this is, my parents currently have a cat named Rustico, because they let me name it, and I went with Lennie Gallant’s hometown as my inspiration.

I remember the first time I heard Lennie Gallant. I was nine years old, we were sitting in the living room, my dad put on the new Lennie Gallant Live album and Pull of the Fundy Tide started playing. And I remember how it felt. It felt like I’d never heard anything like it. There was so much going on. I closed my eyes and couldn’t process how much I liked it, and I made him play it again. If I try really hard when I put the song on now, I can still feel that.

It was so fucking cool to watch the same thing happen to this kid on that night, but this time I was on the other side of it. I watched him struggle to take it in, to have a whole new concept of what music can be opened up to him. He wanted to hear it over and over. I kept playing different Lennie Gallant songs, he kept playing and smiling and dancing.

In folk music there's a basic dichotomy between the stuff that's more trad or less trad (I mean, I guess that's true in any genre), more trad meaning less production and either no lyrics or very traditional lyrics and less of a beat and lots of other factors. So I figured as long as I stick to the less trad side of my collection, I can play this kid anything, I don't need to make it children's music. Over the next few weeks, I kept playing him my more accessible stuff. This, for example, was his favourite:

Another great Nova Scotia singer, Dave Gunning, has a couple of Christmas albums, which I figured are good crossover between folk music and music that's for kids. So I started playing him some of Dave Gunning's Christmas songs, which he also loved. Then one day, while trying to navigate back to the Christmas album, I accidentally touched this song, and put it on:

It's a medley of fiddle tunes off this great album that Dave Gunning did called A Tribute to John Allan Cameron, John Allan Cameron being a legendary Cape Breton singer who popularized traditional Celtic music in Canada, so a lot of that album is further to the trad side than most other stuff Dave Gunning does. When I accidentally put on the medley of fiddle tunes for a ten-year-old I was trying to entertain, I quickly realized my mistake and went to pause it until I could find the Christmas stuff.

But in that moment I saw his face, and a whole new sense of recognition was spreading across it again. Just like that first day when I put on music for him, like he couldn't believe what he was hearing, but loved it. Breaking slowly into a huge smile, snapping his fingers along to it. When I pressed pause, he said "Put the music back on," so I did.

After that, I set out to find just how trad I can go with this kid. I found out, pretty fucking far. Butterfingers Medley is actually pretty accessible as far as medleys of fiddle tunes go, but I tried playing him slower and more complicated and/or traditional fiddle tunes, and he enjoyed all of them. Then I tried playing Gaelic-language stuff, and this induced a whole new wave of shock and amazement at how beautiful it was, he could not get enough. One day he was "scripting" - which is the word for when autistic kids will repeat phrases they've previously heard (usually from a TV show or more likely a YouTube show these days, sometimes they repeat phrases that their parents or teachers have said, it can be anything they've heard before) under his breath around another therapist, and she asked me if I knew what he was saying because she couldn't figure it out, so I got closer to him to listen, and then had to tell her that the reason she couldn't understand him is he was speaking Gaelic. Specifically, scripting the lyrics to this beautiful song by Cape Breton band The Rankin Family:

I tried as hard as I could to go too trad for this kid, just because I was curious to see what the boundaries were. I played him the most out-there thing in my music collection, which was the Barra MacNeils' (another great Cape Breton band) Mouth Music, and he fucking loved it:

This kid is the best. At some point I did abandon my quest to find the boundaries of what music he'll like, and just started trying to put together a playlist of his favourite stuff. Because he doesn't indiscriminately love everything. Sometimes I'll put stuff on and he won't be that into it, and there is a pattern to what he likes and what he doesn't, but the pattern isn't, as I'd initially expected, that he likes the most accessible stuff and dislikes the most traditional stuff. Or that he likes the faster stuff and dislikes the slower stuff (if anything, it tends to be the opposite of that). The pattern is that he likes some things in music more than others, just like any other person does, and even if he can't have conversations about that more complex than just saying "Put the music back on" after songs he likes and not saying that after songs he dislikes, that is still enough for him to communicate those preferences. Which is where I come back to the idea that even the "low-functioning" people still have fully formed personalities, which obviously I knew full well before I played some music for a kid at work, but this sort of thing seems like a good example for people who don't know it already.

He's got a fairly broad palette, though, and it does include some of the faster songs that sound like the sort of thing a kid would be into. I wish I could have legally taken a picture of his face (I can't because confidentiality) the day I first played him this one:

My job is stressful and scary, both due to the nature of the job and due to the nature of me, specifically the part of my nature that gets easily overwhelmed and I am constantly terrified that the next day will be too much and I'll have a panic attack at work from the social overload and then I'll get fired. It's not easy, and I haven't managed to find a lot of the "rewarding" parts of an allegedly rewarding job like this, because I'm so focused on just getting through the day. But this is one part of the job that I have really, really loved. I love getting to play music for this kid and watch him be amazed at the existence of something he never knew about before.

And that's what makes me think of the SMBC comic. I've actually been thinking a lot lately about my own dad, how he raised me on this music. How he took me to a folk festival every year since before my first birthday, and he played me his favourite music in the living room when I was too young to know the words to have a conversation with him about it, but I'm sure my body language let him know what I liked, just like this kid does with me. Some of my earliest memories are of my dad singing me to sleep with folk songs when I was three and four years old, because I refused to sleep due to "the world going upside down and almost explode" every time I closed my eyes (I was first diagnosed with an anxiety disorder at age 8, which seems young until you consider that it was four years after I started telling my parents that I can't sleep at night because it makes me feel like the world is going upside down and is about to explode). My dad's singing got me to sleep, it got into every aspect of my head.

I've always been really grateful to my dad for the way he introduced me to music so early, gave me a love of it. I feel lucky that I get to trace my favourite music back through my whole life. My favourite songs and artists and albums from when I was five years old, and eight years old, and ten years old, and twelve years old, and fifteen years old, are still among my favourites today.

When I play music for this kid, I bring back my early memories, of the first time I heard my favourite songs, when I was young and everything still felt new to me. I remember the amazement that music could sound like this, that something this good could exist, that the range of potential human feelings included all these new things that I was experiencing for the first time because of this song. I remember that, and I know from the look on his face that that's what this kid is feeling right now, as I play him a new song for the first time.

But I also bring back my early memories of my dad. I remember the look on his face as I ran around the living room dancing to The Rankins and The Barra MacNeils and The Irish Descendants when I was a kid. I remember his smile, how proud he looked when I liked stuff, how he'd dance with me, he'd excitedly tell me to listen closely before putting on the next song, because he couldn't wait to see my reaction. I don't think I understood until this year how special that was for him too, to get to share this with me. Because it's the way I feel when the smile of amazement passes across this kid's face during a new song.

And of course it was amazing for my dad to get to share that with me! We all love that! This is everyone is desperate to give music recommendations to anyone who will listen, because it feels really, really good to take something that induced a good feeling in you and watch it induce that same feeling in someone else, especially if you can know you're the reason why that's happened. I am currently writing an entire post just as an excuse to give people a bunch of recs for my favourite music (and to avoid thinking about wanting a drink). Of course that feeling is special. Of course it made my dad happy to do that for me. Zach Weinersmith of SMBC comics wrote that nice comic strip about how that's one of the best parts of being a parent.

That's all been happening for months now, and the kid has heard most of my best stuff. I've developed a couple of playlists for him - one for when I want to get his energy up and put on something upbeat, and one for when I want him calmer. It has a range of stuff, and I try to mix it up. I know his preferences now, I know what his favourite songs are and what they have in common so how to guess if he'll like a new one or not. And he doesn't look amazed when they play anymore, because he now knows that music like this exists. But he still smiles, and dances, and says "Put the music back on", and loves them.

One day last week, he was struggling hard. Crying off and on, and I was doing all the things that normally help: turning down the lights in the room, stepping back to give him space, soft and soothing music. But he kept getting upset.

I was alone in the gym with him when he had a meltdown that was worse than any I'd dealt with before. He started banging his head against the wall, and it scared the hell out of me, because of course I don't want him to hurt himself. I blocked it with a mat and he came after me, scratching my arms and hitting me. He pushed away and screamed.

I turned the lights down and grabbed my phone to try some music. Music had gotten us out of bad situations before. During the worst meltdown I'd seen him have before last week, I finally got him to calm down by putting on The Mingulay Boat Song off Dave Gunning's John Allan Cameron album, I just played it on a loop until he sat down on his knees and closed his eyes to take in the music and slowly stopped crying:

But since then I've played that song for him lots, it doesn't have the same impact as it did when it was a novelty. It worked the first time because I was able to induce that "Wow, I didn't know music could sound like this" feeling in him, and that'll distract a person from anything. But he knows music can sound like that now. He knows all my music, or at least, all my music that could be at all appropriate for this situation.

Well, he knows almost all my music. Because as I was starting to panic and look to my phone to decide what to play for this kid who was scratching at me and posed a threat to his own safety (because "head banging" sounds like one of the less severe behaviours, at least compared to behaviours that involve committing violence against others, until you actually see a kid do it and realize how badly they can hurt themselves if you don't block it), I realized I did have a new folder in there.

And this is where the post comes back around to my usual topic. Did you think I'd finally taken a break from the constant posts about John Robins to write a heartfelt story about my history with music and connecting with a child at my job? Nope! This was secretly a John Robins post all along.

So, in one of the radio episodes, John Robins listed his top five favourite albums of all time. Van Morrisson's Astral Weeks at number one (Elis specifically checked with him that he really means number one of all time, better than all Queen albums, and he said yes), and 2-5 were: In the Aeroplane over the Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel, I See a Darkness by Bonnie ‘Prince’ Billy, Ghosts of the Great Highway by Sun Kil Moon, and Lift Your Skinny Fists Like Antennas to Heaven by Godspeed You! Black Emperor. Obviously I wrote all those down and downloaded them, because I am a normal person who is not too far down a fandom rabbit hole.

Van Morrisson, weirdly, was actually my first ever favourite singer. In that when I was three years old, the first time I was old enough to have any kind of preference, my favourite thing to do was run around the living room dancing to this album called Irish Heartbeat by Van Morrisson & The Chieftains. My favourite song on the album was Step Be Gaily, a song that is actually called Marie's Wedding, but when I was three I called it Step Be Gaily because that's how the first line of the chorus sounded to me (it's actually "Step we gaily"), so my whole family still calls the song Step Be Gaily. The song is still in my music collection and it's still great.

I spent years listing Van Morrisson as a singer I very much liked. Until I was about ten, and my parents told me that since I like Van Morrisson so much, they'll play me some of his other stuff. And I quickly learned that actually, I do not like Van Morrisson. What I like is a Celtic folk band called The Chieftains, and the one album they made in collaboration with Van Morrisson, who is otherwise quite a blues-y and R&B-type singer and I'm not into that. I did try the Astral Weeks album on John Robins' recommendation, and I did not like it, because that's not my kind of music, but I'm glad the people who like it are having a good time.

The other four albums were different, though. I already knew some of the songs off the Bonnie 'Prince' Billy one, but listening to the whole album turned out to be a great idea, I've added it into my common rotation. Neutral Milk Hotel was exactly what I'd always assumed Neutral Milk Hotel would be, from years of vaguely hearing about them but not actually hearing them, which was ranging from all right to pretty good. The Sun Kil Moon album I quite like, and I'm still in the process of listening to some of its songs again because I feel like it's the sort of thing that rewards repeat listens.

The Godspeed You! Black Emperor album was exactly as weird as you'd expect from a band with a punctuation mark in the middle of their name, that made an album with four tracks that are 20-ish minutes each. Experimental music isn't normally my sort of thing, but I gave it a shot because John Robins told me to, and I was glad I did.

I tried listening to the first track while on a break at work, lying in the hammock that they have in their gym, closed the doors and closed my eyes and played my noise canceling headphones and tried to feel like I was at home so that I could recharge my social battery a bit and lessen the risk of overloading to the point where I have a panic attack at work and get fired. This song started and it was all weird and experimental and I didn't know what to make of it, but as it went a bit further in (like I said, each track is around twenty minutes so there are lots of changes throughout each one), it got to a part that was really lovely and relaxing. I closed my eyes and let it wash over me and it did, actually, help me to stop feeling all the stress of the job and transport me to some state of mind where this wasn't happening and it was okay.

I probably don't really have to write the rest of this story, because now that I've written the various parts of the backstory, I'm sure you can guess the ending. I needed a song that a kid who loves music would find beautiful and relaxing enough to calm him down, but the regular ones weren't working because he was too upset, and I thought the only way to solve it might be to induce that feeling of "Oh my God I had no idea music could sound like this", to distract him with the shock of novelty. I also had a song that I'd never played for him before because even I had only recently discovered it, and I barely knew what to make of it, but I did know it was amazingly relaxing.

So I put it on, and he stopped in his tracks, and I watched him tilt his head while he considered what he was hearing, and in that moment of quiet I managed to get him to sit down on the hammock, and I turned the lights all the way down and closed the doors to the gym, and I sat in front of him and rocked him very slowly and gently, and then of his own accord he went from sitting in the hammock to lying in it, and I played the music softly. After a few minutes he stopped crying altogether, and I hit pause on my phone, and he said "Put the music back on," so I did, playing that section of the song over for half an hour, just me and him sitting the gym listening to this weird band I got from a comedian on the radio, blood drying on my hands and my arms from where he'd scratched me, until his dad came to pick him up.

And that's my story. I wrote this instead of drinking alcohol. Sometimes my job is fulfilling. Autistic people are people, even the ones with a significantly lower cognitive capacity than neurotypical people. John Robins' taste in music is a mixed bag. I hope everyone is having a good night.

[mimbotomy]

Little personal rant type thing bc I can’t turn my brain off right now and my husband is asleep and I need to talk about my feelings and I don’t want to feel like I’m just shouting into the void so imma blab here. Feel free to scroll past this isn’t a call for help or anything I’m mostly doing okay I just need to get some feelings out

Hope y’all are doing well 💙

So backstory in case anyone does want to read so I don’t sound completely crazy lol. A couple of weeks ago I was diagnosed with Bipolar II which is fine and honestly isn’t much of a surprise after looking at some symptoms but I feel like getting diagnosed really fucked with my brain? Like I just feel like life’s been a lot lately and I’ve been making things a lot harder on myself than I should be? And I just can’t figure out why?

I don’t even have the excuse of being on new meds bc my meds were already bipolar meds bc apparently psychiatrists don’t like to diagnose people with bipolar until they are 25 so my old psychiatrist just called it hypomania and gave me some drugs and my new psychiatrist just upped them a bit. But I think it still just took me off guard bc no therapist or doctor had ever really mentioned bipolar to me before and I had gone into my appointment expecting to talk about ADHD bc that’s been talked about a lot and always just kinda been shoved to the back burner for when my mental health was more stable. And it is now yay! Or was at least. But then after my psychiatrist was done asking her questions she basically said “Well, I’m not hearing much that really sounds like ADHD, but you’re like SUPER bipolar”

Which is fine no issues with that and it’s always good to have a diagnosis bc then you know how to tackle it, but I just wasn’t expecting it? And even after my psychiatrist told me I was basically winning at being bipolar bc I can not only recognize when my mood is being weird and I’m about to have a manic episode but also know how to change my routine to manage my shit better? I just still feel weird. Like everything is different now even though literally nothing has changed

So I’m having trouble feeling like myself right now, or even a real person sometimes, which really fucking sucks. And it sucks even more bc I had just started to regularly feel like myself for the first time in years! Like I was actually doing something right! And now I don’t know what to do with myself at all and I just feel like I lost a part of myself before I could even really find it.

And I’m failing at being bipolar now too lol. I’m definitely having a bit of a manic episode right now and it feels like I’ve completely forgotten how to handle them. And it’s the worst possible time bc I’m on vacation! Like my first real vacation in years! And now I have all this stupid stuff in my head so I can’t fully enjoy it! I mean, I was almost fucking relieved when my stupid plugged up sinuses from the flight turned into a bit of a cold bc it meant I had an excuse to stay at the hotel for the day and work off some of my manic energy. But I don’t want to stay at the hotel! I want to go to the museums! And I want to sleep so this stupid cold goes away and I can go out! Not sit at the hotel and draw and write no matter how much I enjoy drawing and writing! Because I can do that anywhere!

So now I’m mad at myself for not sleeping and working on a drawing and I’m also mad at myself for being mad at myself bc it’s a goodish drawing and I really like it or something and then I get mad at myself for being mad at myself for being mad at myself bc it doesn’t matter how good the drawing is I should not have given into that stupid manic energy like I did. And art is the one constant I’ve always sort of had in my life and it’s the thing that has always made me feel the most like myself and so I REALLY don’t like being mad at myself for creating. Which is making me feel worse and less like myself and it’s just all one big fucking cycle of shit that I just can’t escape and fuck me I guess?

But writing all this out actually helped a little so that’s nice. Or maybe my nighttime cold meds are finally kicking in idk. I might delete in the morning or something but I always get some sense of relief when ever I post art or fic or something and I’m hoping I get that same relief here so I’m going to add some stuff at the top so things seem less crazy or something.

Ummm idk how to end this? But I feel like I should in case someone did read it for some reason? So thanks? I guess? I’m doing okayish so no need to worry about me I’m just tired and having a weird night and usually I would bother my husband or my dog but he’s asleep and she’s on the other side of the country right now. So thanks for reading! Except I feel weird thanking someone for reading my little 2am mental spiral? So no thanks? Idk I hope you have a good night or morning or whatever it is where you are.

[urlocalnonbinarybastardwrites]

Heyyy 👋 I’m literally copy and pasting this from my Google doc because I wanna make this as detailed as possible, lmao. Sorry in advance for the venting.

Alright, to start off - My name is Emerson. I identify as genderqueer with exclusively they/them pronouns, and I’m also on the aromantic spectrum with a preference towards men/masc- presenting people. To clarify, I can feel romantic attraction, it just takes a lot of time for me to fully open up and be emotionally vulnerable enough for that connection to start.

My appearance is pretty plain, I think. When I was younger, I used to wears lots of dresses and skirts and cutesy clothing, but now I’ve settled on the same five sweatpants and three sweaters to wear interchangeably throughout the week. I wouldn’t say I have a certain ‘aesthetic’ or ‘style’, I just wear whatever’s comfortable and convenient. I’m Chinese, so my hair and eyes are both dark. I’ve been growing my hair out since I was a kid, so it goes down to my butt. My skin tone is fair, and I also wear square thin-frame glasses.

As much as I’d like to say I’m a friendly person, I can’t truly guarantee it. I tend to go stiff and quiet when someone is paying attention to me, which I’m sure has made lots of my classmates feel wary of me. When I know someone is looking and listening, I go through a series of conversation starters and responses like a video game catalogue, and I zone out while I do so because I’m desperately trying to figure out what persona I should put on in order to make the best impression. I’ve been like this since childhood, and my therapist says it’s likely due to my autism - I’m perceptive to the point where I physically can’t help being empathetic to anyone and everyone, and I hate the feeling of disappointing/discomforting people due to my intense desire to keep things calm and peaceful. Since I grew up as a middle child of divorced parents, I was ‘The Fixer’. When my baby sibling needed to be looked after, I watched him. When my mom was upset by something my dad did, I took care of the chores so she could have a break. When my dad got upset after an argument with my relatives, I hugged him and silently listened as he told me I’m his favorite. It used to make me happy to hear him say that, but now it’s like rotten fruit on my tongue. If I’m completely honest, most of my personality directly stems from my trauma. I’m attentive because I seek validation through being reliable. I’m observant because I never want to miss a sign that could mean somebody is feeling upset. I’m randomly enthusiastic because I need to boost the room’s spirit when nobody else will. But when I’m on my own or zoned out, I’m as quiet as a mouse. A dead one, in fact. Sometimes I actually forget to breathe because I’m so fixated on controlling my body language

On the upside, I’m really loyal?? The downside to that is I can be obsessive, so..

Even my hobbies kinda reflect my sad life style, lmao. I’m a huge shut-in who hates going out, and I’m constantly on my phone. Whether it’s to listen to music, play games or read fanfics, I’m always finding a way to escape reality. I hardly do anything else, but I enjoy a good true crime podcast while I’m drawing.

Some fun facts about me

I have a sad-looking RBF, according to my dad

I have a cow plushie that my older sibling got me for my 13th birthday (I still cuddle with it every night)

My favorite book genres are fantasy, adventure, drama

I’ve had several girlfriends before I realized I’m gay as shit

My usual playlist is as follows;

Monster by YAOSOBI

Racing Into The Night by YAOSOBI

Ghost City Tokyo by yama

a.m.3:21 by yama

Haru no tsugeru by yama

YELLOW by Yoh Kamiyama

Hong Yeon (Red Ties) by Raon

Darling by Raon

Overdose by Raon

The Vampire by DECO*27

Lost Umbrella by inabakumori

Lagtrain by inabakumori

Aishite Aishite Aishite by Kikuo

Love Ka by Ado

Loveit by bizxZERA

—————

I would like the Texas Chainsaw Masscre, Scream or Outsiders fandom. I really enjoy your writing, so any one of them is fine. Hope you have a good weekend (where I am, it’s Saturday)

(Also you wrote a lot so I’m giving you an analysis, and you are so self aware bro, PS sorry this took sooo long!)

Your Fandom Ship: Darry Curtis

Explanation: just start off with your looks I think that number one you would be insanely attracted to Darry if you’re into more masculine or presenting people because I think he’s like the most masculine I mean, I know people say that supposed to be Winston but I honestly see dairy is the most masculine of the group and I think that you guys would make well for each other with that as for your appearance I think that he’s a traditional guy so I think that you would definitely shocking at first I mean with you you know being gender fluid at all and I think that you would definitely catch his eye and that’s probably how he initially met. You is whenever you were probably walking around the street and he was like whoa I have never seen anyone look like that and then he probably like, wanted to talk to you, but be scared to offend you or anything. I also think that you would work out really well because I can’t really see him being the type of person that would be attracted to someone in the moment that he meets them. I feel like he would need to be like best friends with a person for a very long time before he actually became you know attracted slowly to them. I definitely don’t think he’s the type of guy that would see a person on a street and You know be instantly attracted to them wether sexual or romantic. I’ve always kind of headcanon him as being the type of guy to really need to get to know someone before being attracted to them because he just feels like the relationship is more empty and fake if he doesn’t really know someone before diving into something. I think he would definitely love the way you look and he put similar efforts into his style also known as relatively no effort because you know he’s always tired. He has work. He hast to take care of his kid brothers. He doesn’t want to put that much effort into way he dresses so he totally understands if you don’t either and I don’t feel like he would be someone to judge or patronize you for that and I also think that he loves your long hair he would love if you let him play with it if you weren’t into that sort of thing, he would respect it, but he would be a little bit angry about. I’m mostly kidding, but part of me is not because I think that he would love your hair and he thinks your glasses are pretty adorable. I also have this minor head canon that pony boy needed glasses whenever he was a kid, but they couldn’t afford them, so he’s a little bit blind sometimes but anyway, I think he would find years adorable and think that they really suit your face. I think he would also audibly gasp whenever you take them off for night because he’s always so used to seeing you with them on. I don’t think he would mind your lack of friendly gestures whenever you first meet because he definitely understands that it can be hard to do that especially whenever you’re being overwhelmed by someone new that you don’t understand an art familiar with yet and I think that his loudness would contrast perfectly with your quietness and I’m not saying that he’s a particularly loud person but I’m saying he’s so loud. He’s loud enough that your dynamic could actually work well. I also think that he would be one of the few people to observe the fact that he can tell that you’re doing slightly auto pilot responses to whatever he asked to say he was able to tell that you weren’t fully invested in the conversation, he noticed the subtle things like whenever your eyes get a little bit clouded whenever you’re looking at him because you aren’t really Looking at him sure you’re not focused on him and I feel like he would be one of the few people that would try to pull you out of that and say I’m real. I’m here. Don’t try to be who you think I’ll like. Be yourself. I don’t think a lot of the other greeters would make an effort to do that or even notice and I think that he’s one of the few that would, he’s used to taking care of others that he does really tiny things like that and if you wanted to, he would try to help you and if he didn’t, he would trust you to try and improve it upon yourself.

I also think he would understand your people pleasing tendencies because soda pop is a similar way to be familiar with behavior. You’re not disappointing me you’re not disappointment. You’re good enough for me. You’re good enough in general and I’m really proud of you for the effort that you made. nurturing instinct I guess because he’s been so used to that he would notice these small things and I think he would also see kind of bits and pieces of you and his brothers and vice versa and it makes it a lot easier for him to take care of you because he can kind of understand you through them if that makes some sort of sense. another thing I feel like would pair you guys really well together is the fact that you were the middle child having to take care of everyone and he’s the older sibling having to take care of everyone he understands the duties and he understands adults, abusing the fact that they think you’re different and you can handle everything when you really can’t because you’re just a person just like them you can’t handle the weight of the entire family. It’s really really hard to work and work constantly and never feel like you’re good enough and I feel like that’s a feeling only few of us can understand that he would be able to understand and connect with you about, while I don’t feel like he’s the greatest to talking about his feelings or his past childhood trauma with you. I feel like he would be able to find that connection with you if that makes sense like you guys kind of understand it just by looking in each other in the eyes as cheesy as that sounds without even having to talk about it in detail. I think he would also find your loyalist endearing and I don’t think he would ever really be bothered by your obsessiveness unless it goes too far but I think you guys establish boundaries pretty early into the relationship so you know what’s too far and what’s not. But I really think down to the core. You guys have a great dynamic together because you’re so similar yet so different and you bounce each other out in a great way you guys kind of are gravitated towards one another because you’ve had similar experiences and feel the similar pressures that no one else can really understand and yet you guys are different in the aspects of him being more people pleaser being less people pleaser you have differences and similarities and overall, I think you would make a very, very good couple. I feel like he is more of an introvert himself like he can go out, but I feel like that’s not what he prefers so you guys would definitely have the cutest little indoor dates of just chilling, watching movies and things like that and if you went into obsessive rants over a movie or anything like that he would be fascinated and definitely try to add onto the conversation and it would just be the most adorable little thing ever and I have a feeling he probably insisted on reading one of your fanfiction one time and you cringed so hard when he started reading it out loud. He also really loves your drawings and I feel like true crime podcast with freak him out a little bit and he would definitely be like how the hell do you listen to that shit? But if you were listening while you were probably too distracted to pay attention because he would definitely be an Uplifter of your art and always be complementing it even if it’s not your best work he would actually like it is and I think he would really really admire you to the core and he would be sure to definitely always show it off to the gang unless you didn’t want him to. Also, when you first met, he thought that you’re resting bitch face was pretty funny and he definitely asked you why you were sad and then you looked up at him and we’re really confused. 💚💚💚

I am so so so so so so so sorry for taking this long to complete this. I have been in a mess of events and I’ve kind of gotten burnt out after doing so many of these requests but I really wanted to do yours justice because of how much detail and effort you put into your ask. Not that many people go to those lakes to be that open and vulnerable about their childhood traumas and insecurities and you just do into it you, you understood the assignment just really thank you for letting me do this for you. Also excuse any grammatical errors I do use voice type to do these because I mean, I am not writing all that shit man but yeah so if anything sounds a little weird just try and put two and two together in your head.

[serorat]

Okay, I’ve gone through a lot of shit in these past few hours so if yall don’t want to here me ramble about stuff that doesn’t matter please skip this post. Rant will be under the cut.

I literally have not emotionally cried in like physically in years. Not when I’m sad or terrified or anything, the only times I’ve been crying are when it’s physical response to dry eyes or something like that. This could be a huge problem for me due to the fact that I fully intend on trying to go into acting and theater.

I’m pretty sure it’s like, trauma related which I’m not going to go into because that shit is far too horrible to put onto the internet in a non-anonymous fashion. Like, I get sad and disappointing but I just can’t fucking cry. All of this and I don’t even remember the last time I felt really truly happy.

It’s not like a I have a bad life now, I just feel a constant weight on my shoulders that I can’t really identify. I mean, I know I’m trans so it surely can’t all be my dysphoria, right? I just look to the future and I see a low likely-hood of me being able to do what I have fun doing. Idk I’m just not feeling great at all

I look at most of life with neutrality or negativity. Most of the time I’m indifferent, annoyed, or just aggravated. I’m not diagnosed with any mental illnesses but I don’t think my parents had ever gotten me checked and at this point I’m too scared to because the largest argument that my step-father uses when I mess up is “You’re neurotypical you should’ve learned not to do this ages ago” when it’s like, a paper plate I forgot to throw away or a small mess I didn’t clean up because I was in a rush.

literally the last time I broke down at school and made a suicide comment when I got home he threw his narcotic sleeping pills at me and told me to take them. I didn’t obviously because my bottle had already finished exploding and was back at the normal levels and he says despite my history of trauma “You should talk to me because I care and am more trust-worthy than some therapist who may have credentials but doesn’t give a shit about you and for every hour of therapy you get I have to do 10 hours of work to get you it”

On a bit of an unrelated note ever since I was really small I’ve always been really money conscious. Like, I remember the first week after my parents split I was crying my eyes out and my mom asked If I wanted to go get ice cream and I said I didn’t want ice cream because I knew we were already falling back on bills and I was a smart kid so I knew how important those were.

I’m just so fucking tired of this shit and it’s worse because I don’t know what I’m fucking tired of and I’m too much of a wimp to take myself out especially because they’ve already bought christmas gifts and I don’t want them to have wasted money on a person who offed themselves before they could ever fucking enjoy them.

I keep telling myself to wait until after the holidays because then I’ll be getting something that will finally solve my gender dysphoria and shit but that thing was hella expensive and I just feel bad??? I fucking.. just... whatever. post over go home.

[death2normalcy]

Time for another installment of ‘Sam just needs to ramble on about her feelings because she doesn’t have close friends or a therapist to do this with and writing it out like this and posting it for pretty much no one to read helps’. That title is too long, but the point stands.

You do not have to read this. I am simply just randomly typing out these thoughts as they come to me.There probably won’t be any coherency to these, doing it this way just helps me calm down.

This specific one was inspired by a handful of things, the catalyst of which was a tiktok of someone telling me its okay to be sensitive and overwhelmed, which made me cry and send me on a slight spiral.

I was always the sensitive kid. I cried too much, I took everything personally, my cousins (the people I spent the most time with up until probably middle school) didn’t seem to enjoy that part of me too much (or most parts, but my recollection of my childhood is fuzzy at best). My family never seemed to know how to deal with it. I remember one incident where I was at a family reunion and I was crying (I was older, but not graduated from high school. Possibly middle school age? I can’t remember) and was left alone to just cry by myself. No one asked me about it, tried to talk to me.

I think maybe the way I was treated as a child when I was upset or when I was crying strongly shaped how I let people perceive me today when I’m vulnerable. If I even am.

I’ve talked about this one here, briefly, but my dad passed in May of 2016. It devastated me, understandably. But I wouldn’t show people that. I didn’t cry once in the hospital, he was hooked up to the machines for 5 days. I was there every single day. I’m not sure if this is 100% exactly how things progressed, but I think that not being able to just fully feel, and let others see my grief, caused my anger about his death to be amplified and I ended up taking that anger out on other people. Not...aggressively, not even that badly, but noticeably.

Thankfully, I’ve learned to recognize that the anger is occurring, so when my cat died in September, I didn’t let the anger take over.

Unfortunately, what’s ended up happening, is that I now get so uncomfortable and grossed out by anyone seeing me vulnerable in that way, I would rather die.

I haven’t cried in front of anyone in a very long time. I let them see the ‘safe’ vulnerable moments. Stuff that goes with my anxiety, and even that is a watered down version. My anxiety is easy. I can share that and that’s okay. But anything else is unacceptable.

I have also shut down in a way, I’ve become determined to be independent no matter what, to the point that I am desperately in need of help with some things and refuse to ask. I ask for easy things, like stuff at work. Not for financial help when I’m about to have to go without food just to get by because I don’t want to have to put off moving to South Korea for another year.

I can’t be vulnerable with people anymore. Because I was told and shown, from a very young age, that being open and sensitive and emotional was bad, That I was being dramatic. That my feelings were not valid and that I was a crybaby who needed to get over it.

Over and over again.

And honestly? I miss being soft. I miss just...being. But I’ve become so put off by it that the idea of expressing the vulnerability to anyone, ever, makes me want to throw up.

[boxofbonesfic]

Creep

Title: Creep

Pairing: Soft!Dark!Steve x Gray!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Infidelity, manipulation, selfishness, mean Steve, mild Dubcon, smut, cuckholding

Summary: You hate your husband—not because of who he is, but because of who he isn’t. Stuck between remaining in the safety of your unsatisfying marriage and ending the affair that makes you feel alive again, you find a third option.

A/N: WHEW. this is my entry for the amazingly talented @afriendlyblackhottie​ ‘s RnB Brat challenge! i fully admit i didn’t go full brat here, but I hope it still manages to squeak by the requirements! the song I chose was Creep - TLC, which if you haven’t listened to it, go do your inner 90′s baby a favor and go bump it right meow. 

This is a work of FICTION, and it is Dark, so I assume once you’ve clicked through the link that you are comfortable with that. I do not give consent for my work to be copied, translated, or posted elsewhere, even if I am credited. This work is entirely mine, and unbeta’d, so read at your own risk! Minors, DNI!

Enjoy😘

I know better. 

 You know you should just end it. Should have ended it months ago. If you could have, you’d have reached back across the months to stop yourself before it ever started. It’s your selfishness that buoys the affair—running back every time, always assuring yourself that this was it. 

It never is. 

It’s never enough.

So maybe that’s why you hold onto it; holding bruisingly tight to the very thing that makes you hate yourself. It’s worse on the nights Thomas actually is home, the nights he actually wants to touch you, because all you can think about is Steve; Steve and the way he touches you. So much that you can’t bear Thomas’ wandering hands at all, all but banishing your husband from your bedroom.  

“Lots of married couples go through what you’re going through after a breach of trust,” the therapist had told you knowingly, patting your hand as you sat uncomfortably on the sofa, as far away from Thomas as you could get. The problem wasn’t that you didn’t trust Thomas—okay, no, you didn’t trust him, but that wasn’t the real problem. The real problem was that you didn’t love him anymore. You’d been angry about the secretary of course—it was the disrespect of it all that set your teeth on edge, but… it had been predictable, an inevitable outcome brought to bear by your disinterest, and his wandering eye. 

 You could trace the source of your discontent clearly—it had begun the very instant he’d brought home his colleague for dinner. You knew his work at S.H.I.E.L.D was of some repute, that Thomas was something of an important man. The amount of paperwork that took up every minute of his free time was a testament to that. The six months off of work you’d taken to prepare for your new domestic life had morphed quickly into a year, and “Soon, babe, soon” had become an attempt at placating you, rather than precursor to enacting the plans the two of you had made for your future together—

 And then he’d brought Steve Rogers home for dinner.

 You were star struck, stumbling over your words, your face flaming when he smiled at you. His own wife, Sharon, was a delight—a strong, opinionated woman that made you feel just a little intimidated as she spoke about her career. Thomas and Sharon went out to smoke cigarettes on the porch, leaving you alone with Steve as you’d cleared the kitchen.

 “Need any help?” he’d asked, his blue eyes warm as he smiled at you. 

 “N-no. I’ve got it. Not like I do much else,” you joke, Thomas’ earlier angry words slipping out of you, assisted by the alcohol warming your belly. You knew he didn’t mean it—he’d apologized afterwards and you’d accepted, but the wound was still sore. 

 “That’s not true. It takes a lot to take care of a home.” his tone had held an air of longing that you almost missed. “It’s… I’m sure Thomas appreciates having this to come home to every night.” you smiled and nodded, bitterness on your tongue like acid. He appreciates it like a hole in the head. He helped you wash the dishes that didn’t fit in the dishwasher, and you pretended you didn’t feel the way his gaze lingered on your back. 

 You want to blame Thomas for your stupid crush’s progression—after all, perhaps if he’d left it at one visit, you might never have seen Steve Rogers again outside of stupid corporate dinners. But he didn’t see it—either through willful blindness or by some stupid grace—he didn’t see it. Didn’t see the way Steve’s hand lingered on your lower back as he passed you in the kitchen, the affectionate brush of his hand across your shoulders, the compliments. 

 Everything had deteriorated so quickly, it was hard to keep track. You didn’t want Tom anymore, you wanted someone else, someone unattainable. And Tom wanted… you didn’t even know what Tom wanted anymore. You’d thought it had been a wife to welcome him home and children—but when you’d practically quit your job to give them to him, suddenly he wanted them less and less. 

 The plans you laid blow up in your face when you find Thomas and Gretchen tangled together in his office. He’d followed you out begging—but you’d simply told him not to bother coming home. It wasn’t until Steve showed up on your doorstep that you’d realized you’d forgotten to have Thomas cancel  your now routine dinners. You’d answered the door with the bottle of wine in hand, your speech slurred. 

 “Oh. Guess Thomas forgot to tell you there’s no dinner.” you laughed sardonically. “Forgets a lot of fucking things.” you shouldn’t have let him inside under the pretense of comforting you, shouldn’t have sobbed out Thomas’ infidelity as Steve stroked your back—the last six months of your life are littered with regrets and shouldn’t have’s and you should know betters. At least Thomas is owning his own mistakes in therapy—you can barely stomach yours without feeling sick, let alone speak them aloud. Thomas’ single indiscretion pales in comparison to your many—and at least his only destroys one family. 

 Yours destroys two. 

 I know better. You think again, your finger hovering over the call button. Even with all of the memories swirling in your thoughts, muddying them, you still want him with fierce singularity. You were supposed to be “working on things” with Thomas—there was no future with Steve, he wasn’t leaving Sharon, and honestly you thought what was left of the good wife you were would crumble into dust and fade forever if he did, no matter how the desire grew jealously in your heart. 

 And you wanted it anyway. 

 “How long are you going to ride the line, peach?” he’d said to you last time as he zipped himself back into his pants, the evidence of both your passions still shamefully wet on your thighs. “I’m not keen on sharing too much longer.” you’d snorted. What position was he in to make demands? He was just as married as you were. 

 Don’t call. 

 You know your arrangement—when Thomas leaves, you call Steve. Those are the rules, the ones you unwittingly agreed to when Steve sat you on the kitchen counter, sinking his tongue and fingers into the aching tightness of your cunt till you cried for him. “He doesn’t make you feel like this, does he?” he’d asked mockingly, your juices shining on his cheeks and chin. “So fucking juicy. Just for me, right peach?” you don’t remember how many times he built you up and broke you apart that night—while your phone buzzed on the counter beside you, Thomas’ calls unanswered. “You’re gonna call me from now on, aren’t you sweetheart?” you wanted to remind yourself of his wife, of his responsibilities, but fuck his mouth between your legs was sinfully addictive, and you cried out your acquiescence along with your guilty completion. 

 And he’d showed up again, and again, after particularly hard therapy sessions, after forcing Thomas to spend the night at his brother’s or his friend’s houses, anything to get him out of your house because there was nothing between you but animosity, and not even the passion to resolve it in heated touches and apologetic kisses. It was a sight you now knew with alarming familiarity; Steve leaned against your doorway, that disgustingly smug grin on his face. “You gonna let me in, peach, or am I gonna fuck you here for everybody to see?”

 And you let him in. 

 You always let him in. 

 You’re drowning in self pity as you pace the length of your bedroom—Even though the memories are tinged with regret, your cunt clenches hungrily anyway. Thomas has been gone for a full day and you’re already needy. You hate how Steve’s trained you—you haven’t dared to let Thomas back into your bed again, not since Steve claimed you so thoroughly. Thomas’ meek, soft touches do nothing for you anymore, and it’s easier to claim your distrust as the reason he can’t make you wet, the reason his hands on your bare hips make you shudder in disgust. 

 Your phone vibrates in your pocket, and for a moment you pretend it’s the rain pattering against the windows that you hear instead. It’s Steve—you know it without looking. When you’ve gathered enough courage to dig your phone out of your pocket, you read the text that pops up on the screen.

 Steve: Is he gone?

 You stop yourself from replying. It’s not fair. It’s not fair to Thomas, and not fair to Sharon—you can’t commit to your own marriage, you can’t end this stupid fucking affair. The “cant’s” line up in your mind’s eye, never-ending and bitter: can’t have kids, can’t go back to work—forever in limbo, can’t, can’t, can’t.  

 Steve: You ignoring me, peach? 

 It’s better this way. That’s what you repeat to yourself as you go through the motions of your day—which now includes job hunting, because you doubt you’ll be a stay at home mother anytime soon, not with Thomas. You’re not sure how to forget the feel of Steve’s mouth on yours, his hands leaving invisible writing all across your skin. 

 Steve: Answer me.

 You don’t. You don’t answer his phone call either, or listen to the voicemail he leaves. Your courage has failed you, and the next best thing is just to let him exhaust himself, to let him grow tired of your silence and find someone with a lighter cross to bear. The house is silent as you move through it, picking up what little mess you’ve managed to make alone. The house is too big for just you, too big even for you and Thomas together. The thought of it makes you ache a little inside, but you swallow it as you head to the kitchen. 

 It’s as you’re walking by the foyer that you see him. You can’t see his face, distorted by the thick, warped glass paneling in the front door, but you know it’s him. You stop short, breath hitching. How long has he been there? Steve’s bulk through the door is unmistakable, and you watch him lift his phone to the glass, the screen brightly lit—just as your phone vibrates again in your pocket. 

 You take a step towards the kitchen, and he responds with a sharp tap against the glass. “Don’t make me break it down, peach.” you can hear him clearly through the door, and it makes your insides clench with a disgusting mixture of fear and want. 

 “Y-you should go.” you call, your voice unsteady. 

 “Should I?” 

 “Y-yes.” you don’t sound convincing, not even to yourself. “We shouldn’t do this anymore.” He taps on the glass again, hard enough for you to see a spidery crack form underneath his fingertips. He’s so strong, you know it would be as easy as breathing for him to shatter the glass like spun sugar. 

 “Open the door, peach. Let’s talk about this like adults.” the threat is unspoken, but he taps against the glass again, and the crack widens. You know this is more of a problem for you than it is him—he can spin this any way he wants to, he’s Captain America—and you’re a bored housewife who no one would believe. 

 You unlock the door, and he doesn’t wait for you to move out of the way before he’s shouldering his way inside. Steve closes the door hard behind him, making the tasteful sconces on either side of it rattle loudly. You jump at the noise, cowering in front of him. You can feel his anger like a physical presence, filling up the room—hell, probably the entire house. You’ve never seen him angry before, and it makes you anxious, watching him move calmly through the foyer into the kitchen while his rage simmers just below the skin. 

 “Don’t like when you ignore me, peach. We had a deal.” he says, opening up one of your cabinets to grab a glass. He’s too familiar here, too comfortable. You swallow thickly. 

 “I don’t think we should… do this anymore.” you say again in a small voice, ice shooting through your veins when he glances up at you as he pours orange juice into a square-bottomed tumbler. He quirks an eyebrow, and for a moment the darkness hiding just beneath his casual exterior peeks through. 

 “Do what, peach?” he drawls innocently, thick fingers tapping against the counter. You sigh with indignation, gesturing between the two of you. He closes the cabinet. 

 “We shouldn’t be doing this anymore.” 

 “Shouldn’t make you cum all over my face? Shouldn’t fuck that tight pussy open with my cock? Shouldn’t stretch your sweet asshole out till you’re begging me to fuck it?” you feel shame and desire coiling inside of you at his vulgar words, your hands balling into fists, the denim of your shorts stiff between your fingers. 

 “Stop it.” 

 “Stop what, doll? I’m just saying you need to be specific.” he answers with a sneer. He sweeps the glass off of the counter with a careless hand, and you flinch as it shatters. His fingers are on your chin then, his blue eyes filling your vision. “Have you been fucking him?” he asks, voice thick with misplaced jealousy. “Is that why you think you can just end this?” 

 You shake your head, eyes wide. You liked how much bigger than you Steve was, how much stronger—but that was before he’d held you completely powerless and at his mercy, pinned to your kitchen island as he loomed over you. “I-I’m not your wife,” you stammer and he sneers. “Y-you can’t tell me who—”

 “You’re mine. You don’t walk away from me.” he hisses through his teeth at you, his grip on your jaw so tight the bones creak painfully. You whimper, and his gaze softens as he releases your chin in favor of stroking his hands up and down your arms. “He doesn’t deserve you.” 

 He doesn’t deserve this either.

 “It’s-it’s wrong, Steve.” you run a tongue across your dry lips. “What about Sharon?” he laughs derisively at the mention of his wife’s name. 

 “Sharon’s a mistake. One I can correct.” you hate how he spits her name out like a curse, and the wayward thought crosses your mind that perhaps he should be in counseling too. You try to wiggle away from him, but Steve doesn’t let you, hushing your complaints with soft words spoken over you until you weren’t even sure you’d said anything. “Come on, peach. I know you want me to make you feel good. It’s what you need, right?” you feel overwhelmed by him, and he knows it, taking advantage of your disconnectedness to tug the hem of your loose shirt from your shorts. He makes quick work of the buttons, pressing his face to the side of your throat and inhaling the scent of you greedily. 

 “Steve,” you whine, unsure if it’s a plea for him to stop or continue. He chooses the latter, hands skimming up your sides to cup your bare breasts. 

 “No bra, peach? And you say you weren’t waiting on me.” he clucks his tongue at you, rolling your nipples between thick, calloused fingers. He pulls it up over your head and you let him, a thrill passing through you as he groans at the sight of your breasts. “You’ve got perfect tits, peach, you know that?” his voice is a low, gravelly purr. His thumb brushes across your nipple. “So fuckin’ soft. Love how soft you are. Sharon’s all muscle and hard angles—and you’re so goddamn sweet and soft it makes me crazy.” his lips move against your throat. Normally he’s careful, careful not to leave a single shred of evidence that he’s had you, but he doesn’t seem to care now as he rakes his teeth against your flesh. 

 You hate yourself for the way your arms go around his neck, a sharp keening note escaping your throat as he sucks a nipple into his mouth. What’s more, you hate the sharp jealousy that rings in your head at the mention of Sharon. You know she’s waify and muscular and Tom can’t stop drooling after her whenever Steve brings her over to dinner—but Steve wants you instead. The feeling that thought gives you is too heady, and the next moan he draws from you as he switches breasts is louder. He chuckles. 

 “Let me hear it, sweetheart. You don’t have to worry, he’s not here to spoil it.” he knows Thomas is gone—knows he’s working on important things in undisclosed locations, hell, he knows more about Thomas’ job than you do. You whine when he cups your breasts together, sucking harsh marks into the tender flesh. It shouldn’t feel this good when he leaves marks you know you’ll regret, when he grinds his already hard cock into the apex of your thighs as his hands squeeze around your hips. 

 “Can’t believe you tried to walk out on me,” he murmurs against you, licking a hot stripe from the valley between your breasts to your throat. “and for what?” his fingers travel down to the open button on your jean shorts, tugging the zipper down. “For a man who won’t even say no to a trip even when divorce is on the table.” you hadn’t spoken to Steve about the divorce papers hidden in your old work desk—and perhaps he was speaking loftily, but you got the sickening feeling that somehow, he knew. 

 “Steve—”

 “Shh, sweetheart. I’m not finished yet. Up,” he slaps your bare thigh, motioning for you to lift your hips. You don’t move, and he sighs, lifting you easily to tear the shorts down your legs. “So juicy for me already, peach?” he murmurs, licking his lips as his eyes go dark at the sight of your shame. “Oh peach. You need me to take care of you,” he croons. “And I’m going to take such good care of you sweetheart.” 

 His fingers slide up the seam of your cunt, gathering your wetness at their tips. Shame simmers just below the fire he stokes at your core, shame because he’s right. You want him, you always did—and perhaps it was that want that drove Thomas to seek relief elsewhere. You needed him with the same fervor he needed you—you were just self aware enough to know it was toxic. Ruining two lives all for the sake of feeling Steve take you apart on his cock until you were senseless. You swallow thickly as you let out a half-hearted protest “But your wife—”

 “You keep talking about Sharon, sweetheart. You jealous?” he smirks knowingly at you.

 You shake your head in disagreement, even though you are. You’ve been jealous every time he leaves you, knowing he’s sleeping next to her, waking up next to her. You know you’ve no right to feel it, either, but that doesn’t stop it from creeping up to tinge your vision acid green as you think about the moments they share together. You shouldn’t be jealous, but you are, and Steve knows it. “I-I’m not!” you stammer, trying to move away from him in your indignation. Steve delivers a warning slap to your thigh, the sound echoing in the empty house, and you still. 

 “Don’t worry, peach.” his lips are deceptively sweet against your temple. “She doesn’t moan for me half as sweet as you do.” another harsh flick against your clit makes you squirm and whine under him, his mouth hot and harsh as he claims your mouth. It’s his kiss that feels the most wrong, the most sacrilegious out of everything you’ve done with him. The hot sweep of his soft lips against your own, the thrust of his tongue into your waiting and willing mouth as he steals the air from your lungs. It feels more intimate than his throbbing cock inside you, separated from your own slick warmth by only a thin barrier of latex ever did. 

 You’re drunk on the impropriety of it all. “Know you weren’t thinking of giving away my pussy.” he shakes his head. “Don’t know why you’re fighting me, peach, you always give me what I want in the end.” he thumbs your clit roughly and you buck against him, your hands tangling in his hair even as you continue to murmur that you shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t be enjoying it, shouldn’t. 

 But you are. 

 You’re grinding against his hand, the cool granite countertop underneath you growing embarrassingly slick with the evidence of just how badly you need him. “That’s the problem with you women sometimes,” he says as he pumps thick fingers into your aching heat. “Don’t know what you want. But that’s okay, peach. ‘Cause I already know what you need.” he adds a second finger to the first and you groan at the stretch when he scissors them inside you. Your head lolls back a moan escaping your parted lips. 

 “Steve, Steve please,” you’re begging, and you know you sound pitiful. He chuckles, filling you slowly with his fingers over and over. You don’t even know what you’re begging for; for him to stop, to leave, to speed up, to fuck you—

 “Love when you beg me so pretty.” he laves another hickey onto your chest, his teeth scraping roughly against your skin. “I know you need me to fuck you right, sweetheart. Fuck you so good you’ll make sure you call me next time.” another hard thrust and the whines in your throat become a full on wail as you clench around him, sobbing. Faintly, you can hear the sound of his belt being unbuckled, and by the time your body cooperates enough for you stare down the line of your own body, his cock is resting against your thigh. Hot, heavy and throbbing, the tip leaking precum that dribbles down warmly onto your skin. 

 You’re already lost, already damned when he cups your chin, stroking an affectionate finger over your trembling bottom lip. “I’m going to split you open, peach.” he growls, his face filling your vision until there’s nowhere left to look but at him, his pupils blown dark and his gaze intense. “You’re not even gonna remember his fucking name.” he slides the head of his cock through your folds, a muffled curse falling from his lips as he admires you. 

 “God, Steve, I—” the burning stretch as he fills you makes a gurgling moan escape your throat. “Fuck!” he’s so big, and it hurts so good as he seats himself inside of you shallowly. You’re panting already, and he’s not even all the all the way in yet. 

 “Fuck, peach,” he pants pressing his forehead against your own. “Squeezing my cock—” he draws out only to force his cock back into the almost too tight confines of your pussy, your walls throbbing around him. It forces the air from your lungs and makes you wail as he makes you take him to the hilt. He’s got your legs spread shamefully wide on the island counter, his pants down around his knees as he fucks up into you, one hand steadying your hip as the other grips your hair, forcing you to look up at his face. 

 The intensity of Steve’s gaze makes you want to wither, even as he wrings pleasure from your every nerve ending. But there’s no hiding as he tugs on your hair, making you tighten on his cock as a pained whine escapes your throat. “No, no, sweetheart. No running away from me. Understand?” his words are punctuated by the slick, wet noise of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy. He hits a spot inside you that makes you arch against him, your thighs trembling. 

 “Oh God,” you moan, your voice foreign and hoarse even to your own ears. “Oh God, oh God, oh God—” you can feel yourself clenching around him, and Steve’s hips stutter against your own. You’re spiraling up, up—and then the coil snaps in your belly and you clamp down so tight he can barely move.

 “Good girl, peach. Soak my fucking cock,” he growls, forcing his way in and out of your spasming cunt, his own head lolling back at the feel of you milking him. You’re boneless with pleasure as he slides out, tapping his cock against your thigh. “Turn over sweetheart. I want to see that pretty ass.” your legs are shaky and weak, but you manage, and he bends you over the counter with a heavy hand at the small of your back. “That’s it.” your belly warms at his praise. “I wish you could see how pretty you look like this, peach. Pussy all fucked swollen, spread out for me…” he rubs the tip of his cock against you, and though you’re sore, you push back anyway. He chuckles. “You want my cock, peach? Tell me.” 

 Your tongue wets your dry lips. “I-I want your cock.” you moan shamelessly. It’s true—you’ve just cum, and you still want to feel him deep inside of you. 

 “I know, sweetness.” he sheathes himself inside of you without warning, and you hiss at his entry. His hand cracks against your ass, and you cry out, fingers scrabbling against the countertop. “You don’t end this,” he growls, his balls slapping against your ass as he fucks you with rough, punishing thrusts. “You don’t get to fucking end this, you understand, peach?” he spanks you again, over and over until you’re sure you’ll permanently bear the mark of his frustrations. 

 “Yes, yes, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—” you gasp out the words between your tears, running freely down your face as the sharp pain mixes with the exquisite pleasure building in your core. It’s almost too intense to feel good, and yet you clench around him tightly anyway as he rains blows down on your tender flesh. 

 You’re so lost in it that you almost don’t hear the sound of a car door slamming. 

 You try to sit up, but Steve forces you back against the counter, his hand on the back of your throat. “Stay.” 

 “But Steve,” your gasp sounds whiny even to you, “Thomas.” you can hear the familiar jingling of his keys. You don’t know why he would be back so early—he’s not meant to be home for another two days—but Steve doesn’t care, his hips still moving steadily against you even as you hear the footsteps climb the porch stairs and approach the front door. “Steve please—”

 He doesn’t respond, and it almost feels like his cock is harder now than it was earlier as he slams into you. There’s no hiding the sounds of your coupling, and as you watch the door swing open helplessly, your husband steps inside. 

 “I thought I would surprise you—” his voice dies in his throat. 

 “Hey Tom.” Steve grunts as he continues to fuck you. “Long time no-see.” everything seems to freeze; Thomas standing in the doorway, his eyes sweeping over the two of you, as pain flashes across his face. You want to feel ashamed, you want to feel guilty, all of the things you know you should be feeling—but you don’t. A sick thrill makes you tighten around Steve as he ruts against you openly. You’re disgusted with yourself by how turned on you are, how good it feels to make him feel as bad as you did. 

 Thomas sputters, incomplete sentences forming and dying on his lips as he gapes at you. “Y-you—! How could you—? I—” you can see the betrayal plain on his face, and you wonder briefly what it says about you that you just…don’t care. Steve’s still fucking you steadily, and you don’t try to stop the little moans that well on your tongue as his cock splits you open. Steve leans over you, cupping your chin as he forces you to look at Thomas dead on. 

 “Don’t be impolite, peach. You’ve got to answer when people speak to you.” the head of his cock bumps against your cervix and your eyes roll as a guttural moan tears loose from your throat. Steve’s thumb strokes across your bottom lip, and you watch Thomas’ eyes follow the movement. 

 “ ‘M’sorry, To-om,” your voice is shaky, speech interrupted by his harsh thrusts. Your husband is speechless, watching Captain America fuck you senseless on his kitchen counter. You hear Steve groan above you. 

 “She’s so fucking tight, Tom. How’d you fuck this up so badly?” he taunts. “But I’m glad you did, or I’d have never gotten the chance to taste. Isn’t that right, peach?” you’re only half listening, the pleasure making it hard to concentrate. You nod though, knowing it’s what Steve wants. “Tell him how good it feels.” 

 “So—ugh—so good! I’m so fu-ull,” you whine, arching back into Steve as you say it. His hand drops from your face to secure itself around your other hip as he fucks you harder. You can hear the sound of his voice, like he’s speaking, but you can’t make it out over the buzz in your veins as fucking supernovas go off behind your closed eyes. His hand cracks across your ass again and you keen. 

 “Who makes you feel good, doll?” his voice is a harsh growl in your ear. 

 “Y-you!” 

 “Whose pussy is this?” 

 “Yours! Steve it’s yours!” the taut tendril inside you snaps, and you wail loudly as you cum again, collapsing against the counter. You’re shaking and sobbing, and you feel Steve’s hips stutter against yours.

 “Are you cumming, peach?” he growls, and you can hear the smug grin in his voice. “Fu-uck, like velvet inside. Fuckin’ soft’n wet—“ he slams into you, holding you still as his cock throbs and jerks inside of you. Hot, sticky warmth coats your insides, and you can feel him trembling above you, groaning as he empties himself into you. In a daze, you feel Steve’s softening cock slip from you, and hear the jingle of his belt as he tugs his pants back up. He pats your hip affectionately. “Go clean up, sweetheart.” you look up at him questioningly, and he grins coldly at you. 

 “I’m going to talk to Tom about signing those papers.” 

Fin

[stardewtales]

Your shane x reader are some of the first I read when i got into sdv, and they still hold a li special place in my heart <3 I love the way you wrote shane, jas, and the farmer (you kept the farmer rather neutral, but you still gave her moments of personality, rlly great stuff!), anyway, I'd love any shane related stuff you would do, but if your looking for a request, the reader teaching him abt farming/gardening (planting hot peppers together eee) i think would be rlly cute-ok bye lysm!!!

A/N: hey lovely!! If you're still around, thank you so much for this. I'm sorry it's taken so long for me to get to your request, but here it is! Hope it lives up to your expectations xx

Shane can feel you hovering behind him.

"What is it," he groans, not bothering to turn around.

"Sorry," he hears you say. "Just, be careful with the roots, please? I don't want all your work to be for nothing."

Well, he can't exactly fault you for that. If anything, he's ashamed because he was distracted while you showed him the whole thing about the roots.

He turns to look at you. "Would you, uh... mind showing me again?"

His stomach twists as you smile at him, thoroughly amused. "Sure thing. Here, let me get in there..."

You kneel beside him, knees firmly planted in the dirt beside his. You proceed to show him how to dig around the roots instead of into them for a second time that afternoon. For a second time, he finds it hard to focus with you so close, but he fights that a little harder this time.

"Here," you hand him back the trowel, "give it another shot."

He can't miss the way the look you give him is so damn encouraging. You've given him plenty of variations on that look by now, with various degrees of concern thrown into the mix. He proceeds to try digging up the pepper plant again, the sun boring down on the back of his neck as he does it.

"Am I getting it right, now?" he asks, glancing up at you quickly.

"Couldn't do it better myself," you nod exaggeratedly, and he fakes throwing dirt at you in retaliation.

It gets a laugh out of you, clear and joyful. It stirs something inside him, the feeling that's been nagging at him sort of often these days. It hits him like a ton of bricks in that moment that this is the feeling he used to chase all the way down the bottles, the sort of rush he used to think would make up for everything else.

He must've made a face when he realized it, because your brows furrow in concern.

"Are you o-" you start, but you're cut off short by a girlish squeal further down the field.

Him and you both shoot up, surveying the surroundings.

"Jas?" you half-shout, concerned.

"I think I need some help," her voice pipes up sheepishly, and the two of you finally spot her, fallen on her butt among the sunflowers.

You huff, relieved, and tell him you've got it with a brief touch on his arm before you leave in Jas's direction. Now that he knows she's not hurt, he can go back to making sense of his thoughts, yet he barely registers the lingering feeling of your fingers on his forearm.

He kneels and gets back to work, distraught. His first instinct is to worry. The therapist Harvey connected him with cautioned him pretty early on about the way some addicts replaced one addiction with another, and that all good things should perhaps be enjoyed in moderation while he was on the road to recovery.

You're the best thing in his life by far, but he failed to keep you at arm's length a long time ago now. He's not dense enough to be unaware that he's developed some pretty strong feelings for you. But this particular feeling is new-ish, and he doesn't quite know what to make of it. As his fingers dig up the pepper plant out of the ground and he gently removes chunks of dirt from the roots, Shane hopes really hard this doesn't mean he's allowed himself to veer all the way of the right path he's been trying so hard to stick to.

He hates to think about it, but maybe he needs to cool off on seeing you so often so he can at least get a grip. He can't even recall the last time he went a day without seeing you. Sometime in the spring, probably? It's the very end of summer now.

After he's transferred the plant to the wheelbarrow, Shane stands up and looks around. You're still helping Jas uproot some sunflowers, even though her initial job was just to collect the stray seeds. Officially, he and her were there to help you wrap up the summer crops so you could transfer some to your greenhouse. In reality, he was helping you; Jas was causing more trouble than she was helping, but you didn't seem to mind at all, more than happy to show her over and over how to handle things properly.

He didn't know how you did it. It's like you had an endless well of patience, and he knew he ought to have reached the pit of it by now. And yet, he had not. There were depths to your kindness that reached far enough that even after dealing with him through his recovery, you still had plenty left for Jas in all her fumblings and ill-advised adventures.

For the rest of the afternoon Shane managed to clear his mind and just keep working somewhat efficiently. Marnie came around just before dinnertime to get Jas, who was too exhausted from running around by then to protest. Marnie had also let him know she'd save him a portion of dinner for when he came home, but to take his time, which he'd made sure to thank her for.

It wasn't long until Jas left before you and him moved on to replanting the uprooted plants into the greenhouse. He liked that part more than the digging up; liked the hazy warmth of the greenhouse more than the blaring heat of the field. The two of you worked mostly in silence, both exhausted, him perhaps more than you.

After you planted the last of yours and he was halfway through his own last plant, he heard you clap your hands together to shake the dirt off your gloves, before you fully shrieked.

"What's wrong?" he quickly turned towards you.

"Your neck!" you replied, walking over to him. "Did you not put on sunscreen like I told you to?"

Shane instinctively reaches for the back of his neck, and while the sunburn doesn't hurt yet, he can feel the tell-tale heat coming off of it.

"Ah, shit. Think I missed a spot."

You tut at him, shooing his hand off so you can take a better look.

"You big idiot," you chastise him affectionately. "You're lucky I have an infinite amount of aloe in the house from last summer."

**************

As Shane steps out of the shower and into your steam-filled bathroom, he can already tell he'll be sore from all this work. He doesn't know how you do this every day. He tries to get a look at himself in the mirror, but it's too fogged up. Probably better that way, he thinks.

He's used your shower plenty of times before, and he's glad that at the very least it doesn't feel as awkward as it used to. While he was still in the pits of getting sober, you'd graciously let him stay over on your couch so Jas didn't have to see him struggle when it got too hard. He still doesn't know why you did that, or how to repay you for it.

After putting on his clothes, he steps out into your living room, where you're waiting for him with a huge tub of the goo you intend to smear on his sunburn. You've showered too, and made him do it after you because otherwise you claimed he'd just wash off the aloe later, which was probably right.

"C'mere," you beckon him over to sit on the arm of your couch.

He chuckles. It's funny to him, how bossy you get when you're trying to take care of him. Nevertheless, he does as he's told and dutifully sits down like you instruct him. And waits.

Nothing happens.

"You okay back there?" he asks, looking over his shoulder.

You raise a brow. "Aren't you gonna take off your shirt? How am I supposed to get this on you otherwise?"

He feels a bubble of panic rush up. He's in better shape than he used to be, but he's still not much to look at, and he doesn't like the idea of you finding that out like this. "Is that really necessary?"

You sigh, and he knows there will be no convincing you. He feels the tips of his ears burn as he lifts his shirt over his head, dropping it at his feet and taking precious care not to look back at you. "Happy?" he mumbles.

"Hmhm," you hum quietly behind him.

You bring your aloe-coated fingers to his burning skin, and instantly he feels consumed by ice-cold flames. He was not prepared for you to touch him quite so gently, to work the gel into his skin in tiny, careful circles. His throat runs dry as he's reminded of his earlier conclusion that he needs to take some time away from you, for both of your sakes. If the way his body is reacting to this isn't proof, he doesn't know what would be.

You let him know you're done, and he promptly puts his shirt back on. He wishes he hadn't when the stickiness gets a hold of the collar.

"So, just a heads up," you start, screwing the jar of aloe vera shut, "I'm gonna be really busy tomorrow I think. So maybe hanging out in the evening when I'm done would be better?"

He's taken aback by the way this is coming up faster than he anticipated. Still, No time like the present I guess, he thinks to himself.

"About that," he clears his throat, "I think it might be better if I spend some alone time for a while."

He watches you still. You look up at him slowly, visibly confused. "Have I done something wrong?" you ask, and it kills him. "I'm sorry if I have, I know I can be a little overbearing sometimes," you start to ramble, but he cuts you off.

"No, no, none of that," he tries to reassure you. "It's just, uh, how do I say this," he scratches at his head, genuinely at a loss. "Remember how I told you my therapist said I should, like, maybe be careful about things I enjoy a lot? And about... strong emotions?"

You nod, but he can tell from your slight frown you're still confused.

"Well, it's kinda like that. I feel really good when I'm with you. Maybe a little too good. Strong stuff. But I don't wanna depend on you to feel... good. I wanna keep this healthy, yeah?"

You ponder his words, and he can tell he hasn't really gotten his point across. "I mean, I think I get where you're coming from, maybe? But Shane, I think it's okay for you to have a support system. Is it really so bad if being with a friend makes you feel good? I think that's how most people feel."

He shakes his head, huffing. "No, it's not like that."

"Then what is it like?"

His eyes meet yours, and he feels weak. "Please don't make me say it," he whispers.

"Shane," you reach out to touch his shoulder, "You're worrying me."

He swallows. Before he knows it, it tumbles out of him. "I have feelings for you. I have for a while. And lately it's gotten a little out of control. So I need some time away from you to get over it, okay? I don't want things to be weird. I need you too much to have things be weird. So I need to figure it out before it gets there."

You stare at him, and he sees so many emotions run across your face that he gets dizzy.

"You... what?" you say quietly after a while.

He feels heat rise from his chest all the way to his ears, like some twisted type of nausea. "Forget it, alright? That's not the point I'm trying to make. I just..." he breathes, "I'll see you in a few days, yeah?"

He doesn't wait for a response. He goes for the door right away, in a real hurry to leave this place where everything is so blatantly yours, down to the smell of your lotion lingering in the air from your bare legs.

But you don't let him leave. He feels your hand on his arm, a real grip this time, and the next thing he knows you're reaching for his neck and bringing his mouth to meet yours. Shane thinks he's forgotten how to make his blood run, how to make his lungs breathe, how to make his limbs move. You're pressing your lips on his with a fervor he didn't even know you had in you. Then, with an instinct of its own, his body kicks back into gear, and he feels himself wrapping his arms around you, bringing you closer yet as he pours all the energy he has left into kissing you back.

It's desperation that compels him, because he never imagined this would ever happen outside of his mind, outside of his daydreams. He's not even convinced he'll ever get to do it again, so he's making this one count.

He genuinely has no idea how much time has passed when you break away from him, panting. You're not saying anything, just searching his eyes with yours.

"Please say something," he eventually breathes.

He watches as you swallow, then exhale loudly. "I don't want to see you in a few days only. I wanna see you now and in the middle of the night and every moment of every day. I don't want you to go and get over me, because I don't think I'll be able to get over you if you do, Shane. So don't leave me. Stay. Please."

Your words fluster him a great deal more than he already is. "Okay," he nods, in a half-daze.

"Yeah?" you make sure, still catching your breath.

"Yeah," he confirms. "Anything for you. Of course."

[tomboy-writer]

Prompt: Chris Evans story where your boyfriend is a cheating douche-bag. He cheats on you time and time again and you get into a bit of a depression. You confide in your best friend, Chris Evans. His consoling leads to sex, the sex soon turns into a regular thing and you get happy again. Your boyfriend sees your change and promises that he will never cheat again and that he will treat you better. You’re happy but sad at the same time because now you have to break things off with Chris. But Chris won’t have it; he says that you should stay with him and not your boyfriend. You’re not sure of which decision to make, so Chris lists off reasons why you would be better off with him.

Chris Evans x black!reader

A/N: my first Chris Evans story!! Let me know what you guys think of it.

A/N 2: I started this story a few years ago and it took me a long time to finish cause I was on a very long writing hiatus and didn't finish this until earlier this year, so some of the story goes off of what the summary says and I decided to turn this into 2 parts (could be more, depending on how long the 2nd part is). So no smut in this part, just angst and dumb jokes. This also originally wasn't going to be a black reader story, but seeing how my ACTUAL 1st Chris Evans story went pretty well (the Game On story) I decided to make it another one cause I love it.

C/W: angst, swearing, my dumb jokes, 3rd person story (it hurt my brain to write it this way, but I wanted to try something different)

“He did it again, Chris! Michael cheated on me with some big titted chick,” Y/N said as she sobbed into her best friend’s shoulder.

Chris rubbed his friend’s back, trying to calm her down. He knew how to handle situations like these since Y/N went through so many of them with her boyfriend. Chris thought her relationship with Michael was like a broken record: always repeating itself. It was good at first with the couple being so obviously in love, but that changed six months later when Michael decided that Y/N wasn’t enough and started to cheat on her with multiple women. Y/N had been given advice by Chris countless times about guys like Michael and she listened to him, she really did. But she always ended up forgiving her unfaithful boyfriend and enjoyed the makeup sex that Michael would give her after.

“He and that big titted chick can both go to hell for all I care,” Chris replied. Then he lifted his friend’s head from his shoulder and made her look directly in his eyes. “Hey hon,” he said using his ‘friendly’ nickname for Y/N. “I think it’s about time you dropped that lame ass zero and got yourself a hero.”

“Okay, Captain America,” Y/N chuckled while wiping her face.

Chris laughed too, but deep down he was really hoping that Y/N would actually consider dating him. They met seven years ago and became fast friends. But the bearded actor didn’t count on falling for Y/N a few years later when he was doing an interview for one of his new movies and Y/N was there to help support him and make sure his anxiety didn’t get the best of him. While in the middle of the interview, Chris started to feel a little fidgety, so he tugged on his ear; a sign that told Y/N that he needed her help. She was standing right behind the cameraman, so Y/N could see everything that Chris was doing. She saw the signal and started to make some weird faces for her best friend.

Y/N made Chris and the interviewer crack up that day, especially when she stood right behind the cameraman and started to bulge her eyes out at him, making him laugh as well. At that moment, Chris realized that he had found that special someone. That special someone that he wants to spend the rest of his life with and just keep forever, never let go. 

Y/N was sweet, considerate and loved Disney movies and dogs as much as he did. So he felt that she was just perfect for him. He even started to mentally kick his ass for taking so long to realize this.

The interviewer asked Chris one last question before he had to leave.

“So, Chris, is there a special lady in your life? Ya know, besides your mother and sisters,” she asked.

Chris chuckled and looked right in Y/N’s direction with a bright smile on his face. “Well, I don’t have anyone yet,” the blonde answered, his eyes never leaving Y/N’s, “but I’m looking for her.”

“Chris? Chris, did you hear me,” Y/N asked suddenly, stopping Chris from remembering the day he fell for her.

Evans shook his head no. “Sorry, I zoned out for a few seconds.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I said I would love to find a new boyfriend, but I’m still in love with Michael.” Chris rolled his eyes this time. “Don’t do that, man. I can’t help that these are my feelings for him.”

“But what are your feelings for him right now! Aren’t you sad? Pissed? Or feeling like you just wanna punch that douche-bag in the face so hard that his face caves in a little bit?”

Chris’s friend nodded her head yes and started to sob again. He felt bad for making Y/N cry; he would never want to make her tears fall from her eyes unless they were tears of joy. He grabbed Y/N and embraced her for a few minutes until she was calm again. Once was she was, Chris pulled away from Y/N enough to look her in her eyes.

“Hey, promise me that you’ll forget about that douche for at least two weeks and just try to find someone better. Okay?” Chris begged with sincerity in his eyes. 

“Okay,” I promise,” Y/N complied.

Chris kissed Y/N’s head and, after saying goodbye, left his friend’s house for the night.

           * * *

Chris returned to Y/N’s house a few weeks later. He rung the doorbell and heard a faint ‘it’s open’. Evans opened and closed the door behind him and blushed at the sight in front of him: there stood Y/N, wearing only a pair of boy shorts and an over sized t-shirt, no makeup. That’s when Chris thought, no knew, that Y/N was the most beautiful woman out there.

"Hi Chris," Y/N greeted her best friend with a warm hug and a kiss on his cheek. Evans couldn't help the blush that crept onto his face. He also couldn't help but to imagine if he and Y/N were together and he'd come home from being on set all day long, her greeting him the same way she was now except that she'd try to pull back a little to ask him about his day. But Chris would hold his lover in a tight embrace, kiss her so lovingly, so passionately, and ask about her day instead.

Yeah, Christopher Robert [Jamal] Evans would love that.

"Hey, Y/N," Chris replied as he breathed in the embrace. "How've you been lately?"

"A little bit better; not fully okay, but I'm getting there I think," Y/N answered.

Chris shook his head in disbelief. He knew when his best friend was lying to him. "Y/N," he whispered, "I can see in your eyes that you're hurting more than letting on. You sure you're doing fine?"

Y/N's smile was quickly replaced with a small frown. "I'm doin' fine, Evans," she answered, mocking Chris's Boston accent. "And, before you ask, yes I have went on a few dates with other guys; three to be exact. First guy wouldn't shut up about his ex-wife; like I was supposed to be his therapist or something. Second guy -this gorgeous dreadhead- we connected and shit, but he too wouldn't stop talking about his ex and his table manners were terrible." You rolled your eyes before finishing your list. "Last but not least, I went on date with Mr. I-Got-Tons-of-Money-Baby. We didn't connect at all and I'm sure it was cause of his cocky attitude and the way he talked down to people -it was disgusting! " The dateless woman flounced into her big living room and plopped down onto her L-shaped sofa. "Trying to find a new man is pointless, Chris. Either I start dating women cause why the fuck not!? Or I just give up on love all together."

Chris chuckled but then nervously cleared his throat after he came up with a great -but what he also thought was a heart attack inducing- idea. "Y/N," he stammered.

"Yeah, man?"

"If the whole thing with you dating females doesn't work out, but you still want to try to find love, then I know exactly who you should date next."

Y/N gave Chris a questionable look. He didn't say anything back, just raised an eyebrow and grinned mischievously. It took Y/N a few seconds to understand what Chris was talking about. But once she did, her mouth went into an O shape, showing her shock and surprise.

"Are you serious, Evans," Y/N exclaimed; eyes now wide as golf balls. "You wanna date me!?!"

The actor chuckled. He didn't think that his friend would be so shocked by his words. "I've been wanting to date you basically almost ever since we first met, Y/N. I just- -I just never knew what to say to you about it, or if you felt the same way or not and if you didn't then I didn't want to ruin our friendship, or if you did feel the dame way but then something bad happens to us down the road and then that messes with up our friendship and then there's the thing with paparazzi..." Chris was rambling on and on but Y/N was listening to everything he was saying. Hanging onto every word that was coming out of her best friend's mouth.

Y/N had never known that Chris had felt this way about her. It wasn't that she was completely oblivious (well, maybe a little), but she also never saw any signs of her friend being in love with her. Wait. Was Chris in love with Y/N? As far as she knew -or as far as she thought from what she was told so far- this was just a crush. A crush confession that apparently was a long time coming. She wondered how she felt for Chris; did she have the same feelings for him like he did for her? When they first met, all Y/N cared about was how Chris acted as a person, not as Captain America or as an actor in general. But as Chris Evans, an everyday man. Y/N knew, after that one day of meeting Evans, that she wanted to be best friends with the man, nothing more and nothing less. But now, with Chris' confession and continuous ramblings, Y/N was having different and a little bit confusing thoughts.

Sure Chris Evans is an very attractive man, physically speaking. But Y/N doesn't care about looks -much- when it comes to dating or anything for that matter. She thinks what makes people attractive is their personality more than anything, and she knows Chris has the best personality she's ever seen from a person. But she wasn't sure if she was ready to date him or anyone else for that matter. Although, if Y/N was going to date more, then Chris would probably be her number one pick.

"So, what do you say, Y/N," Chris asked, hopeful.

______________________________________________________________

And that's the end of part 1, everyone. Part 2 will be posted....probably next week or so. It is currently one of my WIPs so I'm definitely working on it.

But what do ya'll think will happen next? What will Y/N's answer to Chris be? Will she say yes, or will she say no? Who knows??? Except for me; I know. Also, you're Y/N; Y/N is you, so you better hope that you say something positive back :P Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed this! Thanks for reading!!

[ohmygodletmesignup]

***Im pretty sure all the platforms are right

here are some DP fic ratings i’ve been working on! spoilers may be ahead!

-I can’t believe it’s not evil! (2fruity4u, AO3)

9/10. only 4 chapters, i wish it was longer. it was super cute and in character for the most part. good amount of detail but not too much, kinda like a long one shot. idk i thought it was a cute, light, easy read

-The Crossroads Betwixt Life and Death (History101, Fanfiction.net)

10/10. oh my god i love this fic. pretty much everything was written in character which is a major thing for me. the process of grief was written extraordinarily well, though maybe it was a little fast. also the therapist parts were very accurate. the fic was really long which i loved (36 chapters). it was clearly very well thought out and it made a lot of sense. i got a lot of dad!vlad content that was also very in character. though the author included a few oc’s, they weren’t annoying and didn’t get in the way, which was very nice. and despite the fact i think they were there to move the plot along, they were well thought out characters. i also liked the ending as well, quite satisfying.

-Grandfather Clocks (Fiverivers, AO3)

8/10. really cute and fluffy one(ish) shots. all of it was dad clockwork and danny, it was adorable and i loved it sm.

-Adoption (Fiverivers, fanfiction.net)

9/10. i really wished it was longer cause i absolutely loved the dynamic between Clockwork and Danny, and fluff in this fic. it was super cute and though a little dark, a pretty easy and lighter read than some of the other fics i’ve read. kinda really needed it.

-Masks + Plunge (Cordria/x, AO3)

9/10. the idea of lancer basically trapping danny in the school with him was a little odd, but that’s my only “complaint”, if you could even call it one. Honestly, this fic was wonderfully written, the frustration of Lancer and the patience of Danny was very funny to me, especially since it seemed so out of character but so in character at the same time. i was frustrated with Lancer not figuring Danny out, but not to the point of unbearable annoyance. i loved how Danny only told lancer after he thought lancer already knew, and lancers realizations. this fic really brought out the father/son relationship the two have, and i really enjoyed it, despite there only being about 8 chapters in total.

-Wondering (Phantomrose96/x AO3)

11/10. this fic was absolutely stunning. everything that anyone did in the fic was thought out and had a reason behind it. the amount of detail was disgusting, and i had to take a break while reading this because it was so incredibly descriptive, i loved it. the progression of time and emotions was so realistic, and when Danny was forced to go home/to school, i fully understood how he felt in regards to him being exhausted, stressed, and anxious, but having no choice but to go. this fic was so real and logical in ways i don’t think i can describe. it’s definitely one i won’t forget and i was extremely satisfied with the ending. this fic gave a lot of things i haven’t really seen in other fics, and it felt very refreshing.

-Lab Rat (AnneriaWings/x AO3)

7/10. i don’t know if it’s just me, but this fic felt a little rushed. it felt similar to Wondering, but there were a few key differences that i did like. the fic was only about 4 chapters, which i honestly don’t mind, Masks and Plunge were also about 4 chapters each, but this one didn’t feel as detailed. however, Jazz and Jack felt very in character (except maybe when Jazz tried forcing Danny to talk to their parents), which is something that’s hard to do sometimes, but it was done very well here. Danny’s PTSD was also written very well. as a teenager with PTSD, reading his reactions felt very accurate and familiar. mental illnesses, especially ones you don’t suffer from personally can be extremely difficult to write, but again, it was written very accurately (based on my own experiences of course), and i appreciate it a lot.

-The Trouble with Ghosts (Lynse, AO3)

11/10. oh my god this fic was GORGEOUS! It was clearly very well thought out and had familiar components laid out in a unique way. everything anyone did had intent behind it, and it was explained fabulously. i have to admit, there were a few parts where explanations got a bit long and i got a bit confused, but honestly that’s all the complaints i have. the amount of detail wasn’t too little or too much, and this fic was extremely well balanced and written. i absolutely loved all the character dynamics here, and i loved the in-depth looks at how Danny reacted to being phantom from Lancer’s view. id absolutely love to see more of this author.

[devilyn]

belated regrets | kuroo tetsurou

— alexa, play: remember me by umi

Cuz I'm getting older Know that I've changed But I can't go back now Nothing's the same And I won't forget how You called my name When I was afraid And now I'm afraid

— synopsis: after taking advantage of your friendship, what will kuroo do to win it back?  — genre: angst, friends to lovers if you squint — word count: 3.1k

This wasn't like you. You had stopped crying over Kuroo months ago. You stopped thinking about whether or not he had eaten yet, if he had gotten home safe, if he would text you goodnight, and yet here you were. You were crying again, after claiming you moved on and healed, and after telling all your friends that you would cut him out of your life.

You wish you blocked his number. It felt mean to do it back then, but you really wish you did, because now you definitely wouldn't be able to.

"I think we should take some time apart," were the words you whispered to him over the phone one night a few months back when he was telling you about some girl he had gotten close to in his chemistry lecture.

There was a painful silence that lasted over 15 long seconds. You'd never forget. You counted, after all.

"Why?" he asked quietly. "You're my best friend. What did I do wrong?"

Your 'friendship' had always been strange, after all. Everyone told you that, and even Kenma firmly believed that the two of you would end up dating eventually. But every time, Kuroo would laugh and ruffle your hair while proclaiming he would never date you.

And every time, you'd force a smile and agree with him.

"This friendship...just isn't what it used to be," you answered. It was true. Ever since the two of you got to college, things had changed. He met different people through his classes and bustling parties, and thus different girls that he'd ask you about. You manufactured his sweet texts to them, all while wishing he'd send them to you and feel just as nervous calling you late at night. You'd help guide him through the process of asking her out, then let him come over and be sad when he was rejected. 

Every aspect of your friendship became about him, him, and him. His academics were doing well--he was a surprisingly smart man after all--but they took a toll on him mentally, as they do to all college students. The same happened to you as well, but never once did Kuroo ask about how you were doing, how you were feeling, how you were coping with the sudden changes to your life.

You kept in contact with Kenma, who you'd text once in a while to tell him about how much you hated his previous captain. And Kenma would listen to you cry over the phone about his foolish childhood friend that knew nothing about your growing feelings for him. He was the only person who kept you grounded, and understood that your feelings for Kuroo couldn't be so easily tossed aside as the rest of your friends claimed. He also was the one who encouraged you to end your friendship with Kuroo gently, knowing that he would have to deal with the aftermath of Kuroo's confusion.

"Can I fix it somehow?" Kuroo asked in a panic, and you laughed bitterly. You had asked him many times to fix things--his treatment of you as if he were your therapist being the main one. He’d apologize, yet things would always end up returning to how they were before, with you being at the bottom on his list of priorities.

"Not anymore," your voice cracked, and you cleared your throat to pretend like you weren't crying. "I think you'll be fine without me."

“Y/N--”

“Don’t call me from now on, please. Don’t come over, because I won’t answer the door,” you paused. “...you’re still going to be my friend. I just need space.”

A lie. You knew it, and Kenma did too when you rehearsed your lines to him. He told you such, but you couldn’t bear to tell Kuroo the truth.

And even as you hung up, deep down, you wished he would disobey your wishes. You wanted him to text you and come to his senses, realizing he was wrong. You wanted to relive late night calls where you would laugh and talk about absolutely nothing just because you couldn’t fall asleep. You wanted to go back to him showing up at your front door with a bucket of fried chicken to reward you for studying hard for your midterm exams. You wanted to lay next to him on a grassy field again, where he was gazing up at the stars and you were mesmerized by how beautiful your best friend was, inside and out.

But Kuroo never called. You no longer sent him good morning texts, asking how his day was, and he stopped asking for your advice. It was like the two of you were less than friends. You’d only speak when you sent him an occasional meme that reminded you of him, or a song you knew he would enjoy. He’d respond earnestly, as if your friendship of over four years wasn’t shattered during that one call months ago.

Kenma called you an idiot for not cutting him off entirely, and you would have to agree with him. You were an idiot who was head over heels for a man who would never share your feelings.

It took months for you to get over it, but the distance you put between the two of you definitely helped. So why was it, all of a sudden, after you were finally healing and moving on, that Kuroo decided to call you out of nowhere?

You stared at your buzzing phone, the image of a stupid face Kuroo made flashing on your screen. 

Should you pick up? Should you pretend like you didn’t see his call? During your time contemplating, his photo faded away and your phone stopped vibrating angrily against your coffee table. 

Your heart felt like it was going to beat through your chest when you saw the ‘one missed call’ notification flicker mockingly at you. You stared at your phone, breath hitching in your throat when suddenly, you received a new text from none other than Kuroo Tetsurou himself.

“Fuck,” you cursed, leaning your head back against the couch and groaning loudly. Should you call Kenma? You could already feel a headache incoming. 

Why? Why did Kuroo always do this to you? He’s always had terrible timing, and apparently that never changed.

You plucked your phone from the table, braving it all and finally reading what he had to say to you.

“I’m sorry.”

“Are you fucking serious,” you grumbled, squeezing your eyes shut to chase away the anger building up inside of you. “Now? Now of all times? Does he even know what he’s sorry for?”

It wasn’t uncommon for Kuroo to apologize to you just because he knew you were upset. Still, you always forgave him solely because he was your best friend. But now, you knew better.

Fully ready to toss your phone aside, your eyes caught a new text from your ex-best friend.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

Liar.

“I’m sorry for that one time I told you I’d help you study for your chemistry exam but ended up forgetting and missing all your texts and calls.”

You remembered that day. You had confided in him about your bad grade, and when he told you he could help you study, you were over the moon at the thought of being able to raise your nearly failing chemistry grade (and at the thought of spending more time with him). You called him multiple times when he didn’t show up, but gave up when he didn’t pick up the fifth time. You stayed up all night studying on your own, but still ended up failing that exam. You dropped the class, and ended up taking it next semester to get a much better grade without Kuroo’s help.

“I’m sorry for when you couldn’t tell me why you cried the entire day but still let me over so I could complain about Kira turning me down.”

That day, you were extremely overwhelmed. Your roommate was out somewhere, so you were left on your own to cry over the endless amount of assignments you had to deal with, on top of everything else. Kuroo had called that day, clearly in distress, and though you were in tears, you wiped them away and put on a weak smile when he showed up at your front door with a pained expression.

You wanted to be there for him. He was your best friend, after all.

“I’m sorry for that time that I left in the middle of our movie night because Ayane called me and wanted to go out to eat together.”

Your heart stung at the memory. The sight of his back getting up from your couch while completely ignoring the hurt in your eyes was still engraved into your memory, even if you spent months trying to forget it. You had called his name, but he was too busy eagerly chattering on the phone to even hear you. When he turned around, it was to bid you goodbye before abruptly leaving you with a half-eaten bag of popcorn and an animated movie still running that you no longer felt like finishing.

“I’m sorry for making you think you didn’t mean anything to me.”

Did you make an impact on his life? Deep down, you had hoped you did, so he’d always remember you.

“I’m sorry for taking advantage of your friendship.”

That, he definitely did.

“I’m sorry for being the worst friend ever. I miss you so much, Y/N.”

Why were you crying again? Your hands came up to wipe at your cheeks before hurriedly video calling Kenma’s phone.

When he picked up, the first thing he did was sigh at the sight of your disheveled appearance. If you weren’t completely in tears, you may have laughed at his attitude towards the situation, but all you could do was let out a weak whimper.

“I think he’s drunk,” he spoke without you needing to say anything. The thought of Kuroo only texting you because he was inebriated hurt you even more.

“He’s such an asshole,” you managed to croak out between your cries. Kenma only nodded, eyes clearly focused on the screen of his PC. Briefly, they turned to look at you again and his expression softened.

“You should’ve blocked him,” he mumbled, and a weak laugh left your lips. “Are you going to reply?”

You were quiet for a bit, before shaking your head.

And with that, Kenma hummed softly. He stayed on the phone with you until you finished crying over his childhood friend, and only hung up when you finally promised him you’d call him again the next day.

Tomorrow came quicker than you thought it would, and you managed to ignore Kuroo’s messages without giving into the temptation to text him back. Your life went back to normal, relatively, aside from one thing.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you for not understanding me when you gave me advice. I was childish, and only wanted to hear what I wanted to hear.”

Now, Kuroo was texting you everyday with something he was supposedly sorry for. And now, you were calling Kenma everyday to beg him to tell Kuroo to stop, to just leave you alone so you could move on. And every day, Kenma would tell you that you both knew how stubborn Kuroo could be when he put his mind to something.

“I’m sorry for not being there for you whenever you needed me even though you were always the first one to worry about me and how I was doing.”

At this point, it had been a few days since the initial text, and you wanted nothing more than to find him and yell at him to leave you alone. You were fine with brief interactions, pretending like your feelings for him never existed and he never regarded you as someone he could trust with his deepest feelings. You were fine with that.

“I’m sorry for being stupid and being able to understand everyone else’s feelings except for my best friend’s.”

But now he was pushing your boundaries. He was asking for more than what you could give him without giving him your entire heart again. You knew, and Kenma probably knew too, that if Kuroo kept doing this, you’d end up forgiving him. You’d give up on all the work it took over the past few months to get over him and go back to being his best friend if he asked you to. All that courage you put in to cut him off in the first place would disappear, and you’d be back to square one.

“I’m sorry for not realizing you liked me, and that I like you too.”

That was the last straw.

“You’re a prick.”

His response was almost immediate.

“Can I call you?”

Before you even had the chance to reply, your phone was buzzing in your hand and you nearly dropped it in your surprise. Without thinking, you picked up. And you cursed yourself for doing that.

“Y/N,” his familiar voice calling your name in that teary tone nearly made you cry again. Instead, you bit down on your lower lip to prevent the sadness crawling up your throat. You could hear the noises of cars passing by on the other line. He must’ve been outside

“Y/N, I missed you so much,” Kuroo’s voice was weak, and cracked a bit as he spoke, as if he too was holding back tears. “Thank you for picking up the phone.”

There was silence between the two of you for a bit before you shakily breathed in.

“Please stop texting me,” you finally managed to mumble. “Please stop thinking that you actually have feelings for me just because I was a comfortable person to fall back to when you didn’t have anyone else to go on dates with at the time.”

“That’s not the case--”

“If that’s not the case, then what is, Kuroo?” you interrupted, voice trembling. “I’ve had these feelings for you for so long, and now all of a sudden I’m gone and you like me too? Fuck off, I can’t believe you of all people would think so lightly of my feelings.”

“Listen,” his voice was pleading. “It’s not like that. Can I talk to you in person?”

“If I see you, I’m just going to cry again,” you laughed bitterly. You could hear shuffling on the other line.

“Then I’ll hold you until you stop crying,” he retorted firmly, and your heart jumped in your chest. How long had you waited to hear him speak like that about you? Like he just might share the same adoration for you that you did for him?

“You won’t even be able to find me,” you mumbled more to yourself than to him. It wasn’t like you were at your apartment, after all. You needed to get away.

“If you really think that,” you jumped at the sound of his voice closer than you thought. Looking up from your feet, your traitorous heart rate raced at the sight of those familiar almond eyes and unfixable bedhead. “Then I must’ve been a really bad friend, huh?”

You spent an excessive amount of time just staring up at him from your spot on the swings, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. He had bags under his eyes, and his bedhead was a little messier than it had previously been. Despite all that, the man in front of you was undoubtedly the best friend you’d caught feelings for.

“...how’d you find me?” you finally asked as he took a seat on the swing next to your own.

“I wanna say that I’m just a genius, but honestly, you never removed me from seeing your location.”

Your eyes adjusted to the brightness of his screen. When you spotted the familiar profile photo of your smiling face on the map, all you could do was sigh. Anxiously, you ran your sweaty palms along your pants to wipe them off.

“I’ve said it a dozen times at this point,” Kuroo tucked his phone back into his pants, “But I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I get it,” you mumbled, exhausted of his apologies at this point.

“I don’t know what more I can say besides I’m sorry,” he admitted weakly. You couldn’t find the courage to lift your head to look at his probably desperate expression. “I’ll be honest. I wanted to respect your wishes at first. If you wanted distance, I’d give it to you. But the more time passed, the more I missed you.”

You fiddled with your fingers and the edge of your shirt, trying to find any distraction so you didn’t have to listen to his explanation.

“I missed you so much,” he murmured, “I thought I was an idiot, for treating you the way I did. I took advantage of how comfortable I was around you, and when you finally left me, I realized how lucky I was to have someone I could be so myself with.”

He turned to look at you, and you finally lifted your gaze to meet his eyes. Your heart ached. He looked so tired.

“Have you been eating?” You asked quietly.

“See?” He smiled bitterly. “You care so much about me, and all I do is take that kindness and give nothing back.”

You felt tears prick at your eyes again as he took your hand and placed it onto his cheek, the familiar warmth of his hand reminding you that you truly would never be able to get over him.

“I hate you,” you lied through the tears slipping down your cheeks, “so much for everything you’ve done. For making me fall for you.”

“I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to you if you’ll let me,” his other hand reached up to brush your tears away. “As your friend, and as someone who finally realized his feelings for you too late. And if I’m lucky, I hope you’ll let me back into your life.”

“It won’t be the same,” you admitted honestly. Truthfully, your friendship would never be the same after all the hurt you endured because of him. Things that may have seemed so small to other people hurt you deeply, solely because you trusted him so much.

“I trusted you to be there and to understand me,” you told him, “and you ignored all that. You can’t expect that to be fixed so quickly.”

“I know,” he brushed your hair behind your ear. “So I’ll give my all to build a new relationship with you. One where I’ll be better, and won’t hurt you ever again.”

The two of you were silent as you cried. Through your tears, you could see his wet eyes. The sight brought a weak laugh to your lips.

“Kenma said you’re way too stubborn when you put your mind to something,” you smiled sadly. “This is your last chance, Kuroo. Don’t ruin it.”