#also found out that the therapy session I set up a MONTH AND A HALF AGO was never actually entered into the system

[conticentimp]

Maybe I want a stalker bf cos he won’t forget basic information about me (my dad asked me what my middle name is and my older brother asked how old I am) (I am salty about it)

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - The Epilogue

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: This chapter is set about a month before "Love Actually." So...are you ready?

Song Inspo: For this last chapter, it’s “The Book of Love” by Peter Gabriel. (It’s just lovely. I listened to it while writing the second half of the epilogue!)

Word Count: 7,800

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Violence and peril, angst, familiar bickering, smutty smut, bit of breeding kink, tender fluff, hurt/comfort, and an ending…

Epilogue: All My Living Time

“I’m not fucking around,” he said. “I want you to live with me.” 

Your smile was soft and bright when you took his hand. Ben wouldn’t admit it, but something in his chest stuttered to life then.

“Okay,” you said with a nod. “Let’s do it.”

Six months later…

You were frustrated with your roommate.

And yes, you used the word roommate, because he hadn’t seen fit to give it any other label.

You stewed in your irritation as you also stirred the beginnings of chicken tortilla soup. It was early in the morning before work, and Yvette had been teaching you how to master the crockpot. Hopefully, by the time you and Ben got home tonight, it would be ready and waiting for dinner.

Six months. You had to nag him about cabinets left open, dirty boots left right in front of the door to your shared apartment, and hell, actually going to his therapy sessions.

While that last one had taken months of convincing and cajoling, he’d caved when you suggested that acknowledging and dealing with what happened to him in Russia might help him control the nuclear power inside him. And maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t have to patch another hole in the ceiling.

Mind you, he wouldn’t actually talk to said therapist about anything related to his PTSD. But at least he was going. And the therapist was apparently getting an earful of Ben’s celebrity encounters, with all the explicit, gushy details.

However, even with all of this, it also sometimes felt like you were an in-house maid rather than a partner.

The latest reason for your frustration returned to you when Ben strolled into the kitchen in search of coffee. He wasn’t yet dressed for work in his supe suit; instead, still in the plain shirt and sweatpants he’d slept in.

He glanced at you, and seeming to sense your mood, he kept to himself as he found his usual mug and poured a cup of steaming French press in silence.

You took in a breath, trying to calm yourself. Maybe he’d had time to sleep on it. You closed the crockpot and went over to him. Your hand on his arm made him pause.

“Hey,” you said, “have you thought about what I asked you last night?”

Ben’s expression remained flat. “I think I already said my piece on that.”

You sighed.

“Why is dinner with my family such a hard thing for you?” you asked. Your brows furrowed. “My sister’s starting to warm up to you! And Mom just wants to get to know you. What’s the problem?”

Ben scoffed. “Your sister fucking hates me.”

You bit your lip. He wasn’t totally wrong, but in fairness, Louisa wasn’t happy to learn about why you’d nearly died in the hospital, when Vought Tower collapsed.

She thought you needed therapy for an egregious case of Stockholm Syndrome. But the more Ben worked with Supe Affairs, helping to clear the streets of out-of-control supes and cleaning up the remains of Vought, you were slowly getting Louisa to come around.

“She just needs time to get to know you too,” you said.

Ben wasn’t having it though. He rolled his eyes and tried to walk away from you with his coffee and a newspaper—aiming to get to his favorite lounge chair in the living room. It was the way he always started his morning, like the old man he was.

You followed him.

“Come on, one dinner won’t kill you,” you said. “And by the way, neither would moving your dirty-ass boots out of the doorway.”

You went over to grab said boots, and in your annoyance, you all but tossed them into the hall. Ben frowned at you, throwing down the newspaper onto the coffee table.

“Why’re you nagging me like a goddamn wife?” he snapped.

“Wife?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “You don’t even call me your girlfriend.”

But God forbid another man even smile in your direction. Ben was possessive, protective, and claimed with all but words that you were his. And yet, he wouldn’t say it.

You shouldn’t have been surprised that he was afraid of commitment, but you’d been living together for six damn months. Almost seven, if you counted the safe house.

When you found this nice, but cozy apartment in Scarsdale, you’d sat him down at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, like the two of you used to in that house in Medellin.

And you established the ground rules before you two officially moved in together: 

First, an exclusive relationship meant exclusive. Meaning no fucking around. (He’d raised a brow at you.)

Second, you were his partner, not his slave. You expected him to carry his hefty weight, not only in the relationship, but around the house. (He’d most definitely rolled his eyes at that.)

And finally, don’t be an asshole, you’d decreed. “Be honest when you’re not feeling right about something. But don’t be a dick about it.” 

That cut both ways, of course, just like the other two rules. He’d agreed to all of these, albeit begrudgingly. You hadn’t really known then if he meant it.

And now, looking at him, you still had no idea if he was trying, or if he was just tired of being alone…and if you were just a convenient bedwarmer. You bit your lip once again, this time with a growing fear blooming anxiety in your chest.

“Do you even love me?” you asked.

Ben blinked down at you, and his lips pulled into a deep frown.

“Stop fucking around,” he said.

“I’m serious,” you insisted. Your crossed arms tightened, as if to protect yourself from what he might say. “You’ve never said it once.”

“And the fact that I agreed to live in this mediocre fucking apartment doesn’t mean anything?” he said, gesturing around him with a hand. “I take you out, I buy you shit. Matter of fact, I fucking spoil you.”

“And you take off whenever you feel like it, especially after missions,” you shot back. “Sometimes I don’t know where the hell you’ve gone for hours. For all I know, you’re out there doing blow with a caravan of strippers!”

While that did sound like a damn good time, that hadn’t been Ben’s M.O. in recent months. And in his mind, you should’ve known better.

“I haven’t fucked anyone but you since we moved in here,” he snapped.

Even longer than that, if he was honest. 

Meanwhile, you wanted to trust his words, desperately, but you just didn’t know if you could. 

“Even if I believe you, what’s the problem here?” you asked. Your gaze fell from his as you worried your bottom lip. “Am I doing something wrong?”

You didn’t see the way Ben’s brows knitted together, his eyes softening a bit.

“Other than annoying the hell out of me right now, no,” he replied. 

“Okay,” you nodded with a sigh. You looked up at him again. “Then just tell me the truth. What are we doing here?” 

“What the fuck do you mean?” Ben’s hands went to his waist, and once again, he frowned in irritation. “I’m here. What more do you want from me?” 

“Do you love me?” you asked. “And don’t lie to me.” 

He knew very well that you would be able to detect if he was lying. Which was why, you suspected, he hadn’t tried to. 

He couldn’t seem to answer you though…and that broke your heart.

Shaking your head, you walked away from him to get ready for work.

Your attitude at work was snappish at best. Annie had pulled you from the Surveillance department on your lunch break to join her and your friends in the breakroom, but you couldn’t enjoy yourself like you usually would.

“Smooth and creamy, all the motherfuckin’ way,” M.M. said. Sitting across from him in the breakroom was Frenchie, pelting him with a roasted peanut.

“This is why you are an unsophisticated, bourgeois, fucking fuddy-duddy,” Frenchie remarked. He was also vaping, as Annie was trying to get him to stop smoking indoors. “Extra crunchy peanut butter is the only way to do business.”

“What’s the point? Just eat peanuts if you want it that crunchy,” M.M. countered. He blocked each roasted nut thrown at him and organized them in a perfect pile on the table.

“You know what? You’re right. Smooth and creamy is how I’ll eat out your mother’s sweet and savory vajine,” Frenchie teased.

M.M.’s deadpan face was priceless. But when a peanut projectile strayed and hit you in the cheek, you leveled Frenchie with a glare.

“Can you guys not act like children for five goddamn minutes?” you snapped.

His brows raised, along with his hands in surrender. M.M. and Annie looked at you in mild surprise, and the latter with concern after the guys eventually left.

“What’s going on with you? You’ve looked tense as hell all day,” she asked. You sighed, holding a hand to your brow.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you replied. She gave you a knowing look.

“Is…something going on?” she asked. “Is it Ben?”

Most of the S.A. was still wary of Ben, while M.M. tolerated him at best. (You understood how hard he was trying.)

You appreciated Annie though. She was a good friend, and along with Hughie, she’d been another who started to come around to the idea of Ben. Not only as he occasionally worked with the S.A., but to the man himself, after she’d seen the way he did his best to save you, Yvette, and her son Devon.

You nodded at her question. You couldn’t help the tears burgeoning in your eyes. Annie scooched her chair over so she could rub your back in comfort. You sniffed and tried not to break down here in the middle of the breakroom, over your sad ham sandwich.

“We had a fight,” you admitted. Annie’s gaze was tight with concern.

“Did he…hurt you?” she asked. Her brown eyes were as direct as her words, promising her protection as well as retribution, depending on how you answered.

Your glassy eyes widened. “No. He’s not like that, he…believe it or not, but he’s never hurt me, Annie. Not once.”

After a moment, she nodded. “Okay, good. Well, tell me what happened.”

You wanted to. But before you could, both of you got an incoming text in the team group chat. It was from Grace Mallory.

She had a new mission.

Grace asked you to join the team on your first field mission since you’d returned to work three months ago. She also called in Ben, as in her words, it was another “all hands on fucking deck” situation.

Ben and Butcher eyed one another with similar stoic frowns, before they proceeded to ignore each other. Despite how you felt about Ben right now, the brief exchange almost made you smirk.

Apparently the whole I saved you with my super blood thing was awkward for both of them. You knew Ben had seen it as a means to an end. You still didn’t know how Butcher felt about it, but it seemed as if a begrudging respect had formed between the two men.

Or at least, they were civil, anyway.

“All right,” Grace said, once she saw that everyone was in attendance. “Let’s begin.”

A supe named Sapphire had been giving the CIA trouble for years now. She was moving drugs from South America to the States, to the Middle East, whoever would deal with her. And she was smart. She had a network of spies that transcended continents, and so she had evaded every attempt at arrest.

She was also a powerful supe, with the ability to channel vaporizing energy not unlike Crimson Countess had. However, this supe could spear blue shards of light through her enemies as well.  With her damn eyes.

Grace turned to you after she finished explaining the details of the mission.

“Sapphire’s internal security is advanced. Our system can’t penetrate her firewalls. You’ll need to get a hand on the mainframe from there, shut down her system. Then our Surveillance team can back you up here.”

You nodded, but in the corner of your eye, you noticed Ben frowning as he crossed his arms.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re out of practice,” he told you. “You really think you’re ready for this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I train every day,” you snapped back.

Ben’s expression fell into irritation. “Not the same, and you fucking know it.”

Butcher, Annie, and the others watched the exchange with mixed wariness and discomfort. Grace looked between you and Ben with curious, narrowed eyes.

“Is this going to be a problem, you two working together on this?” she asked.

You turned from Ben’s annoyed face and met Grace’s gaze directly.

“Not at all,” you said.

Sapphire had been spotted doing business in the Meat Packing District. By day, the building was a beef butchering factory. By night, it was apparently one of the most massive drug running operations in the city.

As such, her security team was extensive—at the front, the back, and the roof. So while Butcher, Kimiko, and Ben broke through the front, making a lot of noise and distraction, the rest of you went under.

Unfortunately, that meant the sewer. Annie lit the way through, while M.M. followed a set of schematics to find the right spot.

“It’s not my first time in the bowels of New York City, but please God, let it be the last,” Hughie quipped. You tried not to breathe the foul smell through your nose.

“Watch the fucking rat,” M.M. said with a grimace, before he set up the double-sided ladder he brought. He and Frenchie climbed either side of it up to the metal ceiling which, according to the building’s schematics, led directly beneath the factory basement.

They took up welding guns and masks to carve a large hole into the metal and cement above. And soon enough, they pushed up and slid over a large portion, creating a gap you could all crawl through. 

M.M. helped Annie up first, and she shot a few star bolts at the three men inside, who had been smoking and eating deli sandwiches. Each of them went down, alive, but groaning in pain. That allowed the rest of you to climb up and into the basement.

“We’re in,” M.M. said into the Bluetooth communicator in his ear.

“We’re cutting through her goon squad,” Butcher said. “Sapphire’s here somewhere. I can smell a massive cunt already.”

“Gross. Thanks for that visual,” Annie remarked.

From there, you all took off toward the stairwell. It was your task to find the operation’s security control room. So Hughie and Frenchie went with you as backup, while M.M. and Annie went to join the fight and find Sapphire.

It took you a few tries to find the right room. Most of them were offices. One contained wagons of discarded meat parts (disgusting). But eventually, you found a large room filled with computer equipment and a huge wall monitor with several panels of camera feeds. You and Frenchie raised your guns and took out the team inside.

Then you and Hughie went to the controls. Frenchie watched the door while you worked to disable the firewall first. You instructed Hughie on how to knock out their communications as well. And within a few minutes, your work was done. You were able to make a call to the S.A. Surveillance team.

“Hey, friend!” a cheerful voice greeted you. You smiled; it was your coworker Jess, who you’d worked with for the past two years. 

“Jess?”

“Yep! I’m helping out on this one. What do you need?”

“I shut down the firewall. I’m giving you the I.P. address now so you can connect.”

“…Okay, got it. I’m in. I can see all twenty cameras, and you! Hey, there.”

“All right, where’s Sapphire?” you asked.

“Looks like they haven’t found her yet,” Hughie said, pointing at the camera feed in the main room, filled with rows of conveyor belts, and a massive fight as Ben, Butcher, and the others made their way through the building.

“We’ll just have to help them clear each room,” you said. “Let’s go. Jess, keep an eye on us, but look out for Sapphire.”

“Will do. I’m patched into your comm now too,” she said. So you hung up your cell, and you left with Hughie and Frenchie.

You ran into more security when you left the room, more than the three of you could realistically handle as a fire fight began. You guys ran in the opposite direction, but while you veered right around the corner, Frenchie and Hughie ran left. Bullets tore in between, making sure that none of you could cross the hall to join back up.

“You guys keep going. I’ll find my own way out,” you called out to them. Neither of them liked that idea, but Frenchie nodded and pulled Hughie away when Sapphire’s security team closed in.

You kept running down the hall. You knew you were being chased. Several heavy footsteps thundered behind you. 

“Jess, I need a way out of here,” you commed in.

“You’re on the second floor,” she said. “The closest stairwell is the one you’re running away from.”

“What’s the second closest?” You panted as you ran.

“Hmm, you can cut through room 234. The exit stairwell is right on the other side.”

 “Is the room clear?” you asked.

After a moment, Jess answered. “Yep, it should be.”

"Should be?”you said dubiously.

“What the hell’s going on?” you heard Ben’s voice on the line. You heard the edge of his annoyance (and underlying worry), but you didn’t have time to talk to him right now.

“Looks clear on my end,” said Jess,“but this connection is a bit wonky.”

Damn it, Jess, you thought. When you reached room 234, the door was solid gray. There was no window to peek into, and you didn’t have time for caution, as a stray bullet nearly caught you in the head.

You ripped the door open and ran in, slamming the door shut behind you and locking it for good measure.

You turned around and stopped short. A gasp caught in your throat.

The room was huge, and it was filled wall-to-wall with white packages, of what you could only assume was cocaine. A few men were continuing to stack them. At the center of it all was a tall woman, rich tan skin, long black hair, wearing a deep blue pantsuit and killer heels. She looked like a boss ass bitch.

But unfortunately, she was also looking straight at you, raising a brow.

“Ah,” she said. A smile curved her lips, painted with a dark plum lipstick. “You’re one of the little bitches making a mess in my office.” 

Her eyes glowed blue, and yours widened. You dove for the nearest shelter—a wall of cocaine parcels. White powder exploded and wafted in the air as you ducked and ran across the room (and tried not to inhale). You drew your gun and shot out the legs of her men underneath the long stretch of table, but you yelped as bullets continued to follow you.

“I found Sapphire! Need backup in 234!” you shouted into the comm.

But when a blast of blue energy rocked into the wall directly behind you, you screamed as you were thrown forward. You landed painfully on your side, with the wind knocked out of you.

After a moment, you drew breath into your lungs and were able to pick yourself up. The exit door was close, a mere few feet away, but the second you reached for it, you had to pull back as narrow blue shards of light pierced the door. 

Sapphire was quickly approaching, just a yard or so away from grabbing you.

Instead of shooting your gun, you went for the taser at your belt and shot fast. Sapphire grabbed the end of the line like a fucking moron. Her blue eyes widened in outrage and pain when it shocked 50,000 volts of electricity through her body.

You took your chance, and you ripped the door open and fled. You just didn’t expect the bolt of energy that shot after you when you reached the stairs.

It didn’t hit you, but trying to dodge it made you lose your balance. You uttered a short scream as you were forced to jump the first flight of stairs.

You landed on the middle platform between the first and second floor. This time, you knew you twisted your ankle badly on the way down. You whimpered, holding your ankle and shin, but you knew you didn’t have time to waste.

It was a struggle to claw your way up to the guard rail. You could barely put pressure on your right foot, but you had no choice as you scrambled down the rest of the stairs. Already the door to the stairwell was blown open, and a pissed supe was on her way down behind you.

After shoving the door open on the first floor, you stumbled out and took another painful spill across the concrete floor. To your relief, M.M. picked you up by your arms.

The door behind you swung open, and before Sapphire could fire off a vaporizing blow, Ben raised his new titanium shield in front of you and M.M.

The blue energy bounced right off, and Ben used his shield to bat the supe right in the face—like swatting a fly. With a shriek, she was thrown hard against the wall.

Sapphire sunk to her knees, then the electric blue flickered out of her eyes as she fell unconscious to the floor.

When you all returned to Supe Affairs, Ben thundered down the hall towards the Surveillance department.

“Ben!” You hurried after him the best you could with a sprained ankle, bare-footed and wrapped, while M.M. and Hughie trailed behind. The others were busy getting Sapphire into custody.

Hughie was concerned for you though, while M.M. also wanted to know how you were going to try and reign in Soldier Boy.

“What the hell are you doing?” you called after Ben.

“I wanna know what goddamn moron cleared that fucking room,” he barked, but he didn’t slow down.

M.M. called your name from behind.

“Get your boyfriend in check,” he warned.

You sighed in irritation. At this point, you didn’t even know if he was your boyfriend.

But you struggled to reach him. You were practically hopping on one foot. The moment you tried to put any pressure on your right one, you faltered with a cry as you all but crashed against the wall to catch yourself. Hughie went to help you, grabbing your arm gently with a supportive hand on your back.

You didn’t see it, but that was when Ben stopped short. His jaw ticked. And he turned on his booted heel. When he saw you struggling to support yourself against the wall, he reluctantly went back. He knocked Hughie’s scrawny hands off you and wrapped an arm around your waist.

When he tried to just gather you into his arms to get the weight off your injured foot, you snapped at him.

“I can walk!” you said. “Let’s just go home please.”

His nostrils flared in irritation, but he helped you try to walk back toward the exit instead. You winced in pain with every small step.

Ben growled in annoyance. Fuck this. 

He hefted you effortlessly into his arms. You gasped and clung to his shoulders, and afterwards, you glared at him.

“I said I can walk!” you insisted.

“Shut up,” he grated out, swiftly heading for the exit doors down the hall. M.M. and Hughie watched with wide eyes while you and Ben devolved into what you did best.

“Don’t tell me to shut up!” you raised your voice.

He glared at you. “You’re in rare fucking form right now.”

“You’re the one being an asshole!”

“And you’re being a disrespectful brat!”

You rolled your eyes as anger burned hot in your veins. “What-fucking-ever, grandpa.”

Ben’s teeth clicked and grinded together. It took everything he had within him not to toss you. 

“You really wanna fucking get it, don’t you?”

“Suck my dick. How about that?” you sassed back, unfazed by his warning. 

Ben bulldozed through the double doors with a swift kick that shook them on their hinges. The bickering continued long after you two exited the building. 

Hughie just stared, mouth gaping, while M.M. crossed his arms. 

“That is some volatile shit,” Hughie remarked. 

M.M. scoffed, with a subtle shake of his head. 

“Nah, man,” he said ruefully. “That’s true motherfuckin’ love.”

Meanwhile, in the car, Ben drove home to Scarsdale. You simmered in the passenger seat. He glanced at you.

“Are you gonna be a hissy bitch all night?” he asked. You glowered at him.

“You’re the fucking grouch,” you shot back. In times like these, you liked to fantasize. Sometimes you wished you could rip out his spine and play Jenga with the vertebrae.  

“And you’re the one who nearly got yourself killed,” he retorted.

You took issue with this, your brows raising high.

“Excuse me? You’re really blaming me for what happened with Sapphire? You were ready to take out my friend for making an honest mistake.”

His gaze briefly left the road, turning to you in frustration. He didn't understand how you couldn't get it through your thick skull. You had been one shaky step shy of being fucking vaporized today.

No blood. No body. Just...nothing.

“Case in point, you’re the best in Surveillance," he said gruffly. "You don’t need to be in the field."

His compliment stopped you, warming you a little, but he was missing the point.

“I go where I’m needed, just like you,” you said. “You don’t get to tell me how, when, or where to do my job.”

Needless to say, it was tense for the rest of the way home.

Ben helped you inside, after which, you were determined to get to the bedroom by yourself. He watched you hop away from him with a frustrated shake of his head.

He sighed and started to peel off his gloves and untie his boots…but instead of leaving them by the door, like he usually would, he kept walking until he made it to the bedroom he shared with you. He sat on the edge of the bed and took his boots off there.

He watched you ignore him as you closed yourself into the bathroom.

You came out of the shower a little while later. Your hair was damp, but unwashed as you hadn’t been able to stand there for very long. The wrap on your ankle had gotten wet, so you grabbed the spare one that the paramedic had given you.

Ben didn’t look at you as he took his turn heading into the bathroom. After the door shut, your shoulders slumped with a sigh.

You tried to put on some shorts, but you quickly gave up and instead put on an overlarge shirt over your underwear. You remembered then that this shirt was an old one of Ben’s, and now a favorite of yours, because it still smelled like that earthy mix of his cologne and aftershave.

Frowning, you sucked in a deep breath. And you made a decision.

By the time Ben came back out with a towel wrapped around his hips, he found you still in the bedroom. Except you were packing a suitcase—the same one he’d brought to the safe house he’d shared with you for a month.

You were stuffing clothes into it from your side of the dresser. Something churned uncomfortably in his stomach, and he approached you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded to know.

You glanced up at him, but continued packing.

“Well, you made yourself very clear this morning that we’re just roommates. So I’m going to the guest room.”

“All right, don’t get all fucking hormonal,” he said, reaching out with a hand to stop you. You snatched your hand away from him. His brows raised in disbelief.

When you tried to get past him on the way to your closet, he held fast to your arm. With an angry frown, he then grabbed your suitcase and spilled it over onto the bed. You didn’t need a fucking suitcase to move one room over. Not that he planned to let you go any-damn-where.

“Enough,” he said sharply.

You met his intense stare with your own, but your eyes were shining and red. In that moment, you both stilled. The silence was palpable. For you, it was heartbreaking.

“I can’t do this anymore, Ben,” you confessed. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall just yet. “I put my all into this, and I just…I can’t be with someone who won’t be honest with me.”

You started to grab your suitcase again, along with your discarded clothes. Ben stopped you. 

“I said enough,” he snapped. 

You then threw the heap of clothes to the floor, suitcase and all.

“Why?” you tearfully retorted. “Why should I listen to you?” 

His deep green eyes searched yours. For what, you didn’t know.

Eventually, you started to see through the cracks of his anger.

“Because I fucking love you,” he said. 

You blinked up at him, with hope stuck in your throat. But you were stubborn in your denial.

“You’re just saying that to get me off your back,” you argued. “Either you’ve just gotten used to having me around, or you just don’t feel like being alone. But you don’t really care about me.”

You knew you were saying words you didn’t mean.

You knew that wasn’t true…but you couldn’t help it.

You were more upset than angry now, seconds away from dissolving into pitiful tears. You were just stubborn enough to hold them at bay.

“Just shut up for one goddamn second,” Ben said. He held you by your shoulders, though his hands soon moved down to grip your arms. It wasn’t a painful hold, but it was firm, and quite possibly pleading.

Despite your better judgment, you gave him time to speak.

“You really think I’d stay here in this shithole if I didn’t want you?” he asked. “If I didn’t care about you?”

You unconsciously held your breath. For a long moment, he hesitated to continue.

Again, you waited for him.

Meanwhile, Ben knew he was being a coward. He’d been holding back. Not because he wasn’t serious about you, but because he’d been burned before. 

He knew he’d spent his life being a fucking bastard, in most ways. He knew he’d been wrong, and hadn’t given two shits about it. But Crimson Countess…Tess…he’d been willing to settle down with her. He’d actually told her he loved her and hadn’t been totally lying through his teeth. 

Yeah, he’d fucked around. Flirted with other women in front of her. He knew he was a hypocrite. Still, in whatever way he could at the time, he thought he’d loved her. 

And she’d lied to him. She’d gone through the motions of being with him. For fame or fear or whatever her reasons had been, she went along with it. And then she’d sold him out, along with the rest of their team. 

For nothing. Just to get him the fuck out of her life—out of the world. 

So what was he supposed to do with you? Just let you walk the fuck in, give you the deepest parts of him? A dark fucking space that he’d never given to anyone.

Well, he knew now if he didn’t, you were going to leave. But he wasn’t willing to let go either.

So…he relented. For once in his life, he told the truth.

“I love you,” Ben admitted. “In my whole damn life…I think you’re the only one who’s made me feel it for real.” 

Tears finally slipped down your cheeks. You reached out and grasped his wrist, mostly for stability as you took in his words. He took that hand, held it to his warm chest. Always warm. 

“But one day, I’m still going to fucking lose you,” he said, looking down on you. “Then I’ll be right back where I started.”

Alone. 

You looked up at him with a sad, rueful smile. 

“Not exactly where you started,” you replied. He wasn’t the same man you met last year. You pressed your free hand to his cheek.

“Taking Compound V doesn’t guarantee I’ll come out like you, with a longer lifespan.”

“It’s something the CIA can work on,” Ben said. 

“You want Dr. Baker to experiment on me?” you asked, quirking a brow. The CIA had recruited her, ironically enough.

Ben closed his eyes for a second, letting out a slight huff. “That’s not what I’m fucking saying.”

You nodded and soothed your fingers through his hair. 

“Okay, we’ll have that conversation. I promise.” Then you smiled. “But let me just have this moment…my boyfriend loves me.”

You looked into his eyes and you knew he meant it. His hands moved to your waist, around to the small of your back. You clung to his shoulders and shifted off your aching ankle with a wince. Ben noticed, and he raised you up to him. It had the added benefit of letting you reach his face easier.

He guided you into a searing kiss. You responded in kind, delving into his hair again and opening your mouth to his demanding tongue. With the tips of your toes, you pushed up from the ground and he helped you wrap your legs around his waist.

The towel he wore was starting to slip, and you shoved it the rest of the way off with your foot, until he stood in the center of the bedroom in all his glory. 

He smirked into your lips and walked you to the bed. But before he could lay you down, you broke the kiss and held his face.

“You really love me?” you asked, just to make sure. It was the part of you, perhaps still scarred deep down, that had to ask.

Ben chuckled. He rested his forehead against yours. “You’re mine, sweetheart. Don’t you fucking forget it.”

You grinned, and you kissed him this time, only breaking when he lowered down to the bed. Once your back met the plush mattress, all bets were off. He wrenched your shirt up over your head, and you reached for him again.

Your lips drew a hot, wet path from his jawline to his neck, biting and sucking all along the way to that sensitive spot between his neck and shoulder. His hand clenched in your hair, a deep sound caught in his throat when he felt the sharp sting of your teeth, playfully biting, then soothing with your tongue.

Your nails bit into his skin, but merely felt like teasing down his back, making a shiver trill along his spine. He all but pressed you into the mattress as he made his own descent.

Your fingers trailed up and into his hair while his mouth worked its way down between your breasts, stopping to lavish attention on each one. You made sounds of pleasure when he took a hardened nipple between his lips, between his teeth, dragging deliciously over your skin.

Your thighs wrapped around his hips again, He bucked teasingly into your clothed core, making you moan when you felt his wet tip dampening your panties.

“Ben…”

His lips curved, but he didn’t answer you. His fingers were pressing into the flesh of your thigh as he continued to tease your breasts. You’d felt how hard he was already and frankly, you were surprised he was taking his time.

“Listen,” you panted in his ear. “You’ve gotta wrap it up this time. Do we even have condoms?”

You knew for a fact that Ben didn’t buy them. 

But his brows furrowed. His mouth left your breast as he looked up at you.

“What?”

“I haven’t replaced my IUD yet,” you confessed. Its five-year lifespan had been up, and so you’d gotten the birth control device removed a few days ago.

Now, you watched in amusement at the way his lips curved into a pleased grin.

“No, don’t you even think about it,” you warned. Though you almost laughed at how excited he looked. “We’re not ready for that.”

“Why fucking not?” Ben asked. His pressed his length against your core more insistently. The idea of fucking you raw, spilling into you, putting his seed deep inside you without resistance, had his cock throbbing with anticipation.

“Ben!” You had to laugh. You two hadn’t even been living together that long, and you had just gotten on the same page after six months of trying to figure out what you were together.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want kids,” he said. And he began to ply you with tantalizing kisses along the column of your throat, down your neck, the scraping of teeth making you shudder in delight.

“I do,” you could admit. “But is right now really the best ti—”

He choked a moan out of you as his fingers pushed your underwear aside and spread your folds, then delved right in. Your core pulsed, hot and wet as his thick digits sunk deep inside you.

“God,” you uttered, gripping his hair tight. He stretched and explored your inner channel with two fingers, while his thumb found your clit with ease.

“When then?” he asked. But his hand was unrelenting, working you over until your toes curled and the coil in your lower belly began to tighten. You looked up at him helplessly.   

“Can we talk about this later?” you keened. Ben smirked and suddenly withdrew his fingers from your dripping pussy. He snatched your underwear, ripping them down the middle and making you gasp.

“No time like the fucking present,” he insisted. He lined himself up to your entrance, but you stopped him with a warning look. You knew if you let him inside you now, he was going to try and get his way.

“Ben,” you warned.

He sighed and let you stop him, but then his teasing edge faded.

Ben pressed a hand to your cheek. When he leaned down to kiss you, you felt the need and wanting behind it. 

He pulled away to meet your eyes. You softened looking up into his, because you understood what he wanted.

“We have time, baby,” you promised, stroking his chin. “We’ll have a family…just give us some time.”

He was disappointed…but he nodded. Sighing again through his nose, he clenched a hand into the now tangled mess of your hair.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say you’re fucking mine.”

Your eyes widened. In all of this, you’d forgotten to be honest yourself. 

“Of course I’m yours,” you said. “I love you, Ben. So much, I can hardly take it.” 

He closed his eyes with furrowed brows. It had been a very long time since he’d heard those words. Maybe the first time someone had said them with any real sincerity, besides his mother. 

You encouraged him to look at you, both with your voice and your hand gently touching his face. And when he opened his eyes, you marveled at the depths there. 

Smiling, you guided him back to your lips. It was slow and sweet…until it wasn’t, deepening in passion and urgency again. Need burned inside you, so deep and strong that you couldn't take it anymore.

You slipped a hand between you to grasp his still hard cock. You caressed him a few times, letting your thumb circle around the sensitive head. Ben couldn’t help thrusting into your hand, releasing a grunt. His eyes briefly closed again as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck, down his chest.

“I need you,” you whispered against his skin. Ben nodded while you held his length poised at your entrance. He raised your hips, tucking your ankles over shoulders. For your injured one, he rubbed your calf.

“What a fuckin’ trooper,” he said with a smirk.

You smiled, but it soon fell into a moan as he began to push inside you. Every time, he stretched and filled you completely. Your inner walls wrapped around him and already fluttered with heat.

“Fuck, baby doll. Got me tight as a damn glove,” Ben remarked. You had to giggle, but that just squeezed him harder. When he began to move, it was all you could do to cling to his shoulders.

As basic as the position was, you liked being able to see his face. You knew when to spur him on, and when to just hold on for dear fucking life. But above all, he was a skilled man, and you enjoyed watching him work.

You were so consumed by it that when he came, it took both of you by surprise. He spilled into you hot and deep, but he still filled you with ragged thrusts, which hit that special place inside that made your entire body shudder with pleasure. You couldn’t help but come apart with him.

Your nails bit fruitlessly into his skin as your voice rose on a high moan. The two of you panted for breath, and he pulled out and let down your legs back to the bed. Once you felt the telltale dripping of his release slipping down from between your legs, your eyes widened. 

Oh shit, you thought. “We forgot the condom.”

Ben stared down at you, first in confusion, then in surprise. And finally, with a broad, Cheshire-like grin.

You laid a hand over your eyes as you relaxed into the pillow behind your head, trying not to laugh.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you said.

“We? I was following your lead,” Ben said. He moved to lay beside you in full satisfaction, folding his hands over his chest. He looked like the cat that caught the horny-ass canary.

"Haven't you heard of, oh, I don't know, pulling out?" you quipped. Ben rose a brow at you, still with that smug look on his face.

"Not my philosophy, sweetheart," he said.

Your mouth dropped open incredulously. Your gaze narrowed, but looking into his gleaming eyes, you really just had to laugh. His smile grew.

Ugh. Whatever, you thought. For now, you closed your legs and moved over to rest your head on his shoulder. He welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

What’re the chances that I’m ovulating anyway? you thought.

After a beat, you huffed another laugh. With your luck, you’d definitely have to stop at a drugstore for a pregnancy test.

And yet, in times like these, you were happy that you caved when Ben insisted on installing a TV in the bedroom. After you both got cleaned up, it was nice to fall into bed like you used to and find something new to watch together.

There were so many things you wanted him to catch up on, and he was generally game for whatever you thought he might like.

Three episodes of The Office later though, you stopped laughing so much and fell into your thoughts. Ben noticed, tugging on a loose strand of your hair.

“What’s the matter?”

“You really think our apartment is a shithole?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I might’ve embellished.”

“Seriously. If you’re not comfortable here—”

“I’m comfortable,” he said, turning his gaze to you. “Why’re you asking me that now?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I just want you to be happy here. I want this to feel like home for both of us, but not like, boring either.” 

He smirked. “Hence the caravan of whores and blow.” 

You shook your head with a laugh. But he still saw you trying to stem off that worry. That all this wasn’t enough for him. 

Well, Ben could complain about being cramped in this three-bedroom apartment…but he knew that when he came home, he wouldn’t be alone. 

He’d be able to see your stuff on the nightstand, by your side of the bed, your half of the closet, your sweet-smelling soaps and lotions in the bathroom. All of that was familiar to him now. 

It was home, he supposed. And so were you.

The beginnings of a softer smile curved his lips, but he edged it into a smirk.  

“You’ve got something they don’t,” he said. 

“What’s that?” you asked, raising a brow. 

“You try the ever-living fuck out of my patience,” he said, “unlike anyone on the planet.” 

With a giggle, you rolled over onto his arm and chest, resting your head on his shoulder. 

“Buuut…?” 

He conceded with a nod, if also a roll of his eyes. His arm lifted to once again slip around your waist.

“But no matter how fucked up it got, you stayed.”

With me, his tone implied.

“That’s more than anyone else in my goddamn life,” he said.

And that made you tear up all over again.

“So you’re staying,” you clarified, only half-teasing.

It reminded you of when you’d sat tied to a chair, wondering why the hell Soldier Boy would want to let you live. You could’ve never known it then, but you’d stared straight into the face of your future.

You didn’t know if Ben was remembering the same thing, but he smiled a little, brushing away your tears with his thumb.

“I’m staying,” he replied. Your smile brightened, and you leaned up for a kiss.

“Then we’re square,” you whispered against his lips. 

He chuckled and deepened the kiss. He turned off the TV, chucking the remote further down the bed and turned to trap you beneath him again.

“Nope.” You finished wiping your eyes and pushed against his chest. “You’re not finessing me twice. Go find a damn condom.”

He gave you a grumpy look. “Fucking killjoy.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed. You reached up and took his face in your hands.

“I promised, didn’t I?” you reminded. “We’ll get there.”

His gaze searched yours.

“Soon, not someday,” he said. You nodded, soothing your thumb across his cheek.

“Soon,” you agreed. And you reminded him, even as your throat constricted once more with emotion. “Ben, I love you…God, I love you. And I’ve never wanted this with anyone but you.”

Ben paused, but after a moment, he nodded in acceptance. You were grateful for it. Even though you weren’t quite ready yet, he wasn’t the only one who wanted a family.

While your fractured past and upbringing made it hard for you to move past your fears, your insecurities, you knew that this man made you feel safe.

For the first time in your life, you also felt whole.

Soon enough, you’d be brave too.

AN: That's all, folks. Been a great ride...

Ha! Just kidding. I'm nowhere near done with these two, even with this long-ass epilogue lol.

But honestly, no matter what part of the journey you jumped into with this story, thank you so much for sticking with me until the end. It's truly been one of my favorite stories ever to write. And I'm so glad I got the chance to share it with you. 🥹💚🥹

Read More in the BMD-verse:

There are several more sequel stories listed under the Break Me Down Series Masterlist. Next up is a one-shot taking place a shortly after Part 17, and before this Epilogue:

Summary: You and Ben have tackled the insurmountable together, but no one said the recovery would be easy.

▶️ Next Story: In the Dark

Before you keep reading, please let me know what you thought of the BMD finale! 💚💚

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[piastrisversion]

straight from the tortured poets department || matty healy x gn!reader

genre: slight angst+slight smut || word count:

warnings: mentions of a daddy kink and unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), also mentions of sh, first paragraph is delusion city....

authors note: the rat has crawled his way back into my mind so ur favorite matty healy x gender neutral fanfic writer is back and better than ever!! the story begins after the cut off so click it and ENJOYYY!!

Christmas, 2022. It was hard to go on social media without seeing Matthew Healy. The new album, the tour, the songs probably written about you (the word "probably" in this scenario meaning "of course they are, why wouldn't they be"). The edits on TikTok didn't help you to forget and/or move on from him. The sad part was you tried to move on. All the therapy sessions in the world couldn't stop you from telling all your friends you loved him still.

Matty Healy (@trumanblack) liked your story.

8:30 pm on Christmas-motherfucking-Day. Obviously you're not complaining, you wanted him back. But the fact he took the time to search your account on Instagram and click your story and like it. He wanted to show that he cared, at least that's what you thought. But Matty is a smart man. He knew you would bend at the idea of him coming back. He knew you saw all the edits, tweets, so on and so forth. But no, you thought, you won't give him the pleasure of sliding into his DMs like you so desperately wanted to do moments before the notification shot through. But that didn't happen.

Two hours later, you found yourself knocking on that bastard's hotel room door. He ended up sliding into your DMs, almost begging you to see him on Christmas. Matty may have been smart but before all that he was pathetic. He admits to that. He likes to be called a good boy after a being on stage for fucking hours, his aching cock in your hole doing nothing but just sitting in there, warming it up. He's a self aware man and you two accept that. You beg that he isn't just wanting you here to fuck you but in the back of your mind you not just want it, you need it.

Sheepishly, he opens the door.

"Didn't think you'd actually come" he coos

"Why's that?" you answer back softly

"Left me on read."

You chuckle as you enter the room. He's wearing a half-buttoned dress shirt and dress pants, both wrinkled. The room smells of Glossier Body Hero body wash and Matty's way-too-expensive cologne, which most likely costs more than your rent that month. The room is clean, classy yet still messy in Matty fashion. He stands behind you as your eyes wander around the room. He almost looks at you in wonder before he reluctantly breaks the silence.

"I got ya somethin'"

You hum out as he shuffles into the bedroom, bringing out a medium sized gift-wrapped box after a moment or two.

"You left this in Manchester." he says in an almost cocky yet still vulnerable way.

You look almost confused as you sit on the couch nearby, setting the present down before tearing into the gift wrap. After tearing through half a meter of wrapping paper and a half hazardly taped Amazon box, you find the typewriter you kept in his flat. The one that was used to write the mountains of poems and stories you wrote for him. The same ones your friends wanted you to burn but you couldn't. You would protest that it was "your art", to be subtracted from the context it existed in. But that wouldn't be possible.

"H...how long have you been waiting to give this to me?"

You look up at him like a lost, confused puppy dog.

"Matty...matty i-"

"Hm?" he interrupts

"...Is this all?"

"...Also wanted to talk to ya"

"About?"

"Christ, take a guess, darlin'" he says sharply

You look away from him and back at the typewriter. The worn out "M" and "H" letters. You smile to yourself before looking back up at him.

"What about it? Heard your thoughts on that album of yours" you say mocking him to an extent.

"Still as hostile as ever" he says under his breath.

"Oh, I'm the hostile one?"

"Well yeah-"

"How am I hostile...tell me" you interrupt.

He looks away, thinking of a response before looking back into your eyes. He plops down on the couch next to you, turning his head towards you before plopping his head on your lap. You sigh before you running your hands through his soft black curls. The room turns silent as the tension between the two of you turns comfortable as he nuzzles into your lap.

"Jus' miss ya...is all, I guess" he coos out, "Sorry if you got harassed or somethin'... didn't mean to start anything".

"I'm an adult, I'll be fine if some teenagers on the Internet tell me to slit my wrists, Matthew"

He somberly chuckles at your joke before going silent. He did miss you but he never viewed you two as exclusive. He thought it was just a lovebombing filled fling, something to take his and your mind off of the bullshit in your lives. But to you, due to the lovebombing on his side, you thought it was forever. You told your friends, your mom, everybody you could that he was the one. So when he ghosted you after months of obsessing over one another, it shook you. The album didn't help either but you didn't wanna tell him that. Not at this moment anyway. He moves his body to look up at you in the cutest most Matty way possible.

"My baby..." he sighs out as his eyes flutter shut.

You chuckle, "Hm?".

"I wan' to kiss my baby" he mumbles out.

You sigh. "Shut up, Matty...don't make this worse for us"

He gets up from your lap, looking at you in your eyes before softly pressing his lips against yours as his hand snakes up your jawline. Your hand, almost in muscle memory, goes under the hem of his dress shirt, holding his warm tattooed skin.

"Is this what you want?" he moans between kisses

You nod. If anything, this was what you needed.

[mslanna]

It Gets Better

This morning, I found this post on my dash and it home. So maybe now it is my time to write one of them “it gets better” posts.

Some years ago, I had a tag that said ‘Mel needs therapy’ because it was true and I wanted to start one. I made some small attempts – all I could do in my state. It was not enough. The system is set up badly and at the point in my life where I really needed therapy bad, I didn’t have the energy to get through the process.

Much later, I tried again. About 1,5 years ago. I got one assessment appointment and then nothing. I could have called a hotline (ha!) to get appointments with an emergency therapist. You see the problem with that, yes? It is impossible to do this step in writing. Impossible.

So I let it lie for half a year and then decided, no. Enough! It won’t be fast, but I can pay for a little out of my own pocket. Again, I contacted therapists. Of five, I got three replies. Of those 3 replies I got two first assessments. One of them put me on the wait list. I am allegedly on first place of it since December 2023.

The last therapist is the one I see now. She’s great and I trust her with my mental health. I couldn’t afford many sessions because each was 100 bucks out of pocket and my pockets are not that deep. I managed 2 session a month at best. But I paid for them, and I did some work and my therapist helped me with all the steps to get insurance to pay for therapy.

I couldn’t have done it without her. Where does one even start? But she is familiar with that. She’s also familiar with trans and non-binary people. The relief, not having to explain my existence was immense. Autism and ADHD are not things she works with a lot, but she’s more helpful and supportive than anybody else I met during my journey.

And then, this morning, that post. It hit me that, yes, I got better. But no, I have not treated poor adolescent me the way she deserves. All her hopes and dreams – already cracking. She doesn’t know how different she is and why. Only that people treat her different. She’s not one of them. (One of her teachers actually tells her mother little Mel isn’t part of the class community.)

But little Mel is quiet and does okay in school and nobody notices her turning more inwards and switching to English inside her head to have a safe place and language for herself.

I want to tell her that it gets better. It really does. Yes, there’s hell and high water between her and their better future. And no, it won’t be ‘worth it’ and ‘make her stronger’. That’s something she has to tackle alone. But they will. And they will be successful.

And her dreams – little love, you’re doing so well. You have written so many stories that moved people in all the way you intended! You still do. There are two books ready for publishing, and the whole of tradpub can’t stop you. The differences finally have names. And communities.

I am not alone.

Friendships are still difficult. Maybe I can get the hang of them now, that I know better how I work and what works for me. I’m grappling with getting the upper hand on my autism because if I don’t find strategies to work with it in my life, it will express itself however it wants.

My therapist keeps urging me to get a new psychiatrist who actually takes my ADHD seriously. (I’m on the second mood enhancer. At least this one has an effect which is to completely separate me from hunger signs.) But overall it gets better.

And one of theses days I will learn how to take adolescent Mel’s hand and prove to her that she’s fine. She’ll do things her way. And it will work out. She will become many of the things she wants to. And as for the rest? There is still time.

Lighten up, little one. Life is worth living yet.

[branches-in-a-flood]

hello i would love to hear more about your creatures they're very adorable

You asked for this, Tank.

(I'm on my laptop so no photos rn)

Torvi

Is my Small Island Cat, or the viking. She just turned six! I got her from a Caribbean island as a six month old kitten. She is my soulmate. She has a crooked leg that we think was broken as a wee bean, and only has about five teeth left because she's inbred AF and gets horrible resorptive lesions if I don't get her a dental with extractions at least once a year.

She is probably the creature that has loved me most in my entire life. She will follow me around the house and if I'm sitting then she has to be on top of me. If people meet her at my house they love her. That being said, she is an actual demon at the vet and has drawn blood on myself, her vet, and at least two techs, but if she gets gabapentin she just yells instead of attempts murder.

Squid

The black dog! She's a four year old Belgian Sheepdog or Groenendael. I bought her as a graduation present to myself after not having a dog for a decade. She is pretty close to everything I've ever wanted in a dog. When researching breeds I came across Belgian shepherds and thought they'd make a good match, then found that groens only come in black and my goth heart was set. Told her breeder I wanted a bitch (boys are gross,) and a confident, active dog that is game for anything. Annnnnd that's what I got. We play around in eight different dog sports, and have tried out a few more. She absolutely needs to be occupied or else she is a Menace. Less so destructive, more that she will stand directly in front of me, make hard eye contact, and scream until we do something.

She does nearly anything I ask of her because she loves me and also praise. She has little self preservation, which has led to some concerning mishaps like trying to leap off a bridge. She's absolutely not perfect, but I like her. We have some stranger reactivity at times (she will let strange men know they are not welcome to come any closer) and if we're waiting our turn at a sporting event she Screams. I swear she can read my mind, and is the reason why I'll always have at least one Groenendael.

Lusca

My Barbie cat. The floof tuxedo creature that has never met a person or animal she didn't immediately love. She has no functional brain cells. When we all lived in an apartment, she was a watchdog with the Belgian, and would stand between her front legs to people watch out the window. She hates cops. Seriously, any time she hears the sirens she poofs out and growls at the door until they're well past. She's designated herself as the whippet's snuggle buddy in the winter. She's also recently decided she has to chaperone my therapy virtual visits - she lays on my lap or beside me on the chair for the entire session.

I got Lusca because her former owner said she pissed on everything and they couldn't handle it anymore. We only minimally have this problem - if I leave dirty laundry on the floor and haven't scooped the boxes in a few days she might, but it's honestly not a major issue anymore.

Rogue

One and a half year old whippet. I love her but she is honestly the stupidest dog I've ever had lol. Decided a while back that I wanted another dog, but not something as intense as the Squid. Considered Silken Windhounds and Borzoi, but decided I already had too much fluff in the house, and several colleagues recommended a specific whippet breeder to me. So I brought home this dumbass. She's pretty strictly ornamental, especially when compared to all the things the Belgian does.

Quite possibly the happiest creature in my home. Her hobbies include theft, laying on top of anyone she can reach, refusing to understand why the cats swat her when she shoves her nose into their bellies, and zooming. We had a rough time of her teenager stage and I'm pretty sure she hated me for a few months because I enforced our boundaries. I did mess up a bit raising her in that I didn't take her around other dogs much, so she really only likes Squid unless the new dogs spend roughly 20 minutes ignoring her first.

I am certifiably insane and constantly casually considering either a second Belgian, or a Dutch Shepherd. Second groen would be for show and sports. Dutchie would be for bite sports, because I really want to try them out but Squid is not quite into it due to all the work we put into not biting people as a puppy.

[alien-ally]

I heard about the eighth sense from tumblr literally 2 days after the first 2 eps were out and my vacations had just begun so i was totally ready to indulge myself in something, even if it wasn't going to be very memorable just cause i had all the time and dint have to double check a thousand times if it is indeed emulating vibes that I'm into/would be worth my time. So i just went for it and woah i am obsessed now. I went into it absolutely ready to make it my new hyper fixation as I'm going to be absolutely free for more or less a month and a half and was in the position to entertain it eating up like a half of my brain space but i dint think I'd like it this much?? Not only cause i have the time but also cause it has thoroughly dragged me in. I search up the tag like multiple times a day. Even on twitter! Which is huge cause legit any other social media except tumblr stresses me out too much for me to even open it. Plus I'm usually not that invested in things either. Turns out wetter's music is absolutely rad and I've got 4 of their songs on my playlist. The vibes those songs set is just immaculate. The duration? Please, enough with slow burn in 8 episodes of literal 20-25 mins. What i absolutely adore about t8s is that it takes it's time. They show us the absolute mundane, them eating ramen, walking in the train station, walking to the dorms, just walking together in general, which i just- very beautiful, i love those. Because aren't those the actual little day to day things that bring you closer to people? That draw you in, that solidifies the allure towards people? What is slow burn without those? (Though this is not particularly of the slow burn genre, what i mean is development b/w two people that've newly met each other). And i got to say, the role tumblr has hooking me on to this is not trivial. The analyses, color theory discussions, details i never pay attention to, microexpressions, side eyes, body language, lighting, cinematography, background to the clother they wear!!! Aah experience enhanced by 1777777+ I am beyond elated to have found the eighth sense and highly impressed at the fact that eps 3 & 4 dint put me off but instead have only increased my intrigue. The subtle resignation that lies behind seo jaewon's every interaction with everyone except for jihyun (the way they portray the budding hope element is just splendid), the therapy sessions, the fledging of jihyun's character as an introvert that's not sad or lonely to have less people in their life but rather prefers it that way and is actively choosing it over it's alternative rather than just succumbing to it due to poor social skills, surfing, walking side by side to touching fingers to finally holding hands firm; letting oneself hope and be happy, letting go. The inherent queer ache of it all.

I'm looking forward eagerly <2

[forgotten-mem0ries]

5:23 PM July 4, 2024 The Therapy Session

I went to the first one Tuesday. It got pushed back by my therapist, Dr. Monroe. My anxiety shot through the roof as soon as I even approached her office. I brushed it off and continued on in.

She was waiting for me by the door. She looked at me like I was a photo ripped in half. I trudged into her office before she could say anything, welcoming myself to a chair in front of her desk. I leaned back in the chair and waited for her to come in. Her office looked the exact same as the last time I was here, multiple years ago when she told me 'you're starting to remember more'. Wish I hadn't.

She still had the same photo of her and my dad on the desk in front of her flower pot on the window sill. Them graduating college in their red caps and gowns. The same one I plan on going to. My mom also asked me about that recently, but that'll be for a separate entry.

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"Can you turn the photo around?" I asked, giving a lazy point to the photo of her and my father.

"Yeah of course, sorry." She turned it around so it was facing out of the window at the street behind the building. It wasn't a busy one. She sat down and gave a small sigh.

"Surprised you haven't asked about anything yet, thought I was gonna be bombarded by questions as soon as I walked into the building."

"I have more respect for you than that."

"I appreciate it, I really do, wish I wasn't here on the occasion of him dying but it is what it is."

"Yeah...your mom mentioned you were the one that found him."

"Of course I did, it's always the youngest that goes through the most apparently, thought it was bad when I found the dog dead, boy oh boy it got so much worse."

"Dog?"

"Yeah, Molly, when she was in the yard playing with the neighbor kid--"

"Melanie."

That shut me up for a few moments. Fucking hell. It's like every problem that happened the last times I had been in this office was coming back.

"Right, yeah, yeah, Melanie."

"Has your memory been bad recently? Or is this the first mess up from last time you were here?"

"This is the first time of what I remember, ha...sorry, not something to joke about--yeah, first time since."

We both went silent for a few moments as she flipped through her notebook and pulled out a pen. She looked at me again.

"Do you wanna talk about your dad today? Or use this as a catch up session?"

"Catch up, please, I don't really wanna talk about him right now."

She gave a small nod and set down her notebook, flipping it so the cover was closed again.

"Tell me anything." She muttered.

"I graduated high school, uhm...I kissed someone, a girl, Frankie, but that was a couple months ago, I did just see her at a party recently, Shaun dragged me there so I wouldn't isolate myself again, Leo was there too and I caught up with them, Remy got a new job, Grant's back in town from college--I'm not on speaking terms with him."

"What happened between you two?"

"He wouldn't answer my messages for days at a time and would reply like nothing happened--just pissed me off and then he came to the funeral, like what right does he have to even show up there?"

"Are you more mad at the fact that he showed up? Or that he didn't tell you he would."

"...Both, I guess, I didn't expect him to, he doesn't care about anyone else but himself, doesn't try to reach out to me, hell, he didn't even respond to the text when I told him he died."

"But he looked at it?"

"He looked at it, and didn't say a single word. I yelled at him at the funeral and was throwing rocks at my window trying to get my attention but every time I go to look it stops."

"Maybe he just gets scared you might see him, yell at him again, or fight him--"

"Me? Fight him? I wouldn't do that."

"With everything you're going through right now, I don't think anyone would be surprised if you fought someone."

"I still wouldn't do--"

"Dakota, what I'm trying but failing at saying, is that you need to just give him a chance, text him or next time he throws a pebble at your window, just talk to him, hear him out on his bullshit or whatever."

"I need more time to deal with this, he's just one of them that pities me."

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I left soon after that, driving back home in silence. My mother asked how it went and I just shrugged with a simple "caught up" and went upstairs. Remy checked up on me and we watched a movie, Sinister.

I actually fell asleep and had a nightmare about some kids chasing after me. They weren't normal kids--or didn't look normal at least, they had black eyes. It hasn't been the first time I've dreamt it, I used to when I was a kid, I would tell my father I saw them around the house out of the corner of my eye. But every time I turned my head to look, they would be gone. He never believed me.

[madllamamomma]

To all that it may concern:

Hi. It’s me, ya Mad Llama Momma.

Yes. It’s been a very long time, and I am sorry.

Since the start of this year I have been unfortunately going through, well, a lot. Mentally and physically.

Now that I am where I am today, in January of 2023, I see that I was at an all time low and just didn’t know it. 2022 was a year of me kick staring my healing journey of my mind, body and soul. And let me tell you it has NOT been easy. Between new multiple physicians and even going through two therapist (holistic therapy was kinda a joke for me personally), a liver surgery scare, coming to realized that I had an eating disorder, and stopped drinking because of said liver surgery scare, it has been a fucking exhausting year. (Note: I had a kind of contusion on my liver from some unknown trauma 🤷‍♀️. Yeah, my doctor didn’t even have a clue.)

Turning 30 also was very mind boggling to me, and I literally mourned my 20s for almost half the year and was crying about the fact I wasn’t where I thought I’d be by now.

I wanted to be knee deep in a blossoming career and making the world brighter and better. As last month, I officially quit my job and do not have plan to go back to the medical field at all.

I wanted to be wearing a size 12-14 and somewhat fit. But I’m currently a size 22 and the biggest and most out of shape and unhealthy that I’ve ever been.

I wanted to be a mother by now. But due to my overall health, it just wasn’t in the cards at that point.

I feel like all of our young lives we are told that we are supposed to be in a certain place by a certain age or we are failures, freeloaders, lazy, etc. But I’m coming to terms that this isn’t true and that 20s aren’t the official end of my fun youth nor the end of my life.

This entire year also sparked something in me. Sometimes we need to think hard about where we are at in our lives and evaluate if it was even worth it. Sometimes, things happens and makes us question who we really are and makes us think if we really are truly happy.

I realized I was using the Arcana and my fanfics to heavily disassociate and a way for me to escape our crazy world and in a very unhealthy way. It was great when it was working, but when it wasn’t, all my depression and anxiety came flooding in without any remorse, and I couldn’t even muster myself to write anymore despite having so many ideas.

I am happy to say that I’ve been in regular therapy session, I started ceramics again (where I make a lot of crazy sub par mugs and other functional pottery), my liver is almost all the way healed, I started back to yoga, and I’ve been losing weight safely for my health.

After being restricted all of my young life, I am feeling like I have been able to be my most authentic self than I have ever been and I feel like for the first time in my life, and I am finally thriving. I was afraid of entering my 30s feeling lost and feeling bad that I wasn’t a hot young 20 something year old, but instead I’m entering an era where I am focusing on me. And it feels great. It feels amazing.

I have a lovely husband who is my best friend and soulmate and that loves me and supports me, I have a wonderful set of found family that loves me for me and never ask me to change or to be anyone else other than myself, I feel like I can be creative without being restricted. And it feels great. I’m figuring myself out and I am so happy I am able to do it.

(TL;DR) For all the people out there who feels stuck, who feel like they can’t be themselves, who feel like nothing is ever going to change—please just know, it does get better. People are out there to help you, people who want you to be your best self. Sometimes it takes medication, sometimes it takes lengthy therapy sessions, sometimes it takes putting up boundaries with your family and limited the time you spend with them, and sometimes it takes just you admitting that you need help.

Please don’t give up on your healing journeys even if you family doesn’t support you. Please don’t think you are alone.

Please. Please. Do not give up.

Happy New Years my lovely hungry trash pandas,

❤️

Your Mother Llama.

[nickhembery]

Six month update on the Decision Time plan

Boy, things were going okay, right up until things fell off the rails.

I actually got four of the six things done.

I bought a food liquidiser. It’s a motor with three attachments, a whisk, a hand-held blender and a bowl for blending. They all go brrr. I successfully made soup and liquidised it for eating.

I bought a set of hair clippers, so I can cut my own hair. It takes a while and I actually need to use three different clippers to get it all even, so I don’t cut it very often. But I can do it myself and it looks okay.

I bought a treadmill. It was very Chinese. The instruction manual was in English but mentioned pairing the treadmill with WeChat, which you can’t get in the UK. At least I don’t think you can. Unfortunately, the treadmill didn’t work out. Being a cheap model, it wasn’t really designed to be used a lot (or maybe at all). To stop from falling apart very quickly, it switched itself off after 40 minutes of use. That’s a bit annoying when you want to walk for an hour straight so you know exactly how far you walked. So I sent it back. The 40-minute limit wasn’t mentioned in its listing or the manual, so at least I got a refund by calling it defective. I have not yet purchased a replacement.

Therapy was completed successfully. Sort of. How does one ‘complete’ therapy? By going to the therapist with only one problem and seeking to solve it. And I got half an answer. Basically, when people at work are stupid, I have to remind myself that I can’t force them to change, my job is to advise them and they are allowed to ignore me. Which is technically correct but also infuriating in its own way. That was accomplished in two sessions with the therapist. I have not spoken to them since.

Next up, certification. I found a well-respected course to do, looked through their website, did a practice piece and then priced up the course. £700. At least. The course is split over three modules, and each has two prices. One with membership to the site and one without. Naturally, the without membership is more expensive, and the cost of being a member is high. It works out cheaper to buy membership and do all three courses. And only marginally to try one course, buy membership then do the other two at a discount. All for a certificate, a line on my CV. I decided it wasn’t worth it.

So that leaves us with writing the book. That’s where things went properly sideways. At the start of the year, I had work at my house done that needed scaffolding. The work was done in a day. The scaffolding was up for a month and a half. I couldn’t open two of my windows, it blocked access around my house, it was an eyesore. It took many phone calls and emails to a) get someone to tell me what the problem was and b) get people out to actually take it away. But it was taken away, and I felt the stress leaving me and I was better, for a few hours. The same day, work announced that there were going to be redundancies, and was going to be one of them.

Getting told your company doesn’t want you around anymore is tough to take. That night I bought myself so comfort food, a box of grease in the form of a pizza. Then started a very long process. Because of the amount of people being made redundant, 40 from a pool of 80, from a company of ~200, they split up those facing redundancy into teams and asked for volunteers to represent each team. Because I’m a bit of a control freak, I volunteered. So for a month, twice a week, there would be meetings, questions, responses, write ups and spreading the news to my team. A lot of people were stressing out due to the selection process. When six people had the same job title and only two were being asked to go, you couldn’t just arbitrarily pick someone. There was a formal scoring process that had to be proposed, approved and carried out with plenty of oversight to ensure fairness. They were being stack racked by another name. I, meanwhile, wasn’t subject to scoring. I was a 1 of 1. The only proofreader in the company, so the only proofreader up for redundancy. Their plan was that at the end of the month, I would be gone... unless I came up with an alternative. So I wrote up a pitch and gave it to the HR. It was, basically, “you need me, here’s a list of crap that was written and everyone but me didn’t notice”. HR agreed that I was needed. Though, my utilisation was down. I spent a lot of time being paid to wait in case I was given something to do. So it was agreed that my hours would be reduced, I was going part time until things picked up again. Contract amendments were signed and I still had a job. Half a job, at least. At the end of the month, a lot of people were gone. Many of the 1 of 1s like me volunteered quick so they could look for a new job. In the two of six pools, various people volunteered, enough that no more people with those job titles needed to go, so that very little scoring needed to happen. In the end, only eight people had to be told to go. That’s the best thing you can say about it.

What happens when you’re switched to half-time hours? Well, you do two things. First, you try advertising yourself as a freelancer to fill the time (did you see my An Ad For Myself post?) The second is panic. The company had just been through a massive turmoil, everyone was feeling bad and I was now needing to get enough actual work in my part-time hours so as not to be made fully redundant. Yes, that was still an option. Which meant I was reliant on others in the company who were historically very bad at organising to be organised enough to give me things to do. I was freaking out. It took a few weeks, but things started picking up and things are looking up. I’m on a trajectory to get back to full-time hours in a little bit of time, another month or two.

But, all that was incredibly stressful. So stressful I haven’t done any writing for ages. I think I’m getting to the stage where I can again, soon. There’s still six months in the year. I could get the book done.

We’ll see.

[helliontherapscallion]

Why Couldn’t it Have Been Me?

Part 2

Paring: Wilbur Soot x reader (past), Ghostbur x reader

Disclaimer: This contains major spoilers for Tommyinnit’s 4/29 lore stream

Warnings: swearing, violence, death, near death, cheating, 4/29 lore stream, grief, blood, injury, panic attack

Word count: 6,737

(A/N): So in this, you’re Schlatt’s twin and Puffy’s your older sister. Also, sorry for any mistakes, I typed a good 2/3 of this on my phone

This was your own personal hell: being trapped within cement walls with your ex fiance, your asshole of a brother, and a Dream wannabe that seemed to never lose any energy. Your life was like a trope in a novel alive you would’ve liked, however being cursed to live in it made you absolutely loathe any and all mention of it. 

Alive you would’ve killed to hang out with your brother again, not the one that turned to the bottle. Alive you would’ve craved the sweet melodies that streamed from Wilbur’s mouth. You would’ve swooned and maybe, just maybe, you would’ve forgiven him. Alive you would’ve perhaps liked this ‘Mexican Dream’ guy, you would’ve perhaps become the best of friends. 

However you despised the three locked up with you with your whole heart. 

Your ex fiance was someone you adored. Hell, you even idolized him when you were alive. The Wilbur you knew was sweet, loving, attentive, and just all around someone that you swooned over. You could still remember how your heart exploded when he first asked you out under the setting sun by the ocean. You remembered every song he's written for you, every word and rhythm by heart, even after all these years. 

You remembered how you felt your heart completely shatter when you found the songs he had in his drafts for someone that wasn't you. Someone by the name of 'Sally'. After a heated argument you had broken up with him, taking the engagement ring off from your finger and throwing it deep into the ocean. You stayed on L'Manberg's side even after all that, too loyal and proud towards the country you helped forge to drop it. You wouldn't let some stupid boy or rabid tyrants prevent you from raising your beautiful nation up from the ashes.

That had been your downfall. You should've listened to Puffy and left the country behind when you had the chance, now you paid the ultimate price for your deep rooted loyalty and devotion towards independence. And your sacrifice didn't even matter in the end! Your deranged ex blew it all to smithereens. If you didn't despise him before, you absolutely did after your dumbass twin told you about his little 'escapades' while you were gone.

Every little thing Wilbur did, no matter how small it was, made you hate him even more. Every time he would shuffle those damned cards, it made you want to rip them to shreds and throw them across the train tracks. Every time he would sing or even breathe, you wanted to strangle him. You were absolutely certain that Schlatt felt the same. 

Oh, your twin was a real card. Always boasting about how his horns were bigger than yours (who even cares anymore? Yours grew in first anyways), telling the others about your shortcomings through crude jokes, even going as far as fighting you through headbutting; you could still feel the pain of being beaten to death before respawning immediately. Schlatt hadn’t known that you respawn even in the afterlife, so you knew he was serious about killing you. You just wanted Puffy, she was far more tolerable than your twin. 

The rustling of his suit jacket and his small grunts and pants resonated within the walls as he did various forms of exercising. You now knew about all of the differing variations of a pushup and you hated yourself for listening to his explanations. He would beg you, Mexican Dream, and Wilbur to stand on his back while he did his endless routines. The only one to readily take him up on that offer was Mexican Dream.

That man was arguably the only one you slightly tolerated, and you said that very lightly. He was still annoying as all hell, but he was a new face. Well, one that you didn’t know well enough to have a grudge against while you were alive. It was slightly refreshing, in a sense. When he first got here, his songs, stories, and humor gave you a nice break away from Wilbur’s depressing songs and Schlatt’s crude jokes. However when you spend eleven years trapped in a cage with one person, everything they do becomes the bane of your existence. 

You were running out of things that kept you sane in this dump. You've read the same novel, counted the same ceiling and floor tiles (32 ceiling tiles and 57 floor tiles exactly), traced the same cracks in the walls, temporarily killing the same cellmates, you've done anything and everything that this cesspool had to offer. You've done everything billions of times over, a never ending cycle of monotony. 

Tommy joining your group of miserable has-beens was perhaps the highlight of your fifteen, almost sixteen, years spent in this shithole. Though he finally dropped the brave facade and showed just how broken down he was after everything he’s been through, having him around was the saving grace to your sanity. He told you how your sister was, how your nephews were, and most importantly what you missed. You knew about all of the events leading up to Mexican Dream's death, but you were left in the dark with everything past that. Ender, you missed so much since you died; It baffled you how much you missed. 

When the train actually stopped at your cell instead of just passing by and it's doors opened, you were just expecting another poor soul to be dropped off here. You could imagine everybody's surprise when none other than Dream stepped out of those doors. The nephew that had betrayed you without a second thought, that had murdered you, that had your severed head displayed on his mantle (you weren't sure the truth of that last statement, Tommy has a habit of over exaggerating. Though, Schlatt did say that your body was found with a missing head when you first forced him to tell you what you missed). Tommy talked to you about how he died only once, so you knew just what your nephew has been up to. It infuriated you knowing that your adult nephew was manipulating and abusing this young teenager.

While you were releasing your pent up frustrations on the masked man, he merely brushed past you and drug Tommy into the train by the arm. You could remember Wilbur banging on the doors begging for Dream to return his little brother and his angered screams echoing down the railways as the train sped off back towards the land of the living. 

Lucky Tommy, he got to live out the rest of his life and actually age. You and your crew of intolerable jesters were stuck together once again. 

Everybody was silent for a few months, reeling at the newly discovered fact that Dream could actually resurrect people. During those three months, they were quiet and tolerable. In a way, the talks that came out of it was like one of those family therapy sessions your older sister would hold in the living room (you remembered how she would grab you and Schlatt by the horns if either one of you refused to go). You would kill to attend one of those therapy sessions again, and this is the closest you were going to get to it. 

You all talked about the things you regretted most while you were alive. Mexican Dream's was that he didn't protect his girlfriend Mamacita well enough. Schlatt's was choosing alcohol and power over his family (tears were especially shed over Tubbo, he really did regret abandoning him to be raised by you). Yours was that you were too loyal to a cause that would be absolutely decimated a short while after you sacrificed everything for it. Surprisingly, Wilbur's was that he had hurt you.

He had begged and groveled for forgiveness, telling you that he just didn't feel that special connection with you anymore. That didn't take away from the fact that he was seeing another while you two were still dating and that he blew up your life's work. He had stolen everything from you, and you would never forgive him for that. 

After you made your thoughts on him completely clear, he had started treating you like you treated him in the last few months. Tension was building up between you two that had laid dormant for thirteen and a half years like a rope pulled taut about to snap.

Everybody had slowly returned to their annoying selves slowly but surely. Schlatt resumed his workout routine, Mexican Dream had started loudly singing and ranting about Mamacita's everlasting beauty again, and Wilbur eventually started up his solitaire and songwriting once again.

The three of them made you want to rip off your twisting horns and shove them in your ears in hopes of muffling them, but you knew that whomever put you here would restore your hearing and make your horns regrow. You knew that first hand after you spent a couple of years alone in this hellhole; breaking your horns off by repeatedly banging your head against the dull stone walls in a manic state was never fun. The regeneration of the keratin only slightly stung, it was like you were a kid and they were growing in for the first time again. 

You felt your eye twitch as Wilbur sang about that damned train for the umpteenth time since he arrived. It’s always ‘train this' and ‘train that' and quite frankly you were sick of it. You were sick of him. 

“Shut the fuck up about that damned train,” Schlatt seethed. You never once thought you would ever agree with your twin, but here you were nodding in agreement and shooting a glare at Wilbur’s direction. The brunet merely stopped his singing and reshuffled his cards, the sound making an ugly cacophony and grating at your ears. 

“Not my fault you two don’t want to talk to me. I’m just making due with what I’ve been given.” He dealt the cards out in piles and started yet another game of solitaire. Seriously, how many games of solitaire can one play before they lose it? You supposed that you’d find out soon, Wilbur has been playing that monotonous card game nonstop for thirteen and a half years.

“Yeah, let the hombre chill! I like his music.” The masked man reached up to stroke his goatee, the scratching sound further penetrating your focus on your book. 

Everything was quiet before Mexican Dream's voice pierced it, "hey, did I ever tell you guys how beautiful my Mamacita was?"

"You told us millions of times, fuckface. You narrate entire love letters daily, so how could we not know how 'beautiful' she was?" You complained, not once looking up from your book. Schlatt snorted to himself and returned to his workout. Mexican Dream crossed his arms in anger, cursing you out under his breath. Wilbur merely glanced at you and rolled his eyes. "You know, I'm tired of your bitchy attitude. Let him talk about Mamacita, it's not his fault every time you think you love someone it fails." 

Your grip on your book tightened impossibly. If it were physically possible, the book would be crumbling to dust in your voice grip. You practically see red as you slowly dog-eared the worn page you were on and put your book down. 

"Oh shit," you heard Schlatt mumble and move away from you, Mexican Dream following suit. When you both were alive, your anger was always something you knew Schlatt feared. However, you knew that he's never seen you this angry; nobody has. The majority of what you've been holding in for almost fourteen years is about to be unleashed. 

"You know what I'm sick of, Wilbur?"

"Oh, do enlighten us."

"I'm sick of each and every single one of you. You three have been absolutely intolerable ever since you arrived. I was doing just fine alone and the universe just had to fuck everything up for me, just like it always does."

"There you go again," Wilbur laughed sardonically, "making everything about yourself." He gathered his cards and shuffled them repeatedly. 

"I make everything about myself?! Do you even hear yourself? Mr. Oh-I'm-such-a-disappointment-to-Philza, you wallow in self pity twenty-four seven! You fucking write every single song about yourself!”

"I didn't want to come here, okay?! I didn't think it was gonna be like this! God, I might as well be in hell with you here." 

"Believe me, my hell started fourteen years ago when you guys started showing up," you growled out, your ears flattening to the sides of your skull.

"Have you ever stopped to think that you're our hell? All you've done since we came here was complain and be a massive douche to all of us." He fluttered through the deck more and more as the argument escalated, the noise making you want to scream until you tasted blood.

"I'm the one that's in the wrong here? You fucked up my entire life. He," you pointed at Schlatt, "keeps beating me to death. And he," you jutted your chin towards Mexican Dream, "never shuts the hell up… Would you stop with that damn deck?! You're literally so fucking annoying." 

He narrowed his eyes, "make me."

A mixture of an animalistic growl and a guttural scream left your lips as you charged at him, your head tilted downwards so he could feel the brunt of your horns. He moved out of the way just in time, the side of your horn brushing against his arm. You crashed head first into the stone wall before you stabilized yourself and looked at the brunet with seething hatred. 

He was staring at you in shock, "how're you-" You used his shock to your advantage, throwing a right hook at his face. His head whipped to the side and his body followed, sending him to the ground in a heap.

"How am I still conscious? I'm a ram hybrid, dumbass. What'd you expect?" You huffed angrily before you pried the cards out of his hand and stalked over to the tracks. 

He scrambled up to stop you, but before he could even reach you, you held the deck over the tracks and looked down at him. You could just imagine how your horizontal pupils were blazing with fury. 

You reveled in the betrayal and animosity gleaming in his eyes as you dangled the thing he held dearest in this hell over the railroads. If you were to drop them, he'd never be able to see them again.

"We promised not to touch belongings on our first day here!" He yelled at you, his hands wrung in front of him nervously hiding the slight tremor. "Our first day here?" You scoffed, "the last time I checked, I was here for two years before any of you showed up." You gestured around the room in one angry swipe, the cards slipping slightly with how sweaty your hands were. It was then that you saw the fear in Schlatt's eyes. Good, that bastard should be scared of you. "If anything, you all are in my domain."

Wilbur flinched at the sight of the cards slowly slipping out of your hand, his breath hitching and panic stricken across his features. Mexican Dream stood up from his place and put his hands up. He was slowly approaching you like you were a cornered wild animal, making sure that you saw his every move. 

He nervously chuckled, "let's just put the cards down and have a nice talk. Doesn't that sound better than this, mi amigo?"

You shook the cards once again, taking in Wilbur's silent anguish with glee. "I'm not your friend, I'm anything but. Don't tell me what to fucking do or else that picture of Mamacita is the next to go."

"...Okay, you're in charge, man. Do what you want." He reluctantly sat back down next to Schlatt. The ram was watching in fear, yet it looked like he was entertained with what was happening. You couldn't blame him, the last interesting thing that happened was three full months ago when Tommy was taken. That and you probably looked feral at the moment.

"You understand that if you drop those, they're lost forever right?"

You threw your head back and laughed, "of course I know, why do you think I only have one sock? I already tried that shit out before you came." You hummed to yourself in thought, then grinned. Wilbur was going to love this.

While you shuffled the deck, you kept a close eye on the movement happening inside the cell. Another perk to being a ram hybrid was that you had a nearly 360 degree scope of everything around you. The only movement happening was the panicked breaths from Wilbur, good. You huffed in amusement, "alright Wilbur, let's do a card trick. I'd ask you to pick a card, any card, but I don't want to risk you fucking shit up again. So, I'm just going to draw for you." You drew a card from the middle of the deck and showed it to him. "The eight of clubs, how fitting." 

"(Y/n), I don't know what you're getting at, but if you don't give me those cards right now-"

"Shut it, I'm not done. I'm going to shuffle this back into the deck, watch the hands." You kept eye contact with him as you shuffled the cards rigorously, the card you pulled long since hidden with the slight of a hand. After a bit of shuffling and reshuffling, you had sneakily put the card between the two halves and bridged them until the cards were in one pile with the eight of clubs on top. 

You chuckled and pulled the top card, once again showing it to him. "Is this your card?"

He nodded slightly, never once taking his eyes off from the deck. "Yes, now give it back to me!" The angry and anxious undertones were like music to your ears.

You tapped your chin in thought, "hm, I don't think I will. You've taken so much from me, it's only fair that I get some revenge." Without another word, you threw the cards behind your head and smiled widely at the sound of the fluttering down to the tracks. 

Wilbur launched himself forward with a frantic yell, his hands flailing to catch all of the cards before they were lost forever. He only succeeded in catching a few. 

His breath shuddered as he stared at the three cards in his hand: the five of diamonds, the four of spades, and the seven of hearts. The fate of the universe was on your side for once, perhaps preternaturally so. 

"You- do you realize what you just did?!" He spun around to face you. If humans could froth at the mouth, a full waterfall would be streaming through his gritted teeth. His eyes held the rage of a man that had just lost everything in one singular instant, the resentment swirling in his dark brown orbs. Several veins were bulging in his face and neck, painting the skin in a red hue.

You walked over to your book and plopped yourself down. "Yeah," you said with a nonchalant shrug of your shoulders. You opened up your book and started reading it again, leaving the man to his grief. 

Everything was quiet once more much to your delight. Though you read this book from cover to cover thousands of times, enough to know most of the words by heart, you were never able to fully enjoy and immerse yourself in it with them around. You took this time to reclaim your designated corner and spend some quality time reading. 

You spent hours with your nose buried deep in your book, savoring the peace. That was until it was snatched out of your hands and ripped away from you. You looked up in slight shock at the sight of Wilbur snapping it shut and walking over to the tracks. 

No. No. Nononono he can’t. That was the only thing keeping you sane. He can't just get rid of it when he's done so much towards you when you were alive. 

A wail left your mouth as you tackled him to the ground, your arms wrapped around his midsection. He crashed to the ground with a grunt, his forehead smacking against the painted yellow stone. You straddled his back and ripped the book away from him, throwing it across the room and away from the tracks. 

You grabbed a fist full of his hair after yanking off his beanie and tossing it into oblivion with his precious cards. You pulled his head up and leaned close to his ear, "you try that shit again and your hat and cards won't be the only things lost to the void." Venom was seeping through your every word, "do you understand me?" 

He merely jerked his head to the side, colliding it with your nose and mouth. You shouted in surprise and let him go in favor of holding your aching nose. You could feel the warmth of the blood pouring from it. Through teary eyes, you looked up at Wilbur as he grabbed your book and flung it against the wall of the opposite side of the tracks. You scampered to the edge and watched in horror as it disappeared into the void. 

Without warning, you were forced to the ground, a hand holding you by a horn and a knee between your shoulder blades. You struggled before a dark chuckle was heard, "if you keep moving, you'll slip! Do you really want that?" You begrudgingly stopped, realizing that he had all the power in this situation. If he wanted to, he could just slide you off from the platform and toss you away like throwing a piece of paper into the trash.

"Good, you're not as stupid as you were earlier today." He slid you forward, holding your upper body over the tracks by the horn. You came face to face with the swirling abyss that was the void, small shapes appearing from your eyes adjusting to the sudden lack of visual stimulant. Your breathing picked up as he lowered you slightly, "you don't wanna do this." 

"No, I do. Thirteen and a half years of having to be around you was hell, but the shit you pulled today just put the icing on the cake. Do you have any last words before you go?"

You grunted as he shook your head slightly, a slight pain coming from the base of your horn. "Fuck you." 

"How appropriate, now let's see if you'll come back this time. It'll be our fun little science experiment!"

He dropped your horn without a care in the world, sending you plummeting to your demise. A terrified scream ripped it's way out of your throat and you screwed your eyes tightly shut in preparation for the void. Your body came to a jerking halt as you held your breath, preparing for… whatever awaited you. However, nothing came.

You cracked open an eye only to be met with the uncanny inkyness, the invisible mist freezing your face and its frostbitten arms opened wide for you. But you never fell into its embrace. 

Instead, you were pulled back onto the platform. You laid on your stomach with your horn supporting your head staring at the wall, tracing every single nook and cranny of the bricks. Your chest heaved as you greedily gasped for air. You never thought you'd be so relieved to see the cement walls you've been trapped in for over a decade and a half.

You were once again pulled up into a now sitting position and leaned against the wall, your back touching the cool cement. Across from you, you saw Mexican Dream pinning a struggling Wilbur down to the floor. Wilbur's crazed eyes met you, piercing through your very being. However, that didn't affect you in the slightest; you almost were just wiped from existence completely, you stared into the abyss and it stared back at you.

You felt… strange, to say the least. While icy fear and adrenaline coursed through your veins, you felt warmth blossoming in you at the same time. It was like the void was an actual person, politely giving you some form of relief from the hell you've been subjected to for over a decade and a half. It was so welcoming, not terrifying like you initially thought it was. When your fingertips grazed its surface it felt freezing to the touch, yet you felt the staticky power it was showing you. In that split moment of touching it, you had already accepted the power it held over you. 

A hand softly slapped your cheek, "c'mon, (y/n). Talk to me." Your eyes drifted lazily to your twin. He was extremely pale, his eyes frantically searching your face for any sign of responsiveness. When you looked at him, he visibly relaxed. "It was so… so beautiful, Schlatt."

"Yeah, what the actual fuck did you just say? You almost just- just died for good dumbass." He looked at you incredulously, you could just see the cogs in his brain working hard to process what the hell he was seeing. 

You looked back at Wilbur, he had stopped struggling slightly and was instead looking at you with a hint of confusion shining through the crazed daze. Mexican Dream tilted his head, the mask skewing slightly to the side of his face. "Thank you, Wilbur. You've shown me that there's… there's more to this hellhole than suffering. There's beauty in the darkness." His struggling had come to a complete halt, now staring at you with the most confusion you've ever seen from him. You also saw a very small hint of fear from deep within his irises.

A calloused hand gripped your chin and forced you to look back at your twin. "What are you on," he hissed lowly, "the stuff that's comin outta your mouth right now is actually batshit insane. He almost just permanently murked you and you're fucking thanking him." 

"I haven't felt this at ease in nearly two decades. I feel ethereal, Schlatt, and it's all thanks to him." You let your eyes drift over to Wilbur. Giving him a content smile, you nodded your thanks at him.

The next few days went by tensely for the others, eyeing your every move and keeping you away from the ledge. You had only peered over the ledge once since then, it was just so alluring to you. It was nothing, yet everything at the same time. Mexican Dream had pulled you back to the opposite end of the room by your horns. The part that disturbed the three men was that you said absolutely nothing about it. You didn't even struggle against it, you just laid limp and let it happen. 

With each passing second you spent away from the void, the feeling of utter peace was rapidly draining from your body; instead being replaced by icy fear, paranoia, and the realization that you were almost completely swallowed whole by the void. 

After coming back to your senses, you didn't allow anybody near you. Your instincts going haywire and screaming that they were going to hurt you if they came close. The last time Schlatt tried touching you, you damn near took his finger off. They didn't bother trying to approach you anymore, instead glancing at you from the corners of their eyes. Wilbur was perhaps the one you feared the most, you knew that if he didn't hesitate to toss you away the first time, he would surely do it a second time. He spent most of his time staring at you, you didn't know if he was zoned out or not.

Everybody was against you, you knew it. You just knew it. They were plotting to toss you back into the void. That thing- or was it an entity? Whatever it was held a power over you that you didn't know was possible. That trance that it put you in, the craving you felt, was something that was repeating like a broken record in your mind. You could still feel the void calling out to you, it was terrifying. 

You spent most of the time huddled in your corner staring at the fingers that had grazed the textured nothingness. You could still feel the buzzing and popping of the power on your fingertips, that inky residue staining your skin wouldn't come off. No matter how hard you scrubbed, scratched, or scraped, it would not leave your body. It was freezing.

The oncoming train screeching to a gradual stop was perhaps the only thing you fully acknowledged outside of your safety bubble in days. You watched in shock as it stopped at the platform. The doors opened with a fwoosh, fog pouring out onto the smooth stone floors. 

Out stepped Dream, the smile etched into his cracked mask sent chills to your core. Next to him was… was another Wilbur? How in the name of Ender was that even possible? 

This Wilbur was different though. This one was desaturated. This one didn't have an insane glint in his eyes, this one had grief shimmering in the tears that steamed on his cheeks. This one was broken compared to the well established man against the wall. This one was defenseless. 

Dream shoved him to the center of the room, the man falling to his hands and knees. Sobs escaped his mouth as steam left his skin and drifted along the sides of his face before dissolving into the air. 

"Got a new plaything for you guys, this one isn't as… fun as Wilbur is though." Dream's head turned towards you before it tilted. "What happened there? Did our dear little (y/n) get too close to the void?" 

"They are none of your concern, pandejo," Mexican Dream seethed at his counterpart from his position next to the train. "Why are you even here, man?"

"Oh, I'm just here to make a trade. I'm afraid that I'll have to give you guys Ghostbur here in exchange for Wilbur."

Wilbur stared at him with pure hope and glee springing up in his eye for the first time in over a decade. "Really?" 

Dream chuckled, "yes, really. What, do you really think I'd lie to you?" 

"I don't know, ya smiley freak. You've been known to fuck people over." Schlatt scoffed, his ear flicking in annoyance. 

"I'm telling the truth this time. Wilbur, come with me." 

Stars shone in his eyes as he reveled in the sight of the open train doors. He followed the masked man with a skip in his step, ecstatic giggles leaving his mouth as he boarded. 

Anger flooded you as you purse your lips together and you darted towards the train. The doors were closing already, if you could just- 

The door shut with a clank, blocking you from freedom. Your clenched fists banged against the window, glowering at the sight of Wilbur's happiness and Dream looking at you with a wave.

"You fucking bastard! Take me, he doesn't deserve it! He threw his goddamned life away, you're wasting your time with him!" Your angry shouts were ignored by the two however as the train once again started moving with a small hiss. 

A frustrated scream left your mouth as you pummeled the iron with your fists as it moved. If only you could find a train car to jump onto- 

Now. You leapt from the platform towards the junction between two of the train cars. However, your leap of faith was set to a halt midair by Schlatt holding your upper arms. You thrashed against him, desperate to get back to the land of the living, desperate to leave this godforsaken hell called the afterlife, but once again, you were torn away from what you were trying to achieve. 

You fell limp as you watched the last train car pass the platform and disappear down the tracks and into the void. The next possible time it would show it’s face would be in a few months if you were lucky. You let him take you back to your corner, your feet limply being drug against the floor. After you were plopped back down, you stared at the clone of your ex. You were pretty sure Dream said that his name was ‘Ghostbur’. What a strange name, yet you supposed that it was fitting for Wilbur’s apparition. 

“Are ya done with your little ‘moment’, (y/n)?” Schlatt was kneeling in front of you, his hands prepared to grab you if you made a run for it. Though his tone was annoyed, you could detect the very small worried undertone of his voice. 

You nodded and watched as he took a seat next to you, also staring at the newcomer. This is the closest he’s sat next to you in years. 

“...What do you think of the clone over there?” You hummed to yourself, “he looks pathetic, but I think that might be the only thing he and Wilbur share.” 

Mexican Dream took a seat next to you, slinging an arm over your shoulders. Normally, you would’ve shrugged him off, but you were too emotionally drained to do so. “Si, he does look kinda weak. But I think our new hombre here has promise.” 

“Promise for what?” Schlatt snorted. Mexican Dream hesitated, “...I don’t know. This is gonna be interesting, mis amigos.” 

“The party’s just begun, boys. Buckle up, this is gonna be a wild fucking ride.” You mused to them, unsure of what the future would hold with the newcomer. Though after a couple of years, you were sure you were going to hate him; that is if he’s nothing like his clone. Ender help you if he’s anything like Wilbur. 

As you stared at the broken man, you couldn’t help but wonder: why did he get to go back? As far as you were concerned, psychopaths like him do not deserve a second chance at life. If anything, it should be you boarding that train. It should be you getting a second chance. He was the one that so readily threw his life away while you had yours ripped away from you.

One continuous thought was circling in your mind: why couldn’t it have been me?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wrung your hands together as you anxiously waited for Tommy, Ghostbur, and Friend outside of Pandora’s Vault. Ranboo and Tubbo sat next to you in the grass, giving you silent comfort with their presence. You were mainly worried for your boyfriend, his worst fear was Dream using the resurrection book on him. You had calmed him down from a panic attack prior to meeting up with the teenagers, begging him to let you go in his place. Of course, Ghostbur being the caring and brave soul he was, wove you off and ensured that he’d be okay. 

When you saw someone emerging from the portal, you leapt to your feet and steadied your head on your shoulders before you examined the people emerging. Except you only saw a human and a sheep, no ghost. 

Tommy looked pale and on the verge of tears as he led Friend towards you. Before he spoke, he used his sleeve to wipe at his tears. 

“Hey, Tommy! How did it- where’s Ghostbur?” The enderman hybrid stretched his usually slouched back to peer at the portal, keen eyes searching for any sign of movement. 

“I think he’s dead… He’s dead!” 

Tubbo tilted his head and looked up at the blond in confusion, “well, yeah. He’s a ghost. Of course he’s dead.” Ranboo nodded in agreement, “yeah, he can’t die again. That just isn’t possible.”

You said nothing (not like you could in the first place, your head wasn’t connected to your body), looking into Tommy’s eyes inquisitively. They were chock full of panic, grief, and fear, staring down at the lead in his clenched hands. 

“No, no you don’t understand, it’s not that he’s dead… it’s that Wilbur’s back.”

“Hold on, the Wilbur that blew up L’Manberg? That Wilbur?” Ranboo peered down at him incredulously. “Yes! C’mon, he- we gotta get to L’Manberg.” 

He spun around and led Friend towards L’Manberg, walking quickly with a purpose. You, Ranboo, and Tubbo followed. You hugged your head close to your chest, your eyes peeking over your arms. It was always something you’ve done whenever you were scared or worried about something. You heard stories about Wilbur from your nephew, if the stories of his insanity terrified you, you’d hate to see the man in person. 

“I was about to kill Dream, and- and Ghostbur died. Dream revived Wilbur… Fuck!” Tommy walked faster, L’Manberg far off in the distance. With one hand, you grabbed the blond’s attention and finger spelled, ‘are you serious? He’s actually gone?’

“Yes! How many times do I have to explain this?! Ghostbur isn’t with us anymore and Wilbur’s back. Wilbur’s back and we’re absolutely fucked.” He turned on his heel and resumed his beeline towards the crater in the wall. No, he couldn’t be gone. This was just a cruel prank they were pulling on you, right? 

Tubbo put a comforting hand on your shoulder, giving you a small sympathetic smile. You leaned into his touch slightly and carried on, stepping into the makeshift staircase behind Tommy. 

You moved your arms to cover your eyes as you stepped aside to make room for the other two teenagers. You heard a voice; it sounded exactly like Ghostbur’s voice, yet it sounded... off. You however remained hopeful and uncovered your eyes. 

The man that stood there certainly wasn’t your boyfriend. Everything about him was just so wrong. The emotion in his eyes, his clothing, his smile, his stance, his hair, everything. This was a completely different person. This was Wilbur Soot. 

“Hello again.” His eyes flicked around your group, his gaze lingering on you for longer than the rest. You noticed that he was staring at your neck, but that was okay. You were used to it; everybody did that. What you weren’t used to was the revulsion that flashed in his eyes. The eyes that once lovingly stared at you and reassured you that he’d love you even with your… condition were now filled with disgust. 

That was what broke you, the tears that you tried to hold in came streaming out like a waterfall. Stinging pain hit you as the water worked its way through the cloth of your uniform onto your arms, leaving steam floating upwards towards the cave ceiling. You phased through Ranboo’s body and made a mad dash towards your sister’s house. You needed her, you could feel a panic attack brewing inside you. Usually you would hate to be a bother to your older sister and Ghostbur would always calm you down, but now he’s…

You pushed that thought aside and focused completely on getting to Puffy’s house in the distance. You phased through the door without a thought to knock, frantically beginning your search for Puffy. 

You looked everywhere, but you couldn’t find her. Unable to cope any longer, you fell to your knees in the middle of the living room and hugged your head to your chest, your face being pushed against your uniform. Your shoulders shook with silent painful sobs, the only sound in the room being the sizzling of your skin. 

Why couldn’t it have been you? It should be Ghostbur standing there in that cavern, not Wilbur. This was completely your fault, you should’ve gone instead of him. You should’ve volunteered quicker than he did, you shouldn’t have let him talk you into it with his soothing words. Now because of your complete and utter cowardice, he was stuck in the afterlife once again. You were never going to see him any time soon. Your other half was ripped away from you because of your inaction. 

Between sobs, your lips repeatedly formed the same phrase: why couldn’t it have been me?

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[cherienymphe]

Cruel Intentions (Steve Rogers x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, manipulation, mentions of abuse, therapist!Steve, silverfox!Steve, drugging

! DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU !

➥ Image by @angrybirdcr

      ➥ dividers by @firefly-graphics

This is for the “For the Fic” challenge whose winner for my fic was @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​

The entire plot was her request and I hope that you like it!

summary: after escaping an abusive ex, you find solace in a therapist recommended to you by a friend. 

~

“...I know I shouldn’t...but sometimes I blame myself. In Harry, I know that I was looking for what I never had in my family. I think it made me quick to rush into things...to ignore what I should have seen.”

Your eyes remained on the dark carpet, the man before you humming as the scribbling sound of his pen reached your ears. You fought hard not to fidget, a horrible habit you’d picked up in the last 3 years. You finally lifted your head again when the room was bathed in silence, eyes meeting familiar blue ones as he studied you.

You were used to these short moments of silence by now.

You’d been recommended to Dr. Steve Rogers by a friend, a friend who’d helped you escape your violent ex in the dead of night while he’d been away on business. She had grown worried when it became obvious that the effects of your tumultuous relationship would be lasting if you didn’t do something about it. Oddly enough, you’d been receptive. For 2 whole years, you’d wanted to tell someone, have anyone to turn to and talk to, but fear, a very valid fear, had stopped you.

Not only had you been worried for your life, something that was threatened on a constant basis, but you’d also been afraid of judgement. You worried what your friends would say, if they’d blame you for finding yourself in such a predicament, if they’d look down on you for no longer fighting back. It was only by a stroke of luck that Nakia had seen Harry slap you right across the face when he thought she’d left. You were grateful that she’d waited for him to leave before rushing towards your trembling frame, pulling you into her arms as she shushed you.

She had demanded to know how long this had been going on. She had been horrified and confused and angry. It didn’t take her long to come up with a plan, and within 2 weeks, after waiting for Harry to leave the city for 2 days, she’d gotten you out and into her place across town. You didn’t stay for long, maybe a few weeks, wanting nothing but to put it all behind you, and although she was sad to see you go, she understood.

It was how you found yourself in upstate New York, in a secluded tiny thing of a house. You hadn’t even realized that you’d become something of a recluse until Nakia had pointed it out during one of your weekly calls. It had never hit you that you went to work and to home and that was it. You barely ate anymore, so grocery shopping was never a frequent affair. That was when she’d told you about a well known therapist in the area, Steven G. Rogers. You had been shocked by how much you weren’t opposed to the idea as she went on listing all of his credentials. 

It was only moments after she hung up that you found yourself researching him yourself. You remembered noting how handsome the man was, even more so in person. His bright blue eyes and silver tresses complimented his strong features nicely, pink lips pulled up into a polite smile. You didn’t find yourself put off by the stranger, thinking to yourself that talking to someone you didn’t know, an objective listener who was paid not to judge you, might be for the best.

You soon found out that was easier said than done.

The first visit had been rocky, barely mumbling a thing and constantly fidgeting. You had hardly been able to meet his eye, and the session had abruptly ended when you’d left early, stumbling over your words as you gave some half assed excuse for your sudden departure. He was far more understanding than you deserved during your second visit. Wracked with guilt and anxiety, you’d written some things down that you wanted to talk about, and thankfully, the man hadn’t laughed at you. In fact, you remembered how fondly he looked at you as you unfolded it.

As it turned out, you didn’t need the slip of paper at all. Notes forgotten, you had rambled on for an hour. It was like once you started, you just couldn’t stop, and Steve simply listened the entire time. The next time he spoke to you was only to tell you that your time was up, and both embarrassment and disappointment had flooded through you. It must have been obvious, plain as day on your features, because Steve reassured you that it was normal to ramble. 

You had been reluctant to leave. After years of biting your tongue and living in fear of even making the wrong sound, you finally found someone to listen. Even if it was only a stranger getting paid for it, it was still something. There was someone to express your fears to, and although it had taken some time, terrified that you’d say the wrong thing and upset him, eventually, you started to express your anger too.

“...and then I get angry all over again,” you continued when he said nothing. “...because I’m smart, because red flags in others’ relationships have always been so obvious to me. I’ve always been the mom friend, the one who can spot trouble before it even starts. I’ve helped friends get out of situations before they even had the chance to turn sour…”

You shook your head.

“...and yet...it took a slap to the face to realize just how deep I was in? Not the jealousy, not the anger issues nor the way he’d isolated me from just about everyone in my life...but a slap? It should’ve never gotten to that.”

“You can’t blame yourself for the actions of others.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d heard that. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time he’d told you that, and yet here you were again.

“We can go in circles analyzing your own behavior and the things you did and the things you said, but the truth is that you could play it out in your head a million times. You could do every single thing differently, and it still wouldn’t change a thing.”

The corner of his lips lifted into a crooked smile, a familiar sight.

“Some people are simply cruel, and it has nothing at all to do with you.”

You sharply inhaled, unsure of why such a simple statement resonated with you so deeply. You stared at Steve, blinking a few times, opening your mouth to respond when he glanced at the clock. It was a tell tale sign, and your shoulders sagged. You would think that after seeing him for 7 months now, you’d be used to leaving after only an hour, but it never got easier.

“That’s all the time we have for today,” he said, standing. “You’re progressing nicely, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes, and he chuckled, eyes crinkling. 

“You are. Progress and healing isn’t linear. Sometimes you’re going to take 2 steps back before you can take 10 more forward. It’s all part of the process,” he assured you.

You sighed.

“Well… I guess that does make me feel a bit better,” you replied.

He sent you a small smile as he guided you towards the door.

“I’ll see you next week?”

You returned his smile with a nod and didn’t let your face fall until the door was shut behind you. The good thing about therapy was that you could recognize your own toxic behaviors now, and it was clear that you were becoming reliant on your sessions with Steve. You had never liked being alone, but you had come all the way out here to learn to do just that. For your sake, you needed to learn to love being alone. It was how you had gotten into this mess to begin with.

Your phone vibrated with a call from an unknown number, and figuring it was a scam call, you silenced it.

Your house was practically in the middle of nowhere, so when the tv wasn’t blasting or you didn’t have Spotify playing some light tune, the house could get scarily quiet. But that was what you wanted...right? Harry had always been so explosive. The smallest of things could set him off and then the sound of yelling and shattering glass would rain down on you. Silence and solitude was what you wanted, needed.

Your phone buzzed again as you settled into your car, and you huffed when you noticed it was the same number. Again, you weren’t unfamiliar with scam callers so you ignored it. You noted that you needed to go grocery shopping, but you weren’t on the precipice of starvation just yet, so it could hold off for another day. By the time you got inside, your phone had started to buzz again, and with a frown, you decided to answer it.

“Hello?”

You were met with silence as you unlocked your door, and you repeated yourself, but there was no response. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You both loved and hated coming home. It was quiet and safe and everything you had craved for years now, but the unfamiliarity of it all unnerved you. Sometimes you were just waiting for Harry to come flying through the door, screaming and breaking things. You had to remind yourself that this silence, this security, is how it’s supposed to be.

You went about making a quick meal, hopping into the shower while leaving the stove on low. When you got out, in the process of moisturizing your arms, you noticed your phone buzzing with another call. From that same number. Unease filled you as you neared it, and you hesitantly reached for it before answering.

Again, you were met with silence, and frustrated and annoyed, you simply blocked the number. A quick look through your phone revealed that you’d missed several calls from the same number while in the bathroom. Blinking with a deepening frown, you set your phone down and made your way to your kitchen. Dinner, like always these days, was quiet. You curled up on the couch with your plate while you watched some old sitcom.

The rest of the night passed as blandly as it always did. Sleep was much easier to find these days, so you had no trouble as soon as your head hit the pillow. However, just as you were on the verge, your phone buzzed with another call. This number didn’t match the previous one, but it was unknown nonetheless. With a groan, you put your phone on silent and rolled over, sleep claiming you.

“I know it’s you,” you sneered into the phone.

Unsurprisingly, you were met with the faint sound of breathing, and you clenched your jaw. You slammed the car door behind you before stomping across the parking lot.

“I know it’s you,” you quietly repeated. “Stay away from me.”

You hung up before blocking the number, the 10th number you had blocked in the past week. Every few hours or so a day, like clockwork, you got calls from an unknown number. You’d always end up blocking the number after the first few calls, but they always called again from a different one. At first, they’d say nothing, and you’d listen to silence for a few seconds before hanging up. Now, they’d taken to breathing in your ear like a creep. It wasn’t even until you blocked the 3rd number did it finally hit you.

Harry.

Harry freaking Osborn.

You felt like such an idiot for not putting it together sooner. Of course, it was Harry. Was this not the same man who threatened to hunt you down and drag you back like some animal if you ever left him? You had always equated woman beaters to cowards so you never thought he’d have the nerve to actually do it. Putting the pieces together didn’t bring you any comfort. Your filthy rich abusive ex had managed to track you down. What comfort was there to find in that?

Since that day, you hadn’t had a proper night of sleep. Your mind was constantly at war with itself on what to do. Having been down this road before, you knew the police would be no help. You’d gone to them once before, at the very beginning after the first time he’d hit you. It was your first harsh lesson that money ruled over everything. If you thought hard enough, you could still recall his hands around your throat, eyes alight with anger at what you’d tried to pull.

Still, you considered at least trying to get a restraining order but at the end of the day, that was a mere piece of paper. If Harry came to your door, it wasn’t going to stop him from hurting you, and that’s even if the whole process went through. They don’t just give restraining orders out willy nilly. You tried not to dwell on that hypothetical situation, but if he’d found your number, it would only be a matter of time before he found your address.

“Oh!”

You’d only just entered the grocery store, barely stepping into an aisle when you bumped into someone. The chips and bread in his hands went flying to the floor, and apologies tumbled from your lips. It was only after you helped him pick up what you made him drop did you realize who you’d run into.

“Dr. Rogers...hi,” you breathed.

The corner of his lips pulled into a crooked smile, head tilting to the side as his gaze fell onto you.

“We’ve discussed this before, Y/N. You’re more than welcome to call me Steve,” he told you.

You gave a nervous chuckle, nodding.

“Yeah...uh… I normally do, it just...it just slipped my mind,” you replied.

He blinked at you, eyes narrowing just a bit as he studied you. His brows furrowed in that concerned way you were used to, a silver strand of hair kissing his forehead.

“Everything okay…?”

You folded your arms over your chest, nodding with a strained smile.

“Everything’s fine,” you lied. “It’s just… It’s been a weird week. Our next session cannot come fast enough.”

You forced a light laugh, and he joined you. He placed a hand on his hip, eyes boring into your own.

“There’s a coffee shop just over there,” he gestured. “Did you want to sit and have a chat?”

You frantically shook your head.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t,” you told him. “I-.”

“I know I’m your therapist, but I want you to think of me as a confidant outside of the office too. You’re more than welcome to talk to me anytime. In fact, I encourage it,” he interrupted. 

You nervously eyed him with a frown.

“Are...are you sure?”

His smile was comforting.

“This may be my job, but it’s one I chose because it’s one I enjoy. I don’t want you to feel like you’re only allowed to talk to me during our sessions,” he quietly said.

You bit your lip, and Steve continued.

“I’d hate to think that you’re bottling things up for days on end, suffering in silence because you’re just waiting to talk to me,” he confessed.

Your shoulders sagged, and you hesitantly nodded.

“...okay. I just need to get a few things for the house.”

“Okay,” he said with a smile. “You know where to find me.”

You parted ways, and a sigh escaped you. You really didn’t want to become reliant on Steve. Wasn’t the whole point of therapy to learn how to process your feelings and cope with them better? Running to your therapist every time you have a problem just seemed counterproductive. And yet, once your car was loaded up with the few items you bought, you found yourself making your way to the coffee shop.

After ordering a small drink, you easily spotted Steve at a table in the back. You noted that even outside of your sessions, he still dressed nicely. The dark button down he wore contrasted with his light hair, dark slacks making him appear taller. You felt simultaneously nervous and comforted as you settled across from him. There was a brief silence, one in which you sipped on your drink while he eyed you before finally speaking.

“So what’s on your mind?”

What a loaded question. You struggled over whether or not to tell him the truth. Your abusive ex had found you somehow and was currently harassing you. That’s not something you could just casually drop into the conversation. Besides, Steve was your therapist, not your friend. You didn’t think it fair to rope him into the drama with your ex. That wasn’t part of his job description. Right?

“Just sleepless nights,” you said.

It wasn’t a complete lie. Steve eyed you like he was waiting for you to continue, blue eyes soft.

“I’m also worried that...my past might not remain in the past.”

Once again, this wasn’t a complete lie. 

“How so?” Steve hummed.

“I can’t help but wonder about what will happen if Harry finds me. He always threatened that he would if I ever left, and while I never believed him before, I just keep wondering… What if he does?”

Steve tilted his head at you, and you leaned back in your seat with a sigh.

“I’ve moved all the way out here to get away from him. I’ve isolated myself because I thought it was for the best, but it would have the opposite effect if he ever found me. I’ve never been particularly close with my family as you well know, and I’ve left all of my friends. I’m all alone here, and it’s the worst thing to be if he ever did track me down.”

Like always, you had started to ramble, and you snapped your mouth closed, embarrassment flooding through you.

“What brought all of this on?”

Steve’s eyes were sincere as he ran them over you, handsome face twisted in concern, and you glanced away.

“Just thinking,” you lamely replied, eyes on your drink now. “It’s something I’ve always thought about, sure, but it’s been more pressing as of late.”

“Well...that’s what I’m here for. You shouldn’t have to deal with these thoughts alone,” he eventually said.

“I know,” you sighed, rubbing your temples. “...but I shouldn’t become so reliant on you. The whole point of therapy is to learn to deal with these things on my own, is it not?”

Steve exhaled, leaning back in his seat as he gazed at you.

“Not necessarily. Not always,” he answered. “...but even then, until you can get to that point, it’s best to lean into your support. After all, you’ve gotta crawl before you can walk, right?”

You nodded, taking in his words.

“...and even when you’re walking, you usually need someone there in the beginning to hold your hand in case you fall. I encourage you to talk to your friends more, maybe even branch out and find some friends here, but I’m here as well. Don’t halt any of your progress because you feel like you need to be dealing with this alone. Outside help does more for your progress than you’d think.”

“I guess that does make sense. I don’t know… I just- I’d feel so bad about showing up at your office throughout all hours of the day or calling your receptionist-.”

You cut yourself off when he took out a pen and a slip of paper.

“Here,” he said, scribbling a number on it before handing it to you. “This is my personal number.”

Your eyes widened. 

“Oh, I can’t-.”

“It’s fine, trust me.”

You hesitantly returned his smile, taking the piece of paper.

“Don’t hesitate to call me anytime you want to,” he told you, standing.

You joined him, fingering the note before sliding it into your pocket.

“Thank you…Steve. I don’t know if I’ll ever actually call you, but just knowing that I have the option makes me feel so much better,” you whispered.

You heard his pager go off, and you watched as he glanced at it. He let out a sigh, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he sounded disappointed.

“I’ve got to go, but I hope you’ll use that number if you need to.”

Thanking him again, you said your goodbyes, and you watched as he exited the shop. The slip of paper felt heavy in your pocket, so you solved that by putting his number into your phone. Just as you were about to put it back into your purse, it buzzed with a call from an unknown number. Fear settled into your gut, and with a grimace, you silenced the call and blocked the number.

You were late. You were so late it was laughable to even show up at this point. Your shoes tapped against the tile as the numbers on the elevator lit up as it passed each floor. You slipped through the doors as soon as they parted, and with no mind to check in, the receptionist calling your name, you raced towards Steve’s office. You reached his door just as he opened it to step out, and the papers that he was holding scattered to the floor as you collided with him. You hadn’t even realized how fast you’d been running until you were knocked on your ass. 

You could hear the heels of the receptionist as she ran over, apologizing to Steve for letting you slip past her, but he waved her off. She reluctantly returned to her desk, and you scrambled to sit up, reaching for everything that had fallen.

“I was beginning to think you’d never show,” Steve joked.

You gave a shaky laugh.

“I uh...I got caught up,” you replied through trembling lips, fingers shaking as you struggled to stack all of his paperwork.

You could feel Steve’s eyes on you, but you avoided his gaze.

“I know I’m late. Our hour is practically over, but I- I just… Um, crap.”

You had dropped the papers all over again, and you both reached for them at the same time. At least, that was what you thought. Steve’s hands covered yours, and you only just realized how badly they were shaking.

“Y/N.”

His voice was soft, exactly what you needed right now, but you couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Y/N, is everything alright?”

Your chest was tight, and you wanted to will your lips to form a yes. You wanted to tell him that everything was fine, but you couldn’t even get the words out. He called your name again, and you suddenly stood, taking the papers with you. You handed them to him as he followed your lead, still avoiding his eye.

“I’m sorry for being late, and I know that you probably have another session-.”

“I don’t,” he interrupted. “Come in.”

You glanced up from beneath your lashes as he opened the door, ushering you inside. You wrapped your arms around yourself as he shut the door behind you.

“Is everything okay?”

You turned your face away from him, unable to keep it from crumbling as you held in a sob.

“Y/N.”

The way he called your name had you freezing in place, a shiver running through you at his firm tone, authority in the one simple word. In a way, it reminded you of Harry, and you looked to him with wide eyes. Seeming to understand what he’d done, Steve sighed before sitting down, making himself appear smaller to show that he wasn’t a threat to you.

“I’m sorry,” he genuinely apologized. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. Please...sit.”

You hesitantly did so and reached out to take the tissue he offered you. You hadn’t even realized that you’d started crying.

“Now… I’m going to ask you again, and I’m begging you to please be honest with me. I’m here to help you in any way I can,” he whispered.

You wiped your face, sinking your teeth into your lip.

“It’s...Harry.”

Steve’s face was pinched with concern.

“What is it? Are you having nightmares again-?”

“No, you don’t understand. He’s calling me,” you confessed.

Steve froze, blinking a few times before his eyes widened, your words finally registering. You sniffed, fighting to hold in a sob.

“It started weeks ago, before we ran into each other that night…”

You didn’t miss the disappointment that flitted over his features, lips pressed together.

“...and I know I should’ve said something then-.”

“You should’ve called me.”

“I know! I know, but… I don’t know. I just wanted to handle this on my own,” you quietly said.

He didn’t respond, and you turned your eyes towards the window.

“Last time...I wasn’t able to get away on my own. I wanted it to be different this time. At first, I simply blocked him but he kept calling and calling from different numbers. Then I got a new phone...and eventually another, but it’s still the same. He keeps finding me,” you tearfully told him. “...and today…”

Your eyes met his, and you were comforted by the concern you saw there.

“Today I was at the police station. That’s why I was late.”

Steve straightened up at this.

“I thought that maybe I could get a restraining order or maybe they could trace the calls to show that it’s him, but the whole visit was useless. They boiled it down to petty relationship drama, and since there’s no record of his violent behavior because I never reported anything…”

You shrugged, scoffing.

“There’s basically nothing they can do. The whole visit was a waste,” you spat.

Steve heaved a sigh, and he slowly reached out towards you, leaning forward.

“I didn’t ask before, but… Is it alright if I hold your hand?”

You nodded. That was what you liked about Steve. He was always asking for your consent with just about everything, even the simplest of things, and it was such a nice contrast to Harry who used to feel like he was entitled to your body. Steve took your hand, throwing you a comforting smile as he eyed you, worried.

“I wish that you had called me,” he said.

You looked down, guilt filling you.

“I could have helped you before it ever got to this point. I have friends on the force, friends in high places who could lock this creep up if you wanted.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

Of course Steve, Dr. Steven Rogers, knew people who could help you. Of course he did! Your stubbornness had gotten you far deeper into this than necessary. 

“What have I said about self deprecating language?”

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“You’re not an idiot. Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re just a woman trying to find her strength again.”

You hesitantly nodded, and he brushed his thumb over the back of your hand.

“I want you to get rid of your phone,” he suggested.

You frowned, and he continued before you could question him.

“I’ll work on getting a new one for you. A secure one under my name.”

You frowned, not liking the idea of being so indebted to him.

“Steve, I don’t know-.”

“It’ll only be temporary. You can use it until I talk to some people and have him properly dealt with.”

Even though you weren’t keen on the idea, you reluctantly agreed.

“...and you have to promise me one thing…”

You eyed him, holding his gaze as you waited for him to continue.

“Promise me that you’ll call me the second he bothers you again,” he proposed.

Accepting the fact that your stubbornness was doing you more harm than good, you nodded. Steve seemed pleased with that, and with one last pat on your hand, he let you go. As he guided you out of your office, your phone in his hand, you felt more hopeful than you had in over a month. You felt so silly for not seeking out his help sooner, and you couldn’t deny the weight that had been lifted from your shoulders as you settled into your car.

True to his word, at your next session, Steve presented you with a new phone. It had all of your important contacts with Steve being at the top of the list. Embarrassment had flooded you as you thanked him with tears in your eyes. The week without your phone had been the most peace you’d had in a while, and you finally got some much needed rest.

“You haven’t heard anything from him, have you?” he’d asked you.

“No,” you answered, shaking your head. “Not a peep.”

He threw you that same smile that always brought you comfort.

“Good. Even if you never do, you’re always free to call me,” he’d reminded you.

Finally deciding to let your stubbornness go, you did. Talking to Steve outside of your sessions was easier than you thought it’d be. It was like talking to a friend. Sometimes you’d meet up at that same coffee shop not too far from his office, and other times you’d be putting a quick meal together while he was on the other line, listening to you ramble. You soon realized that it wasn’t just his profession that made him that way, but Steve truly was an unbiased listener. He never judged you for any steps back in your progress nor for any of your more self deprecating thoughts.

Best of all, you hadn’t heard anything more from Harry.

Not until he knocked on your door one night.

It was late when you’d heard the pounding on the wood, and having been watching tv in your room, you wondered if you imagined it. It was only moments later that you’d heard it again. Your eyes had widened, sitting up in alarm. No one knew you lived here. Not even your mailman. All of your mail collected at a Post Office box before you eventually went to pick it up. You stood, standing in your room, trembling in fear before a knock on your bedroom window had you screaming.

You didn’t hesitate to call the police, and it took longer than you liked for them to arrive. All the while, you dealt with knocking and pounding on your window and door. Back and forth, it alternated with minutes in between before stopping altogether when the sound of sirens could be heard. Unsurprisingly, and frustratingly, the police didn’t find anyone.

“Look, we’ll get this report down to the station,” the brunette had told you, not looking concerned in the least.

Frustration filled you, and you shuffled on your feet.

“Can’t you...idk, have someone stay here? Not even the whole night but just a few hours in case they come back?”

The tall man sighed, and you glanced at his badge. Officer Barnes, you noted.

“With all due respect mam, we can’t just have one of our officers sitting in your yard because someone knocked on your door-.”

“I told you-!”

“I know, I know. The windows too,” he said, sounding exasperated, and your frown deepened. “The best we can do is get this down to the station. You’re more than welcome to call us again should anyone come back.”

You crossed your arms over your chest as they left, finding no relief. You swallowed as you thought about Steve. You didn’t want to, but Harry had found you, tormenting you by knocking on your house in the dead of night. This was exactly the reason Steve had given you his number. Swallowing down your stubbornness, and with a deep breath, you called him.

He didn’t sound like he was asleep, and for that you were grateful. You would’ve kicked yourself if you had woken him up. Finally getting out why you’d called him was an awkward affair, stumbling over your words, and you felt even worse as he agreed to come over. There was no hesitation, and you couldn’t help but feel as if you were taking advantage of Steve’s generosity. 

You mumbled out your address, surprised to realize how relieved you were. You couldn’t remember the last time you had trusted a man this much. Harry had made you so paranoid, but you supposed that was what therapy was for. This was why you had all those sessions with Steve. To learn to heal and to trust again.

You opened the door with a small smile when he finally pulled into your yard. He was dressed comfortably, and you felt much better about your own ratty t-shirt and leggings, but his casual attire made him no less striking. 

“Thank you,” you breathed as he stepped inside.

“I was up going over paperwork when you called. I’m glad you did,” he told you.

You leaned against the door as you closed it, rubbing your arms.

“I didn’t know if I should. It’s just… He was here, Steve. Knocking on my door and window like something out of a horror movie, and the police treated it like it was nothing,” you complained.

Steve tilted his head at you with a sad smile.

“First thing in the morning, I’m going to make some more calls. Since he’s in town, it should be easy to have him put away. At the very least, a restraining order.”

Relief and hope filled you as you brushed past him.

“I really can’t thank you enough for coming over. I promise I won’t keep you long, just until I feel I can be ok being alone,” you said over your shoulder.

He followed you into the kitchen.

“Can I get you anything to drink? Eat? It’s the least I can do.”

“Some wine might be nice. You might want to pour yourself a glass too,” he suggested.

You chuckled, and he joined you, but you agreed with him nonetheless. You poured a glass for both of you, and you leaned against the counter with a sigh.

“I just don’t understand why he can’t leave me alone. Hasn’t he put me through enough?”

Steve hummed.

“From what you’ve told me, he strikes me as a narcissist. I’d bet that he doesn’t want you to move on,” he mused.

“Maybe,” you distractedly replied as you heard your phone ring. “I’ll be right back. Let me grab that super quick, it might be Nakia.”

Your phone was in your room, but by the time you reached it, it had stopped ringing. Sure enough, it was a missed call from your best friend, and you brought your phone with you to the kitchen, determined to call her back. Steve’s eyes were fond when you returned, and you shrugged.

“I need to call her back. I’ll only be a moment,” you said, swiping your glass.

“Take all the time you need.”

You made your way to the living room, taking your place on the couch as you called her back. She answered almost immediately.

“Hey, what’s up?”

She greeted you with a soft exhale.

“Uh… Harry’s...dead.”

You froze at her words, pulling the glass away from your lips. You blinked a few times, trying to come to terms with what she’d said.

“...what?”

“I just found out. I honestly didn’t know how you’d take the news, but I thought you should know.”

She was right. You yourself didn’t even know how you felt about this news. You had loved this man at one point...but he was also your abuser. This was good news...right?

“How?” you finally asked her.

She sighed.

“Apparently, he’d been missing for months-.”

“Months?”

“Yeah,” she quietly replied. “They found and identified his body today. I just saw it on the news.”

Your stomach twisted as the truth, and the meaning behind it, sank in. Just because Harry had been missing for months, it didn’t mean that he’d been dead for months. It very well could have been him harassing you like you believed. But...if they’d found and identified his body today, then there was no way it was him at your house tonight.

“Thank you,” you eventually said. “Um… I’m glad you told me.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” you honestly replied. “I’m just a little unsure of how I feel about all of this, but I’ll call you tomorrow when I’ve slept on it.”

“Alright. Be safe.”

You said your goodbyes and returned to the kitchen with an empty glass.

“Everything okay?” Steve questioned.

Your face must have been an open book.

“Harry’s dead,” you scoffed, blinking as you still fought to process this.

Steve didn’t respond, and just like one of your sessions, he seemed to be waiting for you to continue.

“Apparently he’d been missing for months and they just identified his body today. There’s no way it could have been him knocking on my door tonight, and now...now I’m even more scared than I was before,” you confessed. “God, I can’t even fully come to terms with my feelings on this because I’m realizing that Harry might not have been the only thing I should’ve been afraid of.”

“Hey,” Steve soothingly said, nearing you. “Are you sure it wasn’t someone who got lost? Maybe they had the wrong house?”

You thought about it before shaking your head.

“No, it definitely didn’t seem like that. Oh my God,” you cried, letting your head fall into your hands.

Steve pulled you into his arms, startling you, but you eventually relaxed, the wine settling into your system nicely.

“It’s going to be alright-.”

“What if it isn’t? Because I’m the idiot who thought that Harry was the only possible danger out there, I’ve attracted another without even realizing it.”

“Hey, hey,” he soothed. “Maybe it was nothing, and maybe it was more. Either way, I’m only a phone call away. Say the word, and I’ll have an officer living in your yard if need be.”

You chuckled at that, and nodded.

“Thank you,” you said, looking at him. “I-.”

You swallowed your words when his lips met yours, soft and demanding as they moved against your own. You were stunned, and it took you a moment to realize just what was happening before you pulled away. You stared at Steve with wide eyes, hesitantly reaching up to touch your lips as you took a step back.

“Steve…”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he breathed.

Your lips parted, a soft gasp escaping you at both his words and the fire in his gaze. It was so sudden and great that it froze you.

“Steve, I think… I think you should go,” you whispered, almost in disbelief.

He frowned at you, tilting his head just a tad as he folded his arms over his chest.

“Go? Why would I do that when you’re not feeling well?”

You opened your mouth to repeat yourself, even demand to know what he meant, but a sudden wave of nausea hit you, head feeling fuzzy. Steve caught you just as you stumbled, and you frowned, fighting to get out of his arms.

“What…?”

“You seemed really tense. I thought you could use something to take the edge off…”

You stared at him in disbelief, attempting to blink away the stars in your vision. Your legs felt like they were made of Jell-O as Steve guided you towards the living room. He deposited you on the couch, and you could hardly do anything as he laid you down, sitting beside you. His blue eyes, normally so soft and comforting, were dark with a longing you had never seen before.

“You were like a wounded little lamb when you first came to me,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your lip. “So lost...broken… It’s because of me that you’re even halfway back together again.”

His hands moved to slowly undress you, taking his time, and your hands might as well had been air as you tried to stop him. You shuddered as the cool air in the house hit you, nipples pebbling, even more so when Steve brushed his fingers over them.

“I wanted to wrap you in my arms during that first session. Drag you back as you tried to leave, show you how a woman should be touched by a man.”

You were in a state of shock, disbelief coursing through you as you watched Steve undress. Even at his age, the man was a wall of muscle, thick bands making you swallow in fear as you hopelessly tried to tell yourself that this was a dream.

“Steve,” you whispered.

“I had to be patient. I didn’t want to scare you off, push you into the arms of another dangerous man. I had to help you heal before showing the kind of man I can be for you,” he told you, fingers on your face as he neared you again.

Your whole body felt weighed down, and you couldn’t stop your tears even if you wanted to. Your touch was light as you pressed your hands to his chest, feeling like you were going to be sick as he settled over you.

“Harry is gone. He can’t hurt you anymore, and I’m going to make sure no one ever hurts you again.”

The irony was not lost on you, but the way he said that struck something in you, and your mind traveled to the unthinkable. You didn’t get the chance to think about it some more before Steve was forcing himself inside of you. A choking noise escaped you as he filled you to the hilt, your legs spread wide to accommodate his frame. Steve released a shuddering breath, breathing through his nose, body trembling as he delighted in the feel of you wrapped around him.

It was amazing that while all of your senses felt dulled, you could feel his pulsing member inside of you so well. He surrounded you, bulky frame caging you in, and you felt like you would pass out from suffocation. Steve sighed just before his lips met yours, and your stomach clenched as he moved within you. A broken moan slipped out against your will, and Steve groaned at the sound.

“I’ll show you pleasure that you’ve never known, touch you in ways you never felt. I know how to make you happy,” he purred, his pace languid as he thrust in and out of you.

You turned your head away, the furniture of your living room blurring together from whatever he’d slipped into your drink.

“I know your deepest desires and your deepest fears. I know you better than anyone else out there…”

You hated that in a way, Steve was right. You’d bared yourself to him under the guise of trust and healing. He really did know all there was to know about you, and you hated yourself for it. You hated him for hiding his intentions so well, for taking advantage of your vulnerability and trauma. He tutted as you started to squirm beneath him.

“After all I’ve done for you...in all the ways I’ve helped you, the least you could do is give yourself to me. I deserve to reap the benefits of my efforts-.”

You gasped beneath him, legs kicking around him, but he only pressed himself more firmly against you.

“...I’ve gone out of my way to make sure you were safe, to protect you so that no more threats remained to you nor our relationship.”

“You’re crazy-.”

You cut yourself off with a yelp as he nipped at your neck, jerking in his hold as he continued to snap his hips into yours. His hands were gentle on you, a contrast to how he fucked you, his pace increasing with every passing minute. Despite the fact that you could hardly move, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you in place as the sound of your coupling filled the room, your core now wet and slick from his ministrations.

Steve seemed intoxicated, blissfully immersed in the feel of you and how you clung to him. His low groans and moans filled your ear, and you could do nothing as he covered your lips again, tongue tasting you, moaning at the taste of wine that still remained.

“My touch will never cause you harm, bringing you nothing but pleasure for the rest of our lives.”

~

tags:  @xoxabs88xox​ @harryspet​ @readermia​ @opheliadawnwalker3​ @nickyl316h​ @captainchrisstan​ @sebabestianstan101​ @villanellevi​ @lokislastlove​ @notyourtypicalrose​ @coconutqueen21​ @hurricanerin​ @hyoyeoniie​ @sherrybaby14​ @cocoamoonmalfoy​ @mandiiblanche​ @gotnofucks​ @oneoftheprettynerds​ @doozywoozy​ @sapphirescrolls​ @threeminutesoflife​ @searchforanotherway​ @mcudarklibrary​ @buckybarnesplumwhore​ @widowsmaximoff​ @nerdygirl8203​  @supernaturalwintersoldier​ @charmed-asylum  @harrysthiccthighss​ @patzammit​

[teamcivilian]

Fear and Desire — Chapter 03

Fandom: James Bond

Rating: M

Warnings: Non-con in Ch01 and to a briefer extent in Ch03, graphic depictions of violence in Ch02 and Ch03, and major character death.

Summary: "If the rule you followed brought you to this, of what use was the rule?" — Cormac McCarthy (No Country for Old Men)

[Ch01] [Ch02] [Ch03] [Ao3 Link]

This was originally going to be four chapters but I said, three is enough. It's been a hot minute since I saw NTtD and I tried to elaborate a bit on Safin's motives, since canon couldn't be bothered. — Dorminchu

03: RUINER

Growing up, Safin was always a smaller, sickly boy compared to his siblings. That was why his father had been so eager to share his knowledge of the garden. 

By the time he had awoken from the coma his body had betrayed him. Now every day was a fight to regain what had been stolen from him, travelling in and out of hospital. A dozen surgeries and therapeutic sessions. Physical therapy and medications. Access to his father's inheritance ensured he would have a fresh set of organs and whatever else he required. The nurses and doctors and psychotherapists all remarked on what a polite and reserved young man he was in the face of the awful tragedy that had befallen his family. How strong he was to persevere through all of that.

In-between operations and recuperations Safin had plenty of time to ruminate. To lament what had happened to him for the rest of his life would be futile. Instead of grief there was only hatred disguised as emptiness. Under threats of incarceration he had expressed his absence of feeling and been told it was no aberration. Grief took a lot of time to process. He had every right to be angry about his condition. Never illness.

Though his family had been slaughtered and the garden razed, many of the books remained intact. Over the next decade and a half, and with time and care, he was able to eliminate most traces of the dioxins from his body in ways most modern medicine could not. He could do little about his skin pitted over.

By the time he was eighteen he had established contacts with the same men his father had worked for and learnt the name of his family's killer. Over the course of his recovery he was able to whittle down his desire for vengeance from the absurd and theatrical into something more sensible.

Alone, he would raze those who had seen fit to ruin the lives of his family, and from there begin reinventing a new life for himself from the ashes. It began with Mr. White and ended with Madeleine Swann. A girl born from wealth, brought up in the shadow of her father's work and a dying, feckless mother. He looked down into the surface of the lake, into the black abyss, and saw his sister. He reached into that lake and withdrew an innocent child from death. He ensured she would survive in time for her father's return.

For the next eighteen years he was her silent confidant. He knew of her name and all of her pseudonyms. Passing details delivered by his loyal subordinates. Her interest in mental health and non-profit work for charity. Her lack of luck in friends and poorer taste in men. At any time, he could have ended her as her father had ended his entire family. When Mr. White was found with a bullet in his head in Altaussee. When Swann came into contact with SPECTRE's worst nightmare 007. When Blofeld was thrown in prison, and when Bond abandoned her for good in Matera.

Yet Safin did not intervene. Why should he enable the success of that syndicate which had taken everything from him? Despite her abhorrence of her father's methods she had accepted White's money and his protection. She attached herself just as naturally to 007. She was cunning enough to spite her own fear. And nine months after the incident in Matera she bore a child.

Only then did Safin begin to put together a procedure for her retrieval. She would need protection and MI6 could only offer a surface-level guarantee. So for the next four years as he amassed his resources he was also keeping an eye on Madeleine Swann and her infant.

When they met for the second time in her office, five years later, he was curious. Would she recognize him now? Did she pause because of his inflammatory words or some part of her mind that recoiled in unwilling recognition?

The same part slowly giving way from disbelief into understanding on some subconscious level. It was not clear until she grasped the memory box in her hands. The horror he had grasped in the eyes of the adolescent giving way to despair. To look at his face and know there were no outs, no bargaining chips.

Two days had passed since their initial arrival onto his base. In between consultations with Obruchev and the other bioengineers, Safin noticed the blank walls. The soldiers around every corner were necessary but a proper refurbishment was overdue.

Military intelligence anticipated that the MI6 agents 007 and 008 would arrive within the next twenty-four hours. Not enough time to intercept the release of Heracles into the atmosphere. There were enough forces on the ground and around the island to alert him to any further interceptions. Better yet to lower the guard around the subterranean complex and let MI6 come directly to him. After Bond was dealt with there would be time to create an environment more befitting of home.

For now his new guests must be kept comfortable.

That morning, Madeleine would not come out of her cell for breakfast. When Primo opened the door she was still laying in the bed provided, feigning sleep. Dressed in her own clothes from the day before.

Safin said, Playing dead won't help you.

The stillness to her body suggested childlike stubbornness. But there was nothing she could do to harm herself within her cell. The room had been checked before her arrival.

He said, Mathilde has asked me about you. Did you know that?

No response.

I would like you to accompany me for breakfast. You may go willingly, or I will have you dragged like a prisoner. Which will it be?

She finally raised her head. An ugly, violent emotion kept behind her eyes.

There is a change of clothes for you. He motioned over to the chest. You will dress first. Everything you will need is here.

She did not move. I'd like some privacy.

Safin said nothing.

The realization passed over her with a slight shudder. She averted her face. She got up and went over to the chest and opened it. She slipped out of her blouse with trembling hands but kept on her camisole.

Undress, please.

A sharp flinch of her shoulders that she disguised as reaching for a plain taupe dress that would come down to her ankles. Matching blouse and cardigan covered her wrists. If she were looking she would catch his cold, empty smile. She had nothing to fear from him.

As she redressed she did not look at him. She stood with her chin down. He walked over to her. Without anger she was a much simpler creature. A beautiful, fragile thing just as easily snapped in half. In a perfect world he would have plenty of time to correct her more clandestine tendencies.

He said, Now, I'm sure you feel better.

Madeleine said nothing. She was looking past him. Safin nodded to Primo.

In a little while the two of them were attending a quiet breakfast while Primo remained as wordless vigil. The female aide who brought the tray of tea caught Safin's attention.

Klava, he said, switching to Russian, a moment please.

The aide stiffened at the gesture. He brushed her sleeve aside and brandished her hand revealing a row of smaller teeth-marks that were not enough to pierce the skin. How did this happen?

Her stupid little shit, she hissed, wrenching her hand away. That's the last time I bring her food.

Madeleine grasped her own teacup tightly. She was watching them now, very closely.

Safin said, I think she would not retaliate without good reason.

Every time, she asks for her mother. I don't see why you insist on keeping them separate from each other. The aide glared at Madeleine.

Your orders were to make sure the girl was fed and rested. Not push that responsibility onto our guest.

Your guests, the aide said through her teeth, who will not eat or drink anything I offer them because they suspect it must be poison.

Madeleine's jaw was very tight.

I assumed you would be skilled enough to negotiate, Safin said. Perhaps I was mistaken. If you would prefer instead to work down in the garden, I will notify your team immediately.

Klava's face was very pale. No, of course not.

Very good. You may leave us.

Then he looked at Madeleine. If you wish to know, Mathilde is safe. The girl does not cry much. But she is listless. She misses you dearly. I see no reason to separate you indefinitely, as long as you remain obedient.

She wouldn't bite someone out of malice, Madeleine spat.

Safin allowed her a small smile.

Of course not. She is usually so well-behaved.

Listen to me, right now. I will do whatever you ask. But you will not involve her in this sick little game. If you ever think of harming her, or allowing harm to come to her—

—in what way have I harmed either of you?

Her eyes flashed.

I have given you a room to sleep where you will not be threatened or disturbed. I have provided your daughter similar accommodations. If I wanted to hurt you—he glanced at Primo with the barest of nods that went unreciprocated—there are much simpler ways to do so. He looked at Madeleine. You are the only woman on this base. 

Her jaw clenched. Each meeting would be the same as the first. Safin waved his hand.

If you still think I have harmed you, in any way, please speak. Whenever we are alone I will only ask for your honesty. 

Her grasp on the teacup was uneven. She had curled her fingers into a fist, white-knuckled. He reached across the table to take her wrist and she shrank back, displacing a little liquid onto the saucer. His mouth twisted.

Madeleine, there is no need to be nervous. We are having a civil discussion.

She looked him in the eyes and said, I am doing this for Mathilde. No one else.

Of course. You need not justify yourself to me. He said, But if you are still concerned, I will entrust you the responsibility of caring for Mathilde. In return you will remain here on the island.

Madeleine's facade of calm rippled. What are you saying?

I cannot send you back into a world that would just as soon devour the daughter of SPECTRE. You will be safer here with your daughter. Does this not suit you?

The same dangerous softness without a smile. One misplaced word was all it took. She swallowed dryly.

Yes, it—it suits me.

Safin nodded. Have some tea.

Madeleine glanced at the mess she'd made but did not move.

You saw Klava serve us both. I gain nothing from poisoning you.

She took a sip but her eyes shone with contempt. She said, For what purpose are you keeping me alive?

I knew that someday you would grow into my enemy. You have been living in the shadow of your father for so long, yet you forget you are still his daughter. When you offered yourself for the sake of Mathilde it was your choice. The first, selfless act you have ever wrought, and now you will live by it.

That's not what I asked.

Madeleine, we have each lost so much. We understand one other so naturally that there is no reason for me to eliminate you. As the daughter of SPECTRE, it would be a greater cruelty to leave you to fend for yourself. What I am offering is far more merciful.

You are confusing obsession for mercy.

He faltered. A wheezing scoff shook his frame and betrayed the frail body beneath the kimono.

I assured you that I would never let anything happen to Mathilde, he said. But when our business with MI6 is finished, if you truly wish to leave this place, I will hand over the girl to your lover. There are many who would pay good money to claim ownership over Bond's woman.

Now she was forcing herself to remain very still. Her face must be blank. Placid. An arrogant tilt of the chin or callous remark would be easier to stomach than his lack of sentiment. Without that tenuous thread of human connection all her sacrifices were for nothing. The sooner she understood this truth the easier her life would be.

Of course, he said, it doesn't have to be this way. You can start over. Repent for the sins of your family. He gestured to the vial tucked away against his breast. If you wish it, I will make sure no one else can touch you.

After breakfast he dismissed Madeleine to her room and ordered Primo to accompany him to visit Mathilde. She was sitting on the bed meant for an adult, clutching the stuffed rabbit to her. When the door opened she looked over sharply.

Mathilde, I would like to talk to you. Is that all right?

No response.

You are more comfortable with French? He switched. Your mother and I were just talking about you.

Mathilde said nothing, though she was looking at him closely. She had her mother's hair. The same nose. Safin approached slowly and she did not decry his actions. She was looking over at Primo. Her wide blue eyes a shade darker than her mother's.

He indicated the opposite corner of the bed and asked, May I sit here?

She glanced over at the stuffed rabbit. Clutching it tightly, she nodded.

I heard about what happened this morning, with Klava. I understand you miss your mother. But you cannot behave like this in my home.

She was a bad lady.

Bad? What did she do?

Mathilde's brow creased. She was saying mean things about maman. And me.

Hardy, like her mother. But she would need a little coaching.

I'm sorry, Mathilde. I didn't know. If you would rather see your mother from now on, that can be arranged. But you must behave yourself. Can you promise that much?

Mathilde was looking at him closely. To settle her nerves, Safin gestured to the stuffed animal. What is his name?

Doudou.

I see. That's a nice name.

Mathilde said, Why are you talking to me?

You are my guest. I want to know how you are feeling.

You only care about maman.

That isn't true. You are important to her, and so you are important to me.

Mathilde looked away from him, at her only friend. Deep in thought. You know my maman?

We met a long time ago. When she was a child I saved her life. Over the years I came to care for her.

Why do you care about her if she doesn't like you?

Safin stopped. Mathilde was looking at him, unbiased and frank. Unlike her mother she had not yet learned to hate. He chuckled.

Well, sometimes you care for someone, even when they do not understand why. It doesn't matter if they understand. You care for them all the same.

He touched her head as if to tousle her hair. She tensed immediately, and he removed his hand. Are you feeling well?

It's cold.

It's no good for you to be stuck in a room by yourself. I would like you to accompany me for a walk. Remember? We walked around the garden together.

He offered his hand. She did not take it. I want to see maman.

You will see her after we walk. You have my word. OK?

They rounded the circumference of the garden two times and did not speak. Mathilde kept Doudou under her arm.

Mathilde looked him up and down. Still tense. I'm not supposed to talk to you.

Safin knelt down so they were on the same level.

Your mother is going to be all right. Right now she needs a little time to think. I know that I said you will see her. But she needs to be alone. Have you ever felt like that?

Mathilde didn't speak. She looked steadily at Primo and walked up to him and offered Doudou. Give him to maman. So she's safe.

Primo blinked slowly. He took the stuffed animal and nodded.

Safin caught Primo's eye. Return her to the room afterwards. She will see her mother another time.

Madeleine had been sitting, thinking. When the staff spoke in front of her at all it was always in Russian. They would always avoid eye contact. The thin man with glasses looked over and expressed his condolences for the boss's woman. Primo was the only one who acknowledged her with a look.

Every one of them complicit in their leader's scheme.

Left on the verge of tears that wouldn't come. Until he was away from her family once and for all there would be no end. She could not fold.

The moment she saw her own face it would be her father staring back at her. Or her mother.

Primo opened the door, walked in, set Doudou on the armoire. The kid came up to me and insisted that you have this.

Madeleine looked up. The muscles in her face fighting a losing battle for indifference. Her composure finally broke into a light sob. Primo turned away, ready to leave.

You don't have to do this, she said thickly. You see this plan he has, the lack of one. How can you stand there and let him get away with it?

I have my orders. As do you. See to it you don't give him a reason to reconsider his mercy.

Madeleine sneered. This is not mercy. It is senseless.

What he could not communicate in words. Two souls entrapped in the same circumstance. 

He's sick, said Madeleine. And he isn't getting better. That is why he feels he must eradicate all of these people, isn't it?

Primo said nothing.

He has probably been sick for some time, I think. All the medicine in the world can't stop the inevitable. Your boss is no better than any of these heartless men and women he has slaughtered in the name of progress. Whatever ideology he wants to paint it as. If he succeeds, what else is left to conquer?

Primo said, I'll collect you when he calls for you.

Madeleine walked over to the armoire. She clutched the rabbit to her own body and wept into its soft fur.

Then stopped. Groped the seam along Doudour’s head until she found the foreign outline under soft fabric. There was a slit no bigger than an inch. Reaching in, she experienced a stab of pain along the pad of her finger. Drawing out a shard of china spanning the length of her palm to her ring finger.

Madeleine wiped her bloodied hand on the sheets. She stared at the shard for a long time. She used it to tear a strip from the sheet and bind her hand.

Each time Madeleine left the cell she paid close attention to her surroundings. In the garden, the steel gate was closed. Mathilde was nowhere to be seen. It was just Safin and Primo and a handful of soldiers in the garden, around the perimeter.

Where is Mathilde?

She was not feeling well, Safin said. Primo told me she hasn't been sleeping regularly. I offered to give her some tea but she refused. So we will let her sleep for a time.

Madeleine looked at Primo who gave her the slightest incline of the head.

Then Safin was right in front of her.

What happened to your hand?

I cut myself.

Safin took her hand in his, meticulous. His brow furrowed. How did you manage this?

I wasn't thinking. I dropped one of your plates and cut myself cleaning it up.

Safin looked at her closely. Why were you cleaning? That is for the help to do.

I thought it would be right. I did not intend to offend you, or your help.

Primo was coming up behind them.

Safin understood what was happening a second too late. Primo was the larger man and he grabbed Safin by the back of the collar, pinned his arms behind him with little effort.

Madeleine looked at Safin. His teeth bared. In her other hand she gripped the shard of china so tightly she'd drawn blood. He opened his mouth to speak.

She slashed at his naked throat in one jagged movement. Blood spattered down her chest and forearm. His mouth opened but all that came out was a congested gurgle. Madeleine shut her eyes.

For some reason the soldiers were not rushing to eliminate them.

Primo let him fall limp to the ground. Madeleine did not look.

These men answer to me, said Primo. Safin gave me that authority. I instructed the to give Mathilde a light sedative. Right now she is only sleeping. She will wake up in an hour or two none the wiser to this.

Just then, Bond and the other 007 rounded the corner. Madeleine looked at them and they looked at her and the woman said softly, Shit.

Madeleine, said Bond, but she was already with Primo.

It's over, said Madeleine.

Not yet. We have to shut this down. 008, with me.

Nomi glanced at Madeleine once before joining Bond up the stairs into the heart of the facility.

Hours later, when the island was disarmed and they were all on a helicopter back to Europe, Mathilde was sleeping in her mother's arms.

[jawabear]

1 of 10 (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Not my GIF (look at this man...)

A/N: so here’s that Bucky fic I’ve been talking about. This took me too long to write but I like it? I’m absolutely loving Falcon and The Winter Soldier! I’ve mentioned this before but Bucky Barnes is my all time favourite fictional character. This is set before the events of episode one but maybe like a week or so before. I hope you enjoy. Sorry for any mistakes. Stay safe.

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: fem!reader, tfatws spoilers, Bucky being awkward, nightmares, therapy, Bucky isn’t as smooth as he was in the 40s but he’s still cute

Summary: Bucky has ten contacts in his phone. One of which belongs the the girl he feels he has been searching for for 106 long years.

The times in which he found himself now were more than confusing. But that was the best way Bucky could think to describe them. For him though it seemed a lot worse than for others. For others, they had a gap of five years missing. For Bucky, he had far more than that.

From 1943 to 2023 there was a lot missing. He remembered it however. He remembered everything. The good, the bad, and the horrifying. What was meant by missing was that it wasn’t him who was living. He had missed out on living between those years. He had missed out on everything. And he knew, like the billions of others, he would never get those years back.

But now he was a civilian. Working to make amends from his past after being given a pardon. However, settling into his new easy life was proving far from that. It had been a few months now since the whole ordeal with saving the blipped half of humanity, Bucky included, and it had been a few months now since Steve went back in time and started a new life leaving him and Sam behind.

Sam. Right.

Sam was an avenger. More so than Bucky could ever be. So he was off doing his avenging work while Steve’s shield gathered dust in a wardrobe somewhere he was sure. Sam didn’t have it in him to take up the mantle of Captain America. He felt the shield belonged to someone else. It was Steve’s. It only ever could be.

More often than perhaps Bucky would like, he would get texts from Sam. Asking him how he was and telling him about missions he was going on. Bucky never replied. He didn’t know how to half the time and he didn’t want to.

He didn’t know how he was. He didn’t know if he was okay. He was forced to go see a therapist but all he did was lie to her.

“Have you had any nightmares recently?” She would ask him.

Bucky would think back to the night before their meeting and all the others as well. Each night he’d have to be faced with the horrors of his past. Every mission he carried out. Every person he carelessly killed.

“No” he would answer. And it wasn’t like he was wrong in his answer. The things he saw in his sleep were not nightmares they were memories. The nightmarish horrors he was were his reality, so when he said no in response to her question, he found it difficult to be accused of lying.

There were few things he could agree with her about. But the one thing he could see eye to eye with her about was the fact he was alone.

Sure, he had Sam. But only when Bucky wanted to acknowledge him which had not been often as of recently. And as his therapist so kindly pointed out he only had ten contacts on his phone. But in his defence, he still wasn’t used to the whole world of mobile communications and internet. So his phone was basically redundant to him. His mind was still in the 1940s where you’d find a date, what would now be classed as, the old fashioned way. By looking in person and talking. Not just texting or swiping left or right on an app.

Granted, Bucky did try his hand in online dating but it was far too much for him. It wasn’t only hard for him to figure out but also he saw too much of people he didn’t even know. The openness of the internet was something that was mind boggling to him. So that was thrown out of the window pretty quickly.

But what his therapist had failed to note was one name in his contacts. The name of his neighbour and quite possibly the one he wanted to end his loneliness with.

Back in his time, when he didn’t just have the looks of someone in their 20s, Bucky was in fact quite popular and good with the ladies. But the ladies, he found, of this new age were completely different to the ones of his time. Not that there was a problem, he just knew that he couldn’t used the same moves now as what he could back then.

He met (Y/N), his neighbour, as he was first moving in. After coming back, loosing Steve and getting a pardon, Bucky thought it be best to try and start a new. He did that by moving back to his old home of Brooklyn. His old apartment was obviously gone and with little money to his name he couldn’t afford the one that replaced it. It was far to big for him anyway. But he managed to find a smaller more affordable one and he much preferred it. If not only for the quieter location then the others in the building too.

(Y/N) was the first person he spoke too when back in Brooklyn. She was sweet and kind when introducing herself. She offered to help him move in but he really didn’t have that much stuff to use in making his new apartment more homely. And he had no food either. So (Y/N) did the neighbourly thing and invited him in for some food. A meal of sorts although she didn’t have much food either at the time. Even so, it was nice for him to be in company for once. And it was such warm company. They didn’t speak about much but he learnt a few things about her.

And now, on most Thursday evenings, he’ll find himself with her in her apartment eating a meal, sometimes she’ll cook, sometimes they’ll order take out, but he enjoys it regardless.

It was clear from the offset that she knew who he was. He frantically explained to her that he wasn’t what he used to be anymore and explained the terms of his pardon and how he’s making amends. But he needn’t have waste his breath on it. She didn’t seem to care about it. About who he used to be. She told him that she doesn’t live in peoples pasts and that she wanted to get to know him for who he is, not who he was. Those words meant a great deal to him. And from that moment on he had fallen for her.

Bucky sighed as he dragged himself up the stairs to his floor. He desperately wished there was some way of getting out of these therapy sessions. But he was tied to them. He couldn’t stop going to them even though he wanted too. But there, it wasn’t really like he had anything better to do. Nothing but either sitting at home in silence or walking around busy streets constantly looking over his shoulder. Those were his only other options.

As he walked to his apparent at the end of the hallway (Y/N)’s door opened and she walked out dressed for the outdoors, it was getting cold so it was smart of her to be wearing a warm coat. “(Y/N)” he called gently to her. She lifted her head after locking her door and gave him a warm smile.

“Hi James” She said, she always called him James rather than Bucky. He didn’t know why but he didn’t exactly mind. “How was your session today?” She had memorised the times at which he went to his therapy sessions. She probably knew he schedule better than he did.

Bucky shrugged “the usual” he told her making her laugh a little.

“That bad huh?”

“I guess” he said scratching the back of his neck.

“Well, I’m heading to the store to get some food if you wanted to talk on the way? Don’t feel you have to”

“No, that sounds good” he tried to smile but it was a little awkward, but she didn’t seem to say anything and just motioned her head for him to follow.

The shop wasn’t too far away so it was a quick walk. Bucky wasn’t the talkative type, not really anyway. Especially not to someone he didn’t like. And Dr Raynor was someone who he didn’t like. He was sure that deep down she was a lovely person but he didn’t like the fact she was insistent in getting him to admit his feelings. Although that was her job.

It wasn’t long until they arrived at the store “so what happened?” (Y/N) asked as she picked up a basket.

“Just the usual...she asked me if I had a nightmare-“

“Did you?” Bucky didn’t answer and just looked away from her. “James, you know that it’s her job to help you. And it’s in your best interest to let her”

“I know...but at the same time...I don’t see the point. These things are mandatory. So if I don’t want to go then I don’t see it being helpful”

“I can understand that” her eyes flicking between two boxes of cereal as she inwardly decried in which one to get, but her indecisive nature got the better of her so she opted to get both. Her indecisiveness, Bucky thought, was incredibly cute. It linked in with her kindness, on their Thursday evening meals together it takes ages just to decide what to have. “But still,” she continued, Bucky following her like a lost puppy “like you said, it’s mandatory. And there are people who would love to be in your position. Getting therapy I mean. So you should at least make the most of it while you can”

“I mean...yeah. I guess. But...I don’t know I just...well it’s easier to talk to someone like you then it is to talk to her” (Y/N) smiled at little at this as she finished putting on the last few items before making her way to the till.

Neither of them said much else. Expect for (Y/N) making light conversation with the cashier as she paid although both (Y/N) and Bucky knew that the cashier really didn’t want to be there. Luckily it didn’t take long for (Y/N) to bag her items and pay for them before they were both leaving the store.

It had gotten colder outside then when they left originally. (Y/N) shivered and pulled her coat around her a little more before they both began walking back to their apartment building.

“So what is it about me that makes you find it easier to talk?” She asked, she brushed her hair from her face as a sudden gust of wind blew it out of place when she turned to look at him.

“Well...” he muttered shoving his hands into his pockets “for one, you don’t sit there with a passive aggressive notebook ready to write shit about me” this made her laugh a little, she always found it funny when he’d talk about this notebook Dr Raynor had. She didn’t really know why he hated it so much, and she knew she shouldn’t have found it funny but he never stopped her from laughing about it, in fact often times he would join in thereby encouraging her.

“Yes, that is something better I guess. Although, I’m sure I could find a notebook if you wanted” she teased.

“Oh god. Please don’t” He said holding back a smile.

“Anything else?” She asked him.

Bucky thought for a moment. There were many things about her that made it easier for him to talk to her, but he couldn’t list them all. For one, that would be embarrassing, and two he didn’t think he’d have the breath to do it. “Well-“

He was cut off when he saw (Y/N)’s smile fall and her pace began to slow right down to a stop. Bucky stopped and looked at her “everything okay?” He asked her, his voice full of concern.

She turned sharply to the side so she was facing the road “y-yeah..” she stuttered nervously “just...my ex is walking this way and I really don’t want him to see me”

Bucky felt a strange feeling inside him. He didn’t even know she had been in a relationship. It must’ve been a recent thing right? Unless it was a really bad break up in the past, or this guy had done something to her to prompt her being so on edge. Bucky turned to try and scope out this guy but he didn’t have a clue what he was looking for. So he reached over to her and pulled up her hood on her hoodie that she wore under her coat and pulled her into his side so that her face was hidden from view.

“Tell me when he’s gone” Bucky muttered to her. She nodded her head and let him walk her along the path, she kept her eye on the path ahead as best she could while still covering her face. But she was now more focused on two things, his arm around her and his wonderful smell. Never did she think she’d ever get this close to him. She never thought he’d let her, but here she was attached to his side with his arm wrapped around her, holding her protectively against him.

And his smell. It was just as comforting as she dreamed it would be. A mix of his cologne and what she could only describe as Him. All she wanted to do now was to just melt into his strong and warm embrace and just stay there forever.

In all her daydreaming she didn’t notice that her ex had long since walked by and they had reached the entrance to their apartment building and she didn’t tell him he could let go or that it was safe for her to walk properly.

Bucky came to a stop and slowly slipped his arm from her “I mean...I take it he’s gone now right?” He said a little nervously. (Y/N) stood up straight and pushed the hood from her head and nodded quickly, her cheeks burning in embarrassment.

“Yeah. Yes, right. Sorry. Yes. He’s gone. I um...I just wanted to make sure he didn’t suddenly turn around you know? That’s all” she said in an unconvincing tone. But Bucky himself was too flustered to actually care that she was flustered as well.

“Of course, that’s smart. Well we made it back” he said stepping up to the door and pushing it open for her. She nodded and thank you and quickly hopped inside the building, Bucky following after her.

The walk up the stairs was an awkward silence. They felt like teenagers after their first ever date. Who says something first? What do they even say? Luckily for them, this wasn’t a first date, and they weren’t teenagers. They were fully grown, mature adults. But that doesn’t mean adults can’t get flustered in the presence of their crush...right?

After what felt like hours, but was more like five painstaking minuets, they finally got to their floor and walked down the hall, both briefly forgetting that they lived right next to each other.

(Y/N) stopped at her door and placed her bag of food on the floor to fish out her keys from her pocket. “Uh...you want to come in?” She asked whilst fiddling around in her pocket to find the keys. “I know it’s not Thursday but we didn’t really talk as much as usual...” her voice seemed to trail off as she finally found her keys and put them in the key hole before unlocking the door. “You don’t have too..”

“I’d...like to...” he said in a soft voice with a gentle smile to try and put her at ease even though he too was freaking out inside. She smiled back and picked up her bag before walking inside her apartment, he did too.

They both made their way into her small kitchen and he made himself at home by sitting in his usual seat at her white kitchen table and she began to unpack the shopping “Do you want me to help?” He asked her as he went to stand up but she waved off his offer.

“No no, it’s fine. There’s only a few bits anyway” she told him as she began to pack each item away in its rightful place.

“So uh...” Bucky began quietly as he scraped his metal finger again the wood table. “This ex of yours...what’s the story there?”

Bucky was a little cautious of his words. He didn’t want to say anything to hurt or offend her but at the same time he wanted to know what about the guy made her so on edge earlier.

“Oh uh...” she muttered as she pulled two cups from her cupboard.

“You don’t need to tell me if you want want to. Sorry..”

“It’s fine” she assured him “nothing really happened I guess. It was just a bad break up. He didn’t really take it well and for a few weeks after that he just kept texting me and trying to call me. He came round to my place too to try and get me back. He never did know how to take no for an answer. But about a month ago he finally got the message and stopped all contact with me. Seeing him today...I was just worried that he’d try it all again”

“He sounds like a real asshole” Bucky said flatly making her laugh a little as she went about making some tea for the both of them. “But in his defence, if I lost a girl like you, I’d struggle with taking no for an answer as well”

(Y/N) let out a nervous laugh and almost dropped his tea cup from the shock of his comment but she was a little more used to his flirtatious nature that would sometimes make an appearance when they were in her apartment. After he told her about his boyish charms back in the 40s she noticed how he would often slip back into that era. It was cute to say the least.

She set down his tea in front of him and he flashed her a “thank you” smile before wrapping his fingers around it.

There was a brief silence in the room. She was greatly over thinking is earlier comment. But so was he. Maybe he shouldn’t have said it. He meant it though. But what if he had pushed the limit a little too far?

“What was the other reason?” She asked him, her finger nail scratching again the tea cup trying to avoid eye contact with him at all costs.

“Huh?” He questioned looking over the table to her.

“Earlier. You were going to give me another reason why I’m easier to talk to. What was it?”

Bucky’s muscles tensed as his fingers gripped the tea cup handle as he stared into the black tea she had made for him. “If I’m being honest...” he began slowly “I think...there are too many reasons why I find talking to you easier. But I guess one is that you don’t do it because you have to or it’s your job to. You do it out of kindness. And it’s...easier to talk to someone who’s listening because they want to. And yes, I get that Dr Raynor probably does want to help me but I also know that at the end of the day, it’s all for a pay check. But with you...you do it because you want to. Or at least...I think you want to”

“I do want to, James. I’ll always be around to ask if you’re okay. And to make you okay when you’re not. I care about you...”

“And...I care about you. Another reason I prefer talking to you is because...I like you...a lot. I just think you’re the most beautiful woman, and you have such a sweet and caring nature and a good heart that is wasted on me. But I can’t help but like you...” he couldn’t really believe he just said what he did. He wasn’t mean to tell her that. It was meant to stay a secret within him into the end of time. But there was a shift in atmosphere that just made it all slip out.

“You...you like me?” She asked, still not looking at him.

“Yeah...” he said. There was a little more confidence in his voice as he admitted his feelings towards her.

“I like you too..” she too held a little more confidence in her voice as she admitted her returned feelings. It felt...good. Especially since she knew he returned the feelings she had harboured for him since they met.

She stood abruptly and held her hand out to him. He looked at it and looked up at her again before taking her hand. She pulled him to his feet and a little close to her.

He smirked a little as he looked down at her “you want me to kiss you or something?” He said almost proudly.

“Yes..” she said “but first...I want to know something”

“What do you want to know?” He asked her. She squeezed his hand and dragged him out of her kitchen.

She lead him to her bedroom and noticed the worried expression on his face when he looked at her bed. This was what she wanted to know.

“You don’t have a bed in your apartment...” She told him quietly. (Y/N) turned her body so she was facing him completely, he cautiously lifted his hands to settle on her waist.

“I know...” he mumbled.

“Why?”

Bucky paused but he felt safe enough to give her an honest answer “I...I’m...scared. Of them”

“What is it about a bed that scares you?” She whispered, her fingers gently trailing down his cheeks. Bucky didn’t answer right away, for one he was to busy focusing of the beautiful touch of her hands, and for another, he didn’t really know the answer to her question. But he could take a guess.

“Because I...I don’t think I’ve slept in one since 1943. And I...after everything I’ve done...I don’t deserve to lie in such luxury...” his voice was quiet and barely audible, had it not been for the close proximity they were in, she probably wouldn’t have heard him.

“James...” she laid her forehead against his and he instinctively griped her waist a little tighter. The comfort and warmth she was bringing him was something he didn’t want to loose. She was someone he didn’t want to loose. He felt safer with no one but her. For once he actually felt...okay. But he felt he was holding her too tightly, but if he was she was wasn’t willing to tell him that.

“You know that you have no reason to be afraid. You are changing. You are becoming a good man. You do deserve to live in luxury, even if that starts with sleeping in a proper bed. Maybe it is scary for you...but...if you’ll allow me, I’ll help you face it”

“Please...” he whispered with a nod before pressing his lips to hers.

05/04/21

Taglist: @lunaserenade @phoenixhalliwell @slytherin4ever

[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song drabbles

Seokjin tells his therapist he might have a little crush on you

kim seokjin x reader warnings; this drabble takes place during a therapy session but it entails a light hearted conversation words; 1,773 words

↪︎ read the series here / and drabbles here

“It definitely seems like a crush, Seokjin,” Mrs. Shin nodded, the slightest of smiles lifting her lips as she looked across at him, her glasses perched a little way down the bridge of her nose. She was teasing him. He knew her well enough by now. He’d been having a session a week for the past three years. 

Admittedly at first he’d been sceptical. It was policy at the company. With such a stressful and demanding position he needed to have someone on hand to talk to regularly, just in case it all became too much, so he was unable to turn it down even if he had wanted to at first. He’d never been one for talking about his feelings, choosing to deal with them himself. He wasn’t a fan of sharing, not wanting to be a burden or risk unloading his troubles onto someone who didn’t really want to hear it but didn’t have the heart to tell him. He was still like that now in ways, but he figured this was Mrs. Shin’s – Chaewon’s – job, so she had to have a passion for it, right? Helping people… 

And helped him she had. He didn’t know where he’d be if it wasn’t for her. She’d been there for him tremendously over the years, especially with his divorce and the strains of being apart from Arin. He was a busy man so these visits couldn’t be in person most of the time, usually done over phone call, sometimes video, but today he’d felt like getting out of the office. Taking a long lunch to confess something he hadn’t even had the balls to tell Namjoon, his best friend of twenty years. 

See, the thing was, he had found himself in a bind. It had been two weeks since he’d backed out into your car. Two weeks since he’d embarrassingly taken it upon himself to take said car and pay his mechanic to fix the damage. Two weeks since he’d last seen you, waving you off at the subway station he’d driven you to, and two weeks since he’d been unable to stop thinking about you. He had it bad, and he had no idea if he was deluding himself or not. I might have a little crush, had been his opening line, and it made him want the floor to open up and swallow him whole. 

He groaned quite loudly (definitely dramatically), throwing his head back. “But it sounds so juvenile.” 

He wasn’t in high school. He was a near forty year old man, with a child. Crushes were for teenagers. In fact, the last time he’d had one he’d been in 9th grade. Moon Dabin, the daughter of one of his father’s friends. It hadn’t ended well, his feelings left unrequited which he feared was happening this time around too. Not that they were feelings per se. That would be foolish. He didn’t even know you properly. This was just an… attraction? 

“Well, what else would you call it?” Chaewon chuckled, now not even bothering to try and hide her amusement. 

“I have no idea.” He admitted. “I’m just…” he trailed off, feeling like an idiot having to say the words aloud. “I’m just very attracted to her, and I feel this sense of…” – another pause as he tried to think of the correct word – “admiration towards her?” 

That didn’t seem right, or it sounded weird, something like that. You were dedicated to your job. The parent teacher meeting had made it obvious just how much you loved teaching. You also had this… tenacity about you. You were feisty, scrappy. He felt out of his depth around you, but oddly relaxed at the same time. He respected you. Not that he didn’t respect everyone, but well – God, what was going on with him? He liked you. It was plain and simple. It didn’t matter if you were virtually a stranger. 

“I just like her.” 

“What do you like about her?” Chaewon pressed, smiling innocently. “You know, other than her face.” 

Seokjin shook his head with a slight chuckle. “She just has this way about her.” You made him laugh. You made him awkward. You made him flirty, as embarrassing as that was to admit. “I mean, I’ve seen her a grand total of three times but each time has been…fun.” 

The older woman in front of him raised an eyebrow. “Fun?” 

“Different.” He explained with a nod.  “There was something there, possibly.” He didn’t want to delude himself after all. “I think we built up some kind of rapport.” 

“You mean you were flirting.” 

“Possibly.” That word again. “I mean, it’s been a long time since I tried, so I may have been doing it very wrong.” 

Chaewon stifled a laugh as she shrugged. “Well, if she was flirting back.” 

“I don’t know if she was.” He replied unsurely. “She was kind of annoyed at me, because I wouldn’t let her pay me back for the car but I think it was in a playful way.” He paused, thinking some more. “She let me give her a ride to the subway so she can’t think I’m that bad, right?”

Chaewon hummed in consideration. “Maybe it beat getting lost.” The look of horror on his face made her laugh. “I’m just kidding, Seokjin.” She didn’t give him time to reply, lacing her fingers together as she viewed him. “I say, why don’t you ask her out for dinner.” 

“D-dinner?” He more of less spluttered, his shirt collar now feeling dangerously tight against his neck.  “Like some kind of date?”

“Mm hm.” 

He shook his head, “I can’t.” He was adamant. “It just seems… I’m not – I haven’t dated in a while, and besides, she’s Arin’s teacher.” It would be completely unprofessional. He couldn’t. 

“Not for long though, right?”

Seokjin pursed his lips. “Correct.” Damn him for being too easy with the information he’d already handed out. Chaewon had been pushing him to date for the longest time. She was loving this, the chance perfect. 

“I’m too busy.” He insisted, but he knew it was an excuse. “What with work and Arin living with me now. It’s just not very plausible.” 

“I’m sure you can make time for one little date. Unless…” Chaewon paused to look at him pointedly, “you’re holding out for more?”

“No!” His exclamation was loud. “I just… If things – Never mind,” he ended with a groan, flustered now. His face felt hot. His ears too. 

Chaewon sighed gently. “Seokjin, you deserve some time for yourself too. I think dating will do you some good.” 

There she went again. 

“It’s been what, two years?” Seokjin answered her question with a nod, knowing what she was alluding to. “Don’t you think it’s time to put yourself out there?” 

He hesitated. Deep down he knew she was talking sense. While not exactly minding the fact he was single, a companionship sounded nice. A romantic one at that. But who would want a divorced father? He wasn’t exactly a catch now was he? 

“What could go wrong?” Chaewon prompted, sensing his reluctance. 

“What if she’s married?” 

He may or may not have already looked for a ring that Saturday afternoon you’d dropped off his car… Was that a strange thing to do? He hadn’t seen one, but that didn’t mean anything. 

“Then she’ll simply tell you that and you’ll have to get over your little crush.” 

If you were married, he’d feel like such a fool getting his hopes up like this, and if you weren’t, chances were you were already in a relationship. “What if she’s not interested in going for dinner?” He figured they were valid concerns. He hadn’t asked out a woman in near a decade, and even then it wasn’t comparable because he had known Nana was interested already. 

“Again, she’ll let you know,” Chaewon smiled. 

“Do you think she might be interested?” The thought of getting turned down would not only dent his ego, but he’d be extremely disappointed too. He really did like you.  Maybe getting another woman’s perspective would do him good. “You know, from what I’ve told you,” he added. 

Chaewon’s smile grew, gaze casting downwards as she began to tease him. “Well, with the rapport you’ve built up, and the way she was annoyed at you but playfully, then maybe.” 

He couldn’t help but chuckle, rubbing his fingers back and forth along his jaw. “Shit, you’re setting me up for failure.” 

“I don’t think I am,” she said, shaking her head to turn serious. “From what you’ve told me, and granted she’s single, I think you’re in with a fighting chance.” 

Seokjin liked the sound of that. “So you don’t think she’s still holding a grudge against me?”

“For what, stealing her car?”

“If you want to call it that.” He didn’t even try to fight it today. He already knew Chaewon’s views on the matter. She’d been appalled to find out that he’d just gotten his mechanic to tow away your car like that. Of course, he understood his mistake now, but back then he was blindsided, hellbent on sorting out the mess he’d caused.  

“I guess possibly she can hold a grudge and be attracted to you at the same time,” Chaewon replied almost cryptically, but Seokjin was too distracted by the latter half. He hoped you were attracted to him, just as much as he was attracted to you. 

“That reminds me,” Chaewon clapped her hands suddenly, gaining his attention back. “We should probably use some of this session to go over that impulsiveness you sometimes struggle with.” 

Psychoanalysing himself did not sound like fun right now. Not when he had to make a decision about asking you out for dinner or not. Maybe he needed that impulsiveness right now… 

“However, from the look on your face, I see you want to keep talking about Y/N.” 

The sound of your name made him grin. It was such a pretty name, suited you well. Maybe he could do this. Date. It didn’t have to be a big deal. It didn’t have to be scary.  

“Chaewon, do you think I’m ready to start dating?” He asked in all seriousness, as if he didn’t know her answer. 

“I have been saying it for months now, yes,” his therapist nodded, but her voice was gentle. She understood his hesitance, she knew him very well. 

“Right,” he murmured, lowering his head feeling a little bashful. 

“So,” she nudged softly, “you better hurry, or you’ll be all out of chances. You did say the summer fate is tomorrow, didn’t you?” 

Shit. He definitely told her too much. 

Written 2020 - 2021.  Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed.  © floralseokjin 2021

[aconfusedasian]

hello again

Is blogging still a thing? Casting my stream of consciousness via text into the void? For anyone who's still here, I sincerely hope you're all well, and that, in some way, me sharing some thoughts may help you feel less alone.

I spent the majority of the pandemic living with my mom. No, this was not intentional or planned - I had gone home the first week of March to attend a wedding, that ended up being cancelled when the world shut down. While I laugh about it now, I was operating under the naive thought that we'd be working from home for just a few weeks and then I'd be on my merry way back to the life I've set up for myself. It goes without saying that none of that happened - I ended up in my childhood home for nearly 18 months, and my mental health reached new lows, as I struggled with finding fulfillment in life while doing nothing and feeling myself regress back into my anxiety-ridden curmudgeonly shell that I had worked so hard to break out of. I'll be honest - my relationship with my mom has not recovered, she does not know why, and I don't have the mental or emotional capacity to try and navigate a conversation with her about feelings and trauma.

That sentiment of complete emptiness and worthlessness did end up propelling me to the realization that I had spent my entire life living for my parents, and living up to the image and narrative that was set up for me, to my own decay - that I had internalized this mindset without even realizing it. There I was, working more than I ever had in the last 5 years, pushing myself to please everyone at work, while juggling a part time masters at my parents' "dream school" for me that I did not even really want, all in the vain hopes of making my parents proud. The thrill of the chase finally collapsed, and I felt nothing after each accomplishment and step toward the goals I had propped up for myself.

After months of struggling, and countless therapy sessions, it came screeching to a half - the realization that it didn't matter what I achieved, I would never be able to change my mom and feel emotionally supported, but I also had been so emotionally starved that I would not be able to accept it. That in my head, I knew she would always be proud of me, but nothing I do would undo the years of emotional repression and withholding as a child, and that I can't change the past. And even if I could, it would not make me happy to continue serving everyone else's needs but my own. I put an indefinite pause on that masters and allowed myself to unabashedly take some time for myself - except I got back to my home, and I didn't feel better. In some ways, I actually felt emptier than before.

Like many others in my circles, Everything Everywhere All at Once has been at the front of my mind ever since I saw it. Like Joy, I felt unsupported and unaccepted for who I was, and like a disappointment for what I did not live up to. Like Joy, I'm also feeling like nothing matters, like I could search the ends of the universe and never find happiness. As life starts to resume and pick back up, I find myself withdrawing and almost recoiling - nothing feels the same as it used to, and it feels like I'm just going through the motions. I know I need some more time to figure things out, but for right now it feels like there's this enormity of the rest of my life ahead of me, all the opportunities, and I just want to run away from it all.

I don't have anything poignant to end on, but I did enjoy this quote from a review of EEAAO:

"Everything Everywhere All at Once" doesn't reject nihilism as a philosophy. Rather, it promotes a more optimistic, humanist nihilism. Instead of "nothing matters, so why bother?" it says "Nothing matters, unless you decide that it does."

I know there is still meaning to be found in life, but it is still a long journey for me to allow myself to feel it in the moment, to cast aside the expectations of how the moment "should" be and appreciate it for what it is.

[solarwonux]

36. “I’m not naming our child after a book character, let alone from my least favorite book.” “Why not?”

37. “I think you’ve had enough to drink today.”

husband!joshua x f!reader

genre: fluff and a little bit of angst 

w.c: 2.1k

warnings: alcohol, drinking, hints at infertility, mentions of a surrogate, self doubt, hints at depression, mentions of therapy, brief mention of poly!gyuchan,  IVF treatment, suggestive, a cat named dog and a dog named cat, reader isn’t a fan of Shakespeare.

notes: this one’s a heavy one, but I wanted to challenge myself with this one. I did do some brief research as I was writing this one but I still could’ve gotten something wrong, so if I did let me. Either way, I’m grateful for those who read and please please please let me know your thoughts. Enjoy.xx

MASTERLIST || PROMPTS

Joshua threw his head back downing the shot of soju. His face twisted in displeasure, hissing at the bitter taste. He sets the glass down wiping his plump lips with the back of his hand before pointing a finger at you. 

“What about Elizabeth, like Elizabeth Bennet from Pride and Prejudice?” Joshua asks, grabbing the green bottle of soju and pouring himself another shot. 

You cross your arms in front of your body and lean back against the dark navy booth. “Nope, try again.” 

Joshua let’s out a sound of annoyance before downing another shot. He doesn’t let the acrimonious taste settle in on his taste buds before he’s pouring himself another one and downing it. The two of you knew it was going to be a long night. Time was ticking, your surrogates due date was approaching and neither of you had picked out a name for your daughter. 

Truthfully, her name should’ve been chosen months ago. At least that’s what you and Joshua had planned during the first trimester of the pregnancy. But every time the topic came up, the two of you would end up frustrated and running back to the drawing board. You had names picked out, so did he. Neither one felt right. It also didn’t help that throughout the eight and a half months of the pregnancy a sense of guilt would wedge its way into your veins.

According to the many doctor’s you and Joshua consulted throughout the first year of your marriage. Your body wouldn’t be able to carry a child until full term. It had impacted you negatively. Your mental health was never up to par twenty four seven, but during that year - the year that was supposed to be filled with happy memories with your newly wedded husband; your mental health was at its worse. Memories that were supposed to be happy and colorful were black and white. You spent every waking moment dreaming about your child and feeling like a failure all at the same time. 

Joshua would hold you every time you cried out in agony. Each sob that came out of your lips would find its way and break his heart even further. He felt worthless not knowing what to do as he sat and watched the light get sucked out of you. He was hurting too, there wasn’t a doubt left in his head that he somehow shared your pain. But he couldn’t begin to imagine what it felt like to be told over and over again that your body will never be able to carry a child. So he held you and prayed for a miracle every night. He loved you more than anything in the world and although he found himself frustrated whenever you treated yourself like you were worthless or nothing. He made a promise to you in front of your family and his that through sickness and in health he will be by your side no matter what. 

The miracle came after four years. On New Year’s Eve of that first miserable year of marriage you told him you wanted to go to therapy, but only if he went too. He gladly agreed, eyes blown up in uncertainty but he didn’t fight you on your decision. Immediately he started researching for the best therapists in town, forgetting about the holiday party at Jun’s house. 

Slowly he saw you come back to yourself. The first time you smiled at him and laughed he cried tears of joy along with you. After almost two years of individual therapy with the newly added weekly couple therapy session, the two of you decided to research alternatives. Joshua was apprehensive, he feared he would lose you again, reassuring you that the two of you didn’t have to have kids in order to be a complete family. 

That just the two of you, your cat Inu and your dog Neko was enough. In which you agreed but one of your dreams was to bring a child into the world, to be a mother and you refused to have that taken away from you. So, he agreed after many weeks of convincing and a glittery powerpoint presentation. 

Mingyu, Chan and their wife didn’t want kids, frankly it wasn’t for them. But she didn’t hesitate to offer herself as a surrogate when she learned that you and Joshua were looking for one. It took another glittery powerpoint presentation from all three of them, this time to convince you to let them help you. So you did. Eight and a half months ago through an IVF treatment, one of your eggs and Joshua’s sperm were inside of her, healthily growing your child. Each doctor’s appointment you went to, the excitement inside of you grew. 

You stayed up with Joshua talking about how grateful you were that your baby girl was so loved and she hadn’t even taken her first breath yet. Mingyu and Chan showered her with gifts endlessly. A competition between the two of them to determine who would end up being her godfather. Not to mention her other ten uncle’s competing to see who would win the title of best uncle in the whole wide world. A contest that was to be held annually. Or so they claimed.

You were happy and so was Joshua but the only problem the two of you faced was that you didn’t have a name yet. And it stressed out Joshua to the point of no return, especially after you told him that it would be better to just wait until she was physically in the world. That her name would come to you, appearing out of thin air the moment you saw her for the first time. 

Joshua on the other hand disagreed. He lived paranoid ninety nine percent of the time and liked to be ready just in case something went wrong. He also didn’t want his daughter to be nameless and bean sprout wasn’t cutting it anymore. “Okay how about Ophelia, like from Hamlet.” He says with a hopeful dewey look in his eyes. 

You grab the bottle of soju and pour yourself a shot, downing it before slamming it down on top of the dark wooden table. “Absolutely not, I refuse. I’m not naming our child after a book character, let alone my least favorite book.”

Joshua ran a stressed hand across his face. He wanted this nightmare to end. No both of you wanted this nightmare to end. “It’s not a book, it's a play baby, you out of all people should know that.” He accused, grabbing an unopened bottle of soju and cracking the seal. “Mrs. Literature major.”

“Does it come with a front cover and a back cover and a bunch of pages in between?” You challenge cocking your head to the side, pushing your shot glass towards him. 

Joshua poured you a glass before setting the bottle down and placing his chin in the palm of his hands. A cocky drunk grin evident on his face. “Yes, but it started out as a performance not a book.” He mocks.

“I disagree. Shakespeare had to have written it down first in order to then show the actors. Therefore it’s still considered a book and my statement still stands. I’m not naming our child Ophelia.” You roll your eyes bringing the glass up to your lips, taking a small sip from it. You were finally starting to feel the weight of the alcohol. It was a given the two of you were five soju bottles (almost six) in and still hadn’t made any progress. 

“Why not?” He whines kicking his feet in the process, resembling a little kid who just got told that he couldn’t have cookies ‘n’ creme ice cream for dinner. “I like Ophelia, I think it’s cute.” 

“Because Ophelia drowns in the play, what if by naming our daughter that, we are instilling her an unfortunate faith?” You explain, drawing it out dramatically with your hands. 

“That’s ridiculous. Our daughter is protected not only by her guardian angels but also she has a whole football team on standby ready to beat the shit out of anyone that makes her cry.” Joshua states in a matter of fact tone while closing the half finished bottle of soju. He was finally starting to feel the effects and the two of you still needed to pay the bill and somehow make it home. 

You huff dipping your index finger into the half full shot glass and wetting the rim. “I read about it once.” You whisper. 

“Where?” He stands up holding onto the table and makes his way to your side, sitting down. “On those mommy blogs? The one’s I told you to stop reading because they don’t make you feel good about anything?”  His arm makes it away across your shoulders and pulls you close. 

You nod, leaning your head against his chest. “I’m just scared and I want everything to be perfect. I know that there’s nothing wrong with the decision we made but sometimes I still feel guilty that I wasn’t the one to carry her.” You sigh, lacing your fingers with his. “What if she doesn’t love me?” You cringe at how small your voice sounds. This is something your therapist and you had been working on for the past three weeks. Ever since you realized that the due date was approaching quickly. You’d gotten far but the doubt still lingered no matter how much you tried to push it away. 

Joshua leaves a gentle kiss against the crown of your head. “You’re her mom through and through and she’ll love you no matter what. Your body couldn’t grow her, the risk was too high and I didn’t want anything to happen to you or to her. But that doesn’t mean you were not enough. You have always been enough and you will be the best mom she could ever ask for.” 

Years ago when you had first met Joshua you knew you didn’t deserve him. He was everything you could ever ask for and more. Every time you found yourself drowning he was there with his hand plunged into the water ready to raise you up. He was your pillar whenever you needed someone or something to lean on. He was your voice of reason and your biggest supporter. And it wasn’t fair, because you would never be able to be that person to him. 

“I love you Joshua, thank you for never giving up on me.” You sit up, closing the small gap between the two of you and leaving a soft, delicate, alcohol filled kiss against his perfect lips. 

“I would never in a million think of doing that. Baby I swear I would cut off each of my limbs and feed them to birds if that thought were to ever cross my mind.” He smiles, pecking your lips repeatedly making you giggle. The sound made his heart soar. “I know you won’t believe me but you taught me what it’s like to love someone endlessly and unconditionally and that’s something I will spend my life thanking you for.” He says, thumbs caressing your cheeks before he hugs you close. 

“Stop making it impossible not to love you.” You laugh, circling your arms around his waist, burying your head into his chest. “I like Ophelia too, I’ll put it on the ‘maybe’ list.” His arms get tighter around, making it almost impossible for you to breathe. He wasn’t voicing his happiness, but you could only imagine the dumb smile he had on his face. 

After all, it was rare for you to admit defeat.

The two of you stayed there for a few more seconds before he brought his face down, stopping just above your ear. “Want to go to the bathroom and fuck,  live out our young adults fantasies once more before we become parents?” 

You pull away an incredulous look decorating your face. “Yup, I think you’ve had enough to drink. Let’s go home.” You stand up, grabbing your purse, pulling on his arm earning a wine from your husband. 

“Come on just once, please baby please.” He pleads and stands up, following you as you make your way to the front of the bar where the cash register usually was. 

“Absolutely not, I don’t want to be arrested for Adultery. We are about to become parents Joshua Hong!” 

He shrugs, circling his arm around your waist watching silently as you wait to pay. “It was worth a shot, what about when we get home?” He whispers into your ear leaving a teasing kiss against your chin. 

“We’ll see. Now behave.” 

“As you wish my lovely wife.”