#anyway it is not always misery but the miserable parts make my chest physically hurt :-) which is fun

[thebirdandhersong]

breaking the tumblr fast to ask for prayer :') it is currently the WORST of times (though, in intense joyous flashes, occasionally also the best of times). I am bulldozing my way through the dregs of midterms, final exam prep, graduation plans, job applications, dorm volunteer stuff, all while trying to deal with/reckon with/endure/come to terms with/persevere through literally the deepest emotional pain I've ever been in lol

[lene-loki]

Never Too Close

Summary: After the events of Avengers: Endgame, (Y/N) Romanoff is mourning the death of her sister Natasha. She is unexpectedly finding comfort in the presence of someone who shares the pain of losing the people he loved.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff!Sister Reader

Warnings: Character Death, Spoiler for Avengers: Endgame, Angst, Grief, Suicidal Thoughts

Word Count: 2264 Words

A/N: I hope ya’ll liked this Imagine. Please let me know if you want to get tagged on future Imagines or Series that I want to write. This isn’t proofread and please excuse grammaticaly and verbal mistakes since English isn’t my mother tongue. And now please enjoy!! With Love, Léne xx

(Y/N) = Your Name

The pouring of the rain sounds like a faint whisper in the distance. When I close my eyes and listen precisely to the rustle I can almost hear the voice I long to hear. I open my eyes when the wind starts to blow into my ear, making my whole body shiver. A raindrop lands directly on top of my cheekbone and gets mixed up with a teardrop that escapes my eye. The wet droplet almost feels like a passing kiss. As if she is standing right beside me and kisses my tears away or maybe she cries from heaven herself and her tears end up on my face. I like to think that she watches me from above. Seeing my every move. Despite the rain a familiar warmth is spreading through my heart, making me feel safe and not alone anymore. My eyes blink the tears away, trying to focus on the words that are written on the wooden cross in front of me. The fact that her death is still so recent that she has to wait for a stone to mark her grave, makes me sob. I have looked so many times at that wooden cross that I started to hate it. She deserves a beautiful, carved stone. Not a dirty, broken cross where her name already starts to fade. But she has to wait. Her coffin isn’t set enough to put a heavy stone on top of the earth. I wipe the back of my hand over my tearstained cheeks before I kneel down in front of the grave. Everyday I bring a new kind of flowers by. Making the earth dissapear in a vibrant, little garden. It helps my own mental health to transform the place of grief into a little paradise for her. And I hope this is exactly where she’s at now. In a paradise. My eyes tear away from the flowers before I start counting them again like I always do. Because the number of the flowers is the number of the days since she passed away. My chest hurts, my heart starts to crumble inside when I once again think about the empty coffin under the ground. My sisters body dissapeard when she sacrificed herself to get the Soul Stone. Now all that remained of her is the memory.

Although it’s past midnight when I leave the graveyard I can’t help but to ring Clint out of his sleep - as well as his wife and his children probably. He picks up the phone with a yawn, his voice raspy from his deep sleep. He is the closest I have to family now and he knows. He always cared for me and Natasha and now that she’s gone he’s supporting me more than ever. Giving me a shoulder to cry on no matter how late it is. That is exactly whe he’s never annoyed when I call him at times like this. My loneliness leads the conversation as I tell him that I don’t know where to go. “Where are you right now, (Y/N)?” I shrug my shoulders even though he can’t see. “I think I’m near the Avengers compound.” My voice is barely louder than a whisper. My throats stil sore from my hour long crying at Natashas grave. “I can pick you up. You can stay at mines if you want.” He suggests and I can hear him fumbling with the bedsheets in the background. Ever since Natashas passing, I stayed at the Avengers compound in her former room. But sometimes it gets too much being surrounded by her memories and her whole life in just that little space. Everything in her room reminds me of her scent, her smile, her voice, the look in her eyes - especially that tiny twinkle in her iris that always appeared when she felt extremely proud of me. I have to pull myself together to not sob again and alarm Clint even more. As much as I want to escape from the compound for a little while, I don’t want to wear out Clints care for me. I feel like I already asked too much of him. “No, it’s okay. I’m sorry that I woke you.” I swallow the lump down in my throat in hopes he doesn’t hear how near I am to losing it all again. He sighs at the other end. “You’re sure?” “Yes.”   “Okay, love. Don’t apologize for calling me.” His voice sounds so soft I could fall asleep immediately on the side of the road. He just has this soothing affect on me. I hang up after telling him that I love him and walk in the dim lights of the streetlamps to the compound.

Inside the building everything is pitch dark. The only light comes from Wandas room. It’s red and spreads in chaotic rays around the space of her own four walls. She surely is training her magic since she still hasn’t full control over her powers what burdened her more than usually the last couple of days. I decide not to disturb the Scarlet Witch and seek refuge in Natashas room. I really try to sleep but since Thanos happened my nights are as restless as my hurting heart. I’m still wide awake physically but dangerously exhausted mentally when I hear voices in the early morning hours in the kitchen. Wandas voice makes me wonder if she’s been awake the whole night as well. I leave the room in my short pyjama shorts and my plain white T-Shirt. I wouldn’t fall asleep anyway so I might as well just get up and start another day of inner misery. I round the corner to the kitchen island where Pepper placed a large bowl of exotic fruits on top. The blonde showed me a sad smile since she’s lost in her own grief. Pepper disappears out of the kitchen - leaving me alone with Wanda and a familiar brunette man which I recognize from Tony’s funeral. I can’t remeber his name but I recall the pained expression on his face and the devastated haze over his pupils. He seems like he always looks like pure misery. “Good morning.” I greet them both shyly since they haven’t notice me yet. Wanda immediately sends a heartful smile in my direction while the stranger’s corners of his mouth just twitch the slightest bit upward - almost to tiny to notice. I also perceive his new hairstyle. The last time I saw him he had messy, long waves. Longer than shoulder length and a full beard. Now he has his hair cut short and looking neat with his jawline covered in dark stubbles instead of the fullgrown beard. “Bucky, this is (Y/N). She is Natashas’ sister.” Wanda explains him in her thick, sokovian accent since he developed the same look of recognition on his face as me. Now the puzzle pieces click together. That is Bucky Barnes. Steves’ best friend and the other Super Soldier. His facial features unravel in realization. “Oh, right. Hello, (Y/N). Nice to meet you again and I’m... Sorry about your loss.” He frowns at the last part. “Thank you, it’s nice to see you again in less sorrowful circumstances.” I try to lighten up the mood a bit because I don’t want to start my day already with a bad encounter that reminds me once again how miserable I am inside. Unsure if we should shake hands, Bucky’s metal arm jerks briefly in my direction but he instantly lets it sink again - wrapping the room in an uncomfortable silence. “Well it was nice to see you again. I got to go now.” I excuse myself from the weird situation and leave without breakfast to go to my Natasha’s room. I still feel uncomfortable calling it my room since it was Natsha’s place to live for so many years. I didn’t completely lie to Bucky and Wanda since it’s a new day and time to pick up new flowers for my sisters grave. I change into comfy short, cotton pants and an old, blue pullover from Natashas wardrobe before I leave the compound.

I take a cab to the same  flower shop I visit everyday. Where even the owner knows me by name already. Today marks exactly thirty days since Natasha died. A whole month without my older sister by my side. I ordered a special type of flower for this occasion. A bouqet of beautiful Royal Azaleas - the most precious flowers of our native country Russia. As beautiful as Natasha and I like how it brings a bit of our home to her - making her little paradise even more exotic. At the graveyard I am so consumed in my own thoughts to where I’m going to place the Royal Azaleas on the ground in front of the wooden cross, that I don’t notice right away the broad figure a few feet away from me. He’s standing upset in his posture  and bent a little forward above a grave. It’s the back of his head - his freshly done hair and the colour of his shirt that gives him away and I realise that it’s Bucky. I decide against it to walk up to him since he’s mourning in his own world as well and obviously needs his space. My eyes tear away from the picture of the broken man in front of me and I finally walk straight up to Natashas grave. I crouch slightly to put my bag on the ground. I brought a little shovel to set the new flowers into the earth directly in front of the cross - making the Azaleas stand out from the rest. It is when I walk over to the well a few feet away from me to pick up the watering can, that Bucky notices he’s not alone. The can is filled to the brink and quite heavy in my hand as I carry it to Natashas grave, losing waterdrops on my way there. I silently water the flowers - careful not to drown them in the lack of strength I have in my hand that is holding the water can. The whole time I can feel his stare on me and I can almost feel his inner battle if he should come up to me or not. A few moments later he starts nervously walking up to me while I clean the little shovel to stow it away in my bag. “Do you still the need the watering can?” He asks hoarsely as he comes to a halt beside my bend over figure - blocking the sun out of my view which throws a few rays on the water droplets. Making them sparkle inbetween the flowers of Natashas floral paradise. “No.” I smile softly at him and stand up again. He returns my friendly grin and takes the water can but doesn’t leave straight away. He hesitates a second unsure of if he should leave me alone again, but somehow I long for company - not wanting to speak with the wind again and hallucinate about Natashas voice. “I lost everyone. Natasha was the only one left of my family. Although Clint supports the weight of my grief to make me feel like I’m not alone I still feel like it. I always felt like I’m alone in this world and deep down I don’t feel like I belong to the Avengers either. It was Natashas community. Not mine.” My eyes start to sting with upcoming tears while I open up to Bucky. I don’t really know why I do this. I guess I never felt so out of place and so lonely like I did in the past days and it scares me. Bucky clears his throat, his glance burning holes into my soul as he watches every slightest movement of my facial expressions. “I went through losing the people I love so many times that I lost count of it.” He blinks the tears away which threatens to fall from his eyes. “After Steve left to live the life with Peggy he always dramed to have, I officially got left alone. Steve was so much more than my friend. He was my brother.” He sniffs. “And now I’m searching for a sign - just something that keeps me in this life.” I let my tears run freely as I identify his words as my own feelings. And I realise that we are two souls hurting from the same experiences building a connection to one another through the desperation of having lost any strength to keep living. “Without wanting to get too close to you, I think you just as broken inside as me.” He speaks up. His eyes are swollen and red, still glossy from fresh tears which haven’t stopped being reproduced and leaking out of the corner of his eyes. I strangely feel comfort in the detail that his blue pullover matches mine. My heart starts to pick up a pace as I cross a vulnerable line between us and say: “I think you can never be too close to someone. I’m sure closeness is what we both need the most now.” I gift him a teary smile which he returns with a faint tint of red across his cheeks. Our encounter feels like a big step for the both of us - coming out of our shells we’ve been hiding in like anxious snails and I could feel it in the beating behind my ripcage that it was towards the right direction.

[with-love-anu]

Don’t pretend then

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader Summary: You take up the job as a healer to work at the order and fall in love with the ridiculously handsome head of house Warnings: Mentions of anxiety, drinking problems Word Count: 2,883

As (Y/n) made her way into the order’s headquarters; she couldn’t help but wonder whether she’d got the wrong address. Surely there were better places than this hell hole. Mrs. Weasley must have seen her as she came beside (Y/n) in a blink.

“(Y/n) dear! How are you?” she said as she practically engulfed her.

“I’m fine, Mrs. Weasley.” (Y/n) told her with a smile.

“Come on in, let me introduce you.” She said as she ushered the young woman into what was supposed to be a dining room. She took in the morbid surroundings as she noticed people glancing towards her. She shook hands and greeted people trying to remember as many names as possible. To her surprise, most of them knew her. It was because of her recent interview for the daily prophet. (Y/n) was a passionate girl. She had always dreamed to be a healer. 

After graduation from Hogwarts she was off to Romania for 7 long years researching more and more about human anatomy. She had been a part of breaking several curses and discovering remedies and cures for various diseases. That was one of the reasons why her ex-headmaster visited her one day to come to work for the order. She had agreed readily, wanting to step up against the death eaters as soon as possible.

“Miss (Y/l/n), I hope it was a smooth journey?” Dumbledore said softly.

“Yes it was, professor.”

“Please, its Albus, you’re not my student anymore.” He said before turning towards everyone. “Lets begin the meeting, shall we?”

***

At the end of the meeting Dumbledore directed (Y/n) towards Sirius Black, owner of the Black household. She had read about him only in the newspapers, and she did not know what to expect. Dumbledore had told her about his story, his real one back in Romania. (Y/n) had felt saddened by the fact that an innocent man had to go through such unfortunate circumstances. She had met with Remus before coming to the headquarters and he had told her more about Sirius and their years at Hogwarts.

“Mr. Black, this is Miss (Y/l/n), the healer I was talking about. She would be staying here, so as to help directly.” Dumbledore said.

Sirius gave her a nod and a tight lipped smile. (Y/n) nodded back. She guessed he didn’t like to talk much.

***

Sirius woke up with a grunt. He honestly felt trapped these days. His colleges were all out there fighting, whereas all he did was sleep, eat, drink and repeat. He got up and brushed his teeth, taking a quick shower. He went down thinking about grabbing a bottle of milk and cornflakes. He hated the thought. Instead he was greeted with the smell of fried bacon and eggs. He saw (Y/n) wearing an oversized t-shirt and shorts, hair pulled up in a messy bun; moving through the kitchen. He smiled. She looked so cute. He had noticed her the day before. She had an innocent face and twinkling eyes. But there was definitely something sharp about her that seemed to draw him towards her. Sirius shook himself. What was he thinking? She was a lot younger than him and he was no longer the same boy, who could party and make his way through different women. Who in the right mind would even look at him right now?

“Oh, hi there Sirius! How do you take your eggs?” (Y/n) asked breaking Sirius’s chain of thought.

“You don’t have to do that.” Sirius said as his stomach grumbled, making him wince. (Y/n) raised an eyebrow and shook her head.

“I love cooking actually. I was making it for myself and thought to make a little for you too.” She shrugged.

“Well, then half-fried” he replied scratching the back of his head. He went in and grabbed some plates.

(Y/n) hummed as she served him and herself some breakfast. Sirius let out a small moan eating the delicious bacon.

“Oh- this is so delicious” Sirius said with his mouth full making (Y/n) blush and let out a small laugh.

They ate rest of the breakfast in silence, which was majorly because Sirius ate a good and warm breakfast after a very long time. After he finished he cleaned both their plates and dishes used for preparation.

“Sirius, would you like to help me pot some plants?”

No. His first instinct wanted to say. Why should he? His brain provided. But what else could he do in this big miserable excuse for a house?

“Sure, why not? Nothing better to do anyway!”

(Y/n) beamed making Sirius feel a little flutter in his chest.

They went to an empty room where (Y/n) took out her supplies and a few books. Sirius followed her instructions as he set the very gross seeds in. He felt like a teenager working in the greenhouse again.

“Why did you become an amingus, Sirius?” (Y/n) asked after some time.

Sirius smiled. He launched into the story of his adventures as a kid. Making best friends, finding out the suffering of his dear friend, wanting to help. (Y/n) nodded and laughed along.

“You seem to have one of the best times at school. It was a very noble thing you and your friends did, Sirius. Reckless, yes; but noble.” Sirius barked out a laugh.

They spent rest of the morning chatting and laughing. Sirius didn’t remember a time where he connected so much with a person other than his best friends. Conversation flowed smoothly, he felt like talking to her was the most natural thing he did.

***

After that, Sirius would spend most of his time with (Y/n), sometimes helping her, sometimes just sitting in silence. Sirius saw little things about (Y/n) like the way she would light up telling about different curses she was so close to break, the way she bit her bottom lip in concentration leaving them plump and full; driving him crazy. Sirius had reminded himself over and over again that (Y/n) was young and deserved someone better than him. That didn’t help the way his stomach twisted in knots or his tendency to want to touch her whenever she was close.

(Y/n) seemed to be in a different yet same predicament. The more time she spent with Sirius, the more she grew to like him. His addictive personality that drew everyone towards him whenever he was around. Him being able to cheer her up if she ever felt down. And every single day it became harder for her to ignore the throb in her heart. At times she felt like he did like her back but mostly all she could think was how someone as handsome and smart and funny and charismatic as him could like someone like her.

“(Y/n) you need to rest!” Sirius said as he entered the dining room to find (Y/n) trying to clean the chandelier. He sighed. (Y/n) had the tendency to work until she was truly exhausted and Sirius could see it was taking a toll on her.

“I’m almost done” she whined as she continued with the cleaning spells making Sirius groan. He smirked, as an idea popped up in his head. He transformed into padfoot running towards her. He knocked her over and licked her face making her burst into giggles.

“Sirius stop!! Gross!” she said as she continued laughing. She gripped his forefoot and tackled him into the ground, placing herself above him. Sirius transformed back, his face red from laughter. As they slowly settled down next to each other, goofy smiles painted their faces.

(Y/n) couldn’t help it. Sirius was looking at her so adorably; she went forward and kissed him. She realized what she was doing and pulled back. Sirius looked blank. He didn’t know what to say or do. He knew he was not at all good for her, but in that moment all he wanted was to crush his lips into hers. (Y/n) on her part tried to breathe. She desperately wanted Sirius to say something, anything.

“I… I… I like you Sirius.” She said softly pleading to god that Sirius felt what she did for him.

“(Y/n)… I…” Sirius found himself unable to find the right words. He took too long.

(Y/n) tried not to shake. Of course he didn’t like her.

“Its fine” she stuttered. “I must have misread things.”

She tried to give him a small smile as she got up and left, leaving Sirius to wallow in his misery. He did the right thing, he repeated to himself as he descended into anxiety.

***

For the next few days, (Y/n) avoided Sirius. She would be sure to leave him whatever food she made for herself casting a warming spell on them. They would see each other once or twice and give a small smile but other than that nothing. No late night talks, no laughs over the little garden of medicinal herbs they created, no arguments over books. Sirius tried to give her space. He knew he’d hurt her but the thing was that he had become so used to her presence that he now felt like he was entering his dark hole again. He started drinking early, transforming into padfoot at times. It was like someone had finally given him something to live for and then snatched it back cruelly. He missed her, even though she was so close to him. It was much more than just physical attraction he loved her, her soul, her very essence.

At one such night, he frowned as he tried to drink from the now-empty bottle. He stumbled towards the cabinet trying to find a new one. As he fumbled for an opener he heard a voice behind him.

“Sirius, I think that’s quite enough for a week.” (Y/n) said concerned about his health. She knew Sirius had started becoming depressed easily, an aftermath of living in Azkaban for such a long period. She felt guilty for spoiling their friendship and then not talking to him for what felt like forever. It was torture for her too. She felt that maybe distancing herself would help her. But, seeing the toll it took on Sirius she felt ashamed.

“If 20th no, 21st no 20th” Sirius tried to count but his brain refused to respond. “Doesn’t matter. If the 20th drink is what it took to get you to talk to me I would have done it a lot earlier.” He smiled and then slipped falling on the floor with a thump.

(Y/n) quickly went towards him and picked him up. Sirius continued mumbling and (Y/n) couldn’t make out anything. She carried him to his room and gave him some medicine to stop the headache tomorrow. As she turned to leave, he grabbed her hand stopping her.

“Don’t leave me.”

“I won’t” she tried to say but Sirius had already passed out. (Y/n) sighed, putting some blankets over him and turning to leave the room.

Next morning, (Y/n) was ready. She couldn’t let this friendship destroy. When Sirius entered the kitchen she took in a deep breath and gave him a warm smile. Sirius looked unsure. As he settled down to eat she started repeating the long rant she spent the entire night preparing but somehow could only get a few sentences out.

“Sirius, I like you but more than that; I value our friendship. You’ve been one of the best people to talk to and I can’t afford to lose you. I miss you, which is strange because you are in the same house as me.” she let out a laugh. “It will take time, but I would soon feel comfortable talking to you again. Please know that I don’t want to make you feel bad.”

Sirius smiled.

“Okay” he said.

“Okay.” She repeated.

***

After that (Y/n) and Sirius spent time together again. It wasn’t the same as before, but it was better for them both. Or so they thought. Sirius found himself itching to hug her again, to hold her close. It was torture even more so than before. It wasn’t just a passing infatuation and Sirius was reminded that every single time he was close to her. Every time she would smile, Sirius would feel his heart flutter.

It was soon to be Christmas and house was bustling with life and joy. Harry was there and Sirius felt at his best. Everything was going smoothly; Sirius had Remus, Harry and (Y/n) the most important people in his life with him. He couldn’t ask for more.

“(Y/n)! I hope you didn’t miss me much!” came the voice from the dining room door. It was Molly’s second son, Charlie, the one that worked in Romania.

“Charlie!” (Y/n) shouted as she launched herself into his arms making Sirius’s stomach twist. He clenched his jaw as she didn’t seem to move away from him. (Y/n) dragged Charlie towards him.

“Sirius, this is Charlie, my absolute best friend!” she said smiling.

Sirius forced a smile shaking Charlie’s hand.

Over the next few days, it seemed Charlie and (Y/n) were inseparable much to Sirius’s dismay. It was gut-wrenching. They always seemed to have an inside joke and he wanted to be the one (Y/n) had them with. They would be seen at the corner of the room giggling and laughing. Sirius was told that Charlie and (Y/n) were childhood best friends. The way they behaved, no-one wouldn’t be surprised if they started dating, even though that thought made him furiously angry. He couldn’t understand what was wrong with him. He was the one that pushed her away. But that didn’t stop him from feeling hot with jealousy.

It was the night before Christmas. Everyone had made efforts to prepare the big dinner. The twins had put on some music and Sirius had fun seeing his best-friend Remus dance with Tonks. Remus had a crimson blush on his face as his niece put his hand over her waist. It was about time Remus did something for himself.

“They’ll make an excellent couple.” (Y/n) said standing beside him.

“I think so too. But Remus thinks he’s too old for her.” Sirius said looking at her. She shook her head.

“What’s age anyway? I know Tonks is old enough to take her own decisions. If two people love each-other, does it really matter when the other was born or how many more years they’ve lived?” she said with a twinkle in her eyes and Sirius felt as if he should tell her, right then that he loved her; had for a very long time.

“(Y/n)!!! Come on I don’t wanna feel lonely between all these lovey-dovey couples, dance with me!” Charlie said taking (Y/n)’s hand. (Y/n) giggled as he took her to the middle of the hall with him. Charlie twirled her around the floor and she moved elegantly with him. They laughed swaying to the beats of music looking the happiest people in the world.

It all felt too much. Sirius excused himself as he left the room trying to calm himself. He wanted to scream. He tried breathing exercises wanting to control himself. After a few minutes he was able to compose himself and he moved to return back.

“There you are!” (Y/n) said as she came towards him. When she came near though they froze. He tried to move but couldn’t. He looked up to find a small mistletoe growing. He gulped.

“You’ll get out after you kiss!” said George as he ran away.

(Y/n) looked up at him hesitantly and bit her lips. Damn! Did she have to do that!

“Let’s just do a quick peck.” (Y/n) told Sirius as she tried to breathe. Her feelings for him had only increased and now this?

(Y/n) tiptoed and gave a peck on Sirius’s lips feeling the spell wear away. Sirius cupped her cheeks, moving forward and kissed her deeply, pressing his lips firmly against her plush ones. (Y/n) froze. As Sirius moved his head away from her she felt like she was in a trance. Those silver grey eyes seemed to convey so much emotion and she wasn’t sure she understood it all.

“Why?” was all she could croak out.

“I love you. Have for a very long time. I felt I was unworthy; didn’t deserve you. Lets be real, I’m a fugitive.”

“Wrongly charged” she interjected.

“Fine; wrongly charged and old. I don’t have a job and I possibly couldn’t take care of you but I can’t. I cannot pretend to not want to hold you or kiss you or call you mine. I cannot pretend that I don’t get jealous whenever I see another man make you laugh when I should be the one doing it. I cannot pretend that you drive me crazy like never before even though I spent years in Azkaban. I am being selfish but I want you. I-“

(Y/n) put her hand over his mouth making him stop.

“Then. Don’t. Pretend.” She said smiling as she hugged him so tightly he felt air leave his lungs but he didn’t care as he hugged her back with the same fervor. They pulled away only to pull each other in a passionate kiss.

Charlie’s whistling broke them away.

“About time” he shouted as Sirius snuck an arm around (Y/n)’s waist.

A/N: Let me know what you think!

[hydra-collector]

Ripped Apart

AO3

Pairings: Intrulogical

Characters: Logan Sanders, Remus Sanders (all other sides mentioned)

TW: self-harm, suicidal thoughts, ocean creatures, gore/body horror (referenced, doesn’t actually happen), cursing

Words: 1,844

Summary: Remus gets much-needed comfort.

Note: Takes place roughly after POF.

Bite your tongue.

He felt the muscle conform to his teeth.

Harder.

Harder.

Bite it off.

Don’t.

Do it.

He bit until it bled, but not hard enough.

Please bite it off.

He would just cut. He wouldn’t have to think about this anymore. He’d forget. Healthy- healthier distractions.

He knew what he was. He knew he was self-destructive, unhealthy, depressed, even dying if you were to count where his thoughts had been going lately.

Just cut and it’ll go away.

What will? There’s the chance cutting would make him want to-

Cut your arms off.

No. He wasn’t going to do that.

You should.

He would bleed out and die, probably.

Then do that.

Just fucking cut.

That voice was constantly pestering him. Remus didn’t mind the intrusive thoughts, sexual jokes, murder, other people’s gore… none of it bothered him. But a while ago the thoughts of killing and hurting and dismemberment had begun being directed at himself. He hated it. He hated himself. What a disgusting being he was. The only way to make them stop was to give in. At least a little.

The blood that came was comforting. It felt humanizing, and reminded him his veins were still pumping. He was still alive.

It was grounding, but also saddening to some extent. He felt like this giant piece of shit that hurt anyone he touched. Part of him was so glad to be in this exhilarating whirlwind called life, no matter how hated he was, but the other part wanted it to end. He never knew if it was selfish or not. Sometimes he wanted so badly to fuck up his relationships with all his friends, if they even considered him a friend, and just erase himself from Thomas’s mind. Sometimes he felt trapped. Thomas never let his ideas free into the world. What was the point of Remus existing at all if he wasn’t going to be used to better Thomas’s content?

Was that his problem? Did he think Thomas was the problem and it was really him?

He sighed and set the razor aside for a moment.

Tell someone if you’re not going to rip out your internal organs.

Who could he tell?

Remus was still scared that Janus despised him, and he was never good with emotions anyway. He supposed he could talk to Virgil. But he’d left the dark sides. Why would he want to talk to either of them? Especially about sensitive topics. Patton was empathetic and theoretically would be good to talk to, but he’d hurt him. He hated intrusive thoughts, why would he want to talk to the embodiment of it? And there was no way he was going to talk to Roman.

Logan?

Logan, he was pretty sure, didn’t hate him. Rather, they’d talked before Remus’s first appearance and now could probably consider themselves friends. He knew Logan (even though he did shove teeth up his nose) and Logan talked to him. By choice.

He kind of liked Logan.

A lot.

Maybe too much.

He was the only side that Remus could give something the others thought disgusting, weird or creepy, and care about it. Talk about it. He’d even invited Remus to join in some chemistry once, (it did not go well; that did not happen again) and dissected all the dead animals he found. They talked about things the other sides wouldn’t dream of thinking about. And Remus loved science, especially about living things, because there were new, weird things always being discovered. The deep sea is full of wonders like squids and octopi, huge whales, tiny things, so many different species.

Just cut a little more. Then you can see Logan. He’ll help.

Will he?

“Logie! Teach me how to feel like a human again!”

He bounced his steps into the hall, Logan seemingly off to do work.

“You’re not a human, Remus.”

“I felt like one before, though.”

“Why not ask Patton for assistance? He’s much more well-versed in emotions than I am.”

“You’re the only one that likes me.”

“I doubt that’s true. Sure, the other sides may dislike your rather random thoughts, but why would that give them reason to dislike you? You’re a wonderful side.”

“That’s probably not true. No offense to you. I was hoping to find someone to stop me, but you don’t have to. I might cut off my arms and bite out my tongue. Ooh! Or blow up my legs! How long would it take for all of that to kill me?” He smiled a twisted, tortured smile, digging his long fingernails deep into his palms.

“Remus, are you alright? Would you like to sit down? I can get you anything you need, you seem like you could use it. Anything, I can help.”

“Logan, I haven’t been okay for months. Years? Probably my entire life.”

“Please, come sit down.”

Logan led him, hand on his back, to his room, walls blue and books stacked neatly in rows. He pushed aside his laptop from his bed to sit Remus down.

“Ooh, does the nerd wanna fuck?”

“Remus, I need you to be at least semi-serious right now. Did anything specific happen to make you feel like this? Are there any other notable emotions I should be aware of? And what can I do to help?”

“I’ve been depressed for,” he counted on his fingers, “I don’t know how long, but a while!” He said this far too cheerily.

“Okay, that does not sound good. Why did you tell me now?”

“I decided I either give in and destroy myself and wait to die or tell someone. I figured I can do it anyway after I’ve told someone, so I might as well. Ooh, should I write a note?” He grinned at Logan, beginning to scratch at his hands and arms.

“Remus,” he took the creative side’s hands in his own to prevent further scratching, “don’t write a note, don’t kill yourself. It is illogical to take away a part of Thomas’s personality, no matter how inessential you may think you are.”

“I don’t want to, but I have to. Everyone will stop being miserable because of me, I’ll stop being miserable because of me, I’m sure as hell not gonna be missed-”

Logan pulled their hands up to his face, making the impulsive decision and kissing the dark side’s knuckles lightly.

“I’d miss you.”

Remus gazed upwards, surprised. Logan retracted his hands from Remus’s.

“I apologize,” he still didn’t let go of his friend’s hands, “that was unnecessarily intimate.”

Logan could swear Remus’s eyes sparkled.

“No, it was okay. I don’t think anyone’s… ever done something like that.”

“Would more physical affection help with your mental state? If so, I shall provide it.”

Both were desperate for it.

Remus nodded and Logan sat next to him, at first giving an awkward hug, but soon the two moved to lean against the wall and grew more comfortable, supporting each other’s weight.

“I’m bleeding.”

“Remus, did you-”

Before he could even finish his question, Remus’s sleeves were pulled up, smearing the blood still oozing out of the fresh wounds.

“I love them. They’re so pretty. They’re dark and warm and satisfying and I don’t have to chop off my limbs-”

He had a visible reaction to thinking about it again, hitting his head with his now bloody hands.

“Why do I remind myself-”

Logan took Remus’s hands again, keeping them away from his head, as well as each other, in case he started scratching himself again. It hurt him to see him like this. He waited a moment until he was fairly sure Remus could sit for a bit without hurting himself, left to wet a washcloth from the bathroom and brought in the First Aid kit.

“I wanna see them though.”

“Remus, let me. They’ll get infected.”

“Even more fun!”

“Remus, no.”

“Remus yes.”

“What?”

“Didn’t expect you to understand that.”

“Are you going to let me clean those?”

“Can I make more after?”

“No, this is incredibly unhealthy. On quite a few levels. Not only does self-harm directly impair your physical health, but additionally indirectly affects physical health by worsening your mental health, which is probably the worst effect.”

“They make me feel better though. And stop me from dying. Even if cutting technically hurts me, it’s probably keeping me alive.”

“It’s not a healthy coping mechanism. At some point it won’t be enough.”

“It’s enough now.”

“Like Janus said, don’t wait until you’re having a mental breakdown- or in your case, once you’re about to die- to take care of yourself. It only ends in misery, Remus.”

Logan only just realized how close the two of them were. He’d leaned forward, hands on Remus’s upper arms, holding the two of them too close for normal comfort. But right now it was oddly okay. He could feel Remus’s breathing on his face, irregular and nearing sobs. He should give him room to cry, but he’d grabbed onto Logan as well, so apparently didn’t want to.

“I already hurt so bad, why do I want more of it?”

Remus sniffed before burying his face into Logan’s shoulder and letting his tears flow into the black polo.

“Please hug me. Or clean them. It doesn’t matter. Just touch me. And in a non-sexual way, for once.”

Logan took his chance to gently wash the cuts with his rag. Remus continued crying while he applied the antibiotics and wrapped gauze firmly around his arms. Remus cried when he was done, falling on his chest with enough force that he ended up on his back, surprised. He adjusted this position so it was comfortable for the two of them, leaning against pillows he moved next to the wall.

He rubbed Remus’s back and upper arms, shoulders, held his hands, squeezed his torso, hoping it was helping. Remus turned his head and opened his eyes, which had at last stopped crying. He stared at Logan, maybe a bit too long.

“Am I doing something wrong?”

“No.”

Remus contemplated for a moment, then decided to say it, grinning widely.

“Can I kiss you?”

“W-what?” His cheeks turned red.

“Can I kiss you? I don’t have to.”

Logan thought for a moment, looking at Remus’s face, then slowly nodded.

He held Logan’s face with his hands and kissed him softly, causing him to get even redder.

“I did not expect that.”

“What?”

“It was remarkably… unlike you.”

“Want another more like me, Lo?”

“I hesitate to ask what that would be like.”

Remus grinned. Less pronounced than the previous ones of the day, but it was more real and meant so much more than those had. It lifted Logan’s heart a little.

“Are you feeling a little better now, Remus?”

“I don’t really wanna die anymore, so probably.”

It was a massive relief to Logan to hear that. He started smiling, which Remus smiled back to.

Logan, after some silence, kissed him on the forehead. He held him as long as he could.

Remus needed every second.

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Shawn needed a breather. He's been traveling the globe the past year, his grand tour claiming his social life and a part of his sanity in the process.

That's why he couldn't believe his eyes on the first look.

Blinking, he drew in a shuddered breath, his right hand coming up to meet his chest as his heart felt a physical pain as it jumped at the very possibility of it being a ghost of his past.

Opening his eyes, he found the view is obscured by his waitress who had so kindly set down his order before him, unaware of his need for clear vision more than his need for food.

Craning his neck, he caught a glimpse of her Y/H/C hair, his heart nearly stopping this time around.

But then she turned around, her angelic features coming to view. No longer was her makeup smudged by her tears - tears she spilled over him - tears that didn't fall, they crashed around him. No longer was she anguished by their relationship, finally having wings to fly.

"No, that's not what I meant! Stop putting words in my mouth!" Shawn shouted, seeing her flinch with the harsh tone he chose to use with her. She had hugged her arms closer to her stomach, seeking comfort in herself as her sobs sounded, but no tears came just yet.

"Doesn't matter anymore, does it?" She hated how her voice trembled and even more how her lips wouldn't stop quivering. She hated vulnerability, even more so, she hated being vulnerable with someone who was clearly out to break her heart.

"You're breaking up with me anyway, right? Because I'm moving for college to Los Angels?" She realized, chuckling dryly as she pulled herself together at the same time her tears began to fall.

"Do you even realize how hypocritical you sound?! You, the very person who travels the world for his job?! You're never fuckijg around when I need you! This wouldn't have made a difference...but the way you're behaving just now...that makes a difference." She huffed, swallowing a threatening sob, refusing to sob any longer.

"You're taking cheap shots at me for following my dreams all while I supported yours. Well, I'm sorry, but not everyone is interested in being a part of the Shawn Mendes show." She spat bitterly, her eyes set aflame with newfound hatred for the man she loves. Had someone asked her, she'd say she could never hate him. Funny how the things we say are impossible always end up true.

"I wasn't going to break up with you, but you've already made that decision, eh? Like you decided everything else. You chose to make me the bad guy without even giving me a chance and that's not on me." Shawn kept his voice cool and steady, diffusing the situation which was spiraling out of control with many different accusations being thrown around so freely.

"But that's the problem with you Shawn." She shook her head. "You think I owe you to get permission to study in my dream school? Like I am supposed to run it by you? It's my life! My dream! Just as you were. But you broke my heart today." She wiped her tears away furiously fast, waiting for a response.

"Hope you find what you're looking for then." Shawn spoke before he turned on his heel, leaving her behind.

It's been almost a year since he left her in tears, since he last spoke to her. And he knew he made a mistake pretty quickly, because she was right. He had no say in where she studies or what. His only option should have been to support her and he failed miserably. He never forgave himself for losing her like that.

But time stood still when his eyes met hers.

She looked straight at him, her smile eclipsed by a sudden frown, her eyes darkening.

Shawn didn't even know why she was in Australia, especially with her fear of tarantulas or any insects for that matter. She always said Australia would be the last place she'd go to, yet she was standing merely ten feet from him and he was smitten...again.

Without a warning, her lips curled into a gentle smile, her body naturally drawn to him as she moved closer, determination sparkling in her eyes.

"Well, if it isn't the ever dashing Mr. Mendes." Her voice is light, playful...not spiteful or venomous as it was the last time he heard it.

"Hi!" He exclaimed, jumping to his feet so fast he nearly tripped and fell on his face.

"Definitely Shawn Mendes. Still a klutz, I see." She giggled, noticing his cheeks darken notably, his shy smile wide but his eyes bore worries and confusion.

"Wanna sit?" She carried the conversation, signaling she definitely didn't want any physical contact from him even though Shawn was debating whether or not to hug her.

"I'm here on an exchange. What's your excuse?" She asked, giving him a cruch to stand on.

"Tour. Almost done now." He smiled, hoping she doesn't pick up on his breathy response or his anxious tapping feet. Which she did, she just didn't want to point it out.

"Are you happy?" Behind her eyes was a door he couldn't open, hidden inside so well he would get lost if he tried to look for it.

"I am." She replied honestly, a smile matching her words as she dropped her gaze for a single moment to look at her screen, noticing the time.

"I should go. My break is almost over, but if you want to talk before moving to the next city, my number is still the same." She placed a hand over his gingerly, pulling it away just as quickly.

"Okay." He managed to say, watching her pick up her stuff before she left him in that booth.

And he wanted to see her again, to talk things through, to apologize. He wanted to hold her like he used to, feel her lips on his, but all he could give her is misery.

She moved on with her life, clearly not holding onto the past. She was the one that got away because he chased her away, but he wasn't her one. And he couldn't do that to his girlfriend either, especially since they were new and just starting out and all in the public eye.

So he closed his eyes, lowering his head as he made the decision.

"I won't let myself hurt her."

He deleted her number, as if he didn't know it by heart...as if his finger didn't hover over her contact for a year now, too afraid to call in case she still hated him.

"Anything else, sir?" The waitress came back, noticing the food is untouched. "Is something wrong with your order?" She inquired as Shawn shook his head, feeling his heart sink.

"Just saw my what if and it robbed me of my appetite."

"You should know that nothing is over until it's over...until someone is dead, they can be reached and things can be fixed." She advised, noticing a weak smile show kn his lips.

"Not this. Not if it means dragging someone you love into something that's bad for them." Shawn shrugged, feeling a hand clasp on his shoulder.

"You must really love that girl."

And he smiled, knowing it's still true. Perhaps it will always be there in his heart, the love he has for her. It's that very love he could never quite put into words even though it's the most real thing he's ever felt, even if he was masterful with words. She couldn't be described with words. He tried.

"You have no idea."

Tags: @accalialionheart @xalayx @peacedolantwins @heyits-claire @ourlittleshawnie @esoltis280 @dolandolll @lanallaa

[who-is-olivia]

Track 6. Only Angel

Harry Styles x OC

Olivia has to perform in the Victoria Secret Fashion Show but struggles to deal with her mental health. [3.7k]

Genre: fluff, angst

Warnings: nudity, sexual language, mental health struggles

December 2014

  They hadn't been on speaking terms.

  Two years ago, Olivia had a breakdown and decided to go back to her hometown in Brazil, right when One Direction was set to perform on Madison Square Garden. They split up to give her room to recover and it was working... until Taylor came into the picture.

  Harry never regretted the choices he made, he knew he would be miserable with Taylor knowing that Oli was just around the corner. So he broke up with her on the day they were set to travel to the Caribbean. It was very harsh on her so it’s understandable she wouldn’t take it nicely.

  Now, Oli and Frank have to perform on the Victoria Secret Fashion Show right after Taylor.  It’s an honor, Olivia will introduce two Brazilian models wearing a special bra thing, she’s gonna be wearing a beautiful lingerie piece, but she can’t control her nerves efficiently enough to enjoy the opportunity.

  This is the last rehearsal before the big performance, they mark the steps along with the sound check and the last costume fitting all at the same time. Frank’s standing around with his guitar waiting for the production’s queue to dismount while Oli leans over Nadine’s phone to watch a short news outlet on Twitter hyping the show tomorrow.

“... but the supermodels are not the highlight of the show, instead is someone who won’t even walk the stage: Harry Styles is the talk of the town as tomorrow both his ex and his current girlfriend will take the stage one after the other. Who do you think will deliver the best performance? Comment down below and don’t forget to subscribe-“

“This is bullshit” Oli shakes her shoulder trying to seem unfazed but secretly crumbling in anxiety.

“Total bullshit, I’m sorry you had to watch this-“ Nadine revolts.

“No, it’s fine, I’m just gonna get my stuff-“

“Hey, do they have extra wings?” Frank asks from the other end of the stage.

“I don’t think so, why?”

“I was dying to wear wings” he grunts and Oli rolls her eyes.

“You can wear mine after I walk the stage” Candice winks at him teasingly.

“Frank, we have bigger fish to fry” she walks up to him, leaving the girls to themselves. “We should call this off”

“Wha-Why?!”

“Because it’s drawing too much negative attention, I don’t need that at this point” she fiddles with her fingers, desperate for a cigarette.

“Oli, this is huge for the us, we can’t bail out”

“Frankie, please”

“No bug, I’m sorry” he pats her shoulder and walks away. From the corner of her eye she notices someone familiar approaching.

“Hey there, crazy!” Zayn nods.

“Holy shit, what are you doing here?” she jumps down the stage and lands in his hug. Apart from Harry, Zayn is the only 1D member she’s got to befriend. Nothing against the other boys, they all speak to each other, but he’s her actual friend. Doesn’t hurt that she got to work a lot with his girlfriend’s band recently.

“Harry told me you’d be here, I thought I’d give you a ride”

“Perfect! Let me get my things-“

“What about Frank?”

“He’ll find a place to sleep tonight” she chuckles.

  Since the show’s in London, she at least gets the comfort of staying at Harry’s place. Although they share a nice flat in New York, he needs a place in London due to the label and also to see his family. To ease their expenses, he bought a smaller place that she hasn't seen yet. Harry feels quite lonely in it, and having the expectation of her visit did nothing for his internal peace.

  On the way there, she and Zayn share a couple smokes and make small talk, planning a few tattoos while she’s in town. Soon enough they arrive and there he is, waiting to open her door for her.

“Hey love” he smiles, pulling her out of the car and into his loving embrace. At the very sight of him a huge weight is lifted from her shoulders. “Thanks mate, appreciate it”

“No worry, we’ll catch up later, eh?”

“I’ll text you, bye Zayn!”

  As he drives down the lane, Harry walks with an arm around her waist up to the flat where her things are already in place. With that out of the way, they head straight to the shower.

  He presses her naked body against the wall, her wet chest against his as their lips clash in a sensuous patient kiss. His small pecks fall to her jaw and down her neck as his wet hair tickles her, distracting her from the pleasure he’s giving.

“Haz?”

“Hm?” he hums in her sweet spot.

“Do you think I should do the gig?”

Harry stops kissing her, bringing his gaze back to her and sighing worriedly. “What could possibly make you not do it?”

“Everyone keeps speculating about the performance, they keep comparing me to Taylor and I’m just...” she cracks, hiding her face on his wet neck. Harry strokes the back of her head and shushes her tenderly, trying to get a glimpse of her.

“If you don’t wanna do it, don’t do it love. You can tell everyone you’re feeling sick and just stay here with me”  

“Yeah, but it would be amazing for Frank and I and it’s been really amazing to meet all the models and spending some time with Nadine...”

“Nadine’s great”

“She’s the fucking best” he relaxes at the sight of her smile.

“Whatever you wanna do, I’ll have your back, alright?” she nods and he leans in to kiss her playfully.

  They dry up and head to the bed, exhausted. Before she arrived, he was craving for her, desperately. He would remember their times together and twitch in his pants at the thought of it, always keeping in mind that she was x days away from coming home and putting away his misery. But having her in his arms so fragile, so unprepared, it felt wrong and he had to stop. What he feels for her is not only physical and he can’t let her emotional needs unattended.

  Oli falls asleep curled up to his side, one of her legs straddled around his waist, breathing calmly on his chest. He takes a little longer to doze off just watching her peaceful sleep, the lovely way her parted lips blow against his shirt and her eyelids twitch while she’s having a dream. Her hair is wrapped in a light pink silk sheet, soaked in coconut oil, and he can’t resist burying his nose on it and taking in the sweet scent. He loves her so much it burns, and seeing her anguish feels like walking with a knife craved in his heart, he wishes he could make it all go away... so he tries something stupid.

  At approximately 2:00am, he calls Frank.

“Aren’t you calling a bit late?” he growls on the other end of the line.

“Hey, I’m sorry, there’s just something that’s not letting me sleep”

“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“Probably can, I just wanted to clear my head about this” he excuses, feeling like he’s already drawing towards the unwanted results with this call. “You and Oli have to perform tomorrow at all costs?”

“Look man... I know she’s stressed out, all that bad press is getting under her skin but after we ditched Fiona and Gina we haven't been selling, at all, and we need the show if we want to stay signed for another year”

“Yeah, but aren’t you scared she’ll just... lose it?”

“I am, I still feel guilty about her breakdown... but that’s the job, she loves it, the good and the bad. Trust me, she’ll be amazing tomorrow, you won’t tell the difference between her and an angel”

“I bet I won’t... night, Frank” he hangs up. Frank is a level-headed guy, he must have thought this through already and taken the most logical conclusion but deep down it doesn’t feel right. Anyways, Harry quits his crusade to spare her and returns to the bedroom, settling in her arms again.

  But their domestic bliss is cut short by the day’s schedule. At 11:00am sharp she’s already getting her nails done and her braids fixed at Harry’s while he chats with everyone who’s busy. However, he notices Olivia is dead silent – which is very unusual.

“Guys” he calls after the nails and hair are done, “can I steal her for a second?”

“Sure... don’t mess her up!”

“I promise” he leads them to the door and shuts it, turning to where she has her head hidden behind her knees. “Love, please don’t let it get in your head”

“Too bad” she leans on her freshly manicured hands and he can see tears on the corner of her eyes.

That’s the last drop. “Hey, look at me” he tips her chin so she looks at him reluctantly. “You can both do great, it’s not a race, no matter what the bloody papers say”

“I know”

“Do you?”

She sighs, dropping her head on his palm. “No”

“Then you have to believe me, just do your best” he soothes, stroking her hair, “and if you can’t, your 50% is already bloody incredible-“

“Haz! Shut up” she laughs sadly, wiping the little droplets from her eyelids. To have her at least smiling is enough.

“I love you, alright?” she nods, “Trust me on this one, you’ll be fucking amazing”

  They both get pampered and ready to the red carpet, as usual arriving in grand fashion. He leaves the car first then opens the door to help her out, making a huge scene as she gets up on her heels and throws her thin Havana twists out of her face gently, which is quite a spectacle to the paparazzi. Once she feels the luxurious climate, her attitude shifts and she immediately grows more confident. She welcomes Harry’s arm around her waist and supports her wrist on his shoulder, staring at the cameras with a focused glance. He can feel it, her posture changes, she looks powerful, he can’t hide his gobsmacked grin at showing the world how intimidating and formidable is the woman who literally owns his heart and soul.

  Once the photographs are over, they walk to the dressing room together.

“Mr. Styles, you can’t go in” a producer holds him back.

Olivia frowns at her. “What?”

“This area is just for performers and models, you can’t go in”

“Can’t he come to my dressing room?”

“I’m sorry, it’s not allowed-“

“It’s ok” he interrupts, knowing pretty well it’s what he set up to surprise her later on. When she steps back, he takes Oli by the hand and hugs her tightly, pulling her close enough so he can whisper in her ear. “No matter how many people step on that stage tonight, you’re the only one I see, alright?”

She smirks. “You better...”

“You’re the sexiest, most talented person I know, you’re gonna be amazing”

“I hope so” she leans into him, cupping his cheek in a passionate kiss that catches him completely off-guard.

“I’ll be on the front row” he says a bit out of breath before letting her go.

  Once she turns towards her dressing room, she sees her standing there: tall, slim, fair, blonde, piercing blue eyes following her every step. Not willing to make another scene, she salutes her with two fingers in a friendly gesture, and in reply she smiles politely. Their interaction ends there.

  On her dressing room, Frank is already dressing up and strangely giggly.

“Candice is giving me her wings after the first run!” he cheers, making it really hard for the stylist to work on his outfit.

“You’re winning already then” she mocks, pulling her dress straps down and asking for Frank’s help to unzip the rest. She’s not used with the rest of the backup band so she awkwardly slides to one of the changing booths. “Where is Morgan? The show’s about to start”

  While she waits for their agent, she quickly puts on the black combo of hot pants, torn t-shirt, up the knee boots and a boa. At some point she hears something above the noise of the backup band tuning their instruments and everyone shuts up.

  The show starts.

  Taylor is the first one to perform, walking down the catwalk with some of the biggest models in the industry. They run to the side stage to watch them but the producers don’t let anyone get on the way of the running models, so she has to watch on the TV’s spread across the backstage. Taylor’s presentation is straight up perfect, she moves like fucking royalty and interacts naturally with all the models – she looks so good she might as well be mistaken for one. Oli’s legs begin to shake as the song hits the second chorus.

  Fortunately, there are two other performers watching, and they come to greet her.

“Hey Oli” Andrew is the first, thank god for a familiar face. They used to hang out after rehearsals, he’s a giant dork who’s also not used to fame. Also, his poems make her cry all the time.

“Andy! I’m passing out!”

“Wow, hang on” he holds her by the shoulders.

“I can’t follow up, everyone’s talking about it-“

“Hey, what you’re talking about? You rehearsed this, you’re gonna walk down that stage and be fucking incredible” he talks her down in that convoluted Irish accent of his.

  From the front row, Harry nervously watches top models in tiny clothes pass one after the other, trying to focus on anything else but Taylor on that moment. Every line she sings feels like she’s spitting on him. A show that lasts minutes feels like hours, and when it finally ends it’s time for Olivia.

“Holy shit” she breaths out raggedly.

“Do you want some water?” Ariana asks.

“Where’s Frank?” Oli pleads, seeing black dots on her peripheral vision.  

Frank, who had been talking to some of the models, promptly excuses himself. “You ok?” she barely hears through her thumping ears.

“I’m having a panic attack...”

“Hey, let me handle this” she hears her voice distantly, as if she’s drowning on her heartbeat. “Come with me” Taylor helps her up and takes her to one of the bathrooms, just the two of them.

  She pulls her hair out of her face and shoves it over one shoulder, helping her lean over the sink in case she feels like throwing up. She then wets her hand and throws some cold water on the back of her neck.

“Breath in, hold, then breath out, just like me” she insists. Olivia closes her eyes, breathes in, holds, then breathes out, time and time again until she can grasp her surroundings. Slowly, the thumping on her ears recedes and she can actually feel herself again. “Better?”

“Yeah...”, she takes one last deep breath, “thank you”

“Don’t worry, I’ve been there” she dries her hand on a paper towel.

Oli sighs heavily, “I don’t know if I can pull this off”

“Of course you can” Taylor counters, “Just think: you’ll be on stage with your brother, singing a song you already sang a hundred times, your fans will love it, the models will love it... and Harry’s on the front row, he’ll love it anyway”

She hesitates before starting, “I’m sorry about what happened between you”

“Don’t... I’m actually glad it’s over” Taylor looks down and nods her head, trying to figure out her next words. “Sure, I didn’t like the way it ended but I was just so anxious around him, I feel like I can breath now, it’s so funny... when I was with him I was always so nervous, afraid to say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing, like you were just then” she points to the door, “but you’re... effortless together. I wish I had something like that in my life”

“Hey” she looks up at her, “these things just... happen, I can’t explain it. Just do your thing and wait for someone to show up who happens to like you just like this. It might take a while but it’s worth it”

Taylor smiles, pulling her in for a tight hug. Olivia relaxes on her shoulder, welcoming all the energy she lets out. “I think you should go out there and rock that stage” she whispers encouragingly. “It doesn’t matter what people will say tomorrow, we know what’s up, they never will”

Olivia nods, taking a bit of distance. “Thank you so much” she squeezes Taylor’s hands.

“You’re welcome... now let’s go”

  The show-runner asks for the audience to be patient as they’re having a few technical difficulties and Harry is this close to invading the backstage and checking on Oli. His knee bops up and down frantically, looking at Liam beside him for guidance. At the first sign of applause, his eyes shoot up at the stage and there she is. Frank’s guitar riff fills the room as they walk in, him leading the way with his tall angel wings, sunglasses and skirt, his guitar wailing as if calling for Olivia to join. Then she does, parading to the beat until she reaches Frank.

“How’re you feeling tonight?!” she calls before getting her queue.

  He couldn’t look away even if his eyes were gauged off. His breathing increases, his body responding to the feast upon the stage. Two Brazilian models pass in front of her, he doesn’t look away. The entire cast of the show walks up but still, he doesn’t look away. The way her vocals reach all the way to the back of the venue makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise. She looks so powerful yet so ingenue, as if the way her hips swing is completely pure.

  But there’s nothing pure about her. The way she dances with Frank’s guitar solo, the way she smiles and bops with the models, how her braids barely cover her bare ass cheeks, it’s too much. All he can think about is ripping that lingerie with his teeth and let her encircle him with that boa, he wants to be at her mercy.

  At some point, their gazes meet and he feels a bit love drunk, lost in her beauty. She walks to the edge of the stage closest to him and blows him a kiss and he catches it in the air, keeping it on his internal pocket and winking back at her. He wants her to kiss him, he wants her to lose all decorum and just disgrace him right then and there.  

  But just as it began it ended. As she takes a bow and walks out with one of the models, Harry applauds on his feet. She smiles proudly, holding Frank on a side hug and bowing once again. She did it! It was amazing, sexy, vibrant... and Harry can’t wait to see her, not another ten seconds.

  She’s welcomed in the backstage with thunderous applause. After all, she did it! She was super scared but soldiered on and now that’ll live in history as one of her best performances ever. As soon as the clapping dies, she walks up to Taylor and hugs her tightly.

“Thank you for everything” she whispers through a smile.

“You were a-mazing!” Taylor cheers getting some distance between them and then hitching. Oli follows her gaze and finds Harry standing awkwardly in the middle of the commotion.

“Haz? I thought you couldn’t get in”

“Yeah, don’t say it too loud” he mocks, pulling a flower bouquet from behind his back. Olivia chuckles amusedly and runs to his embrace, leaving a very uncomfortable Taylor standing empty-handed.

“You were something else tonight” he whispers to her and hands her the flowers. Sensing the eyes around them, she restricts her displays of affection to a small kiss on his cheek. “How about we skip the after-party and just grab a bite with the band?”

“Sure, I just wanna watch Andy’s then we can go”

“Alright” he nods and his gaze accidentally catches Taylor’s. It would be extremely impolite to ignore her after looking her straight in the eyes so, for education’s sake, he walks up to her. “Ms. Swift”

“Mr. Styles” she replies with the same cocky attitude.

“It’s nice to see you”

“You too” they exchange a kiss in the cheek and part ways. Once Harry’s got his back towards her, Olivia and Taylor exchange a knowing wink.

  Before they watch Andrew’s performance, Oli and Harry head to her and Frank’s empty dressing room. As she walks in first to get the flowers on a pot, Harry locks the door behind him and moves to hug her waist. She closes her eyes in delight, feeling his desperate lips already trace her shoulder up to the crook of her neck.

“You looked really fucking sexy in that stage” he mumbles, taking gentle hold of her neck.

“I could tell, you were giving me bedroom eyes from the moment I stepped in” she mocks, stroking the hand that holds her on a choke-hold before turning inside his grasp and kissing him teasingly, making him dangle on the edge of sanity. He presses his parted lips on her but she pulls away slightly, licking a single strip of his bottom lip before bitting it lightly and kissing him back.

“Can’t wait ‘til bedroom love”

“Yeah? What a shame” she pushes him away playfully, “I’m not doing anything here with a zillion people outside”

“Fuck’s sake” he dramatically flops down into the sofa, “you’re killing me, honestly”

“Dead men can’t talk!” she replies, changing into her party dress and overcoat.

  Harry keeps groaning on the sofa, calling out for her until she’s ready. She leans over the back of the sofa and hugs his shoulders, he holds on to her arms for reassurance. Looking down, she notices he’s a bit too excited to go out in public, so she has an epiphany...

“... you got that James Dean daydream look in you eyes” she sings.

“Oh, fuck you-“

“And I’ve got that red lip classic thing that you like”

“Oli, don’t” he whimpers through a struggled laugh.

“We never go out of Style... es” with that one improv, he loses it, laughing his life away. She pecks his sweet cheeks over and over, leaving several dark-brown stains on his fair skin. “Come on, you’re good to go”

“Thanks, angel”

She narrows her eyes, hand hovering over the lock before grinning arrogantly, “I like that”

<< Previous | Next >>

Masterlist

[laceymorganwrites]

Where do we go when we go?

Word Count: 3,356

Pairing: Law x reader

Song: Where do we go when we go? - Neck Deep

Warnings: cursing, suicidal themes

A/N: so i went a bit overboard with this… but I think I got a better understanding for Law´s character after writing this, after all those songfics for me are just a way to improve my writing and the understanding of certain characters.

GIF NOT MINE

Pain, pain go away,

Law was always in pain. Whether it was physically or mentally, a part of him always ached. Ached with anger, with misery, damage, ached with the desperate want of release. There was no denying he deserved it, he knew himself too well, maybe he was a bit of a masochist in the sense that he enjoyed it in some twisted way. It was the universe telling him how much of an asshole he was, how many bad things he did, how many innocent people he harmed. And the bad thing was that he wouldn´t stop. He´d rather suck up all the pain and not change his ways. He had to do this alone, as he did with the rest of his life. Solitude was the only way for Law. Come back another day,

But he didn´t want to feel like shit today. Fuck, not today. Not if there were any consequences for his behavior for once, not when there was actually something on the line. That being the first impression he would give to you. And he didn´t want to fuck that up like everything else in his life. Normally he´d say screw it, what did he think what some random stranger thought of him? They´d never understand him anyway, so fuck them. But Robin told him he´d never experience happiness if he just kept pushing people away. How could he say they´d never understand if he didn´t let them? And maybe she was right, which Law didn´t like to admit. If she was right, it wouldn´t be good for his ego. If she was right, everything in his life up until now would´ve been a lie. I just wanna get one up on life before it kills me.

He lived his life out of spite. Quite literally. Spite was the fuel that kept him going. Just the pure knowledge that people out there were outraged by him merely existing, it was just too pleasurable for the sadistic bastard. If others didn´t want him to live and do the things he did, that just spurred him on even more. His whole life was one big risk, one big fuck you to the world. And so far it´s paid him off with solitude. Which was good for him, it meant no people bugging him. Nobody could tell him what to do, he was free. And if the price of freedom was loneliness, he´d endure it. Because loneliness was all he´s ever known, he couldn´t know any better. And who the fuck would care if some pirate scum like him croaked because of his own stupidity, nobody would mourn him. I guess we'll never know, If when we´re gone there's a place to go.

Law thought about death too often, no doubt about it. He had everything planned out in his life, his goals, the solitude, that he´d never make any alliances and that he would never open himself up to another person and fall in love. Well, despite the fact that he somehow managed to break every single one of his stupid rules spoke volumes about the doctor. Maybe that was the reason why he suddenly was scared of dying and what would happen after his death. Before he just winged everything, taking all the risks he could. Yes, he might´ve had some plans, he always did and still does, but that doesn´t mean they are safe. In fact before his alliance with the Strawhats all of them were doomed. All of his plans were risky and ended up with him dying. But none of that mattered to him, why should it? It was his own fate, it didn´t affect anyone and nobody else had a say in his life, it was his decision. Or if we don't see anything at all,

Ever since he joined up with Strawhat, he couldn´t say that he saw his path as clearly anymore. Actually he didn´t see a fucking thing anymore. All the plans he made, all that he stood for, everything that happened in his life up until now, all of it was in vain. Just because of some fucking people who called themselves his friends. He didn´t need friends. And they were lying anyway, nobody could befriend him, Law was too much of an asshole on purpose for that. He was meant to be a loner, not a friend. He wasn´t meant to be protected by people, he wasn´t meant to be cared about. He didn´t want to be protected and cared for. He just wanted to be alone. Needless to say he didn´t believe any of the Strawhats when they proclaimed him their friend. Is that what we´re supposed to call faith?

But after he adjusted to the new circumstance, Law did manage to relax and open up a little. It was the survival of the fittest in the New World, one could only get by by adapting to one´s environment. And that´s just what he did. He had friends now, huh? He got especially close to Robin and Zoro, he felt as if he could be himself around them without being judged. They shared a lot of things, had a lot of things in common. They laughed about the same things and always knew what the other felt and needed in that moment. Law didn´t know what to think of that, it was weird. Why would anyone go out of their way to make friends that are that close to each other? To him getting close to someone meant betraying them and using the information they gave him against them. But with the Strawhats he felt like he could trust them oddly enough. He never trusted anyone in his life, not even himself. Hell, himself in the very least. But who knew, maybe his life wouldn´t be so miserable now that he found friends. Well if that is that, and it all just fades to black,

And then there was you. Law didn´t see you as a friend and he didn´t want you to see him as such. He didn´t want to be your friend. He wanted to be someone special to you, he wanted you to see him the way he saw you, as an angel. He didn´t want you to smile at him as you smiled at all the others, he wanted you to smile at him sweetly, a special smile reserved for him. Every time he saw you, his heart jumped. And every time he almost had a heart attack because that´s what he thought this strange feeling was. But after an analysis of all the other symptoms and a thorough talk with Robin, he finally acknowledged that he was in love. Another thing he swore he´d never be. Love was weakness, it was useless and only hurt. Maybe that´s why he was drawn to you. He wanted you to be his savior, bring out the best in him and then prove him right in betraying him. He wanted to make you love him as he loved you only to prove to himself that it wasn´t possible, nobody would ever love him, it only would be a lie. Love was just a camouflage for betrayal and sadism. That thought made him smirk. And we don't see anything at all, We don't see anything, What are you waiting for?

Maybe love wasn´t so bad after all. Maybe it was just faking to be misunderstood like he was. Maybe love too was pretending to have changed into something better when in reality it was laughing at everyone who believed in the petty lie. Nothing could change Law. Or that´s what he told himself. He knew better of course, but he didn´t want to admit it. Why would he? So everyone knew he was wrong? Hell no. Nevertheless he couldn´t get you out of his head, you disturbed his mind in the most inconvenient moments and he really couldn´t use this right now. Pain, pain go away, Come back another day, I just wanna get one up on life before it kills me. And I can't put my faith in a fallacy, I just wanna get one up on life before it kills me. The world is a funny place,

Law was never a person to crack jokes or laugh at them, jokes were a waste of time, something only desperate people tended to. He amused himself at his and others misery, their pain and agony, his own. He never was a person to be deemed funny, well, he did share the same dark humor with Robin, but overall he wasn´t really a funny person. That´s why you irritated him to no end, you who laughed at the things he said in an uncharacteristic try of humor. You giggled at his bitter comments and then gave him a shy smile, looking at him with all the hope in the world. Every time you smiled, or showed any other sign of affection, Law felt his heart sink into his chest and subconsciously smiled back, or he tried. The closest he ever got to a real smile was his usual sadistic smirk. It kicks you when you're down

And yet he couldn´t talk to you. Why was that? Why was it that whenever there was an opportunity he not only wasted it, but he screwed it up over and over again, making a complete fool out of him. Robin actually got so sick and tired of it that she almost called him out in front of the whole crew. But in a moment of better judgment she sought Law out in private to scold him. She was the one who set this whole date thing up today. Well, she forced Law to have night watch with you, snickering wickedly to herself. She clearly was more sadistic than the doctor could ever hope to be. And knocks you out when you get up again.

So there he was, in the cold of a winter island, standing guard and watching over the ship with you. You were very suspect of this whole ordeal, you just hoped Robin didn´t tell Law about that moment you accidentally let it slip how attractive and funny you thought he was. To tell the truth, you also became quite intrigued with the doctor ever since he joined up with you for the alliance. How could you not? Everyone was curious, it was only natural. And what would one do if someone like Law, a wandering book with seven seals, came along if not try to break every single one of them. But you quickly learned that you shouldn´t ever try to break them. Getting inside his head and trying to get personal information out of him was near impossible. Instead of telling you small, funny anecdotes, people that inspired him in his life, his goals and dreams, he only listed off all the gruesome things he´s done, all of his innocent victims, he went into extreme detail how much pain he has caused. I don't think it's worth suffering through.

Needless to see the rest of the night was quiet and uncomfortable. It left you wishing you never asked Law about himself, it made you wish you never even talked to him or did so much as glance at him. You hated being gloomy over silly things like that, he´d be gone if the whole plan was a success, or if it wasn´t. Maybe it wasn´t necessarily heartache you felt, maybe it was just the sheer disappointment of you trying to be nice to him and actually make an effort in trying to converse with him, yet it was all for naught. And quite honestly you were pissed at that. At least you told yourself it was disappointment instead of heartache, but you´d never admit to having such a stupid thing as a heartache, because that would mean you´d also admit to liking Law. But on the other hand, There's a world full of possibilities

Yes, it was childish. But so was Law´s behavior. As soon as you asked one little question about him, something trivial and unimportant, he closed up again and pushed you away. It was what he always did, something he couldn´t let go no matter how hard he tried. He felt so sorry after the things he said to you, the way he scared you off and yet he never actually apologized to you, he was just too embarrassed. And honestly Law wasn´t one to be good at formulating words. Sure, it was his charm, the way he could go from smug to dork in a matter of seconds, it was a personality trait that really warmed your heart and never failed to make you smile. And a million other people just like you

Then again Law wasn´t the only attractive man on the planet. There were others who exposed the same charming traits of him, but none of the bad ones. But did you really want to meet them? Did that really make them better than him? To you the bad things belonged to Law as much as his good ones. The only thing that really bugged you about him was how much he let himself be guided by his bad side, how much he defined himself over it as if he didn´t have a good one too. Who've all been through what you've been through,

All you wanted to do was to tell him he wasn´t alone. You wanted to figure out what made him the way he was, but he wouldn´t let you, you understood him too well. Everybody had secrets too dark to share, it was normal. So why did you want to rip off the band aid brutally and make Law´s wound bleed again? Maybe you were sadistic just like him. They were singing… Pain, pain go away, Come back another day, I just wanna get one up on life before it kills me. And I can't put my faith in a fallacy, I just wanna get one up on life before it kills me. I saw it all flash and pass by

There went his chance with you, Law thought. He wasn´t surprised at all at how much he fucked up again, it was the only thing he was half decent at. Yet it didn´t fill him with satisfaction like it usually would, instead the void inside of him only grew. When he told Robin about his struggles, she frowned at first before she started giggling. You also ranted about Law to her. Robin gave you the tip to be patient, Law would come around, he didn´t mean what he said and he didn´t know how to voice his affection towards others, let alone figure out he actually held those affections. With bright lights

You thanked her before leaving her with a smile. Patience, huh? You weren´t really a patient person, but you got it, you didn´t want to jump onto Law, getting all personal. It was stupid, the more you thought about it. You would´ve reacted the same way if someone asked you about your deepest, darkest secrets for the first time you talked. Well, maybe not exactly the same way, you´d turn to other measures than tell that person in detail how many people you killed and that their screams haunted you every night and you still didn´t regret it. Perhaps he was a lost cause, but perhaps he was also just a broken man, maybe he was both. Maybe the sadistic asshole stuff was only a facade of it all. But then again, probably not. And right before my eyes was the Exit sign.

Law has been lost so many times in his life, not even metaphorically speaking, he was just shit at orientation and never really knew where he was. So he was more than glad to be on a crew that had a great navigator, it just gave him a sense of security he needed in his life. He never had any sort of security or reassurance, his life was always hanging on a thread, not because of his sickness, well, not entirely because of it anyway. It was more like he kept fucking things up, real bad too. Law has always lived his life with death hanging at his back, death was always present in his life, whether he was awake or not. Sometimes it felt like the sweetest release on earth, sometimes it annoyed him to no end. I saw it all flash and pass by

Today was one of those days. He finally had some sort of false sense of security and happiness, he met people that genuinely cared about him, made friends, fell in love, yet he still felt death´s cold glare at his back, as if it was saying: “You´re next”. But he didn´t want to be. Not this time. For the first time in his life he actually took some care of himself, he watched out for any risks that could harm him or his friends. And asked why I wasted precious time,

It all made sense to him now, the way he lived his life before didn´t count as living, it was mere survival with a pinch or making others suffer and betrayal both of his side and behalf. Now it was different, he could open up to Robin and Zoro, they shared everything with each other, it felt secure. And without them he would´ve never reflected upon his actions and the words he said, the way he said them, the way he meant them and the way you understood them. And most importantly they gave him the guts to actually apologize to you, explain himself, at least a little. But that was a start, it was something. It just passed me by. It just passed me by.

In turn you did something he wasn´t used to, you forgave him. But you also apologized for asking such a personal and intimate question. “It´s fine, I guess that´s how you show that you care… if you do that is” he stumbled over his words again. But how could he not with you being so close to him? He could feel the way you breathed, your nervous ticks, the shy way you looked at him and the slight frown, the hurt in your eyes. “Of course I care… how could I not?” you whispered to prevent your voice from shaking from all the nervousness you experienced right now. We are just passing by. (Just passing by.) Just passing by. Oh, we are just passing by. (Just passing by.) Just passing by.

“Trust me, there are more reasons to not care about me than there are reasons to actually like me” Law bitterly commented and you pouted, making him smirk. It made him want to hug you and hold you close. But the way he knew himself, he´d tease you about it until you grew sick and tired of him and left. “Those are your reasons though, not mine. And frankly speaking, I don´t care about your reasons. I trust my heart and what it tells me” you crossed your arms, you looked like a mother scolding her child. Law´s smirk grew wider with every second he looked at you. “You know hearts can´t speak, right?” he remarked teasingly and watched your face go from disbelief, to disappointment, to the corners of your lips twitching to you bursting out into full on laughter.

And damn, if Law could make you laugh like that, he was doing something right in his pitiful life. A certain pride filled him when he saw you fighting for air and when you looked at him again, you started laughing again. “You´re an idiot” you giggled, finally breathing normally again. “I know” Law smirked awkwardly. Pain, pain go away, Come back another day, I just wanna get one up on life before it kills me. I can't put my faith in a fallacy, I don't wanna wait for that goodbye to see what could've been. And I just wanna get one up on life before it kills me.

[marvelandimagine]

Framework (Part Two)

Summary: Request - Bucky x reader songfic where he pushes her away and they break up but he’s miserable without her and it all ends in fluff and apologies

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word Count: 2,200

Author’s Note: This was literally the hardest chapter I’ve ever written idk why but I should probably start outlining instead of winging it 25/7 lol anywho sorry this took forever and hopefully p3 will come to my brain faster! / based on Framework by The Story So Far

Taglist: @firefly-in-darkness @emptynote @buckysgoddess

How’d this happen?

Found your way in

So distracting

Splitting me in half again

Can’t ever sever the ties I made

The knots are strong

The framework’s laid

No matter how many things I say

The tangible will always be what I crave

Six agonizing days pass, with Bucky coming to the conclusion that he actually can’t live with his decision. He feels like he’s drowning in regret, his anxiety is off the charts, and, plainly, he’s just fucking miserable.

Despite everything he said to you, to himself, to Sam, it’s become crystal clear that not having you in his life is hurting him way more than confronting his trust issues and fear of impermanence.

He misses you like hell. The scent of your clothes, the way you laugh, the warmth in your eyes and on your fingertips. How perfectly your bodies fit together, the way you gasp and growl his name. How you would hold him to your chest, tracing soothing patterns across his skin when he couldn’t stop shaking from the nightmares and the flashbacks. How funny and beautiful and kind you are. Even things that had irritated him, your reiterated suggestions of different therapies and mindfulness techniques (some that had helped you personally), how you never tried to hide rolling your eyes, you constantly misplacing your keys/phone/wallet and him finding it within seconds -- he missed it all. All of you, the good and bad, had somehow become woven into his being. He could sooner get rid of how he felt about you than get rid of himself.

He told himself he wouldn’t do it, but he’s been repeatedly checking your Instagram page, heart thudding each time as he anticipates seeing the pictures of the two of you together deleted -- or worse, seeing you with another guy’s arm wrapped around you. So far, though, there’s been nothing except a video post of your dog, Balto, howling and grinning at your TV screen when Ghost appears on the latest Game of Thrones. It just makes his heart ache more, that he chose to remove himself from these small, wonderful little moments in your life, and for what? 

He keeps staring at your number, his thumb hovering above the screen before he chucks the phone to the side, rubbing his eyes as he once again chickens out of contacting you. 

He reaches the breaking point when he starts reading back through old texts from around the time when you two first started dating. 

“I know we just said bye five minutes ago but I just wanted to say how happy I am that I met you. And you are definitely cuter than I am. That is all! Night, Buck.” And now the same blushing smile emoji that had him grinning from ear to ear makes his heart twinge.

“What the fuck did you do, Barnes?” he asks himself, letting the phone drop to his forehead with a dull thunk. 

He knows he wants—needs—you back, but he doesn’t know where to even begin. 

He sighs, grimacing as he rolls himself out of bed and trudges out toward the living room. There’s only one thing to do.

Bucky can already hear Sam’s voice emanating down the hall as he approaches:

“You call THAT avant garde?! That silhouette is as bland as toast. TOAST, Nina!”

Bucky sits himself down in the ottoman in the corner, careful not to walk in front of Sam — he thought he’d never hear the end of it when he accidentally blocked the screen during the last Grey’s Anatomy season finale.

“Project Runway again?” he asks, shaking his head.

“Hey, don’t you be getting all judgey now.” Sam smirks at Bucky, taking in his disheveled state. “You need to be jotting down notes, Kurt Cobain, wearing the same grungey-ass flannel three days in a row.”

Bucky shrugs.

“Not like I have anyone to impress.”

“You had someone to impress, but remember, you broke up with her, you cowardly fucking jackass.”

Bucky clenches his teeth as his scathing tone rattles in his head. He tries his best to ignore it and sound nonchalant as he swallows his pride to do something that normally sets his skin on edge: reach out to another person.

“Anyways, you busy?”

“Nah, I’ve had enough disappointment for today.” Sam grabs the remote, shutting off the screen and shifting to look at Bucky. “What’s up?”

Bucky exhales deeply, and he can practically feel the apprehension settling on his face, his habitual reluctance to open up kicking in.

“Um …” 

He bites the corner of his lip, trying to think over his words when his gut just wants him to yell, “I FUCKED UP please tell me how to get Y/N back.”

He’s spared having to, though, as Sam cuts through the silence:

“You want to get back together with Y/N, don’t you?”

Bucky stares at him.

“Is my misery that obvious?”

“Painfully.”

Despite his deadpan tone, the corner of Sam’s mouth twitches, and the two find themselves chuckling together. While he’ll never admit it to him, this is why Bucky views him as his best friend, why he trusts him -- he always knows how to make him laugh when he needs it. He knows Sam has his back.

Bucky shakes his head, running a hand through his hair.

“So, what do I do?”

“Before I can try to answer that, you need to tell me why you broke up with her in the first place.”

Thought I’d burn the seams if they frayed

Thought I’d prove the point that I made

“I thought if I ended things, I’d be able to stop caring and feeling so vulnerable, I guess. That it’d be better for her, because she deserved better anyways, and maybe it’d be better for me … I don’t think I really believed that, deep down, but … I was scared. Scared of getting hurt, not being enough.” 

Bucky pauses and sighs, staring at the ground as he wrings his hands, running his flesh thumb back and forth over the smooth metal.

His voice is quiet, apprehensive.

“I was scared of how I felt about her.” 

Bucky glances up after a few moments of silence and is met with Sam looking at him more seriously than he can ever remember.

“Do you love her?”

Normally Bucky would flinch at such a direct question, but now, finally facing the consequences of keeping himself so guarded, he hesitates only for a fraction of a second before he nods, and it feels like a weight has left his chest in acknowledging how he feels.

He loves you. And he doesn’t have to run from that.

Sam nods back in response, running his hand along the dark stubble on his face as he begins in earnest.

“Look … you have a lot of regret in your life, right? I know it’s over things you didn’t choose, but now, you can choose. So what’s your choice gonna be? The way I see it, A) You can keep doing what you’re doing and let fear run you into the ground, or, B) you can tell that fear to go to hell, reach out to Y/N, buy her the nicest apology flowers you can, and tell her everything you just told me.”

“And if she tells me to go to hell?”

Sam sighs.

“I mean, she’s probably going to be pretty pissed at you —and rightfully so— but,” he pauses, his tone lightening, “God knows why, she seemed to really be into you. And nobody gets over a breakup that fast unless the relationship was already dead for awhile. You guys looked like you were solid until -”

“I blew everything to pieces, yeah.” 

Bucky sits quietly for a few seconds, pausing to sit and feel the knowing. The alignment in both his heart and mind, what he wants moving forward.

“I think choice B is the clear winner, here.” 

Sam waves his fist back and forth.

“Ding ding ding!”

Bucky nods.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice earnest as his eyes lock on Sam’s.

Sam’s returning smile is full of encouragement.

“Hey man, I got you. And I know this ain’t easy for you, opening up about stuff. Just know there’s always a seat at the VA group just waiting for your supersoldier ass to sit down, if you ever want to talk more.” 

 “Nah I’m-” Bucky physically stops himself from finishing his default “nah, I’m good for now, but thanks” response, because if he’s realized anything throughout this entire ordeal, it’s that he is most definitely not “good,” or at least not doing as good as he’d like to be.

“Yeah, ok, I’ll do it.”

“For real?”

Bucky exhales deeply, his sadness hanging on every syllable.

“With all this … I don’t know, maybe I wouldn’t have acted the way I did with Y/N if I had started dealing with this sooner, getting more okay with talking and being honest with people,” he muses. “Like you said, if I really do want a normal life, I kinda need to find a better way to handle what’s going on in here,” he taps his temple and then his chest, “than just shutting people out.”

Incredulity is all over Sam’s face, coupled that something Bucky could swear looks like a glimmer of pride. 

“Wow, yeah, that’s great, that’s the kind of perspective that’ll help you move forward.” He grins. “You sure you’re feeling ok? This isn’t some fever-induced thing, right?” 

Bucky flips him off while Sam chuckles.

“Hilarious.”

“You know I’m playin.’” Sam nods vigorously. “Seriously, it’ll be good for you. Anyways, though, back to choice B.”

Bucky feels the rise and fall of his chest pick up in nervous anticipation, but he slides the phone out from the pocket of his jeans anyways, thumbs tapping away on its surface. 

“Hey. Can we meet up?” 

Before he can second guess himself, he hits send, promptly hurling the phone onto the opposite corner of the couch where Sam is perched.

“Watch it!”

“You tell me what she says back. I don’t wanna see it first.”

However long you’re gone, I will wait, I will wait.

And then an agonizing, crawling two hours pass, with Bucky finding himself unable to focus on the National Geographic moon landing documentary that would normally absorb him entirely, his eyes constantly straying from the screen to the phone sitting silently in the corner. You never took this long to answer a text when you were dating, so he knows you’re ignoring him.

“Maybe she blocked you and didn’t even see it.”

He’s just about to ask Sam for the phone back to message you on Instagram, past the point of caring how desperate he looks because it’s the truth, when it pings.

Sam snaps out from his half-napping state at the sound, stretching across the couch and grabbing the phone. He pulls a face and Bucky’s heart sinks -- Sam might as well have said “yikes” out loud.

“What’d she say?”

Sam looks at him with the tiniest bit of pity, tossing the phone back.

“Why.”

“Why? That’s it?” Bucky looks down at the screen in disbelief, and there it is, the one-word response.

“Yup.”

Bucky buries his head in the throw pillow closest to him, muffling his yell. 

“What do I even say to that?! She’s pissed off, and I don’t wanna do this over text.”

“You don’t have to do it all over text, but you gotta give her something. The last thing you said to her was that you wanted to break up, and now you want to see her. I’m guessing she doesn’t want to assume you want to get back together, but if you do, she wants you to know she’s still upset.” Sam shrugs. “You messed up, now you gotta work for it.”

Bucky takes the pillow off his face, grimacing.

“Goddammit.”

He takes a minute to craft his reply, staring down at the screen.

“Because you were right about everything. I never should have ended us, I’m an idiot and miss you like hell. I just want to talk.” He hits send and turns the phone over, heart thumping inside his chest.

Ten minutes pass before you answer:

“I’ll be home until 7, I have plans after.”

Bucky’s stomach drops as his brain conjures images of you dressed up but not for him, for some other guy, his metal hand clenching involuntarily.

“You don’t know that you don’t know that, c’mon. It’s only been six days.”

He replies immediately:

“Can I come see you at 5?”

“Ok.”

Even with the realization that it’s already 4:10 and he’s gonna have to haul ass to Adams Morgan while still finding the time to get you the nicest flowers he can, Bucky already feels lighter with hope. You agreed to see him. You’re giving him at least a fraction of a chance to put things back together. 

He flies up off the couch and takes off down the hall.

“I’m meeting her at her place at 5!”

Sam calls out to his retreating back, and Bucky allows himself a small smile.

“Hey, go get her. But you go shower first!”

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

CSUAPR PRT 3 FULL DRAFT

Carrying Lance into the bathroom, Keith sat his lover on the bathroom counter. Lance was wiping at his teary face, unable to look him in the and unable to stop crying. Keith hated it. He was painfully hard, dizzy on Lance's pheromones, yet Lance was miserable. Slotting himself between his husband's legs, he pulled Lance up to his chest, rubbing his back as he ignored the teasing wetness wiping across his crutch

"Babe, it's ok... it's ok, you don't need to cry"

Hiccuping, Lance hid his face against his neck, Keith raising his left hand to rub his wrist against his lover's neck

"Shhhh..."

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry..."

"You don't need to be sorry. You've done nothing wrong"

"It hurts... so much..."

"How do I help? What can I do?"

"I... want it... but it's so shameful... I hate this..."

"You want to have sex? If it hurts..."

"It hurts because there's... nothing in there... I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..."

"Babe, you're telling me I need to fuck you for you to calm down? Is that it?"

Lance nodded, sniffling loudly. His husband usually sought his neck out when distressed for his scent, if he wasn't pulling away than that had to mean that he'd finally found part of him that smelt acceptable

"Hey, I don't know if you can smell it, but there's nothing shameful about you. I want you. I want you so fucking bad baby..."

"It's not... you're not in control of yourself. It's this body"

"Lance. I love you and this body... Of course I want my husband, and I'll do anything to stop you feeling pain like this. I know you're not lying, I can smell your pain on you, and I know it's not how you want things to be, but maybe we can enjoy each other? We can pretend it's our honeymoon. You and me, in our own little world?"

"I... I'm really fucking scared. I was working and hit... and people weren't people anymore... they were all scents..."

"Oh, baby... it's ok. Here wrap your legs around me... I'm not going to lie, I'm not going to last long, but once I'm in you, it's going to feel so much better"

"I... can't... move my legs..."

"Alright. I've got you, baby. Do you want to lie back for me"

"No... too many scents"

"Ok. Here we go, you ready?"

"Ye-yes..."

  Lifting Lance by the arse, Keith sank into Lance's wet heat with ease, barely able to keep from coming as Lance clenched around him. Lifting him off the bench completely, Keith turned to slam Lance up against the bathroom door, pinning his husband in place as he growled. Holding his hips down, Keith couldn't hold back his urges thrusting into Lance hard and fast, his husband's fingers tearing at the skin of his back as he dissolved into mews and gasps. Feeling his dick swelling and starting to catch, he nuzzled at Lance's temple until his husband finally raised his head

"I'm going to come, baby. You feel so fucking good around my dick... You ready?"

"Kiss?"

"You want to kiss?"

Nodding, Lance came between them, come hitting Keith's stomach as he pushed his lips against his husband's, letting his orgasm wash through him as Lance's body went limp beneath him. Running his hands up and down his lover's upper legs, he kept his lips against Lance's, breathing through his nose as he tried to distract his husband from the fact he was still rutting hard between his legs as he kept coming inside of him. He'd come embarrassingly fast, in a matter of moments, a few doboshes at the most. Breaking the kiss, Lance gasped as his head thumped back against the solid door

"Quiznak! Are you alright?"

"Hurts less... needed air"

Moving his right hand up to cup Lance's face, Lance nuzzled into the touch, kissing his palm

"You feel better?"

"Not so hot... I can think better... You... smell like Acxa... and... something rotten"

Wrinkling his nose, Keith kissed the tip. Lance looked far too cute not to

"Sorry. I ran into her and the trainees racing to get here"

"Can we shower? I don't like their scents..."

"It might hurt... I'm pretty stuck in here"

"I'm... sorry, but I'm going to be sick if I have to keep smelling them on you"

"Ewww. No. Hold on tight then..."

  Lance's version of holding on tight was clawing at his back as Keith's dick jostled, which was far too swollen to pull out without harming his husband. Much more carefully than when he'd slammed Lance into the door, Keith propped Lance up against the shower wall so he took the brunt of the water as he adjusted it to be just above room temperature. With Lance feeling ill, hot water was more than likely going to make him vomit. Stepping back into the spray, Lance whimpered as the water hit his skin. His face hidden against his neck again so Keith couldn't see his expression

"Too hot?"

"No... feel gross... really drained"

"Does it still hurt?"

"No. Keith... why are you here?"

Apparently he hadn't fucked Lance senseless, instead he'd fucked sense right into him

"Because Daehra called to let me know. Why didn't you? I thought we agreed to tackle this together"

"I know... but it... I didn't want to disturb you... you've been so busy with work... and this is... I hate this... it hurts... everything feels so gross... I don't want to take up too much of your time..."

Lance's words felt like a slap to his face, his heart giving an uncomfortable beat. He was his husband. Lance wasn't supposed to feel like that. He was the one person that Lance was supposed to know would always, always be on his side

"You're my husband"

"I know! I know... but... I don't know what to say... I'm so tired of interrupting your work... You work so hard... I don't want..."

"Lance, stop it. I'm your husband!..."

Shit. He was yelling. Lance didn't do well with yelling, plus yelling while still coming in his husband felt... weird when it wasn't him calling Lance's name

"...I'm your husband. You're meant to talk to me. Daehra said you're been sad. I know you've looked exhausted when we talk..."

"I'm fine"

"Babe... you're not fine. My dick is stuck in you... If you're not talking to me, I can't be here for you"

  A tick passed, then another... and a third... Long enough that Keith thought Lance was going to fob him off with another half-arse answer... instead Lance howled in misery, dissolving into sobs again. Dammit. He thought Lance was calm enough for this

"I'm sorry! I love you so much but I don't want you coming home because I hate seeing you leave me behind! I don't know what to do because I don't want to burden you! Ugh... I'm sorry... I'm trying but... I miss you all the time... and I can't tell you that because your works important... and... and... I... ugh... love you..."

Quiznak. He'd pushed him too far...

"I love you too. I love you so much. I hate having to leave you behind, but baby, you're never burdening me. If you don't tell me what you're feeling, then... what good am I?"

"I don't want you to hate me"

"I am not going to hate you. I don't hate you. I hate that I've kept letting you down"

"You... have work..."

"You're more important than work"

"No I'm not... You're training the new generation of Blades while... I run just a hotel..."

"Look here you, no. You saved people. I've heard about it... and I saw you picked up some small bounties..."

"Its work anyone could be doing"

"Yet no one had bothered to organise everyone and bring them together like you did"

"They didn't want to... they didn't want it unless they were getting something out of it"

"But things have gotten better as whole, haven't they?"

"I don't know... I'm sorry... my head gets weird"

"I know it does"

Lance shook his head

"I mean... in heat... it's hard to find words... I know this sounds like a cop out... but I'm not right in the head"

Keith sighed. Sliding his hand up from Lance's arse, his dick and Lance's long caramel legs around his waist were the only thing keeping his husband up now, Keith threaded his fingers through his husband's went hair

"Why can't you get it already? I'm hurting too. I tell you when I missed you. When I'm lonely. I tell you that I watch your videos and that I hate working so much... Am I not supposed to tell you that?"

"No... no... I want to be there for you"

"That's what I want. I want us to be there for each other"

"I have... so much stuff going on... If you got hurt because of me... I couldn't live... argh... sorry... it's starting again..."

Quickly to move, Keith took Lance by the arse trying to relieved the pressure in his husband's legs, guiding Lance back against the wall and grabbing the shower gel from the holder

"It's starting again? Does it hurt again?"

Lance winced as he nodded, both hands coming to rest on his smooth belly

"Cramping..."

"I'm still in you... "

Lance nodded, his husband's chest rising further than normal as he took a deep breath, and released it slowly

"I know... I know... normally... I'm alone... feels better with you, but it's still tender..."

  Lathering up the shower puff, Keith started with Lance's shoulders. He had no way of understanding what Lance was feeling physically. He could curse everything and everyone out there, but that wouldn't give him answers. He wanted to know. He wanted to know how to care for Lance properly so he didn't feel neglected, used, or abused and wrong because his body was a little different

"What does it feel like? I mean... is there anyway to describe it?"

"Um... like... food poisoning... When you get those sharp pains... and all you can think of is dying to escape the pain..."

Keith stiffened at the word "dying". Lance had tried taking his own life before, even as a descriptive word, his stomach felt as if it'd dropped to sit in his feet

"... then... there's the need to have sex... to be push down and fucked... to have your body acting on its own... it doesn't matter what you do, it doesn't go away... I know the pills were bad... but my heat was gone... it was gone and I could control my body... I don't like this... I feel like I'm using you because I can't take care of myself"

Having worked his way down to Lance's stomach as he washed him, Keith shook his head. A soapy hand coming up to force Lance to stare him in the eyes

"You are not using me. You are my husband, and I am so fucking proud of you for getting of that junk"

"I miss it... the feeling... some days I want to scratch my skin off because I can't take anything and the feeling doesn't leave"

"And you don't. Both times you slipped up, you told me. You told me and we talked about it together. You've gotta start telling me more"

Groaning in pain, Lance shifted upwards. Keith could feel his semen and Lance's wetness running down his crotch

"Babe?"

"Pull out... I need to stand up"

"Are you sure?"

Lance gave a weird kind of half headshake before nodding

"Please... I want to try relieving the pressure on my stomach..."

"Alright. Can you take your own weight if I pull out? It might hurt, I'm still pretty swollen"

"Mmm... go slow..."

  The noises that left Lance's lips were pornographic as Keith pulled out. His dick was still oozing cum in a near constant stream. Whimpering as he stood, Lance turned his back towards him in order to lean against the tiles

"Give me a tick"

"Want me to do your arse and thighs?"

"Please... feels weird in a bad way... I know it's you... I just... if I give my anxieties this... then they should settle... or something"

Despite the view of Lance's gaping leaking opening, and the pride Keith felt a watching thick trail of cum spilling down Lance's taint... and the fact that cleaning him up would ruin the view, Keith fought his instincts down again

"Lance. You don't need to explain why you need things a certain way like this... we've never spent a heat together, so it's a learning curve for both of us. If you want to be clean, I'm happy to get on my knees and worship this beautiful body of yours like you deserve"

"Ghwah! What am I supposed to say to that?!"

Squawking at him, Keith smirked as he sank down into his knees and ran the shower puff up the back of Lance's left leg. Washing the spot first, he then trailed kisses over the scar marks, and mottled spots that came from time spent in a healing pod. He didn't understand why it mottled Lance's skin. Not that he complained. His husband was more than just his eye catching body. As cheesy as it sounded, and if he were the romantic and whimsical type without a reputation to uphold, he might go as far as to say that it was Lance's soul that he was in love with

"Mmm... you don't have to say anything. I just want you to be comfortable"

"I don't think I'll be comfortable until this heat passes... I'm sorry... you're always the one who has to drop everything to look after me"

"And I'd do every single time..."

"I'd do it for you... come to you... this isn't working how we thought... argh..."

Hissing in pain, Lance pushed Keith's hands off him as he hunched over

"Babe!"

"It's ok... I'm ok... I need to get out..."

"I'll get out too..."

Lance shook his head, sadness in his eyes

"I can still smell them... I'm sorry..."

"I swear if you apologise again, I'm going to yell at you. It's nothing to scrub myself down, but will you be ok?"

"I'll be ok... I'm starting to get hazy again..."

  Lance walked out the shower space with the grace of a new born fawn. Leaning against the bathroom counter, his husband hung his head, clearly concentrating on his breathing. Lance's heat had barely started, and his emotions were already a mess. Keith had the feeling that they wouldn't be getting much sleep, not just from Lance's physical needs, or his, but from the nightmares he was sure would plague Lance. Heats were such a horrible and painful for thing for him, not at all some kind of gift like he'd thought maybe he'd be able to show his husband. In theory a movement of being dick deep in his husband was paradise, in reality he was starting to see the truth.

 Scrubbing himself thrice down, he'd barely rinsed off before Lance was staggering back to him, Keith wincing in sympathy as Lance fell down on his knees

"Lance!"

Shuffling forward, his husband's eyes were black with lust. His hands grabbing Keith's hips as nosed into his crotch

"Need it... need it... you smell so fucking good"

Keith had a healthy attachment to his dick. He never pushed Lance to do anything more than he was comfortable with. He never put his hands on Lance's head or covered his mouth with his hand. So when Lance slid his mouth around his aching dick, Keith's eyes nearly rolled back as his hands went up to grip just above his hips. Why did humans have to have hands? He had no idea where to put his hands... Lance had thrown himself into this, he'd barely started but they way he was working Keith's dick with his mouth... it was enthusiastic to say the least. Bobbing his head, Lance paused for half a moment to spread his legs, releasing Keith's right hip and reaching down to finger himself while rising his sticking his arse out. Quiznak... Fuck... he wished there was a camera in their bathroom, because there was no way that he was going to forget this. The way Lance's eyelids were lidded. His scent coming off thickly like they were standing on the beach under the warmth of the noonday sun. The soft moans Lance louder groans as Lance hollowed his cheeks and fingered himself. The way droplets of water rolled down Lance's spine, his hips jerking softly as his wetness squelched lewdly. His heart was racing, if Lance kept this up, he was going to come... and he definitely didn't want to get bitten for doing so...

  Pushing Lance with his fingertips on his husband's shoulders, Lance was confused. His mouth still open, trails of drool and precum arching like spiderweb threads from his soft lips to the head of Keith's oozing erection. Falling back to slightly, Lance's eyes widened as his fingers slipped deeper inside, a small spurt of come landing between his husband's bent knees

"Bed. Now"

  Lance dragged him to their room, bending over the end of their bed and sticking his arse out as he moved to fist himself. Taking his husband by the hips, Keith growled. He could smell those offensive scents now and he didn't want them anywhere near his husband. Not in their space. Lance was his to fuck and breed. Shoving himself in harshly, Lance half shot up, a knee on their bed as Keith started to ride him

"Going to fuck you so good baby... breed you so fucking well..."

The Galra eyes had turned yellow, his teeth sharpening as his scent flooded the room, warning no one to dare cross the threshold lest he tear them limb for limb. Crying out, Lance came across their sheets as he clutched at the fabric for purchase...

 Now their bedding was pealed back, he could see his clothes mixed into the layers of blankets. Their pillows were coveredin his shirts, his pride swelling that his husband had surrounded him with his scent. Nudging him up, Keith pulled out until Lance had climbed up onto their bed properly, rewarding his husband for such good behaviour with a better position. Allowing himself a taste of his husband, Keith jerked himself as he leaned down to lap at his husband's twitching opening, moaning as Lance's sweet wetness rolled down his throat. Rocking back, Lance fucked ground his arse against Keith's face

"Keeeeith... need it... fill me... want it so bad... fuck me... wanna... breed... so empty..."

  Keith's ears twitched at the word "breed". Running his tongue up his husbands arse, he repositioned himself, sheathing himself slowly in Lance in order to savour the feeling of his lover clenching and drawing him deeper. Bottoming out, he ran his tongue up to Lance's left ear, tugging at the lobe with his teeth. Just as slowly he drew back, Lance whimpering at the lack of pace. Ramming back in, his husband cried out. Repeating the action over and over, it was a sweet torture for both of them, Lance dissolved into chanting

"Keith... Keith... oh... ah... ah .. fuck... fuck... oh fuck... oh fuck... oh fuck... so fucking big for me, papi... you feel so fucking good... gonna... gonna fuck me and fill me... fill... me so much..."

Smirking, Keith sat back.  Pulling Lance's arse cheeks apart, the half-Galra widened his husband's legs with his knees, watching himself fucking Lance's sopping cunt as Lance hungrily ripped around his swelled dick. Mewing at the change of position, Keith picked his pace up. Slap after wet slap filling the space as the wetness of Lance's arse rolled down their thighs. He felt fucking high on the scent, his fingernails now claws to allow him to hold Lance firmly down and breed him. He was going to fucking flood him with his seed. He was going to breed Lance until his husband's arse was gushing his semen out of that slutty little hole of his. His husband's orgasms hitting in hard pulses, the sheets beneath splotched around the sticky darkened wet spot as he rubbed the tip against them in search for further stimulation, moaning and mewing as he tried to fuck down against the mattress and push back to get Keith deeper inside of him. Unashamedly debauched all self restraint was gone. Lance had cum three times for him already untouched, crying and whimpering for Keith to let him fuck his hand. Praising his husband, he'd allowed him to ride out his forth orgasm into his palm knowing that he couldn't starve off orgasm any longer. His balls felt heavier than normal, the girth of his penis stretching Lance so wide open his husband looked impaled, ready to tear so easily around him. Snarling as Lance messed with his rhythm by bottoming out, Keith let his fingernails break Lance's skin

"Fuck me harder... fuck... Keith... need it... need it... please...

 Lance pressed his smooth chest against their sheets with his arse up in the air whimpering at being unable to get enough friction on his dick, humping his hand. Pushing Lance up with his thighs, he rocked his husband back against his dick, forcing him to fuck himself for daring to move

" .... Keith... Keith... harder... harder... shit... mmmnnn... fuck... don't-stop-don't-stop-don't-stop... I'm gonna... gonna... ah... ah... gonna get pregnant... fuck... fuck... ah... mnnnn nnngh... ah... Ah!"

Fuck going slow...

Riding Lance mercilessly hard through his orgasm, Keith tasted blood as his vision misted red, and his own orgasm crashed through him so hard he fell forward as his hand flew to his dick, trying to stem the overwhelming gushing feeling like he was pissing inside his husband due to the force.

 Every time he came inside Lance, it felt like a primal surge to thoroughly soaked his husband's insides with his seed. He loved to watch as his cum ran from his lover's arse and down his thighs. He loved to lick Lance clean. Revelling in the way Lance would hold his head down with those thick caramel thighs of his. He loved teasing the over sensitised ring of muscle with the tip of his tongue, ignoring Lance's embarrassed begging when his scent wasn't matching his words. His husband would be trying to fuck himself on his tongue as wet and cum covered Keith's lips and chin. He held no shame during sex with Lance. Not anymore. The way Lance cried out for him, for more... knowing he was all his and all those who'd seen the sight that rightfully belonged to him were all dead... he was drunk on the feeling. Drunk knowing that Lance had placed his ultimate trust in Keith to let go and give into their instincts.

  Coming down, Lance was sniffling beneath him and his nape was between Keith's teeth. Realising he'd bitten his husband hard enough to break the skin, Keith forced his teeth out of the bite, licking at the blood because he didn't know what else to do. It wasn't like he liked the taste or scent of blood. There were too many bad memories associated with it. He hadn't even meant to bite Lance. Pulling Lance sideways, Keith curled around him, rubbing at his belly as he swapped from licking to nuzzling

"Babe? Babe, you with me?"

"Tired... hurts..."

"Shit babe. I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to bite you as I came..."

"Hurts..."

"I know... fuck... I'm still coming..."

"I want to sleep..."

Sliding a hand up, Lance gripped at his pillow as he nosed into it. Having ridden through the wave of need again, Keith was feeling drained. Lance taking the brunt of everything must have barely been awake in his hold

"You sleep my love... you sleep, I've got you"

"You won't go... will you?"

"No, babe. No... you take a little nap for me... I'm going to be right here"

"Ok... its cold"

Keith was drenched in sweat. It definitely wasn't cold, but for Lance's sake, he grabbed a handful of the strewn blanket and pulled it over them

"I'm sorry"

There it was again

"It's alright. You're alright... get some sleep for me. We'll have something to eat and drink when you wake up"

"Not hungry..."

"I don't care. You need food..."

He needed food, rest and probably medication. Or at least Daehra's vitamin pills if he couldn't get Lance eating. Nosing at Lance, his husband didn't reply, unexpectedly already asleep or more likely he'd passed out.

    As Lance's heat grew, his ability to do anything himself became practically nonexistent. He couldn't sit up to eat or drink unaided, Keith sitting him in his lap to feed him which was never more than a few bites before Lance would whimper at him to say no more. Water was harder, Lance barely able to swallow water and pills. The second time Keith had tried to give him pills Lance had had a panic attack so bad he'd thrown up and passed out after fighting him off. His husband's sleep was broken, not more than a varga or two at a time, unless Keith stayed buried in his husband. It was mentally draining, yet Lance reaching him with those loving arms of his and shy smile on his face made it worth it. He couldn't take Lance's fear away, or help his husband control his bodily functions, but he could worship every inch of Lance's soft body when he was buried between his legs. He could take his time to pleasure Lance into orgasm. To press soft kisses to his love marked skin, and whisper words of praise at his husband's strength. He could be there when Lance woke disorientated and whimpering, pulling him up to straddle his lap as he rubbed his back until he settled. He could be there to carry Lance to the bath so he didn't have to sleep covered in cum and other fluids. To wash his hair and dry him down. He didn't know how much registered for his husband, but he hoped Lance knew and could feel his love for him.

      *

Lance felt as if he was melting. Everywhere Keith touched blossomed with warmth. He could hear his husband's soft words, feel the love in every soft caress and gentle thrust. He wanted to be able to reply, but his throat was wrecked from crying out as often as he had. They'd gone it at like rabbits, not a surface in their bedroom or bathroom hadn't been free from his heat. His body in overload from the pleasure and love. He loathed his heat, this one the worst he'd ever experienced, but it was manageable only because Keith was there to keep him safe. His husband never faltering in his duties, whether it be feeding him, bathing him or fucking him, Keith was there.

 Moaning as his husband slowly rocked from behind, his heat was wavering. The persistent crampings of his stomach lessening to a constant thudding ache as Keith pleasured his body. He could feel Keith's lips against his neck, his right leg raised and supported as Keith jerked him in time with his thrusts, his dick thickened but limp from how many times he'd come. Feeling another wave of orgasm building, the soft whine from his kiss swollen lips was all Keith needed, to know he was close. Picking up his pace, Lance came with a strangled whine, Keith growling as dick caught spilling warmth through his belly. Trying to roll his upper half, he flopped back like a dying fish, feverish eyes finding Keith's. Gently kissing him, Keith gave him a tired smile, lowering his leg and wiping his hand off, before bringing it up to cup his face. The pad of his thumb rubbing softly across the dip under his eye

"Hey, beautiful. Are you with me?"

Blinking at Keith, he wanted to reply. Coughing slightly at the wooly feeling of his mouth, Keith hushed him

"It's alright. I think your heats passing, your scents settling down"

"Mmm..."

It was more than he'd expected to be able to reply

"I wanted to make sure you knew I'm here"

He did... his stupid words weren't working, but he could still move his lips

"I love you"

Keith took a moment with his brow scrunched slightly

"You said you love me, didn't you?"

"Mmm..."

"I love you, too. Fuck, babe. I love you so much"

"Thank you"

"You don't have to thank me... I know you never would have left me to go through this alone. Besides, you're really beautiful"

Lance wanted to shove his husband playfully, but all he could do was let his eyelids start to droop. He was so quiznakking tired, and Keith felt so damn nice to cuddle into

"You should sleep. You did so good baby. I'm so proud of you"

Leaning in, Keith nuzzled into his cheek besides his nose as he kissed him softly. Keith was far more than he deserved. Who'd want to spend a movement like this? Forced to take care of someone too weak to do much more than whine or force themselves upon them. He adored him more than life itself.

[blancheludis]

A/N: @iron-man-bingo​, square: Avengers: Found Family

Fandom: Marvel, MCU Character: Tony Stark, Clint Barton, Phil Coulson Words: 3.158 Tags: Grief, Friendship, Protective Tony Stark, Team as Family, 2012 Avengers

Summary: On the first anniversary of Phil's death, Clint is left to grieve him alone. When Tony stumbles over him, he has a choice to make. Being a team means being there for each other, even though emotional support is not actually his thing. In the end, it is no choice at all.

"I'm fine," Clint says, and Tony does not believe him for a second.

"You do know what fine means, yes?" Tony asks, "Feelings inside not expressed."

---

Tony prides himself on having a sixth sense for gauging other people’s moods. Usually, when someone is having an emotional crisis, he uses that to flee before he is being dragged into that mess. Because while he is good at recognizing emotions, he does not know how to handle them.

When he finds Clint sitting at the kitchen table at three in the morning, Tony has a choice to make. His shoulders are dropping and his hands are clenched around a mug to the point where they are trembling. From where Tony is standing in the door, he cannot see Clint’s face, but it is turned to the surface of the table. Despite having been a sniper for SHIELD, Clint is always moving, fiddling, unable to sit still. Now, however, not a single muscle twitches. He is so still, he might just not be breathing either.

Tony thinks about walking right back out of the kitchen and finding his coffee elsewhere. He could message Natasha. She might know what is up with Barton. Thinking back, he has not seen her for some days, meaning that she could be on a mission. Steve is still in the tower, and Bruce too. Even Thor would be better equipped to handle this.

It is not just that Tony has no talent whatsoever for controlling emotional crises, but he hardly thinks that Clint would appreciate him trying. People do not come to him for support of that kind. Perhaps it would be kinder if he just went and built Clint a new bow. That might cheer him up.

Something lets Tony hesitate. Clint’s hunched shape screams misery and Tony is loathe to leave him like this. It is true that Tony is not the best example for how to deal healthily with problems, but no matter how snappish he gets, he is usually glad when he is not left alone.

Taking a deep breath, Tony steps into the kitchen. Normally, Clint would have noticed him long before this, but now he only looks up when Tony makes his steps louder than necessary as he walks over to the coffee machine.

“What’s going on?” Tony asks cheerfully as if he has not mentally prepared himself for this question for the past minutes. “Why do you look like someone snapped your favourite bow?”

He stills when he glances over his shoulder and is met by Clint’s blood-shot eyes. If Clint looked miserable from behind, his face is a hundred times worse. His lips are bitten bloody, not just in one place, which could be ruled an accident, but looks methodically chewed. He is pale and gaunt like he has not slept in days.

A sliver of regret pokes at Tony’s chest as he thinks he should have better left. There is no way he is going to be able to make this better. The greater part of him prickles with determination, though. These days, he feels like his place among the Avengers is secure, and not just because of what he can contribute monetarily to the team. With that comes a sense of duty and, admittedly, friendship. He likes Clint, likes all of them, so he does not want to see any of them suffer like this.

Clint looks at him for a long moment, likely going through the same motions of wondering what Tony is doing here. “I’m fine,” he then says, not bothering to put much effort into his lie.

The coffee machine beeps, causing Clint to flinch. In turn, Tony’s concern rises another notch.

“Well, that’s not what I asked,” Tony chides, still sounding as unfazed as he can manage. He glances at Clint’s mug, then shrugs and simply fills two new ones. With them in hand, he goes to the table and sits down across from Clint. “Also, you do know what fine means, yes?” he asks as he pushes one of the mugs over. Feelings inside not expressed.”

Clint stares at the mug as if he is not sure what to do with it. Then, slowly, he uncurls his fingers, stretching them, and closes them back around the new mug. He still makes no move to drink any of the coffee but likely just needs something to hold on to.

“Since when are you an expert on expression emotions?” Clint questions gruffly. He glares shortly at Tony before his eyes drop firmly back to the surface of the table.

“I’m not,” Tony agrees, smirking. He leans back in his seat, arms spread in front of him. “I’m the expert on repressing them, however. So you can’t fool me into thinking that’s not what you’re doing.”

Another miniscule flinch ripples through Clint, although his expression does not change. “What do you want?”

Tony keeps silent long enough for Clint to raise his head again to stare at him. They have already passed the point of no return, but Tony thinks he still has to weigh his words carefully.

“To know what’s wrong,” he then says, growing serious. “To help.”

Clint’s lips move into something that wants to be a sneer but falls short, leaving it mangled but just as ugly. “You can’t.”

Tony himself has used these words so often. Problems always seem bigger from the inside. Worse, still, is the thought of taking a chance and opening up to someone else.

As if there is nothing to it, Tony shrugs and says simply, “Try me.”

He is not surprised when Clint’s eyes narrow at him. This is a game he knows by heart. Now come the insults, the unintentional and then the intentional hurt. Tony is a textbook example for these things, he just usually does not get to witness it from the other side. Rhodey and Pepper deal more healthily with anything that troubles them.

“Stark,” Clint speaks up, voice cracking like a whip, “you’re not exactly the go to type where it comes to problems.”

True. Tony runs wherever problems are involved, hides himself away and waits until the storm has blown over or he has built himself a third option to escape a difficult choice. That is not going to help Clint, though.

Tony smiles without humour. “That’s funny, since you’re usually calling my name when you want new toys or when there’s property damage to pay for.”

“Yeah, but that’s –”

Keeping his face calm, Tony cuts him off. “Material things. I get it,” he says with just a hint of bitterness. “I’m not a person, I’m just the money I have.”

That is an argument for another day – another lifetime if Tony would get his way because he does not exactly want to shake up the status quo – so he swallows all resentment this has rising up in his gut and keeps his face as approachable as he can manage.

Clint has the decency to look slightly ashamed. “That’s not what I meant,” he mutters, looking at his hands.

“That’s what everybody means,” Tony argues coolly, then clicks his tongue. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first to tell me so. You weren’t even the most tactless.”

Making a split-second decision, Tony gets to his feet. He even abandons his coffee as he turns to the door. It is a gamble, based entirely on the hope that Clint might swim in misery but is still looking for a shore to safely land at.

Just when Tony thinks he has miscalculated, bodged up helping Clint and lost his coffee, Clint calls out after him.

“Could you please not run off?”

With a huff that only years of acting experience keep from sounding amused, Tony half-turns back, his expression hard.

“Why?” he asks, careful not to sound too cold. “You’re obviously fine, and since there’s nothing you need my wallet for here, I can just as well go. I do have things to do.”

“I didn’t mean to –” Clint interrupts himself. Something in his eyes shutters and then he bites his lips again. Hard. Merely looking at it hurts Tony. “It’s Phil, all right?”

Agent? Tony blinks in surprise. While he wanted Clint to consider opening up, he has not expected him to do so immediately, not all the way. Perhaps Clint is more desperate than Tony first thought if he broke so easily. “What?”

After another long moment, Clint says, almost too quiet to hear, “Today’s Phil’s birthday. It’s his first since –” His knuckles around the mug grow even whiter, and if he does not stop torturing his lips, Tony is going to stuff his mouth with something that will not do more damage.

Showing some untypical patience, Tony waits for Clint to continue, lest he destroys the moment.

“We usually went to that small Italian place if we were both in the country,” Clint says slowly as if he is testing how each word feels on his tongue. “We always knew that one or both of us might not make it someday, but we still made the reservation for several years ahead. It was like a promise. But now –” He blinks hard then stares at a point between them on the table, seeing something that is invisible for Tony. “I thought I could go anyway, but Natasha’s on that stupid mission and – Phil’s dead and I –” Clint’s voice breaks, causing him to take a deep breath. When he resumes talking, there is new steel in his voice. “That’s what’s going on. Happy now?”

Clint’s glare hits Tony like a physical punch. Unshed tears cause his eyes to glisten, making him look almost delirious. Tony knows he is the complete opposite, so rooted in this inescapable reality that there is no choice but to take a stand and fight.

“Not at all,” Tony says firmly, without any of the snappishness he might have used in any other situation. He almost physically feels Clint’s grief pushing against his skin, feels the familiarity of it settling inside his bones.

Leaning forward, although not enough to invade Clint’s space, Tony claps his hands. “But, all right, we have several options here,” he exclaims in a pointedly business-like tone. “We can go to that restaurant anyway, you and I, or whoever else you want.” He begins counting off his fingers. “We can order in from there. We can also have a celebration tonight. The others don’t need to know why if you don’t want them to, but tell Thor we’re having a party and he’ll surely distract you. Before you know it, you’ll be laughing again. Agent wouldn’t have wanted you to hide away being miserable.”

That last bit was a miscalculation, Tony realizes as soon as the misery in Clint’s eyes turns sharp.

“Don’t call him that,” Clint snaps, looking surprised by the venom in his voice but not like he regrets it. “His name is – was – Phil. Coulson if you have to.”

Tony has had a similar conversation with Steve shortly after Coulson’s death. Back then, he deflected the topic with a biting quip. Now, however, he feels like Clint deserves the truth. At least parts of it.

“I know that,” Tony says calmly, but waits since he sees as much as he knows from experience that Clint would cut him off anyway.

“Then why don’t you call him that?” Clint demands, eyes growing sharper with reawakened anger. Tony is glad that he is digging himself out of his directionless grief. “I know you don’t respect anyone, but he deserves better than this.”

His face serious, Tony nods. “He deserved better than he got. But Agent has always been my nickname for him.”

That does not alleviate Clint’s anger even a little bit. “It’s not a nice one.”

“I knew Agent. Before Afghanistan or the Avengers,” Tony explains slowly, choosing his words carefully. “I’m sure he thought I couldn’t remember him with how distant he was when he came to debrief me after Afghanistan. He was always running after Fury when I came to visit SHIELD with Aunt Peggy.” He smiles, remembering how he loved these outings. “They sometimes put him on babysitting duty while they were taking care of the real work. He let me draw on his mission reports.”

Calling him Agent had not been meant as a nickname in the beginning. Tony had just been too young to pronounce Coulson correctly, but since Howard used to get easily irritated when Tony messed up something as simple as words, Tony found a simple way out. Adults, he learned that early on, like to be called by their titles and honorifics. Later, the name stuck because it fit. It has always been meant kindly, though.

Caught up in memories, Tony misses the way Clint’s expression morphs into one of surprise and then curiosity. His shoulders uncurl a bit from their hunched position, even while his hands stay where they are, holding the mug in front of him like a shield.

Clint clears his throat. “Why didn’t you say anything?” he asks, looking like he is not sure what to think of this revelation or whether he should feel guilty for snapping at Tony.

Tasting the regret on his tongue, Tony smiles sadly. “He didn’t seem to like me very much.” The indifference with which Agent had met Tony’s adult self had hit him hard since he used to admire him as a child and always felt safe with him – which is not a feeling he had around many grown-ups. “That’s not an unusual reaction,” he adds, putting as much nonchalance into it as he can muster, “I didn’t exactly grow up into someone likeable.”

For a moment, Clint looks like he is going to say something to that, but Tony is glad when he shakes his head and thinks better of it. He knows his failings well enough, and he is tired of other people going on about them.

“He never told me about this either,” Clint admits, not looking away from Tony as if he is gauging his reaction. “But, well, he did cut you more slack than he might have any other billionaire gone rogue with untested tech. I thought that was strange.”

Despite the situation, Tony chuckles. He has always felt uncomfortable under Agent’s scrutiny, as if Agent was another of his childhood heroes Tony disappointed.

“Don’t read too much into that,” he says dryly. “He would have tased me to kingdom come if I had danced out of line.”

To Tony’s delight, a small grin steals itself on Clint’s lips. “Which you would never.”

“Right?” Tony asks, drawing out the word. They share a smile. Using Clint’s lifted mood, he asks, “Anyway, what’s it going to be?”

The smile drops immediately from Clint’s face, but he keeps his head up, does not crumble again. Quietly, he says, “I don’t think I want to go out.”

He looks at Tony as if he expects judgement for this. Because of that, Tony makes a show of nodding his acquiescence.

“Okay,” he says easily. “Takeout then? With the rest of the team?”

It is clear that Clint does not want to see anyone, considering the way his expression sours. Still, he shrugs – brave in the way the convicted do when there is no escaping their fate.

“I’m sure Steve will be put out if we don’t invite him,” Clint says, and Tony thinks it is curious that he picked out Steve specifically. He is sure that is not just because Steve used to temporarily work for SHIELD and therefore has more of a connection to Agent than Thor or Bruce. “And someone’s bound to find out we’re having food delivered.”

Glad that Clint’s problem is one Tony can easily solve, Tony shrugs, his shoulders feeling weightless. “Who cares?” he asks lightly. “We’ll go up to the roof and have JARVIS make sure no one can come up. Just because Steve knew Agent peripherally too, doesn’t mean you have to want him there.”

For a moment, it seems like Clint is going to accept. The he pauses, swallows, and asks, “What if I don’t want you there?”

The words hit with a bit of delay, landing like punches against Tony’s sternum before they fully register in his mind. To be honest, he is not even surprised but unable to stop himself from being hurt by it. He takes a deep breath to keep his expression even, and shrugs with all the nonchalance he can muster.

“Then JARVIS will keep me out too,” he says and means it. “As long as you promise not to jump from the roof or something like that. We’d have to interfere then. Otherwise, you’re welcome to take all the time you need.”

They look at each other, unblinking. Tony cannot help the tenseness keeping his spine ramrod straight, while Clint’s face is unnervingly blank – at least right until he smiles.

“All right,” Clint exclaims suddenly, with more energy than he has shown since Tony entered the kitchen. “Takeout then. Not Italian. Maybe bring some of the good scotch too.”

His mouth dry, Tony asks, “Bring?” He does not trust his ears. Growing up amongst people who say one thing and mean another, this has been a valuable lesson once upon a time. “You mean send up?”

“No, bring,” Clint repeats firmly. Despite looking closely, Tony cannot detect any lie or even discomfort on Clint’s face. “I want you to tell me everything about baby Agent Phil.”

Slowly beginning to believe that this is happening, Tony does not stop the smile spreading on his lips. This feels like a bigger step forward than he has managed in all the time the Avengers have been living with him now. This token of trust, a shared emotion other than the brief delight of them still being alive after a battle.

Drowning the last of his coffee, Tony gets to his feet, desperate to not let this opportunity pass them by.

“Put on a jacket,” he advises as he puts his mug in the sink. “It gets cold up there. The scotch might keep you warm, but believe me when I say it doesn’t save you from getting sick.”

His sudden elation must have infected Clint too, because that is the widest smile the archer has shown all day.

“I’m sure that depends on how much you drink,” Clint quips dryly, sounding close to suggesting a bet.

“Challenge accepted.” Tony grins. He will win that one, considering how much experience he has. Tomorrow morning they will likely both curse this decision. Until then, though, this feels good. “Now, Thai sound all right?”

Clint nods, but does not say anything. Tony gives him time to back out, to find some threadbare excuse and do something better with his time.

A minute passes and Clint still looks as determined as before.

“Then let’s meet up on the roof in twenty.”

“It’s a date,” Clint says, smiling.

Agent truly deserved better than he got. Now, they might at least celebrate his memory in a way he would have liked. Together.

[incredibeale-archive]

Chloe broke up with Beca because she wasn't opening up emotionally and Chloe felt that the relationship was too one-sided. A month later she gets a call from the hospital because she is still Beca's emergency contact (car accident or something else?). She is shocked to see how Beca has deteriorated and also begins to learn why she was so closed off when she sees her past medical history.

{ Slight Trigger Warning for brief talk of child abuse }

Chloe Beale is Beca’s entire world. She is the light that shines through the darkness when it seems to consume Beca’s soul, she is the air that fills Beca’s lungs as she breaks the surface water, drowning in her own self-doubt. She is everything.

Beca’s entire world is drifting away, leaving her in the dark space. Her world stands there with sad, deep blue eyes and an uncharacteristic frown etching itself across her countenance, waiting. Waiting for Beca to say something. But all Beca can think to say is, “W-what?” The single word echoes continuously through her brain.

“I said I can’t do this anymore, Beca. I just, I can’t.” Chloe says, voice thick with emotions.

Beca feels like her heart has just dropped to the pit of her stomach, making her feel sick. “I don’t understand.” The brunette’s brows knit together in confusion and her throat tightens, because she thinks she actually does understand, but she needs Chloe to say it, to prove her right. Because she knew, she fucking knew it would happen.

Chloe glances away from her, runs a shaky hand through her red hair. “Beca, it just… it all feels onesided to me.”

“Is it – is it because we – we haven’t –” Beca can’t bring herself to finish it, but Chloe is shaking her head in the negative.

“God, no, Beca… I would never force you to do anything you weren’t ready for. That’s not – that’s not it.” Chloe sighs and Beca’s heart clenches because despite the fact that the redhead is about to break her into a million pieces, she still wants to reach out and hold her, kiss the furrow from her brow. “You know that I’m a very emotional person, Beca. And I’m open about my emotions. I offer them up to you freely but you – you don’t. You close yourself off and while that’s okay for the rest of the world, it’s not for me. I thought maybe once you trusted me, you’d let me in. I thought maybe if I offered up pieces of me, that you would offer up pieces of yourself and together we’d be something amazing, but… You never let me in, keep me at arms length like the rest of the world and it’s clear to me that, I’m nothing special to you. I’m just like the rest.”

Tears blur Beca’s vision but she works to blink them back, swallows the lump in her throat. “So,” She rasps, clearing her throat before she continues. “You’re breaking up with me, then.” It’s not a question, it’s a statement. Beca needs her confirmation, she needs Chloe to finally prove her right (god she would have given anything to be proven wrong).

She watches the way Chloe’s chin trembles in an effort to hold back her tears. She nods once, but Beca needs to hear it.

“Say it.” Beca grounds out through clenched teeth, anger suddenly filling her.

Chloe’s eyes snap up to hers and she blinks, clearly surprised by Beca’s tone. She swallows, takes a breath. “Yes. I–I’m breaking up with you.”

It’s like a physical blow to the chest and it takes every ounce of Beca’s willpower not to crumble to the floor right in front of Chloe. But she can’t, because in order for Beca to preserve what little of her control she has over this situation, her feelings – in order to start rebuilding her walls – she has to lash out.

So Beca allows the anger to spread through her like wildfire, burning her to the core. “Okay,” She breathes out in an eerily calm voice.

“O-okay?” Chloe asks, hurt and confusion coloring her features.

“Yeah. Okay. You’re right Chloe, you’re just like the rest.” Beca says evenly, arms crossing over her chest. “I thought you were different, but you’re just proving me right.”

“What does that even mean?” Beca watches as the redhead mirrors her actions, clearly going into the defensive.

“You’re leaving. Just like everyone else.” Hurt and guilt flash across Chloe’s face and a part of Beca takes satisfaction in it, while another part screams at her to stop, to apologize and fix it, but Beca barrels on. She lets out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. “I knew, I fucking knew I shouldn’t have let you in. I warned you, Chloe. I fucking warned you, but you just kept trampling down my walls like it was nothing, so I let you in but, I should have known that you were just like the rest, that you’d grow tired of me eventually. So yeah, you’re right, and unfortunately, so am I.” Beca’s eyes are stinging with tears as she watches Chloe shrink back at her words. “I wanted to be wrong so bad.” She adds in a much softer voice.

“Becs I–” Chloe starts, voice thick with tears.

“Don’t.” Beca snaps, her heart seeming to shatter more (If that were even possible) at the nickname. “You said your peace, and I said mine. Go.” Chloe doesn’t move, she just stands there looking at Beca almost pleadingly, but Beca isn’t sure what she’s pleading for. “LEAVE!” The brunette snaps, causing Chloe to jerk back.

After a few seconds, Chloe moves across the dorm until she’s in front of the door, hand trembling over the knob. Beca watches her shoulders rise in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Beca. I’m so sorry.” The redhead says, keeping her back to Beca, but then she’s quickly leaving and Beca is sinking to the floor in a crumpled mess, a sob ripping from deep in her chest.

Beca’s world is gone, ripped from under her. Her chest feels like it’s going to cave in on itself and a part of her wishes it would, ending her misery and of course her miserable existence.

It had only been a matter of time, Beca shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone always leaves. Or they hurt you. People were just shit and if even the ever patient and empathetic Chloe Beale couldn’t handle Beca, then nobody could. But Beca didn’t deserve anyone anyway, she had been told as such, many times.

Chloe deserved better than her, anyway. It was for the best.

–

Chloe sighs tiredly over her cup of coffee. It seems like she’s tired all of the time anymore, taking naps more frequently. Aubrey calls it depression, but Chloe waves her off, telling Aubrey she isn’t depressed. It’s been well over a month since her break up with Beca and while it had left her an emotional wreck for days –weeks, probably– she thought she was doing better.

Except she really isn’t better. She rarely sleeps at night, plagued with Beca’s last words to her. When she and Beca had started hanging out, it was clear to the redhead that she was closed off, and that she didn’t let a lot of people, if any at all, in. And as they grew closer, Chloe had started to fall for the brunette, and she was sure that Beca felt the same, because she had slowly begun to let Chloe in.

The redhead realized that she was probably the only person who got to be this close to Beca. It had left her feeling special and full of pride, but Chloe wanted to know all of Beca, except it was like Chloe had reached the limit of how much Beca would talk.

When it was evident that Beca was upset, Chloe would try to offer support, but the brunette would just close her out, flinch away. It hurt her, and confused her, leaving her full of doubt that maybe her feelings were one-sided because Beca didn’t seem to be all in it like Chloe was.

Or maybe Chloe should have had a little more patience.

A shrill ring jerks Chloe from her depressing thoughts. She glances down at her phone beside her coffee mug to see a number she doesn’t recognize. Frowning, Chloe picks the phone up. “Hello?”

“Is this Chloe Beale?”

“Uh, yes it is.” Chloe replies, deciding that if it’s a telemarketer that she’s going to hang up.

“This is Landmark Hospital calling in regards to Rebecca Mitchell.”

Chloe sits up a little straighter, a sudden sense of dread washing over her. “Beca?”

“You are her emergency contact. I’m sorry to say, but she’s been in a car accident.”

“Oh my god, is she alright?” Chloe is already standing and moving about her apartment, gathering her things.

“You’ll have to speak with the doctor. I’m sorry I can’t be of any more help.”

Chloe is just thankful that the hospital isn’t very far from Barden, but she still breaks several laws to get there.

She reaches the nurses station, panting a little. “Rebecca Mitchell – I got a call that she was in a car accident.”

The nurse pushes a few buttons, presumably looking up the information that Chloe needs. “Room 307, fourth floor.”

The closer Chloe gets to the brunette’s room, the more sick she feels. Her legs feel as though she’s dragging two weights on them, like they’re too heavy to move. The door is open when she reaches it and Chloe peeks in slowly only to find a banged up Beca, asleep.

As she steps further into the room, Chloe has to hold back a sob. Beca’s forehead has stitches across it and her arm is apparently broken because it’s in a cast. But what really gets Chloe is how small Beca looks, like she’s lost an unhealthy amount of weight. As she moves closer to the bed, she notes the dark circles under Beca’s eyes and suddenly Chloe feels guilty all over again.

“She’s going to be fine.” A voice startles Chloe from her staring. She turns quickly to see who she assumes is Beca’s doctor. The woman offers an apologetic smile. “Dr. Reese.” She holds out her hand and Chloe shakes it, grip loose. “She’s just got that nasty gash and her arm is broken and she’ll be sore for a while, probably a bit of bruising where the seat-belt was, but she’ll be okay.”

Chloe glances back at Beca, a frown marring her face. “Then why is she…?” She trails off and gestures to the fact that it’s clear that Beca has been anesthetized or something.

The doctor frowns a little. “We had to sedate her. She was… hysterical, wouldn’t let anyone touch her. She could have gotten out of here quicker if she would have just let us work, but she became combative and was starting to hyperventilate, so for her safety and the safety of my staff, we sedated her.” Dr. Reese explains calmly. “Of course, once I got a hold of her medical history, I realized why.” She adds a little sadly. “I wish I had had a chance to go over it, but there was no time for it.”

“Oh.” Chloe says, trying to hide her confusion. Because she’s sure that if she asks the doctor, the woman won’t tell her. What with patient/doctor confidentiality. She clears her throat. “I understand. So, when she wakes up, is she alright to go home?”

The doctor nods with a small smile. “Yes, a nurse will come by to check her over one more time and hopefully with someone she knows here, she’ll be more cooperative and if everything still seems fine, we’ll get her out of here.” Just as the doctor finishes, her pager goes off and she gives Chloe an apologetic smile. “I have to go.”

Chloe nods and watches the woman leave. For a moment, Chloe just stands there, mulling over the woman’s words. What was on Beca’s medical history? It’s then that her eyes catch sight of the chart hanging over the foot of the bed. Biting her lip, Chloe moves toward it, hesitant at first as she reaches out for it. Should she? This was something that Beca clearly didn’t want to share with anyone.

Her curiosity ends up winning out and Chloe quickly picks the chart up. It’s thick and as she reads through it, she can feel the color drain from her face. It’s filled with past hospital visits with broken bones, bruises ribs and stitches – notes about CPS being called. She’s not sure when she’s started crying, or when she set the chart down and curled up in the chair next to Beca’s bed.

She’s not sure how long she sits there crying quietly. Not until she hears Beca’s raspy voice. “C-Chlo?” The redhead sits up with a start before she’s moving to the table to pour some water in a cup and sticking a straw in it. She wordlessly hands it over to Beca who stares at it for a moment like she isn’t sure what it is, before she eventually takes it with her good hand and begins to take a few tentative sips.

“I’m your emergency contact.” Chloe blurts out softly.

“Oh.” Beca hands the cup back to Chloe before sitting back. “Sorry, I’ll uh… I’ll change it.”

Chloe frowns and glances away from Beca, unsure what to say. Especially with the new information swirling around in her head.

“You didn’t have to come.” Beca says, bring Chloe out of her thoughts.

The frown on Chloe’s face deepens. “Despite what you might think, Beca, I do care about you. I always have and I always will.”

Beca looks like she could be sick, but she swallows and nods jerkily. “I’m sorry.” She rasps, eyes locked onto her lap.

They’re both quiet for a moment, before Chloe decides to throw caution to the wind and talk about the elephant in the room. “The doctor said that they had to sedate you, Beca. She said you got combative and wouldn’t let anyone touch you.” Chloe watches as a look of guilt colors her features. “But she said that once she got a hold of your medical history, she realized why.”

Beca looks up at Chloe with an unreadable expression. They stare at each other for a moment before Beca sighs resignedly. “After my dad left when I was seven, my mom met John.” The brunette says his name like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth. “John seemed nice at first, but eventually, once he got comfortable, his true nature started to show. He was a drunk. An angry drunk, and I was his punching bag. I was in and out of the hospital for broken bones, or bruised ribs, maybe a cut that needed stitches.

“The doctors and nurses were always told that I was just some clumsy kid. But after a while, they stopped buying it. I was there too much, and some of the bruises started to look like fists and belt buckles.” It’s taking everything inside of Chloe not to break into a fit of sobs. She feels sick. And Beca just sounds so broken and tired and Chloe just wants to hold her and protect her from the world, but she no longer has the right to do that and it’s killing her. “Anyway, I was fourteen when CPS was called in. I was in and out of foster homes and shit until I turned eighteen and that’s when my dad finally decided to sack up and be a fucking parent. They tried contacting him but for whatever reason, he never came.” Beca goes quiet, good hand fiddling with the fabric of the blanket.

“But yeah, anyway, I guess maybe I was in shock and having flashbacks or something…” She shrugs, eyes still focused on the white hospital blanket.

Beca doesn’t look up until Chloe lets out this quiet little sob, unable to hold it back. Something familiar flashes behind Beca’s eyes, something like the need to reach out to Chloe, but the brunette quickly schools her features. Chloe shakes her head as if to clear her head and gather herself. “I–I’m sorry. I shouldn’t – I shouldn’t be crying.” She says thickly. They stare at each other for a long moment before Chloe realizes something. “Is that why you–why we never…” Chloe trails off.

It takes Beca a second before she’s blushing a little and clearing her throat. “Oh, uh… yeah. There are a few scars that are pretty questionable.” She scratches the back of her neck and frowns. “I mean, I would have told you eventually, I just…” She sighs. “I have a hard time talking about it, opening up.”

Chloe scoots closer to the bed and hesitantly reaches out to take Beca’s hand, giving her plenty of time to pull away, but she doesn’t. “Becs, I – I’m really sorry for… well, for being a major bitch.”

Beca chuckles at that and turns her hand palm up, lacing their fingers. “You didn’t know, Chlo. But I should have told you… I just… I’m not good at figuring out my emotions, and… well I’m not used to having someone there for me. I’m used to just… keeping it to myself. I’d just assume push them aside than bother anyone. Most people don’t care anyway.” She says a little sadly.

“I care, Beca. I care so much, I just… I didn’t understand why you were holding back. I thought maybe I was more into it than you were, I thought maybe you didn’t –” She pauses and glances away a little shyly which is totally unlike her. “–that maybe you didn’t love me the way that I loved you and that really killed me and I just – I panicked I guess, because I knew if I let it go any further, it would crush me. Not that it helped, because it crushed me anyway.”

Beca releases Chloe’s hand to cup the redhead’s face, thumb stroking her cheek. Chloe meets Beca’s gaze and gasps quietly at the look of adoration there. “Chloe…” And Chloe is pretty sure she’s never heard her name spoken with such love before. “You – you have no idea how much you mean to me, do you? I may not know what I’m feeling half the time, or understand those feelings, but one thing I am absolutely one hundred percent sure of, is that I’m so goddamn in love with you.” Beca smiles this soft little affectionate thing at Chloe and it causes her heart to squeeze in her chest. “It’s the only thing I’m sure of. I have never been as happy than when I’ve been with you. You make me forget the shitty things I’ve been through.”

Chloe lets out this little laugh that turns into a sob and she leans into Beca’s touch. “I’ve missed you so much, Beca. I’m sorry for being like everybody else. I–I don’t want to be.”

Beca gives her a watery smile. “You’re not like everybody else, Chloe. You’re so much better than everyone else. But it’s not your fault – I wasn’t exactly forthcoming. I should have told you how I felt, and instead of getting defensive, I should have reassured you. I’m sorry I made you feel like that. I was just so caught up in my self-deprecating thoughts, telling me that I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“Beca,” Chloe hedges gently. “Do you think maybe we could try again? Now that, everything is out. I know I have no right to ask for another chance–”

“I should be the one asking for another chance.” Beca interrupts her.

Chloe sighs and turns her head to press a kiss to the center of Beca’s palm. “Well, I’d be willing to give you a second chance if you give me one, how about that?”

Beca looks at Chloe like she’s just given her the moon and it sort of just repairs Chloe’s broken heart on the spot. “Seal it with a kiss?” The brunette asks, that stupid little, adorable half smirk that Chloe loves so much quirking her lips.

The redhead chuckles and stands so that she can lead forward and press a soft, tentative kiss to the smaller woman’s lips. And if there were any cracks in Chloe’s heart still, she’s pretty sure this kiss has just sealed them.

“God, I’ve missed you, Chlo.” Beca says, voice thick with un-shed tears. So Chloe climbs into bed next to her and wraps the brunette in her arms, careful not to jostle her too much, mindful of her wounds.

“I’ve missed you too, Becs. So much.” Chloe nuzzles her nose in the crook of Beca’s neck. “After you get released, you’re coming home with me because we have a lot of cuddling and kissing to catch up on.”

Beca chuckles. “Sounds good to me, Chlo. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

“I love you.” The redhead murmurs, pressing a soft kiss along Beca’s jaw.

She feels Beca smile. “I love you too, nerd.”

[dexwxx-blog]

what you give up to cross the VEIL will make you wish for death instead

They told you death was a person, a reaper to collect the souls of humans who’d outrun their fate for too long. A ghostly figure deciding whether to allow you an eternity of sorrow or an eternity of dreams. You were no longer human— long ago you thought God had judged you for eternal damnation. Then you thought death was a feeling, empty and hollow as the years ticked on, violent delights the only way to send your message to the sky. For if you had been damned you would fight like a devil, with bloody knuckles and stained fur. Bottle up the desires too human for a demon to daydream about. Then you met him and for the first time in forever you believed that God loved all his children.

Death was a strange place indeed, the sting of silver no longer coursing its way through your bloodstream, the flame of pain instead felt light. It was a hazy darkness, a promise of something coming, yet still out of the grasp of your fingers. You could continue on, march into the fog and accept wherever the winds take you— heaven or hell, doesn’t matter much anymore. Either way, damnation will follow, for you’ll never be able to gaze upon eyes clearer than spring water or be touched by the tender fingers that saved you from yourself.

It’s true what you said— without him you die inside.

Somebody asks you if you loved him, and God you do. He is your everything, a home inside a person, the boy you’d throw yourself in front of silver because you want him to live more than yourself. He picked up the broken pieces of your soul and put them back together with soft fingers and softer kisses. You will forever be his, no matter how far you are separated.

Even if you are separated by life and death? Yes, even if he was an angel and you were a demon. Yes, even if he was a god and you were a mortal. Yes, in all the ways you could of been born, in all the ways you could of died. You cannot stop loving him, even if time won’t allow. You will be miserable and lonely every moment he’s no longer with you.

You’re told you can go back, but you must give something up. You’ll do it, you’ll take it— anything is worth a glimpse of his smile again, anything is worth the feeling of his arms around your waist, his hot breath in your ear. They say you won’t last long, it’s futile to make the journey back. What you give up to cross the veil will make you wish for death instead. You can’t bring yourself to care. You’ve always been a fighter, you’ll give up anything for the things you want.

And they can never take that from you.

You cross through the veil, anyway.

Light glazed through the tips of Dex’s fluttering eyelids, the dream he had still lingering in the corners of his eyes. And then it hit him, the searing pain bubbling underneath his flesh, the agony of it all pushing at his now clamped lips. It’s a kind of pain he’d never before felt— memories of the silver ripping through his flesh fresh in his memory. He wanted to scream, verbalize the torment burning in his chest. Memories flooded back like a tidal wave, images of Sebastian covered in his own blood, tears prickling against his eyes as he tried to say a lifetime’s worth of words in a few brief moments. Jerking himself upright, the sudden movement causing his head to go fuzzy, he realized he was no longer in the crumbling ballroom. It was clean and white and smelled so strongly of antiseptic Dex thought he was going to puke.

“Jesus Christ, if you sit up that fast you’re going to hurt yourself.” It came from behind him, so Dex quickly swiveled around to face the voice, only for his vision to blur out the moment long strands of hair entered his field of vision. The other woman, clearly a lycan at this point, chuckled at his misery, obviously taking delight in his inability to listen. “Tell me your name and date of birth.”

“Dexter Minsoo Woo. October 23rd, 1956.” It came out hoarse, his throat burned with the same vigor his chest did. His vision settled along with his stomach, allowing him to look at the woman sitting opposite him. Between the bright colors she wore and the deep hue of her lipstick, Dex thought he was going to get a headache all over again. The lycan, Dex vaguely remembered her from years and years ago— sent to give him a warning from the Glasgow pack he’d promptly decided to ignore. She seemed amused with him then, almost as amused as she was now. “Where am I?”

Sighing, she got up from her seated position, from the way her legs wobbled Dex could tell she’d been seated for a long time. “The Paris Estate Infirmary, darling. You were, let’s say pretty severely injured,” she replied, her tone not matching the seriousness of the conversation whatsoever.

“I’d say taking a silver bullet to the chest is a pretty severe injury,” Dex sighed, already deciding he was over and done dealing with the Glasgow pack enforcer.

The woman put her hand squarely across his chest, pushing him back down on his back. “Good, good. You remember that at least. Can you tell me anything that happened after?” Raking her fingers over his chest, Dex vaguely realised she was trying to do a physical exam. The whole process was seared into his memory, the only doctor he ever saw so horrified by tissue that stretched over his torso Dex saw no reason in returning.

“I got shot, so I shifted back from my lycan form. Then I told Seb that I—”

“That you love him?” She smirked again and boy did Dex really wanna punch it off her face. “Yeah— we all know. It was pretty obvious from the scene we all walked in on. Let me tell you, I didn’t expect it, Dexter Woo, the little fighter who’d never show loyalty to anything or anyone falling madly in love with the lycan heir? I almost didn’t think you had feelings.”

She was trying to get a rise out of him, get him to lash out towards her because his tolerance for bullshit and patience was low. Instead he just felt drained, tired enough to want to sleep forever. “I told him I loved him— and then I blacked out. I think. Time was sort of fuzzy after I got shot.” Remembering how he had confessed what he’d done to Edmund right before he passed out, he could physically feel the change in his heartbeat. Though it wasn’t like all the other times his heart had practically beaten out of his chest. It felt slower than ever, like he was in slow motion. His eyes widened and it seemed the other lycan could only find amusement in his misery. “What— what’s happened to me,” Dex stuttered, fear bubbling to the surface. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

Now she finally got serious, taking the kind of inhale that struck fear into the hearts of most men. “Medics tried, but we got to you much later than we’d like. We couldn’t remove the silver bullet from your chest. And because of that—” It was the first time he’d ever seen her hesitate in the conversation, clearly torn about how to break the horrible news to him. “—There’s some nasty side effects.”

“Tell me them,” he choked out, clipped and short. There was a burning in his chest, a fear that Dex hadn’t felt even in the moments he was bleeding out all over Sebastian. His mind wandered to the dream he’d had before waking up, perhaps it hadn’t been a dream at all.

“Well, for one thing, shifting is off the table completely. Silver is more potent that way and with the bones and muscles all re-arranging themselves, it would probably kill you. And to follow that up, you’re advanced healing has been severely dampened. Faster than a human’s, but not by much. A few other important things of note—” Her words seemed to float away, vanishing under his hammering heartbeat. The world was spinning, his world crumbling beneath his fingertips.

He was weak. Everything that had protected him for so long, the second skin he’d learned to enjoy and sometimes even love had been unceremoniously ripped away from him. He couldn’t fight it either, hell, what could he fight anymore? For the first time since his childhood, Dex felt the corners of his eyes tingle with a warm burning. When did he become so attached to being a lycan, claws and all? For so long, he’d wanted to be human again, turn back time to the night he snuck out with Allen so he stayed at home. Dex hadn’t become human, but it was as close as any immortal could probably get. It was true, a part of him died the moment silver struck skin.

Maybe if it was Sebastian, he’d let the tears fall and let the younger lycan hold him as he weeped. Let his warm embrace sooth all the hurt and sadness, let someone else protect him from the dark edges of his thoughts. But to Devon, a stranger, he couldn’t show that sort of humanity. He couldn’t let her see him any weaker than he already was. “Seb,” he suddenly gasped, throwing his body upright once more, much to Devon’s obvious annoyance. “Is he okay? Where is he now? Did he—?”

It was then a strange gesture occurred, the lycan woman grasped his hand with a motherly tenderness, looked at him with eyes soft as silk. “He’s fine, darling. Don’t worry about him right now, I’ll make sure you two can spend time together later. We need to worry about you first.” Dex thought it unnatural that something so calming could come from the lycan boogeyman, but it was a welcome surprise in the end. He just needed someone to tell him everything would be okay.

Devon let go of his hand, getting up to obtain more supplies to continue her exam. Paranoia set in, shifting his vision all around the room with stark white walls. Glancing down towards a few objects left near, brown eyes caught the shine of metal— sharp and tempting. In one swift motion, Dex grabbed the scalpel, slashing it hard and fast across the inside of his inner wrist. A metallic noise echoed through the room as he dropped it, blood pooling faster than he’d ever remembered. His free hand pressed down on the wound as he bit down on his lip to suppress a cry of agony. It was true, it was true and there was no escaping it anymore. He’d seen it with his own eyes, felt it on his skin. Bloody fingers reached down to grab the blade, his mind compelling him to test once more. Barely touching sharp to soft, Devon finally snatched it away from him, hurt clear as sky on her face. “What the fuck did you do that for?” She was dragging him now, pulling the lycan across the room to drench his bloodied wrist in water.

“I dunno,” Dex lied, the flush of water cool over the cut, deep enough it’d probably leave a scar at this point. “I dunno.” He thought he knew the reason, but it seemed silly to say out loud. He just wanted that hollow feeling to go away, that void he used to drink away until he was so pissed the whole world faded away. God, he was fucked.

It was silent, only the hiss of the tap keeping it from becoming unbearable. Finally, Devon cleared her throat, deep brown orbs met his with a sort of sadness that seemed foreign. “I don’t tell many people this, but you should hear it. I’ve seen this before, many hundreds of years ago. He was a Mughal warrior and a bit of a silver sword broke off inside him. That’s why I know what to do here. His survival was a miracle, but shifting almost killed him again. So he had to stop, retire himself from being a wolf and a warrior.” With that she turned the tap off, turning his wound slowly to inspect the damage he did to himself. “He was a born one, so it was a little different but— erratic behavior was common.”

“Did he live long?”

“No,” Devon started, her voice dripping with something depressing, something Dex was afraid to hear. “He killed himself within six months of the accident. Look—” She began to wrap the cut, slow and careful like he was a child about to shatter at any moment. He hated that, he loathed it. He wasn’t some broken bird. Was he? “You should leave Paris. Maybe within the next few days.”

Anger seethed out through his teeth, rage clouding his vision. He wasn’t weak, he wasn’t weak. If everyone was going to treat him like a fragile flower, like he couldn’t take care of himself— maybe Dex would off himself. “No, I can’t,” he argued, visions of Sebastian and the promises they made together taunting him like the demons of his past. “I promised Seb, I promised I would stay with him. I can’t—” Whatever anger he’d felt had burned away with each snapshot of blonde, each warm moment he dwelled upon. It just made him sad. “I can’t leave him.”

Now the tears came, pouring out of the floodgates, a genesis of what was to come. Covering his face with his free hand, Dex wept for all he’d lost. He’d made a deal with the devil to come back to life, he was certain now. And giving up his lycan abilities wasn’t enough for him, he had to give up Sebastian too. If this was how he was doomed to live, maybe he didn’t deserve life at all. He couldn’t look up, couldn’t catch anybody’s eyes in this sorry state. He felt thin arms wrap around him, vaguely reminding him of his mother. She’d hugged him once, after finding him bruised and cut up— some from his father, some of his own doing. It felt nice.

“Shhh— it’ll be okay,” the woman cooed, rocking him slightly as whimpers kept coming. “I didn’t mean to hurt you but, it’s for your own good. You're a liability here, someone we’d need to worry about protecting. You can’t be with Seb if you just die again.” She pulled away his hand, tipped up his head so she was staring at his red splotchy face. “Go back to Cardiff, live your life away from the war. Sebastian is strong, he’ll surely make his way back to you.”

Sniffling, Dex could only murmur, “Okay— I’ll think about it.” And he was crying all over again, it felt almost like he was crying over everything and nothing. So he buried his head in Devon’s shoulder, let her stroke his hair as his tears soaked through her shirt. He was fragile, he’d always been fragile since he was a boy. He’d spent his entire life— human and lycan— building a tower around himself so he could be strong enough to protect himself from the harsh reality of the world.

A storm blew away his tower, taking the bricks he’d collected over the years with it. Now he was left with rain, drowning him in everything he’d been sheltered from for so long. But rain, even in Cardiff, didn’t last forever.

It was time to be a different kind of fighter.

[paradoxnbstuff]

okay so i need to talk about this for a minute

because usually i can find some shit about this on youtube or a transition blog somewhere but i cant for some reason this time? and its one of those difficult things to think about that I’ve been putting off for like years. so. anyways. top surgery stuff.

so first of all I have this habit of mine that’s taken a while and lot of shit to notice. it was probably a left over from growing up with my abusive dad and trying to survive that. but basically I’m very good at putting something aside in my head and so thoroughly convincing myself it’s not something that’s bugging me (subconsciously) that when it comes time to actually think about it I legitimately cannot tell how I feel about it. I’m talking about sitting and thinking about it for hours, plus research, and actively taking stock of my reactions as they happen to try to just. logically deduce what’s actually going on in my brain based on physical symptoms of emotional reactions I can’t actually feel. and obviously anyone can see how that would be incredibly useful in a situation like my parents where I had no choice in the matter for 18 years, and i could either constantly wallow in misery and agony and hurt and stress and confusion and terror at just living in my house 24/7, or i could section it off. and create like. a new baseline for myself. ex my baseline became that state and then went up or down based on negative or ‘positive’ things that happened from that baseline. looking at it objectively it was all obviously still horrible and stressful and traumatizing but i wouldn’t have been able to get through it if I was consciously aware of that the whole time. So that’s where that developed.

But weird backstory aside this has carried over to certain things in my life on my own since I moved out too. It’s why it took me so long to figure out gender shit and why I still haven’t figured out my sexuality even though I don’t lack the vocabulary or even really experience to. it’s affected my relationships with people, but I’ve been practically religious about trying to make sure I identify it when it happens and dedicating a lot of time and thought to unraveling whatever’s going on and stopping it, because fuck that I refuse to let it mess with the people I care about. There’s certain markers but it’s not like most things where you experience negative emotions and there’s a natural pathway from point a to point b. the markers are me having to stop and look at the past few months or longer and pick out patterns of times when i acted illogically in similar way, and cross ref it to see if it came with a feeling of abstractness where i couldn’t identify what emotions i was feeling. but like. its like trying to identify nothing. anger or happiness or w/e is easy like hey im feeling that but trying to notice when you’re feeling nothing or something unquantifiable? much fucking harder. and the trigger for me to start wondering if something is going on is when it starts to impact my quality of life negatively in some way. so. a really fucking stupidly difficult logical approach to untangle some very complicated emotions. which is sadly necessary.

so that’s the method I use to realize when this is happening. hasn’t really gotten any easier but i can do it i guess. and this is what’s happening now with me and top surgery? it happened with the decision to start testosterone, (’but im happy with how i look and sound!’ god no ur not u fucking disaster ur brain just didn’t want you to be miserable 24/7 and tricked you into thinking u were) and i think it’s the same thing with this. but i don’t. know??? for sure???? so I’m having to figure out this incredibly difficult and emotional decision with only purely factual patterns to go on and my emotions, which im not sure are fake or not, plaguing me every step of the way. so im just gonna fucking write em down and hope it helps.

fact 1: i never wear a bra. ever. it’s always either a binder or binder-adjacent like a sports bra. it’s been like that for 3 ish years now and it’s not stopping any time soon. i’m violently uncomfortable wearing a bra. 

fact 2: i dont like touching my chest or nipples. (tmi ish warning w/e) when I’m having sexual relations with another person im again, violently uncomfortable with the other person touching my chest. i will repeatedly redirect or say no if they start to with absolutely no doubt about it.

fact 3: i don’t like wearing tight clothing if i can’t bind. when I go to the gym and work out I wear a sports bra and wearing tshirts that show that fuckin. again feel nearly ill.

fact 4: i don’t mind seeing my chest in the mirror? like. I have/had a lot of dysphoria about my body, specifically my hips and the kinda hourglass dip in between ribs and hips and the way e gives fat distribution around the upper hips around the waist and thighs and butt. that’s mostly gone now due to a combination of T and working out, but I still don’t mind seeing my chest in the mirror. that’s possibly because I’m literally like 3/4 of an A cup at max but. yknow. this is also one of those things that is COMPLETELY based on feelings. and it feels suspiciously like when I’m trying to gauge my reaction and get ‘yeah I feel neutral about this actually’ but is really just very skillful repression. and I can’t tell. so. that’s great. it is a subjective fact, as opposed to the previous 3. 

fact 5: if i stretch my arms up it looks like i have a flat chest (bc i i have like no boobs to begin with) and the reaction I get to that is a definite. reaction. it’s an adrenaline based one. but another issue i’m working on is i can’t tell the difference between happy excited adrenaline and panic adrenaline and therefore when i feel happy excited about something i start fear panicking instead and it sucks but yknow. so I get an adrenaline thrill. that I can’t identify as fear or excitement. so that’s. there? fuck

fact 6: i’m not male. I figured that out a long time ago but it’s become important again recently that I am n o t a trans man. I’m solidly nonbinary. T was and is the right decision for me. So is building muscle. So is my decision now to grow out my hair again. So is my clothing that is decidedly not masculine fairly often and my makeup (that can be either to help with the masc or just to make me feel hot, or feminine sometimes). But this is something that’s....like. It would make me look a lot more masculine. like a lot. like it would be looking in the mirror and seeing that (without the big scars you see a lot underneath, i wouldn’t have that) and I don’t know if that’s something I want. but at the same time, that’s what I want to look like in clothes. I don’t fucking know.

fact 7: i know there’s probably some underlying fear in there of like societally ingrained disgust for non-cis bodies. and I know for a fact I’m attractive as a feminine person. and doing this means that I’m committing myself to a permanent non-cis state. I’m in no way saying there’s anything actually wrong with that, I’m saying that I know there’s things in the way I’ve been raised that inherently shy away from that still. It’s not something I want and it’s something I have to deal with but it probably is playing a part in my fear in this.

fact 8: currently, my main reason for tentatively starting the application process is my health. I love being active and healthy and exercising and I know that binding long term hurts your ribs and lungs, and I also know that I’m not going to stop binding any time soon if I don’t have top surgery. And getting it just for health reasons is a perfectly valid reason to do it. And if I am actually neutral about my chest and not just tricking myself? I’m totally happy with this being the deciding factor.  

anyways. yeah. the problem with dismantling a mental block you’ve set up for yourself is it involves actively unlocking self hatred and pain that you can’t put back in the box once you’ve opened it until it’s dealt with. so there isn’t a ton of incentive to. ngl it didn’t happen with testosterone fully until after I’d been on it for a few months and realized how fucking desperately I needed this to be happening. but I don’t think that’s how I want it to go with top surgery. I want to know before I go through with it what I’m feeling and what I want. and it is. VERY fucking difficult. god. yeah. anyways. that’s where I’m at. thanks for coming to my ted talk.