#but fr. every emotional response is okay right now.

[torchickentacos]

Swinging a bat at a hornet's nest, but I keep seeing the opinion go around that it's insensitive to say that we'll make it through the next 4 years because so many people didn't the first time around. Which, I guess I see the point, but like... do you expect all of us to just be like this for the next 4 years???

I totally get why some people can't feel hopeful, but insinuating that someone else is in the wrong for being able to stay optimistic just isn't productive or, in my opinion, a reasonable expectation. We all react to stressful times differently and not only is that okay, but it should be encouraged that people work through this however they personally need to and in whichever emotional state they end up in.

[3minsover]

back on my steddie bullshit fr

Thinking about hope(ful)less romantic Steve driving to Eddie's trailer in the pouring rain to finally confess his love after months of dancing around each other and almost-confessions that crumble on the tips of their tongues before they can become anything real.

Steve finds himself pacing around the ground floor of a house that's too big and too quiet, thinking about a guy who should never, ever have taken up as much of his brain as he currently does. It's a Friday night, and Eddie's most likely out at a gig, or at a bar, or doing nerd shit. He's most likely doing anything but thinking about Steve. And yet here Steve is, entirely preoccupied with the reckless marvel that is Eddie Munson.

Fuck it.

It's been four months since Vecna, and everyone seems to be okay again. It's been long enough that it wouldn't be weird for Steve to make a move, right?

Before Steve can really consider what it is he's about to do, he has his keys in hand and he's heading out towards his car. He doesn't even realize it was raining until he steps out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind him. And there's not much thought that goes into any of it, really. It's instinctive, the way Steve knows the route to Eddie's place by now. Regardless of the thrashing of his heart, there's an easy kind of familiarity in the sodden streets and jutting roads. Steve's windshield wipers are working double time, fending off the sheets of rain that pile down amidst the humidity of late July; it'd been a cloudless day until the sun set. But like the heaviness of Steve's heart, the clouds had begun to weigh themselves down with water, waiting for the moment where the heft of it all became too much.

Steve hadn't quite beaten those clouds to the punch.

He arrives at Eddie's with really no recollection of how he'd gotten there, only that he needed to see him and nothing was going to get in his way. Eddie's already sitting out on the porch when he pulls up. The dusty ground is darker, saturated with fat, relentless raindrops. Eddie sits on the steps of his trailer, only just covered by the awning. The toes of his sneakers shine with wetness.

"Why are you out here?" Steve asks, clambering out of his car. It's all he can think to say. It's not the words he wants to purge, not the things that have been itching in his throat every time they've been alone together for the last however-many weeks. But it's what comes out.

"Wanted to hear the rain," Eddie responds, a cigarette pinched between his thumb and pointer finger. It's a simple enough response. Shouldn't warrant a reaction. Only, Steve's standing a few yards away, dampening by the moment, and he needs to just get it out.

"I need to- I gotta talk to you," Steve stutters, drifting closer. Eddie's eyes narrow.

"About what?" he asks, clearly skeptical.

"About you. Or, me. Us. I- shit, I used to be good at this." Steve raises a hand to swipe over his mouth: it comes away wet. He's fucking soaked, standing defenceless against the onslaught from above. Eddie flicks the cigarette and the butt lands at the base of the steps. He hinges upright, dropping down a step until the raindrops begin to splatter onto his curls, landing like spits of silver against the glow of the street lamps overhead.

"Good at what?" Eddie calls through the low rumble of the rain.

"Good at- I dunno, confessions? I told Nancy how I felt about her no problem. Robin was a little tougher, but I still got through that, but with you," Steve gushes, entirely unsure as to where he's going with this, "I just can't seem to find the words."

For an impossible amount of time, Eddie stares. His pretty features seem to go through about a half dozen emotions before he settles on something that Steve's soul recognizes as pity. He prepares himself for inevitable rejection.

"You're telling me you can't find the words?" Eddie asks, incredulous, "Dude, i'm a songwriter, a fucking wordsmith, and I've been drawing a blank on you for months!"

Steve squints, a little at a loss.

"What?" he asks, feels stupid for not getting it straight away.

"Steve, I should be able to write songs about the guy I love, right?"

"Well- Yeah- I- Wait, what?" Steve starts before Eddie's words catch up. The rain's growing heavier, beginning to sting his cheeks a little, but he's fixed to the spot, not daring to move any closer. It's Eddie that draws nearer, dropping down the final steps until they're on even footing.

"If you hadn't- If you didn't come over here tonight, I was gonna- I was gonna come to you. I had this whole fuckin' speech planned out - I'm pretty sure it was stupid, honestly, but I wrote it anyway, because I have all these goddamn feelings about you, Steve. And I couldn't find a way to make them sound like anything other than what they are." Eddie's waves are flattening by the second, darkening under the weight of the water falling from above. Steve's heart pounds against his ribs, threatens to break free altogether.

"But I- I came here to- You're- Eddie?"

"Fuck sake, Steve. I'm-"

"Wait." Steve interrupts him, his brain catching up all at once, overfilling and spilling over. "Wait, just let me- Can I say what I was gonna say?"

Eddie folds his arms around himself, chilled by the rain despite the thick warmth of summer around them.

"Sure. Shoot."

Steve heaves in a breath.

"Okay. Eddie. I've been thinking, and you and me, we're good, right? Like, for each other." A droplet of rain catches between Steve's lashes, forcing him to blink it away. Eddie's slim figure remains in front of him, proving that this is real, this isn't some hallucination, some daydream borne of an idle brain. "I think you and me could be something good. Great, even. And I- I- I think I- I know you maybe said it already, and I shouldn't even be-" Eddie strides forward, closing the space between them in a breathless moment. Steve's breath catches in his throat. Eddie's dark eyes dart frantically between Steve's own, so round and wide and beautiful. Steve's so in love with him. "Eddie, I'm- I think I've... fallen in love with you." Steve skates his palms over Eddie's biceps, up and over his shoulders, until he's cradling the sides of Eddie's neck. "Yeah, I'm sorry. I'm in love with you."

Where they're so closely matched in height, Steve's eyes are crossing just to keep his gaze focused on Eddie, who's looking more like the proverbial deer in headlights right now.

"Shit, Harrington," Eddie breathes, and Steve feels it warm against his rain-chilled lips, "took you long enough."

It's a kiss that follows, soft and hesitant, like Steve would do anything but lean into it, like he's anything but head over heels, absolutely and embarrassingly in love. it's a kiss, and it's wet and a little too cold, a little too out in the open, but Steve wouldn't change it for anything.

[harryssyndrome]

Backstage To My Heart

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟔 | 𝐒𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐅𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐎𝐮𝐭

Headline: “Harry Styles Seen Singing with Mystery Girl in Secluded Celebrity Spot – New Romance or Superfan?”

Late last night, Harry was spotted in a quiet, secluded area frequented by stars, outside a music studio. In a candid moment, he was seen serenading a mystery girl, with one photo capturing him wrapping his arm around her. Sources suggest she might be a devoted fan, but the cozy vibe between them is raising eyebrows. Is it just a fan encounter, or is there more behind this late-night rendezvous?

Ashley’s phone continued buzzing relentlessly, the screen lighting up with every notification, pulling her further into a waking state. She could barely keep up with the flood of messages and mentions. Her feed was full of posts from Harry’s fan accounts, their reactions an emotional whirlwind that mirrored her own confusion. The more she scrolled, the more her heart raced.

Some comments were filled with curiosity:

“Wait, who’s the girl? Is she in the industry?”

“Does anyone know her? Have we seen her before?!”

“She looks cute… maybe she’s just a friend?

“Who is she?? Why is she with Harry?!”

“Wait… was she wearing his jacket?!?!”

“Are we shipping them or nah?”

“I’ve never seen her before, maybe she’s just a fan?”

Others were filled with excitement and warmth:

“They look so cozy together! Is this a new couple alert?”

“Harry deserves someone nice. Hope she’s good to him.”

“I’m shipping them already! They’re adorable.”

“Look at how Harry is with her! He looks happy!”

“I follow her account, she’s a fan-fluencer! She’s really sweet, fr”

“They actually look cute together, don’t hate guys!”

“She’s living the dream we all wanted! Lucky girl.”

“OMG, they look so cute together!”

“I knew Harry was seeing someone! I’m so happy for him.”

“Look at how he’s holding her. If she’s the one, we better treat her right!”

But then there were the harsher, colder remarks that made her stomach churn:

“This better just be a fan. Harry wouldn’t date someone like her, right?”

“She’s not even that pretty. Harry can do better.”

“Why is he always with random girls? Another PR stunt?”

“If this is real, I’m DONE supporting him.”

“No way Harry is dating her. No. Way.”

“Can’t believe Harry’s dating some random girl, she’s probably just a fan.”

“She better treat him right, or we’ll come for her!”

“This better not be serious… Harry belongs to us!”

“Harry doesn’t usually get cozy with fans though… this could be something more!”

“This girl looks like just another clout-chaser, watch her use him for fame.”

“I’m sorry, but she doesn’t seem like Harry’s type at all. Can’t believe this is real.”

“There’s no way Harry’s into her, she’s probably just trying to get his attention.”

Ashley’s heart sank further with every swipe. It was all too much. How did it come to this? How did a simple night out with Harry, something that was meant to be private and comforting, become public fodder?

Just then, her phone pinged again, this time a direct message from Rave, brimming with excitement:

Rave:

ASHLEY!!! Are you seeing this?! You and HARRY?! Are you kidding me right now?? How did you NOT tell me?? Call me, call me, CALL ME!!

Before Ashley could even process a response, more messages flooded in:

Lila:

Babe, what is happening? Is that you with HARRY?! Are you guys together?? I’m dying right now!

Sasha:

Holy crap, I KNEW it. I knew there was something going on between you two! Spill the details!

It felt like everyone around her was spinning the narrative faster than she could catch her breath. Friends? Dating? Just a fan? Her head buzzed with the mounting pressure, her anxiety rising with each new comment.

And then, her heart skipped as she saw a text from Harry. She stared at his name on the screen for a long moment before opening the message:

Harry:

Hey, I’m guessing you’re still asleep but… call me when you wake up, okay? Don’t panic. I know things are blowing up online. I’m really sorry this is happening. I’ll try to handle it, but I want to talk to you first. It’s going to be fine, just breathe. Call me.

Her chest tightened, guilt creeping in. He’s apologizing to me? she thought, her mind swirling. She felt as though all of this was somehow her fault—that Harry, who had worked so hard to maintain some semblance of privacy in his life, was now being dragged into chaos because of her. She sighed, her fingers trembling as she re-read his message. She didn’t even know what to say to him.

Before she could respond, her phone buzzed again—her mother’s name flashing on the screen. Ashley froze. She knew this was coming; she knew her mother would have seen the headlines, the speculation. She couldn’t avoid the conversation any longer.

Taking a deep breath, she swiped to answer. “Hey, Mom…” she said, her voice soft, uncertain.

“Ashley,” her mother’s tone was careful, but it was clear she was trying to suppress disbelief. “I just saw something online. That picture of you and Harry… is it true? What’s going on? Are you two… involved?”

Ashley felt her pulse quicken. She wasn’t sure how to explain any of this, not when she was still trying to process it herself. “Mom, it’s… it’s not what it looks like,” she began, struggling to keep her voice steady. “I mean, I was going to tell you eventually, but nothing’s serious between me and Harry. We’re just friends.”

“Just friends?” her mother’s voice was skeptical now. “Ashley, I’m not one to believe everything I read online, but that picture… the way he was holding you… it doesn’t look like just friends.”

Ashley bit her lip, the weight of her mother’s words sinking in. She hadn’t exactly been honest with her mother about the closeness she’d developed with Harry. “It’s complicated, Mom. I didn’t want to bother you with it, and I… I don’t even know how to explain everything myself.”

Her mother sighed on the other end, the frustration palpable. “Ashley, you know I’m not here to judge you. But I can tell you’ve been hiding something. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“Because…” Ashley’s voice faltered as she searched for the right words. “Because it’s not serious. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning. Harry’s been helping me out, giving me the opportunity to work with him on music. He’s been nothing but kind. And last morning… after the news you told me about Dad and everything going on with the family… I was feeling awful.”

Her mother’s voice softened, a trace of empathy slipping in. “I know, sweetheart. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you.”

“Harry was just trying to cheer me up,” Ashley continued, her voice quiet, tinged with nostalgia as memories of the night came flooding back. “He left his work in the middle even when I told him not to, but he wouldn’t listen. He made me laugh, danced around like an idiot, sang with me on the street, spinning me around in circles… It wasn’t some grand romantic gesture. He just wanted to make me feel better.”

Her mother paused on the other end, considering Ashley’s words. “So he left his work, in the middle of everything, just to make sure you were okay?” she asked, her voice steady. “Don’t you think that means something, Ashley? Do you really think he’s doing all that because you’re just friends?”

Ashley’s heart skipped at the question, her mind flashing back to the way Harry had looked at her last night, the tenderness in his eyes, the way he had been so protective. Her mother’s question hung in the air, lingering longer than she expected.

“Ashley,” her mother’s voice softened, “isn’t he the boy you used to listen to all the time? You had his posters all over your room, his merch… You practically grew up listening to him. You love him, don’t you?”

Ashley froze, her eyes widening in shock. How could her mother know? She had never told anyone about the feelings she’d harbored for Harry for so long, the quiet, private dreams she’d held onto. “Mom, I—what are you talking about?”

Her mother let out a small chuckle, though it was warm, not mocking. “I’m your mother, sweetheart. I know you better than you think. When you moved to London, you left some things behind. I found a letter you had written, one you never sent. It was about Harry. You’ve felt this way for a long time, haven’t you?”

Ashley felt a lump form in her throat. “You found that?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She hadn’t realized she’d left it behind. That letter had been something she wrote during one of her weakest moments, years ago, when she thought her feelings for Harry would never be anything more than a silly crush.

“I did,” her mother said gently. “And I kept it because I knew, one day, we’d have this conversation. I know Harry’s older than you, and maybe you’re unsure of where this is all heading, but I want you to know that if he makes you happy, then I’m happy for you. You deserve to be with someone who cares about you the way he does. If he’s willing to do all of this for you, to be there for you, don’t you think there’s a chance he feels the same way you do?”

Ashley’s mind was spinning. The thought of Harry feeling something more for her had crossed her mind a hundred times, but she had always pushed it aside, convincing herself that someone like him could never see her that way. “I don’t know, Mom… I’m not sure if he could ever feel the way I feel about him. What if it’s all in my head?”

Her mother’s voice was soft, reassuring. “Ashley, if it’s meant to happen, it will. You don’t have to force it, and you don’t have to figure it all out right now. But don’t be afraid to see where this goes. If he’s willing to go through all of this for you, then that says something, doesn’t it?”

Ashley nodded to herself, even though her mother couldn’t see it. “Maybe… but what if I’m wrong? What if I’m just reading into things?”

“You’re not wrong,” her mother said firmly. “I can see how much he cares for you. And if you’re unsure, talk to him. Be honest about how you feel. Don’t let fear keep you from something that could make you happy. I know it’s scary, but sometimes, the best things come from taking risks.”

Ashley closed her eyes, letting her mother’s words sink in. She hadn’t expected this conversation to take such an emotional turn, but it was exactly what she needed to hear.

“Thanks, Mom,” Ashley said softly. “I’ll think about it. I just… I don’t want to mess things up.”

“You won’t,” her mother replied. “Just be yourself. If he feels the same way, he’ll fight for you, Ashley. And you deserve someone who will go through everything for you, just like you’ve always deserved more than what your father and I could give each other.”

Ashley closed her eyes, letting her mother’s words sink in. The idea that Harry could possibly feel the same way… it both terrified and thrilled her. “I don’t know if he feels the same way,” she admitted softly. “I’ve never said anything… I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

Her mother’s voice was gentle, understanding. “Sweetheart, if it’s meant to happen, it will. You don’t have to force anything. But if he’s willing to be there for you in the ways he already has, then maybe… just maybe, he feels more than you realize.”

Ashley sat in silence for a moment, her mind swirling with everything her mother had said. She knew she couldn’t avoid her feelings any longer. It was time to be honest—with herself, and with Harry.

“I’ll talk to him,” she said finally, her voice steady. “I don’t know what will happen, but I’ll talk to him.”

“That’s all you need to do,” her mother replied gently. “And whatever happens, remember I’m here for you. I just want to see you happy, Ashley.”

“I love you, Mom,” Ashley whispered, feeling a sense of calm wash over her.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” her mother said softly before the call ended.

“Soon”

After hanging up, Ashley stared at her phone, her heart pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath and forced herself to look at the messages again, this time with a new perspective. Maybe it was time to lean into what was happening instead of running from it. She decided to message Harry back:

Ashley:

Hey, I just saw your message. I’ll call you soon. Sorry for all of this. I’m still processing everything. Talk to you shortly!

Ashley tossed her phone onto the bed and swung her legs over the side, taking a moment to gather her thoughts. The chaos of the night before still hung in the air, but a flicker of determination began to spark within her. She realized that she couldn’t keep avoiding the reality of her feelings for Harry, especially now that they were under such public scrutiny.

She stood up and moved to the mirror, taking a moment to study her reflection. Her hair was slightly disheveled, and her eyes had that familiar mix of uncertainty and hope. With a soft sigh, she brushed her hair back and splashed some cold water on her face to clear her mind. You can do this, she thought, trying to boost her confidence.

After a few moments of self-encouragement, she paced the room, her mind racing. She needed to figure out how to approach the conversation with Harry. What would she even say? Should I confess my feelings? Or should I just focus on what’s happening in the moment?

As she continued to pace, her phone buzzed again. It was a message from Harry.

Harry:

Hey! I’m in the studio right now, but I can step out for a bit. Do you want to meet up? Just you and me?

Her heart raced at the thought of seeing him again, especially after the whirlwind of emotions she had just experienced. She took a moment to consider, knowing this could be the turning point they both needed.

Ashley:

Yes, I’d love to. Where?

Harry:

How about that little restaurant down the street? I’ll be there in 30 minutes.

Ashley quickly changed out of her pajamas into a casual yet cute outfit, settling on a soft sweater and her favorite jeans. As she looked in the mirror one last time, she felt a mix of excitement and anxiety. This is it, she thought, feeling the weight of the moment settle on her shoulders.

She made her way out of her apartment, the brisk air hitting her face as she stepped onto the street. The walk to the restaurant was filled with a jumble of thoughts. She replayed their past moments together in her mind—their laughter, the shared music, the way he always seemed to know how to cheer her up when she was feeling low. She couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the same depth of emotion she had for him.

Later, Harry waited just outside the small, tucked-away restaurant. The autumn sun hung low in the sky, casting the last of its golden light across the street as Ashley arrived. She looked stunning, her hair tousled slightly by the breeze, her eyes bright, though there was a hint of tiredness behind them. Harry’s heart skipped a beat, and he felt the familiar flutter in his chest he always got when he saw her.

“Hey,” she greeted with a soft smile as she approached.

“Hey,” he replied, trying to sound casual despite the way his pulse quickened just being near her.

“I’m glad you came.”

“Me too,” she replied, taking a seat across from him. “I saw the news… and I wanted to talk.”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, a gesture that was becoming all too familiar. “Yeah, it’s been a bit overwhelming, hasn’t it?” He looked genuinely concerned, his eyes searching hers for any hint of distress.

“I didn’t expect everything to blow up like this,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. “I mean, I thought we were just having a fun night together. I didn’t think it would become public so quickly.”

Harry nodded, his expression softening. “I know. I’m really sorry about that. I didn’t mean for you to get dragged into this. It’s just… it’s hard to keep things private when there’s so much interest in my life.”

Ashley took a deep breath, feeling a mix of empathy and frustration. “I understand. I just… I don’t want this to ruin what we have. I don’t want you to feel like you need to protect me from all of this. It’s just… I’ve never had to deal with something like this before.”

He reached across the table, his fingers brushing against hers. “I don’t want you to feel overwhelmed. I want you to be comfortable with whatever is happening between us. If you need space, I’ll give it to you. But I also don’t want to pretend like nothing is happening.”

They stepped inside, the dim lighting immediately wrapping them in a cocoon of warmth. The restaurant had a quiet elegance about it, with dark wooden tables and soft music playing in the background. It felt intimate, almost too perfect for whatever was about to unfold between them. The kind of place where emotions couldn’t be hidden in the shadows.

They found a small table by the window, the sunlight fading as the evening set in. Harry could sense the shift in the air—the same energy that had been building between them for months now hung even heavier.

Ashley took a sip of her wine, her gaze resting on the glass for a moment before she looked up at him. “This place is really nice. How did you find it?”

Harry shrugged, trying to downplay the butterflies in his stomach. “Just one of those places you stumble across. Thought you’d like it.”

“I do.” She smiled again, but there was something more in her expression tonight. A quiet curiosity, maybe, or perhaps she was waiting for him to say something. To finally address the elephant that had been in the room between them for so long.

They talked easily for a while—about nothing in particular, work, music, life. But underneath it all, there was something pressing between them, growing with each passing moment.

At one point, Harry caught himself staring at her a little too long, his eyes tracing the lines of her face, the way her lips curved when she spoke. He quickly looked away, taking a long sip of wine to distract himself from the growing tension inside him. But it was no use. His feelings for her were too strong, too overwhelming.

Ashley must have noticed the shift in his demeanor, because she placed her glass down and leaned in slightly. “You okay? You’ve been quiet. Is something on your mind?” Her voice was soft, but there was something in her tone that made Harry’s pulse quicken.

He didn’t know how to answer her. Everything he wanted to say felt too heavy, too dangerous to voice. He was caught between the ease of their friendship and the growing intensity of his feelings for her, feelings he had tried to push down for so long.

“I’m just… thinking,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. He took another sip of wine, hoping it would steady him.

Ashley smiled, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, something that tugged at Harry’s heart. “About what?”

For a moment, Harry couldn’t breathe. He looked at her—really looked at her. The soft curve of her lips, the way her dark hair framed her face, the light in her eyes. Everything about her drew him in, made it harder to keep pretending that his feelings weren’t there, that they hadn’t been there for a long time.

And then, something inside him snapped.

Before he could think it through, before he could stop himself, Harry leaned across the table and kissed her.

It wasn’t a tentative kiss, not like before. It was passionate, fueled by the months—of unspoken feelings, the weight of everything they hadn’t said. His hand cupped her face, fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer. Her lips were soft, warm, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to fall away. The taste of wine lingered between them, but it was the taste of her that consumed him.

He kissed her with everything he had—every ounce of feeling he’d buried, every moment he’d hesitated, every stolen glance, every heartbeat he’d ignored. His body pressed closer to hers, their lips moving in sync, the heat between them growing with every second.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, Harry pulled away.

Breathless, he stared at her, his heart pounding in his chest. Ashley’s eyes were wide, her cheeks flushed, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

But then Harry saw it—a look on Ashley’s face that made his heart stop. It wasn’t shock or confusion. It wasn’t hesitation or doubt. It was something else, something deeper—an expression he couldn’t fully explain, but it was there, clear as day. She was happy. Not just happy—she was overwhelmed, like something inside her had been unlocked, something she hadn’t expected but had wanted for so long. Her eyes sparkled with joy, her lips still slightly parted from the kiss. And it was beautiful, unbelievably beautiful.

Seeing her like that, seeing her happiness so raw and unfiltered, made Harry’s chest tighten. He’d never seen her like this before. She looked as though the weight of every doubt, every insecurity, had been lifted from her shoulders in that one kiss.

But then, just as quickly, his own mind caught up to him.

What had he done? He loved kissing her. He liked her more than he could ever express. But now, the doubts flooded in like a tidal wave. What did this mean for them? Could they ever go back to what they were? And what if he wasn’t enough for her? What if being with him ruined everything for her? What if this one kiss set off a chain reaction that he couldn’t control?

His mind spiraled, the questions hitting him all at once. He had acted on impulse, and now he didn’t know where it would lead. He was terrified. What if he had just ruined everything?

Ashley was still looking at him, her eyes soft, her expression still full of the beauty of the moment, but Harry couldn’t meet her gaze for long. The turmoil inside him was too much. He had wanted this, so badly, but now that it had happened, the fear of what came next clawed at him, louder than ever.

He dropped his hand from her face, his fingers trembling slightly. His breath was shaky, his heart pounding in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Ashley didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Her expression said everything—she was happy. But Harry… Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that he had crossed a line, a line he wasn’t sure he was ready for.

The silence between them was deafening, filled with everything that had just happened, with everything they weren’t saying. And as Harry sat there, staring at her, he realized that nothing between them could ever be the same again.

This version heightens the emotional intensity of the kiss while focusing on the overwhelming beauty of Ashley’s reaction and the turmoil brewing inside Harry. It ends with Harry’s internal conflict, leaving the emotional aftermath hanging between them, unresolved.

A/N: here is the beginning of all the drama🤭 see you guys tomorrow. Special thx to @daisyblog for always helping me! 🫶🏻

STORY MASTERLIST

Taglist: @prettygurl-2009 @sassamanda77 (TAGLIST OPEN)

Posted on: October 10th, 2024

[metal-mouse]

Kinktober Week Two

Pair: Toji Fushiguro x F!Reader (M/F Pairing)

Themes: Smut. Kinktober Week Two: dacryphilia + rough sex.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI. Smut. Diet angst? Toji is a toxic man + makes you cry on purpose. Rough sex. Choking. Unprotected p in v. Light brat taming. Spitting in mouth. Degradation. Idk, he's rough with you.

Summary: 2.2k. Toji knows it's kind of an asshole move to make you cry, but damn it, your tears just get him going. Of course he apologizes every time in the only way he cares to - by railing you into the mattress! Or the wall, maybe the couch... the kitchen counter?

Note: okay being so fr right now, if a man treats you like this outside of a consensual kink space the dick ain't worth it even if he's hot. I had so much fun writing this one, and I hope y'all enjoy it. I'm making a separate AO3 for anime fics and misc fics, soooo this won't be up on AO3 until I get the invite link :). Anyways, hope you enjoy. Very little proof reading. Week Three: Choso Kamo x f!Reader.

Toji knew he should stop antagonizing you. Doing things he knew you’d get upset about. Flirting with women in front of you, disappearing for days on end without a word, showing up wasted at impolite hours of the day... There was just something so sweet about the way your cheeks would flush as you yelled at him. It was just so captivating when he intentionally wound you up - playing off your words, disregarding you, often telling you that it was all your imagination or you needed to lighten up. The tip of your nose would go pink and your eyes always welled up with tears. God, those tears. They got him every time, watching them stream down your cheeks.

Today had been one of those days, where he stood in front of you while you cried. His eyes were trained on your face, watching as it scrunched up as you tried so hard to hide how upset you were. Toji had taken you out for once, it was a big deal really. And yet, he’d spent the entire night flirting with the bartender. ‘It’s just for the free drinks, baby. Don’t worry.’ He’d said over and over with a smug little smile. The waterworks and yelling had started the moment you walked through the door of his apartment. He’d barely listened to your emotional ranting, it was hard to pay attention when you looked so fucking pretty  while you cried, and while his cock was rock fucking hard in his pants. 

It was always the best part of the night, the ‘apology.’ Toji never quite managed to say he was sorry, and tonight was sure as hell no different. He’d brushed your tears away with a gentle touch, licking the salty aftertaste from his thumb as he held your gaze. You knew what was coming just as much as he did, and he knew you were already soaked. This fucked up form of foreplay was an addiction. A vicious cycle. One that Toji was in no rush to break.

“Fuck you, Toji.” You spat venomously, trying to shove him away as his massive frame crowded you against the wall. 

“Fuck me? I know you wanna.” He said, that lazy and arrogant grin spreading on his lips. He could see that temper flickering in your eyes, a few stray tears running down your cheeks. He roughly yanked you against him and leaned in so you were trapped between him and the wall. His head dipped to kiss you, but your hand came up and pushed his face away to block him. 

Toji’s response was to simply grab that hand and pin it to the wall above your head. He loomed over you, his lips nice and close to yours, “Don’t be like that, baby. Why do you act like you don’t want this?” His free hand roamed from your hip to your ass, giving you a squeeze before he lowered his hand to your thigh to lift your leg and hook it around his waist. 

“Piss. Off.” You hissed, and Toji had to stop himself from laughing. He found it so cute when you tried to tell him off. Had he gone a little far tonight in his flirting with that bartender? Maybe. But he knew you’d melt into his arms with a bit of button pushing. 

“Oh, we’re playing like that huh?” His hips rolled forward, the prominent bulge in his pants pressing up against the apex of your thighs. “See what you do to me?” He knew just the words to say, just the moves to make. His nose bumped against yours as he crowded your face, his lips lingering dangerously close to yours. You’d fold. He was sure you would, especially when your breath caught ever so slightly every time he ground into you. 

“Go jerk off then if you’re so horny, you fucking prick.” Toji had to hand it to you, you were more fiery than usual. Jerk off? Nah. Not his style, at least not when you were pinned there in your little dress and glaring at him with your pretty red-rimmed eyes. 

“Who do you think you’re talking to like that?” Your eyelids fluttered as his tongue ran along your bottom lip and his grip on your wrist tightened. He didn’t miss the way your head tilted back ever so slightly, your posture starting to open up to him. Toji had you exactly where he wanted you. He rocked his hips against you, grinding against your clothed cunt. When you let out the tiniest little sound, your eyes closing and your free hand coming up to his chest, he knew he’d won. 

With this little crack in your composure, he crushed his lips against yours. It was a sloppy, heated kiss that left no room to breathe. He pulled up on your wrist, making you rise up onto your tippy-toes before dropping his hand to grab your thigh and lift you up so both your legs were wrapped around him. God damn, he was going to enjoy this. His kiss was rough, as was his bruising grip on your thighs - and you met him every step of the way. It wasn’t long before your dress was on the floor, rapidly followed by Toji’s shirt. With one arm holding you up, and the other smoothly unclasping your bra and discarding it, he walked you across the hall into the bedroom of his modest apartment. He tossed you onto the bed, and he was between your legs with his hands on your hips pulling you against him before you even had a chance to recover. 

“Are you going to keep having an attitude, or are you going to be a good girl and spread your legs for me?” Toji rested on top of you, letting you take the brunt of his weight as he pressed you against the mattress. His hand snaked down between your bodies, his fingers experimentally pressing up against your pussy. He lightly caressed along your clothed slit, feeling how you’d already drenched your panties. That was answer enough, but he wanted to hear it from you.

A shuddering breath caught in your throat as you tried to squirm out of his grip. Toji’s broad hand roamed over your belly, before palming your breast. He pinched one of your pebbled nipples between his fingers, gently rolling it and prompting a little squeak from you. Those were the sounds he was looking for. 

You let out a sound of pure frustration, “Please, Toji.” You pleaded. He loved the anger and resignation in your tone. The cherry on top was the way you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him. There was a neediness in your kiss, which he accepted as his hands slid down your sides to your hips. You kissed him like you were trying to prove you were the only one he needed - that you were better than anyone he flirted with or looked at. 

He ripped your panties, the thin lace not standing a chance against him, and tossed them to the side. He sat up, looming over you as he removed his belt and unbuttoned his jeans. He watched as your eyes roamed up and down his toned form without discrimination. He had no patience for this shit. Toji’s pants and boxers hit the ground, and he was on you in an instant. 

His broad hands gripped your inner thighs, wrenching your legs open as he bent over you and bit down on the curve of your neck hard. You cried out, your back arching. His hips rolled forward as he rubbed the length of his cock through your folds. His eyes closed from how wet you were, and all for him. 

Toji guided one of your legs over his shoulder, and he held the other against the mattress as he plunged his thick cock right into you. No need for preamble, not when you clearly needed the main event. He leaned his weight into you, his free hand coming up and gripping your neck. “I’m going to fucking ruin you.” He promised, squeezing your neck giving you that light-headed sensation that made your mind tingle. That was it, your only warning before he started to drill his hips into you. Your eyes widened, a loud cry spilling from your lips from his merciless thrusting. Toji grunted, his grip on your neck and your thigh tightening as he was overcome with white hot pleasure from the way you were wrapped around him.

In his peripherals he could see the way your toes curled. You writhed against his hold on you, so he leaned into you more to keep you still. Your hands wrapped around the wrist of his hand at your throat. You were incoherent in your whines and moans, your entire body bouncing with every thrust of Toji’s hips. If he didn’t have such a tight grip on you, he was sure you would’ve been fucked right off the bed. Wouldn’t be the first time. 

Toji watched your face as he fucked you, the way your mouth had fallen open and your brows were scrunched up. He leered at you, grabbing your jaw to tilt your head to look up at him. You obliged, looking up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. His grip on your jaw was tight, and he forced you to open your mouth wider. He leaned in, spitting into your mouth before pushing your mouth shut and holding his hand over your mouth muffling your moans. 

“Swallow.” He ordered you, feeling the way your cunt fluttered around his cock. Dirty, little slut loves it. Your thighs were shaking already. Toji had the stamina, he’d pound into you without hesitation for however long he fucking felt like it. Right, apologizing.

His hand dropped from your mouth, groping at your tits. He loved the way the soft flesh felt under his rough palms. His hands were meant to kill, but he was more than happy to use them to make you mewl like this too. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding onto him for dear life. 

“Oh fuck!” You wailed out when his pace changed. He rolled his hips into you slower now, but harder. The steady pace and punishing depth he set had your head falling back and your nails biting into his skin sure to leave long, red scratches. God damn, he wanted to see you fall apart. To hear you scream.

Toji brought his hand down, his thumb rubbing circles over your clit in tandem with his thrusts. Your loud gasp and the way your eyes squeezed shut told him everything he needed to know. Right there. His balls were tightening, a man could only last so long. Yet, he wouldn’t give into that pressure building at the base of his cock until you’d had your fill. 

“Yes-yes-yes-yes–” You babbled out with every thrust as Toji sped up the pace ever so slightly. Your muscles began to tense up, your nails pausing on his back and digging in hard. “‘M gonna… fuck Toji!” Your sobbing whine almost made him cum then and there. 

“Cum, baby. For me.” He said, his voice low and husky. His thumb circled your clit faster, and he kept up his pace. It started out as a tight little squeal as your jaw clamped shut. Your muscles clenched around him, and he took that as his sign to keep going just as he was. When your mouth fell open in screaming moans, he couldn’t help but grin. You looked so fucking good when you came. That explosion of sensations rocked your whole body, your cunt pulsing and coaxing Toji deeper. 

He obliged your body, his hands dropping to your hips to pull you in closer as he started to drill into you with reckless abandon. Faster, and as deep as he could go. His grunting mixed with your sobbing moans, until his head fell back. That tight pressure in his core was going to snap, his cock twitching and his balls tight anticipating his orgasm. His thrusts faltered ever so slightly as his length grew more and more sensitive, until he couldn’t hold on any longer. He pulled out, his hand flying to his length that he stroked fast and hard with the aid of your slick. He groaned in ecstasy, his hips twitching as his seed covered your belly, painting you like a piece of fucking art. 

Slowly coming down from his high, he stopped stroking himself and looked down at you. You were a fucking mess, shaking, panting, with his cum all over your belly. Toji leaned over you, his hands on either side of your head. He lowered himself down low enough to press a soft kiss to your lips, so gentle compared to the man he’d been only moments before.

“Let me get you a rag and some water, baby.” He mumbled against your lips. Oh yes, he’d be sweet now. He’d take such good care of you. Clean you up, hold you close, and do anything you ask. He’d protect you, and love you. Up until he needed his fix, that is. Then, the game would be back on. There was no chance in hell he was breaking this cycle.

[1moreoffkeyanthem]

Hey y’all guess what?!? :) it’s time for a new episode of Bedtime Stories With PCE!!!

Who ordered some old man yaoi? That’s right, this one is set right after If Heaven And Hell Decide, with a sick Kyle, worried Stan, the best little immortal cat of all time, adding injury to illness, two middle aged men being massive fantasy dorks, all that goodness. Very sorry to my favorite arthritic ginger it will happen again, very sorry to his extremely concerned husband.

And y’all. I’m dedicating this to the Sickfic Queen herself, @alwaysinstyle who consistently kicks ass and gets stoked about style taking care of each other with me. Ana I love you so much and I’m so proud of you. All the people in your corner, we have you covered.

Also OFC the rest of the RANT homies have been subjected to random snippets of this over the past 2 weeks or so (jesus my sadsack ass needs to get some motivation back how has it been two weeks) but hey I will always be obnoxious when the mood strikes me and this long ass monstrosity is FINALLY done!!! Thank y’all fr for putting up with me.

Here’s •Well, That Would Be Pretty Odd•

A subtle knock at the door drew Stan’s attention and Kyle from uneasy rest. His husband’s head lolled exhaustively in his hand, still drained of energy and, according to the screen displaying his vitals, running a pretty high fever. Stan kept one arm protectively over him and turned to the door. “Yeah?”

The doctor entered, shutting the door behind her. “Hey, guys, how are we doing in here?”

Kyle pulled up slowly, clearly emotional, like he always got when he was sick. “Can I go home yet? Moose needs me.”

“Our cat,” Stan explained. “He’s worried he scared our cat.”

“I did.”

“Scared the hell out of your husband, too, sick as you are. It says on the chart you guys filled out that your blood sugar was low enough to potentially trigger a seizure. If he hadn’t acted as fast as he did, you’d be even worse off than you are.”

Kyle slumped back into Stan. “He always rescues me,” he murmured.

Stan felt like crying. “I’m your knight when you need me, dude.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, what’re we working with here? Stomach flu, dehydration, complications because of the diabetes, all that, right?”

“Right. Kyle, we have you on antivirals and fluids via IV for now, and I know you’re eager to get home-“

“-he hates hospitals-“

“-I hate hospitals.”

The doctor smiled kindly, even after getting interrupted. Stan liked her. “We’re keeping you overnight at least, but if your vitals are still stable and your fever is less than 102, we can send you home.”

Stan knew Kyle appreciated being the one addressed about his own health. This doctor could read the room, that’s for sure. Kyle nodded tiredly, eyes closed.

“How about when we go home? What’s the plan?” Stan inquired, tired as fuck himself but making an exception for Ky, always.

“Fluids, rest, anything with nutritional value that can stay down. Your friend in the waiting room mentioned orange juice as you guys’ go-to when Kyle’s having trouble with blood sugar? And he said you’re always diligent about keeping an eye on his health.” She was definitely addressing Stan now, since Kyle had clearly relinquished responsibility for the time being, knowing Stan had him covered. Hell yeah he did. “Any further complications; if you catch the bug too and can’t take care of him, another bad sugar drop or fever spike, and you guys come right back here. But at this point, it’s looking like this is something manageable from home, fingers crossed.”

And Stan had every finger crossed. He’d take care of Kyle, just like Kyle took care of him. Even if he was kind of scared as fuck, not having seen him quite this sick since maybe college. Or even when they were kids and he needed kidney surgery. He bit the panic down. Kyle was okay.

“Gotcha. I can spend the night? Spousal rights and everything?”

“You won’t convince him not to stay if you say no,” was Kyle’s muffled reply.

The doctor laughed. “I won’t make you leave. The last thing I want is either of you worked up, especially you, Kyle. If you need your husband with you to be comfortable-“

“-mhm-“

“-that’s not a problem in my book.” She tapped her clipboard with long fingernails. “There’s a call button on the bed if you need anything between the nurses checks, and I’ll tell your friend he’s free to go. He isn’t allowed back here, I’m afraid, but I can also let him know he can be the one to pick you up in the morning, if that’s what you two want?”

Kyle mumbled something that sounded like “like a good neighbor, Tucker is there” to the tune of the state farm insurance jingle. The doctor raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, he’s pretty delirious, alright.” A couple quick checks to Kyle’s IV line and heartbeat monitor, and she was gesturing for Stan to lay his half asleep husband back down. “You boys get some rest. We’ll keep you posted.”

“Thanks,” Stan whispered, letting Kyle nuzzle into his chest as she left the room. Once they were alone in the darkened space, he kissed him softly on the top of the head. Kyle was a space heater. But if the hospital staff wasn’t alarmed, they were okay. “I’ve got you, baby, just sleep.”

The next morning, Kyle improved enough to leave and discharge paperwork done, they faced the problem of actually getting the sick man home.

Stan waved off the nurse’s offered wheelchair and stubbornly picked Kyle up because like hell was he losing even a second of contact. That and he took pride in the fact that he was in his 40s and still able to carry his husband.

“Sir, there’s procedure…”

Kyle snorted from where his head was against Stan’s shoulder, coherent enough to be aware but still too weak to insist on, god forbid, trying to walk on his own. “Believe me, ma’am, there’s no way in hell you’re convincing this guy not to carry me. Losing battle, mark my worms- words.”

Someone needed to be home in bed.

The nurse sighed, clearly deciding it wasn’t worth argument. Thank God, because Kyle could out argue anyone normally, but he was fucking tired.

“Just sing me home again, Orpheus,” he murmured into his husband’s ear.

Stan laughed at the reference. “Alright, ma’am, so if we’re all set….”

“Yes, yes, you can go. Hope you feel better.”

Kyle only had a vague recollection of both Stan and Craig yelling at the hospital staff when they brought him in, which was kind of funny to think about. Craig didn’t get worked up about things easily, and Stan was as gentle as they came. But it was nice to know his friend and his partner were willing to act so out of character for his sake. He muttered a “hey, spaceman” in greeting when Stan lowered him into the back of Craig’s car, mid morning sun forcing him to keep his eyes closed.

Craig barked a short laugh, pulling from the parking lot when both his passengers were settled for the short drive. “Someone’s feeling better.”

“I’ll get him set to rights, kick the plague’s ass,” Stan said, softly kissing his husband’s still too warm forehead. “Thanks for picking us up, dude. And for last night.”

“No biggie,” Craig shrugged nonchalantly. “Someone had to keep a level head and it sure as hell wasn’t gonna be either of you.”

Well, he wasn’t wrong there. Craig was probably the least prone to getting over emotional person Stan had ever met.

Craig’s husband, however, was the exact opposite. Upon getting home and getting up to bed, Kyle could faintly hear the frantic voice of Tweek downstairs, bringing Moose back from spending the night over at apartment two.

Kyle was nauseous, not to the point that he had been, but nauseous all the same, waiting for Stan to be done retrieving their cat and filling Kyle’s water. He felt weak as shit, and sweaty, which was probably a reasonably good indicator of his fever coming down, but it fucking sucked. And he was going to need some soup or something in him soon so his blood sugar didn’t get so bad again, which was another thing that sucked, because why do flesh prisons require so much maintenance? Why did his body require so much to function.

He didn’t realize tears were flowing until Stan entered the bedroom, hands full with the water, a KMBS, and one of those bottled protein drinks that tasted like chalk. Moose was quick to jump up and pad softly over to him, big blue eyes so worried and sweet as he curled up beside him. Kyle’s two blue eyed boys.

The second of whom was setting the drinks on the bedside table. There was a straw in each, so Kyle wouldn’t have to move as much to drink. It made him cry harder.

“Shhh, dude, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Stan climbed onto his side and grabbed the juice, holding it to Kyle’s lips. “I know you don’t feel good, that’s okay. I’ve got you. Go slow, okay?”

Kyle complied, the sharp taste of salted orange juice helping both physically and mentally. Plus, it’s hard to drink something and cry at the same time, so his breathing was a little less sporadic. A few sips were all he managed before his stomach started rolling, and he shook his head. Stan understood, setting the cup down and pulling Kyle’s face into his chest. “Just sleep, baby. I’m gonna have to check your temperature and levels in about an hour, but just sleep until then, alright?”

“Mhm.”

Stan would take care of him. Kyle would put up a fight, when he had the strength to, but Stan knew from experience that he’d be ‘secretly’ loving being cared for.

The husbands had a couple favorite positions to hold each other in. They’d hold the other from behind, arms wrapped around and poised to kiss an exposed nape or shoulder as a reminder of their presence. They would entangle themselves like they were doing now, they’d let the other’s head rest on their legs, Kyle would perch himself in Stans lap or Stan would drape over him like a blanket. Holding each other was safe. And in this moment Stan wrapped protectively around his sick partner like it was his sacred duty, one hand cradling Kyle’s head from underneath, fingers gently rubbing his hair, the other arm tucking him firmly against himself, feeling Moose’s purrs vibrating where the cat had claimed his place against Kyle’s back, right below the place Stan’s arm was wrapped around.

Stan glanced at the nightstand clock, keeping watch for the next time they’d need to wake up for a check in. About an hour and he’d get the thermometer to make sure they were still headed in the right direction, check Kyle’s levels, make them both something for, well, he supposed lunch at this point, and call the clinic to let his coworkers know that he’d be out a few days for a family emergency. He’d have to let Kyle’s work know too, before his husband tried to go into school still unwell.

Fitfully, Kyle dozed, sweating in his sleep, which Stan knew damn well he’d complain about when he woke up, but personally, he didn’t mind holding a miniature sun, because it was Kyle. Overheated, but still Kyle.

It hadn’t quite been an hour, but the warmth was starting to concern him. He gently kissed the top of his husband’s head, encouraging him to stir.

“Dude, hey.”

Kyle let out a tired whine as indication that he was awake.

“I know, baby. I just need to check your temperature and then you can go back to sleep.”

“I can check my own damn temperature,” Kyle protested, rolling over onto his back when Stan relinquished his grasp around his beloved. He scowled. “I’m all sweaty.”

Stan chuckled lowly. Was he right or was he right. “Gimme a second.”

Upon getting the thermometer and finding that they were still going in the right direction, Stan relaxed slightly. He let Kyle check both his temperature and blood sugar by himself, because it wasn’t worth the impending argument and the last thing he wanted was to make his husband feel helpless. Fever was down, but he definitely needed something to eat soon.

“Dude, do you think you can handle something solid, or you wanna keep sticking with drinks?”

Kyle hadn’t puked in a while, so he felt like maybe something simple, easy on the stomach, would be okay. As much as he wanted to keep going with the safe option of juice and a protein shake, he wouldn’t get better without something substantial in him and he knew it. “I can try. No promises.”

“You don’t need to promise anything,” Stan insisted, leaning down to kiss him on the way out of bed. “But I have an idea, if you’re okay by yourself for a few minutes.”

“Moose is with me. I’m not by myself,” Kyle remarked with a sleepy smile.

Stan snorted and went to change into jeans, last night’s pajamas not exactly ideal attire for walking to the BBQ place a block over. Kyle was weird about food sometimes, but Brendan’s mac and cheese was a simple, safe, Kyle approved bet. He’d probably want it to get cold first like he usually did (weirdo), but sick Kyle was sort of a wild card. They’d see.

“I’ll be back in fifteen, dude, drink some water.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

Kyle heard the door close downstairs, slowly reaching for his water at the bedside, one hand resting on their cat’s head. Moose was stretched out along his side, fluffy tail dangling off the side of the mattress.

“You sleepy too, young nastyman?” Kyle asked, setting the bottle down and closing his eyes. Moose purred in response.

Apparently he’d drifted off again, waking up to the rustle of a takeout bag and a strong, smoky smell.

Kyle clapped a hand over his mouth. Ordinarily the smell of brisket and ribs wouldn’t bother him, but in his half asleep state, smelling meat on Stan of all people…

“…Dude?”

“FUCKING CHANGE!” Kyle screeched, staggering up to run to the bathroom, tears in his eyes because the bbq place smell all over his vegetarian husband was wrong and disorienting and he hated being sick and fevers made him sensitive and an asshole and-

Falling hard in front of the toilet, he felt his knee go out. The cherry on top of the fucking cake while his stomach tried to escape his body. Kyle cried out in pain, which was cut off immediately by a wave of sick splashing into the porcelain while he attempted to move and take the weight off his left leg, shaking and already crying because he was pissed and it hurt and he couldn’t catch a damn break. Dry heaving and spluttering, he collapsed tiredly into the alcove between the toilet and the cabinets, one trembling arm draped over the seat and the other hand clutching his knee, eyes shut tightly against the light and the nausea and pain.

“Ky, hey, hey, oh, fuck, baby, shit, did you twist your knee? Okay, you’re okay, hold on-“

Kyle leaned over to retch again, choking out “YOU SMELL WRONG” because that’s all he could manage between gasps.

Stan yanked his shirt off and threw it through the open door into the hallway, past where Moose was watching with wide eyes from the threshold. “Okay, I’m sorry, is that better? Here.” He gently eased Kyle’s hand away from his leg, carefully straightening it out. “God, yeah, it’s already swelling.”

“WHY do I have to LIVE IN THIS GODDAMN FLESH PRISON?!?” Kyle slammed his fist against the floor, frustrated beyond belief. Stan caught his hand before he could do it again.

“Shh, Ky, c’mon. You’re okay, it’s fine.”

Seeing his husband like this, sick, aggravating his bad knee mid vomit, broke Stan’s heart. But he had him. He had him and wouldn’t let go. Was that dramatic? Absolutely. But when the fuck was he not dramatic about Kyle’s health?

“THAT FUCKING STUPID ASS NURSE!” Kyle was yelling. “Sending me sick kids, thinking they were just trying to get out of class, that BITCH!”

“Baby, dude, calm down, man, breathe.”

“YOU’RE ONE TO FUCKING TALK!”

Alright, point to Kyle. Stan sighed as Kyle heaved over the toilet again, expelling nothing but water. They really needed to get something in him before he wound up needing the hospital again. Stan gently rubbed his husband’s back as he hiccuped and cried, clearly feeling betrayed by his body. A few minutes of heavy breathing, and Kyle was pulling back up. “I- I think I’m d-done.”

“Alright dude, I’m gonna get you up now, that okay?”

“Mhm”

Very, very carefully, Stan hauled Kyle from the floor, mindful not to move his knee too much and going slow in case of another bout of nausea. Moose trotted into the bedroom after his dads, obviously distressed seeing Kyle cry and immediately curling back up against the redhead when Stan set him down.

Stan was honestly a little nauseous himself, because Kyle’s frustrated tears never failed to make him emotional too. But he knew what to do here, he reminded himself. Fever was coming down, leg flare up was pretty routine, Kyle would rant it out if he had to and Stan would be his yes-man, and liquids were probably going to be the staple for the rest of the day.

He rolled up a throw blanket and propped it under Kyle’s leg, taking some strain off the irritated joint and kissing his husband’s kneecap when he did so. “You want ice, babe?”

“Yes I want fucking ice,” Kyle mumbled, arms draped over his eyes.

Stan could admit to enjoying taking care of Kyle when he fucked up his knee; pissed off Kyle was cute. “Aw, baby, I got you.” He grabbed the takeout bag from the nightstand too, not knowing if the bbq smell was lingering there too. “I’ll stick this in the fridge for when you want something solid, okay? How ‘bout another Ensure?”

Kyle grumbled something inaudible that Stan took as a yes. Poor thing was so upset. But he had every right to be, and Stan would never be annoyed at him for that.

Downstairs, he debated making his husband a smoothie, but the blender was loud, and his head probably already hurt from throwing up. Instead, he just grabbed an ice pack and a shake (strawberry, still gross but the flavor Kyle hated the least), taking the time to scribble out the nutrition information, just in case. That practice was pretty much habit at this point; he’d started ripping off or crossing out the calories on food for Kyle when they were fourteen, when his favorite person was recovering from his eating disorder, and even if he’d been more than fine for a longgggg time, Stan was prone to reverting to the past. When Kyle wasn’t okay, for whatever reason, food lore got crossed out.

“Dude, you up?”

“Mm”

“Shit, babe.” Stan knelt by the bed to carefully apply the ice, reaching a hand up to thumb away a falling tear. “You just mad?”

“Fucking pissed,” Kyle moaned. “It’s not enough that I have the goddamn plague?!? I have to have to fuck my leg up too? My parents are, like twice our age and even they don’t have fucking arthritis!” Kyle pointed two middle fingers to the ceiling as a ‘fuck you’ to god, which was actually pretty funny, but Stan didn’t laugh. That would only make his husband madder.

“Ky, c’mon.” Stan cupped under his head to kiss his cheek, relishing in the subtle smile that action brought. “And your parents didn’t shred tendons and refuse to do physical therapy.”

“I am damn well aware my goddamn arthritis is my own fault, Staniel.” But he sighed contentedly, adjusting the ice pack before leaning back against the pillows. “That helps. I’m sorry.”

Declaring the anger over for now, Stan climbed into bed beside him. “Don’t be sorry, dude. How’s your stomach?”

“I don’t fucking feel good.”

“I know, dude, can you drink a little water? We have to keep you hydrated.”

“It’ll just come back up.”

“Not necessarily.”

Moose crawled up between his dads, small furry head on Kyle’s shoulder, knowing he needed comfort. Kyle rubbed his face on the cat. “Babyman, did I scare you last night? I did, huh?”

“Dude,” Stan started, “he’s fine. You’re fine. We’re all fine. Drink something and don’t move your leg.”

“I didn’t shred my tendons, by the way.” Kyle protested. “I just tore some shit a little.”

“Enough that it’s a problem even now.”

“See, you get it.”

Stan laughed. “Quit being a dick and go to sleep, baby. You know you’ll feel better. I’m right here, dude, whatever you need.”

“I’m not being a dick, I’m being contrary.”

“Same difference.”

“Mm.”

God, poor Kyle, pissed off, sick, having a flare up on top of everything else. “Dude, what do you need?”

“Leg hurts.”

“We have a pack on it, dude. Maybe some ibuprofen? You should take some for the fever anyway.”

“It hurts.”

Stan started to gently rub his partner’s knee. “I know, babe. I know it’s hurting.”

“I hit it on the floor.”

“I know you did.”

“Fuck this shit.”

Kyle knew he was being a total dramatic asshole, but he didn’t care. God had fucked him over; he could be a dick. That made sense. “I’m mad, dude.”

“That’s okay.”

And no he didn’t have the right to be mad. Stan was being so sweet. Always. Any time Kyle’s meat suit betrayed him and he got upset about it, Stan was there, doting and adorable as ever. “I’m sleepy.”

“So go to sleep.”

“Something bad’s gonna happen.”

“Oh, dude.” Stan wrapped around him, carefully. “We’re not OCD spiraling. We’re not. A little rest, alright?”

In actuality, Kyle was too tired to argue.

It had to have been a few hours when Stan felt Kyle stir against his chest, swinging over to get out of bed… and promptly falling with a loud “FUCK!”

“Ky?”

“I FUCKING FORGOT ABOUT MY GODDAMN LEG!!!”

Stan sprang off the bed then too, getting on the floor beside his hyperventilating husband. “Dude, shhh, okay, okay, straighten it out.”

Sobbing, Kyle did. “D-don’t, freak, okay? I moved it weird, that’s all.”

“It’s fine, dude. Look at me. I’m not freaking out.” He was just doing a good job hiding it. Stan hated seeing Kyle cry, emotional, probably still feverish and nauseated, trying to get up in the middle of the night and falling on his knee, just the perfect storm of fucked up shit. But Kyle needed to stay calm, above all else. “What did you need, dude? Let me help you.”

“Water,” Kyle mumbled dejectedly.

“And guess what? You have me for that.” Stan carefully felt around his husband’s leg. “Can I turn a light on?”

Kyle responded by throwing up into the trash can, which had Stan gagging too. Fuck. Honestly, he was surprised he lasted so long without sympathy puking. “Hold on, baby.”

Stan rushed to the bathroom to empty his own stomach, somehow only just noticing that he still hadn’t put a shirt on from earlier. And Kyle hadn’t said anything about him wearing “outside pants” in bed, either, which was probably the best indicator of how sick he was.

Flushing down the panic induced vomit, Stan stood and glared at his reflection while he rinsed his mouth out, gulping a few handfuls of water from the sink. He had to keep it together. He needed a plan. Okay. Get Kyle back in bed, check his temperature and blood sugar, go downstairs to fill up his water and feed Moose, go from there.

Kyle had curled up on the floor back in the bedroom, and Moose had the zoomies. Stan sighed.

“Dude, okay, let’s get up.”

“Moving sucks ass.”

“I know it does, babe, but the bed is better than the floor.”

“Quit being right,” Kyle mumbled, allowing himself to be helped back under the covers. Stan snagged his readers from the nightstand, flipping on the lamp and grabbing the thermometer too.

“Okay, melmë, let’s see.”

Kyle smiled a little. “You look like a dad.”

“I am a dad,” he reminded him. Even if he’d bemoaned needing reading glasses and his body getting softer with age, his sentimental side was happy he had made it this far in life, especially with Kyle at his side. “Our son is bouncing off the walls as we speak. Open.”

Down to 100.3, thank whoever the fuck was up there. Maybe he should be thanking Kyle’s God, not having any attachment to one of his own. When he’d first started AA and found that part of the whole thing was putting things in the hands of a higher power, he had posed the question of what to do if you weren’t particularly religious to his sponsor. Mark had said “hell, put your faith in the doorknob if you want. Got you in here, didn’t it?”

“What’s the damage?” Kyle inquired.

“Definitely better. You want to check your levels or can I?”

Kyle slowly opened his eyes. “I got it, sweetheart, you’ve been doing so much.”

“Because I want to.”

“I’m difficult.”

Stan brought Kyle’s hand up to his lips and kissed it. “It so isn’t your fault that you got sick, or that you hurt your knee, or that you have diabetes. In sickness and in health, right?” Kyle’s fond grin only grew, and Stan decided to let up on the overbearingness. He snatched Moose up quickly on the cat’s next lap around the room. “I’m filling your water and feeding the dragon, okay? Be right back.”

So he had sweat out most of the fever, it seemed like. Judging by how sticky he felt, Kyle was fairly certain he was over the worst. At least in terms of the fucking stomach flu. His leg was a different story.

It was dim in the bedroom with only a sliver of moonlight slipping through the window, and the soft light from the lamp, but he could feel that he’d aggravated his knee pretty bad. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. The cartilage felt like it was grinding when he shifted. Kyle groaned in frustration, debating trying to hop over to the closet for his brace, but deciding against it, because Stan would flip his lid if he saw him standing. And considering what his blood sugar was at, being vertical was a bad idea anyway.

Said husband returned to the room. “I come bearing gifts for the king!”

Dork. Freshly refilled water, a KMBS, sleeve of crackers. Stan presented the juice. “Your elixir, melda târ. And-“ he beelined for the top of the closet, clearly having read Kyle’s mind.

“Thank you, my most dutiful and trusted of knights.” Kyle let him secure the knee brace, watching as those careful, strong, gentle hands worked, as Stan leaned down to kiss his leg when he was done. His Stan. His sweet Sir Marshwalker.

“Oh, shit, dude, are you crying? Does it hurt that much?” Stan was up by his face again. Kyle shook his head.

“It’s not that; I just- I really fucking love you,” he sobbed.

“Aw, baby, come here.” Stan climbed into bed and wrapped around him again, avoiding touching his husband’s stomach or leg. A little jingle of Moose’s collar announced their boy’s return to the bedroom, a tiny *prrrt* as the cat settled back at Kyle’s side. “You’re not as warm as you were, Ky, I think you’re getting better. That’s good, my love, you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” Kyle murmured against him, damp eyelashes tickling Stan’s chest. “You still don’t have a shirt on.”

Stan laughed. So he had noticed. “You complaining?”

“You know I’m not.”

[runningfrom2am]

“After the games, it would be so easy to point the finger at you and call you dangerous and insane.” MY GIRL IS THE LEAST DANGEROUS ONE IN DISTRICT 12- HOW DARE THEY!! (unless she has “salt”, i can’t really blame her)

“you didn’t have much of a choice if you wanted to live.” hmm, isn’t that just the best?

i mean this in the most affectionate way possible, i love seeing coryo blaming himself for things that happened to her when he was only partially responsible.

she went from treating coryo as coriolanus to treating herself as coriolanus and i love that.

she really has all the plays memorised, hasn’t she?

sejanus, my beloved <3 he will never get the jokes and the quotes but that’s okay. in his defense, how was he supposed to know that referencing and talking about plays help her?

“Okay, now, this is the hard part.” [that “what do you mean?!” jennifer lawrence video]

“Political Science” disappointed but not surprised.

on one hand i know lennox learning that his sister is leaving for capitol with coryo would be a problem even though he’s more likely to understand the reason why, on the other he didn’t get to say goodbye 🥲🥲.

she didn’t include cole to her thoughts about mayfair and billy taupe- i seriously need to know what happened with him.

lucy gray crying for billy taupe is making me emotional for some reason. she didn’t deserve that.

coryo, for the love of god, please stop progressing the games in moments of panic. please.

well, money solves everything.

hiiii bestie i’ve missed you!! (sorry again ab your phone btw omg)

1. SHE’S LITERALLY THE SWEETEST LIKE THEY WOULDNT DARE (but commander hoff absolutely would if they couldn’t find anyone else to blame, it would either be coryo and spruce bc fingerprints or HER, and coryo couldn’t have either as an option)

2. story of her damn life at this point 🥲

3. no bc ME TOO. he keeps flipping on it too bc he’s like “yeah i kinda ruined your life but now at least we have each other, right?” and it’s the sweetest and scariest thing (for both of them). once again, i feel bad for him 😔

4. SHE TOTALLY HAS OH MY GODDD. like babe pls for just a moment consider that things you can’t control are not your fault 🥺

5. literally and apparently i have such a thing for writing r with a near photographic memory, i.e ‘in this life or the next’, the entire concept of this series too,,, omg idk what it is i just love it it’s so fun

6. sejanus is just trying his best HAHAHA. he’s like “okay so as far as i know we’re in a bit of a rush… why are we telling confusing jokes?”

he’ll get it someday, just that day is not today hahaha

7. BAHAHAHA NO LITERALLY

8. yeah 😔 my apologies but he literally only has one goal in life and when coryo sees something he wants, he’s gonna have it.

9. LENNOX BABYYYY

listen,, i had a large internal battle about whether or not he would wake up this was SO hard to decide, but i do think he literally would have put himself in the way of her getting on that train and it would have ended very badly for all of them. but don’t worry, she’ll write them every day :) (will he respond? that’s another question. i feel like it will take him a while to not be angry)

10. the good news is you’ll find out in the next part 🤪

11. okay thank you bc i can’t honestly see lucy gray being like “im done with his cheating ass fr” and then being genuinely unmoved by his death. she talked a big game, but even when she said that r knew that it wasn’t true. he was so much more than an ex to her and i think that’s a little glossed over in the movie

12. THE WORST PART IS HES SO GOOD AT IT LMAO. he literally does it again in a future chapter i’ve already written lol

13. sejanus is like *sigh* “if it works, it works.”

[lily-valley-hyperfixates]

hi there! it makes me unreasonably happy to see anyone gushing abt sherlock holmes so take this ask as an opportunity to yap (especially re: granada holmes pls, if u don’t mind) however long u want 🤎 also BOY do i understand ur impulse to talk & talk abt him bc, -and nobody ever tells u this- once holmes gets in ur brain, u will ALWAYS find him there. crawling around. the sneaky bastard ;) okay bye

actually, two other things: firstly (in response to ur tags on a post) YES IT IS ALWAYS 1895 FOR THEM. may i direct u towards this poem, which btw leaves me an emotional mess every time i think of it???? secondly, which is your favourite sh story?

HELLO FELLOW SHERLOCK ENJOYER!!! Thank you so much for this ask, gushing about Sherlock Holmes is quite literally my favorite hobby right now. Especially especially Granada Holmes which is so???? It’s just such a breath of fresh air in compared to the common pop culture view on Sherlock and Watson. Everyone and their mom has said this but it’s so awesome to see a Sherlock who actually cares about people and a Watson who is allowed to be competent!!! On top of that, it’s just really, really fun to see people and places from the stories come to life in the very specific way of Granada Holmes. I’m still watching through the episodes (very slowly, it’s taking me a hot second!) but I am enjoying every minute of it.

You so right about how once you’re a Sherlock Holmes enjoyer, you’re ALWAYS a Sherlock Holmes enjoyer; you literally cannot shake the man. Every few years or so, I have a hardcore Sherlock Holmes relapse where like I fall completely down the rabbit hole again, and I’m currently in the middle of a relapse now (couldn’t be happier about it tbh!!!) also you saying he’s crawling around in my brain seriously makes me picture him in the same position as my banner (for posterity: Sherlock Holmes is on his stomach investigating something on the ground) which is very silly. Actually that’s one of my favorite Holmes illustrations!!!

Also: YES I HAVE READ THAT ONE POEM AND IT ALWAYS FUCKING GETS ME…….like damn it’s always 1895 for them……..and for the readers…….and like idk……..that poem’s just so good <3

Favorite Sherlock Holmes story is a tough one, partially because I haven’t finished all of them yet (working on it, though!) Right now, I’d have to say “Copper Beeches,” mostly because the solution to that one is both very satisfying (aka I came to the same conclusion and it was very rewarding to be right) but also because of the interesting way it frames women’s roles in that story. I don’t want to spoil it here, but it gets very gothic and Jane Eyre-y, plus the character of Violet Hunter is so great!!! I’m not a fan of the characterization of her as another Sherlock love interest (some people do that, which I completely respect!!!), I kind of saw the relationship as more protective than anything else, where she’s in this bad spot and Sherlock is very concerned for her in that way. She’s super capable and smart, both in accepting the job and then very very quickly realizing that something is up with her boss. Maybe the conclusion is a little quick? But it’s also very satisfying and everything turns out well! Also the final confrontation with the criminal at the end actually made me gasp, specifically in how he gets seriously injured. The dog really came in with the steel chair fr fr

Anyways thank you for this ask!!! I always love yappin about Sherlock Holmes, I think about him all the time <3

[a-kaash-me-outside]

TORIII!!! TORIIIII MY BUB!!!!!!! OH MY GOODNESS I'M SCREAMUING AJKFBJKSDB HOLY MOLY JSNFDJKSD!!!!!

i already took a break to calm myself down so that i can form a coherent reaction but now that i'm sat here on my laptop, i am once again hit by WAVES OF EMOTIONS!!!!! (*≧∀≦*)

first off!! when we knocked on tsumu's door and he was only wearing his hoodie and athletic shorts I FREAKIN GASPED BC!!!! WOW THAT'S FREAKIN GENIUS!!!! we met tsumu in that fit the first time AND LEMME TELL YOU that fit was the *reason* why i fell in love with tsumu in this fic!!! i can just imagine his toned thighs and and his abs and I AM LOSING MY MIND bc this fit MADE A COMEBACK AHGJKHSDJKGH I LOVE IT

then their convo?!?!?! tsumu saying that we're good n great, and he knows that he's been real shitty, he's aware that he's been an ass— i was reading that part with bated breath, hand on my chest, tears rimming my eyes!!! SO GOOD!!! i mean granted he didn't directly say "sorry" but i felt that in our first kiss (and quite frankly by how he fucked us senseless right after that sdhjfks) he was so gentle and patient and he wanted us to take the lead and then he just hit us with "but can i kiss you for a little longer first?" LEMME TELL YOU!!!! I FREAKIN DIED!!!! I THINK MY CHEST EXPLODED THAT TIME IDEK SDJKLDNSGJKS

and then the part that we've all been waiting for THE SMUT

I MEAN WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN?!?!?!? how do i even describe all the emotions that i felt during that?!?!?!? can one even form a coherent response while tsumu is out there making us SEE STARS?!?!?!?! AHWFJSHJKSGBK

i'll be honest tho. i'm not really into m! receiving oral (in general) bc just reading abt it makes me physically gag and idk i hate that kind of sensation BUT for atsumu??? I. Will. Go. Through. It and the way we was so confident??? dayum, we was so HOT fr fr if reader decides to have a seminar or a crash course abt being hot and confident like that and even just abt sucking dick, i will be the first to sign up jsfhjksdh

and tsumu saying "and you’ll be so sore ya can’t get out of bed and walk to yer room" OH MY GOODNESS that is so filthy BUT IT IS SO HOT OH MY GOODNESS HNNNNGGGGG and his accent??? I WANT TO HEAR TSUMU TALK (and whisper) TO ME LIKE THAT EVERY NIGHT NGL SLJKGHSJG

and also!!!! i read in one of your asks that your fics are chubby coded, i couldn't believe it at first bc i haven't noticed it but then !!!! "you lean your weight into your wrists, he can feel it all on his sternum. the pressure is incredible, like he couldn’t take control if he wanted to right now." THIS MADE ME SO FREAKING HAPPY I'M UGLY SOBBING RN AJKSJKHS THIS LINE MADE ME FEEL SEEN AND LOVED (づ◡﹏◡)づ♡♡♡

i wouldn't elaborate any further bc this will just be me quoting your lines back to you and my ask is already getting out of hand. i know that i've already told you in my previous asks that this fic is so good but i just want to tell you again how GOOD your writing is!!!! i just LOVE how you write complex emotions, friendly banters, and just everything!!!! you are an amazing writer, tori ( ◡‿◡ )♡

okay one last scream

WOW HOLY MOLY THIS IS SO GOOD THIS IS AN OUT OF THIS WORLD EXPERIENCE FR FR THANK YOU FOR FEEDING US A GOOD MEAL, TORI BUB!!!!! (⁄ ⁄>⁄ ▽ ⁄<⁄ ⁄)

OMG OMG. BABE. THIS?!??!?!?! this ASK omg. i'm literally swooning bb swear to god. i can't. i was smiling and smirking the whole way through this shit. ALL of the things that you pointed out are things that i absolutely loved writing or hoped people would pick up on so i'm just AH thank you T-T

AND YEA YEA. i'm glad that you noticed and picked up on it. i really do write for chubby readers, just like? lowkey? not over the top and in your face or anything, just like! i am! so when i visualize the scenes, i put myself in that position. SO YEA. i'm glad you picked up on the little bits that i put in there and stuff. <3 and that it made u feel seen <3

i'm sososoos glad you loved it and let me just AH tell you that AH. this shit? made me <3 yes <3 thank you so much. <3 so happy. TT

[mothmanchronicler]

4, 7, 10, 18!

4. Do you have any OCs? Do you have a story for them?

i thought the answer was no but actually yes i have a couple ocs because i have this story where a bunch of roommates find an entrance into a cave system in their basement (old houses in my city have this and they were mostly all bricked up in the last 75 years or so but there's an expansive system of caves beneath my city fr) and they explore it but it also starts to change some of them really slowly at first so they're ocs with no names but i can picture them in my head (also one of the roommates is just fangs from riverdale unfortunately so it's still fanfiction lmao )

7. Your favourite ao3 tag.

okay well right now it's "monster fucker" but overall it's HORROR i always look for horror fics in every fandom i've ever read (please everyone rec me horror fics thank youu)

10. Top three favourite fic tropes.

this one is so hard so i'm gonna go with like a really stereotypical one: only one bed. classic pining yearning shenanigans i can't lie i love it

two: enemies to lovers i will die on the sword for this trope

three: codependency (idk if that's a trope but i'm searching it on ao3 every time i enter a fandom)

18. First, second, or third person?

so in fics i really prefer third person and won't read first or second unless it's like a friend who wrote it or the opening paragraph slaps so hard i can't resist , i don't hate it , i just prefer third person

however for all other reading, i really really like first and second person and also feel an insane emotional response to second person shit

[oraclekleo]

Venting vs Trauma Dumping

The following is a comment under THIS response to an ask.

I think it's important I adress this issue.

So! It's not the person who shares their experience to decide whether they vent or trauma dump. It's the person who is the recipient of their confession.

I can completely understand why people would call it trauma dumping. You have to see it from their point of view, too. Just imagine you are going through hell and sh*t storms in life yourself, you are being emotionally and mentally sensitive to basically everything going on in your life, maybe your hormones are acting crazy at the moment and your only escape from the misery is the online space where you seek some positivity you can't find in your everyday life. And at this point an anon or even your friend comes and just drop a whole sh*t load of their issues on you. That can feel draining, depressing, it basically makes your already a bad day even worse.

Why this doesn't apply to me? Because I'm not emotionally sensitive type of person. As I said I'm like a teflon pan. Other people's emotions, rants, vents, issues can't really disturb my own mental and emotional state. I was either born this way or maybe it's one of the coping mechanisms I have developed. Not sure now but the result is that for many of my friends I serve as their therapist. And let me put this clear, turning your friend into your therapist isn't for you to decide. They have to give you their permission to treat them like that. Having a therapist friend can clearly be a fantastic thing. I heard. I personally don't have a therapist friend because I'm the type of person who prefers to deal with issues alone, in quiet and on my own. Another of my coping mechanisms.

If you need to talk to people to process your thoughts and emotions in a healthy way, you should either seek a real professional therapist or find yourself a therapist friend. Now! Your friend is not likely to be a professional so the help they can offer is always limited and like... only suggestions. You should always ask people before you vent to them, whether are in a state of mind to receive your vent or trauma dump. Otherwise you are basically just spreading misery further.

You know the butterfly effect, right. People always say that smile will go a long way, that you should smile at people you meet because it might make them feel like smiling at somebody else and like that some little happiness is spread.

It works with negativity, too. If you don't take other people's state into consideration and you decide to just drop your load of misery on them, you can potentially make them miserable and they will need to vent to somebody else and like that misery is spread.

Don't get me wrong, your issues were, are and always will be your responsibility. Nobody else can just miraculously save you, take your hurts away. You are the only person who can. And I think it's also kinda harmful to think that you can heal every emotional wound and trauma. No. Some of them will never heal completely. Talking from experience. And it's also my experience that even with open wounds and unhealed traumas you can live a good life. As long as you accept them being the part of you, you learn to work with the traume not against it. Some wounds and traumas are here to stay with us and they actually shape the who we are as people.

I have many unresolved traumas and open emotional wounds and unhealthy coping mechanisms. And do you know what it means? That I'm a perfect therapist friend. Whoever turns to me with their issues, the chances are I have already been to very same or similar thing myself and I can give advice on how to cope.

So here we go! Negative emotions are also valuable in our lives. Not all traumas and wounds will heal. And it's okay. And we should always take other people's feelings and state of mind into consideration before putting our burdens onto their shoulders. 😊

TIP: If you don't have a professional therapist and none of your friends is a therapist type of person, talk to yourself out loud. Or to your plushies. Or your Barbie doll. Or your houseplant. Or your pet. Or whatever seems suitable for you to talk to. Obviously, none of those will ever respond or give advice. But it also can be a good thing for you. Vocalizing your thoughts, putting them into words and foming sentences, can help you to better understand the issues as such. And the fact your teddy bear is not giving any tips might actually motivate you to just calm down and start seeking for solutions yourself. This won't work for everyone but might for some. Putting what we think and feel into words help much more than just running an endless monologue in our heads.

Okay! That's it.

If you read this far, I hope you at least found some useful info in this. If not... I'm sorry for wasting your time 😂

Kleo 🦄

[pagesfromthevoid]

Blind Faith | m.m.

Matt Murdock x Avenger!reader

False God Drabble

In which half the universe disappears and Matt has to deal with the fall out

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Angst and doubting religion. Shitty Taylor Swift references

Author’s Note: And to hold you over until actual plot comes along, here is another roll coaster of emotions.

The Taglist is CLOSED

Series Masterlist

“What are you doing?” He asked, though having heard most of the phone call, he knew.

Matt listened closely, eyes caught in flames but looking right at her. She was zipping up her jumpsuit —the black uniform she once wore as an Avenger still fit with ease. Slipped on like a glove, even with the few years that had passed since she wore it last. Steve had called; Natasha was on her way with a quintet.

“I have to go,” she offered as a response, pulling her hair into a tight ponytail. Then she turned to finally face him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’d be hypocritical to tell you not to go, wouldn’t it?”

Of course it would be. She asked him constantly not to go. Every chance she got, she asked him not to leave. Not to put on the mask. To stay home, or go out with her instead. But she never stopped him; she knew better. Being Daredevil was part of who he was —it was slowly becoming all he was, actually. But she never stopped him. After all, he knew there would be a day where it was her going and not him.

It seems today was that day.

“What’s the plan?”

“Get the stones, save the world?”

“Why do I feel like Captain Rogers doesn’t plan his battles out?”

“Because he doesn’t,” she grinned some, “but neither do you.”

“I can’t even argue with that,” he agreed, but the smile he tried to force didn’t come out as he reached for her.

“So much for being a good lawyer, huh?”

When he didn’t respond, she knew the joking was over. As he took her in his arms, she wrapped her arms around his neck. Something about this felt so much different than when he left. Maybe it was because he stuck to Hell’s Kitchen; she could always find him. Or because it was the first time since Germany that the exiled Avengers were together. Regardless, as they pressed their foreheads together, something twisted inside her.

“I’m going to be okay, Matt,” she promised, bumping her nose lightly against his.

“What if you’re not?” His grip on her waist tightened as he thought about it.

“I guess it’s the same as when you go,” she reminded him gently, “It’s a risk we take, and have accepted. This is what we do, right? Save people.”

He nodded mutely, unable to argue.

“I love you, Matthew,” she whispered.

The reality around them shifted suddenly —a feeling Matt had grown used to over time. It meant something great for him; but this time it felt wrong. Regardless, there she was, in the forefront of his mind. He’d seen memories of her in uniform; she’d shown him. But seeing it now, in the moment, made his heart ache. It felt wrong. Everything just felt off.

“I love you too, beautiful,” he whispered back, but stepped back some to take her in.

They both knew that this day might come. Knew that the road would get harder. And Matt needed to take in every detail; every inch of her before she was gone. His hands ran up her sides, trailing over the fabric of her uniform. Over her arms, up her neck where he lingered for just a moment too long. Then to her face, running his thumbs gently over her cheekbones and lips, tracing the shapes to hold onto. Just in case.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” she promised.

Being led by blind faith was hard enough without empty promises, though.

*****

Something was wrong.

No, no. Everything was wrong.

One second, he was listening to the city, keeping tabs on what was happening. The next second, half the heartbeats just…stopped. The voices ceased. There was an uptick of things crashing to the ground, cars crashing, people suddenly panicking.

Then the screaming started.

It was everywhere; he couldn’t pinpoint where it was coming from because it was the entire city.

The panic set in as he called her.

“You can leave me a message but I probably won’t call you back unless you’re my lawyer,” her voicemail chimed, the joke no longer funny as he called again and again and again. Getting the same message each time.

He called Karen and got the same response.

Foggy was the only to pick up immediately, and with the crack and fear in his voice, Matt felt panic rise in his chest.

An ocean separated her and him, and there was no way to know what happened next.

*****

“Where is she?” He demanded, Foggy in tow as he stormed into the Avenger’s Compound.

There was no security to keep them out. Those who remained didn’t even seem phased when he came in, as if they expected it. Matt had only ever met Stark —involuntarily —as well as Rhodes, but he knew everyone else. And he was sure they knew of him, at the very least.

Matt had hoped by showing up, he’d hear or feel her. He could pick her heartbeat out of a crowd with ease; knew it like the back of his hand. But there was no heartbeat. No falter from the energy her powers emanated. No tell sign that she was there at all.

“Matt,” Foggy mumbled, grabbing his arm.

Rogers is who spoke up first. “Mr. Murdock, she…” There was a hesitation there and Matt knew what that meant. “She was one of those who vanished.”

The world froze in that second and he couldn’t breathe. Everything just went numb inside. She didn’t die in a fight; she just…she turned to dust. She didn’t even get a chance to fight back.

Just like the city; the world. She was taken and something inside him snapped.

*****

In the five years since the Blip, Matthew Michael Murdock became reckless and stupid.

Well, more reckless and stupid, at least.

He fought with little desire to keep himself alive, or anyone else for that matter. There was a war between his anger and his belief in God. Something about losing the love of his life being part of God’s plan killed him on the inside; ate away at the devotion he held in such high regard. If one person —alien, whatever —had the ability to wipe off half the planet —perhaps there was no higher power to judge him. Maybe he had been fearing a false god his whole life.

He didn’t want to believe that though.

He wanted to continue to believe that there was a purpose for him to exist, that he couldn’t falter. But every day got harder. And as the years began to tally up, with empty promises from Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff about fixing it, he was starting to lose himself to violence. To the hatred, and rage. She was his voice of reason, for the most part. Without her, he was left begging for forgiveness every night on his knees.

Tonight would have been no different if it wasn’t for the sudden, overwhelming sound of millions of voices crying out around him. It was the same overwhelming feeling from five years ago; that same panic and confusion that he couldn’t pinpoint. But it was louder now; there were heartbeats again. There was screaming and crying but they were from joy.

But then a day passed. And then two. He still hadn’t heard from her. It still rang and rang until her voicemail came up. He wanted to think she was recovering, unable to get her phone. But Matt was scared to have hope, though. If he had hope, and she wasn’t there, that would be it. He wouldn’t come back from the darkness.

But then, on the fifth day after everyone returned, his phone rang. She had set it to a song, something that was indistinct to the world but not to him, in case she called while he was on patrol. He remembered telling her it was embarrassing, having a Taylor Swift song ring out whenever she called him. She insisted it was funny. It had become so important over the last few years.

It was that song, though, that played. Clear as the day she had set it up for him. Matt’s hands shook as he fumbled for his phone, pulling it out of his pocket and put it to his ear.

“Matt?”

Her voice echoed in his head, and he thought he was going to throw up. He couldn’t even respond; he had spent nights dreaming of this moment. Hearing her say his name again. Seeing her face in his head, holding her in his arms —it was a distant dream that he never thought would happen again. Everything was overwhelming for a moment, overloading his senses as he took a few steps back. Tears filled his eyes.

“Matt, are you there?” She asked, voice shaking as she held back her own tears.

“You’re alive,” he managed to say, voice cracking as he fell to his knees on the rooftop. “Where are you?”

“I’m…I’m about to leave Tony’s funeral,” she whispered and he could hear her swallow her tears down. “I-I’m so sorry, Matt.”

“Please come home.”

“I’ll be there before you know it,” she promised.

*****

No words needed to be spoken when the front door of the apartment opened up. Matt had been pacing for the hour it had taken her to drive from the funeral to the city, unable to keep himself from resting. How could he relax until she was in his arms again? He couldn’t. That’s the answer.

He didn’t even wait for the door to open, honestly. Reality had shifted around him; except this time it was what she remembered from five years ago. This was the first time it was so glaringly obvious it wasn’t real for him; she showed him what she remembered. The door opened and there she stood, wearing the same uniform as before but it was torn to shreds from battle. Cuts and bruises littered her skin, and she looked like she had been thrown through the subway system several times over.

The scene faltered though, then disappeared. The exhaustion from everything had zapped any strength she had left, and holding the illusion was far too difficult. But it didn’t matter as he pulled her into his arms, hugging her tight against his chest. Her arms wrapped around his middle as she buried her face into his shirt, sobbing now as she did so. Matt followed suit, crying hard as he held her close to him.

They stayed like that for what felt like hours, crying in the doorway of the apartment. No one questioned it as they would go by, knowing well that this was an important reunion. But finally, they had no more tears left to cry as they pulled away from one another, though not far as they rested their foreheads together.

“I can’t believe you’re really back,” he finally breathed, trying to remain calm. His voice struggled though, hoarse from the crying.

“I told you I’d be back,” she reminded him, sniffling as she did.

“Wish you would have warned me it was going to be five years later.”

“I told you we don’t plan out our battles very well.”

There was silly laughter between the two, taking the overwhelming stress and wiping it away. Almost forgotten; though Matt was certain he’d never forget how bad it was for a long time.

“Do you want to talk —“

“No,” she quickly interrupted, shaking her head. “Not tonight. Tonight I just want to be with you.”

He nodded, pulling back to cup her face. Regardless of if he could see it, he had it memorized. But she had new scars, new pieces of her that he needed to remember and map out. Though, he did too. They’d spend the remainder of the night holding each other. Crying, laughing, crying again until they fell asleep.

It would be the first time in five years he slept soundly without nightmares.

———

Series Masterlist

———

Taglist (CLOSED): @thebisexual-disaster @chims-kookies @ferxaniti @heybabyshae @notalxx @gothicxbarbie @dark-night-sky-99 @blacxk-moony @celestialissues @pinkybee926 @bex-tk1 @jasontoddthezombie @killthebutt4fly @softieekayy @user897sblog @cbloodmarch @ammiddlechild @venusriver @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @yikes-buddy @buckyspetal @baconlover001 @r3ad3r-123 @flimsysquid @andrewgarfield4life @reh-llik @messagesinthesky @thetimeslug @johnmurpys-sass @dreamypanda @happyfern2 @svft-cas

[strawhatsweets]

the blood on our hands

bakugou x gn!reader

aged up!

cw: a n g s t as hell. comfort. cursing, mentions of drinking, smoking, etc. alluding to depression and anxiety. dealing with trauma of missions and losing people. a ton of mentions of blood

this is a heavy topic in the hero universe i imagine- and generally in the mental health world of it all.

lyrics are from purple flowers by ande estrella which hold a very important meaning that has nothing to do with this- they just worked with the story. But fr go listen to it bc its so good.

come to my asks to be a part of my taglist! just let me know what kinds of fics/ what fandom/ what characters/ etc you want to be tagged in! Requests are open!!

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

reality is heavy and loud

Spacing out was more than being distracted to Y/n. Being a young hero meant stressful situations, overbearing management, tight spaces, stuffy meetings, and so much... blood. It takes a toll on a young person. Of course they wanted to be a hero- wouldn't chose anything else. They grin and bear this shit for a reason- to save and help people.

But god, who saves the heros?

but white has the privilege of washing machines to wash out the stains from their comfortable jeans

Some nights, after wrap-up meetings, everything was a bit too heavy. The usual group of friends and young heroes would choose someone's house to go to in order to destress.

For some, that was smoking. For some, it was drinking, video games, napping, venting, sitting outside alone yet with company. And for some it was merely listening to everyone else.

Not having to make a decision. Not having to be responsible. That's what y/n picked every time.

Bakugou would always notice them alone in the corner of the room. They were the one to come up with destress gatherings after hard missions. Bakugou knew it was so they wouldn't be alone with their thoughts. That's why he would always step in at times like as get them to talk, so those thoughts dont stay trapped in their head.

"Hey." Bakugou muttered, sitting on the floor next to y/n in Denkis apartment.

"Hey."

"You good, dude?" Bakugou asked with genuine concern.

He was always a bit nicer to Y/n. Nobody knew why, yet everyone knew why. They both were fragile and chose to hide it during the day, being strong around others to not raise red flags.

"I'm okay...just. That one was bad. I almost lost that kid. Like she almost fucking- died in my arms." Y/n choked out.

"Hey hey hey, its okay. You got her to the ambulance in time. You did that shit. You always do. You're the best in the game at comforting little twerps." Bakugou attempted to comfort them- somewhat succeeding and holding their head against his chest.

One time, Y/n mentioned that they held kids against their chest during rescues to calm their heartbeat. "If you listen to a calmer heartbeat, you're more likely to try to match it and slow your own down." Of course you wouldn't think Y/n would be able to have a calm heartbeat during a rescue, but they are very talented at controlling their nerves. Part of being a hero.

wiping the blood off their hands to their thighs, wearing the blood of the people who've died

Y/n subconsciously calmed down a bit, Bakugou's ability to remember every word that drips off of Y/n's lips paying off.

"I know. I just can't stop...thinking about everyone I've- we've lost. Its so unfair."

"I know. Hey, you have- uh. Lets go to the bathroom." Bakugou noticed a smudge of blood on Y/n's face and a bit on their hands. Cleaning up was the last thing on their mind earlier on.

"Ok."

Taking each other's hands, they walked into the bathroom. Bakugou sat Y/n on the counter, turning on the sink and grabbing a cloth.

"O-oh god. Thats fucking blood. I thought I washed my h-hands." Y/n began panicking, causing Bakugou to put their hands under the water with soap, washing it all off for them.

Tears mixed with the water from the sink and Bakugou stayed silent. Wiping their face, Bakugou looked into Y/n's eyes. These two have just always known.

They know what people can hide. What secret messages the body language of a person can hold. And he let them grip onto the back of his shirt as he held them in his arms, Y/n not being able to cry anymore and just breathing in his scent from his shoulder.

but dont let the purple flowers fool you

"Listen. We're going to get through this one. I know its hard on you- all of the families involved. But you- we saved them. We're all here for each other right? I'm here for you." Bakugou pulls Y/n back a little to look into their eyes. "You are the strongest one here. I know it fucking hurts. I know it is so...scary-" He sniffles a little, letting his own emotions take over. Something only he did when they were alone together. "- but we're heroes. And human. We are allowed to feel pain and sadness and disappointment- but we're heroes for a reason, right? We can handle this shit."

"I know we can. We always have. Just... promise you'll never leave me?"

"Youre so stupid. I've been more careful lately." He scoffs, wiping tears from his face. He of course knew that Y/n was referring to a few weeks ago when Bakugou got too caught up in the mission and was almost crushed by debris. He was pulled away in time by a fellow hero but it still opened his eyes, as well as Y/n, to how fragile they are, even if they are the heroes.

"I know Kats, but please. You're my rock in here. You're my person." Y/n says looking into his eyes.

"And you're my person. I can't leave you behind. You wouldn't know what to do without me here." Bakugou chuckles, earning a shove from Y/n.

"Katsuki." Y/n starts, holding his hands in their own.

"Yeah." He sighs.

"I don't speak lightly of feelings, you know that right?"

"Of course I know that. You don't talk much about those to anyone-"

"Except you." They interrupt Bakugou, reminding him of the importance of their unspoken bond and making his heart race.

"Yeah."

"Then you'll know how hard it is for me to say this. But- Katsuki I think I love you. I know we aren't super affectionate outside of being alone but- I've never felt what I feel with you before. I understand if you don't feel the same way and if this was all just because you felt bad but I needed to tell you that because you're really important and this is very import-"

Bakugou, in the most cliche turn of events, cuts Y/n off with a kiss to shut them up.

Pulling away, Bakugou rests his forehead on Y/n's .

"I love you too. I thought that was obvious when I never stopped you from saying my first name, idiot." He chuckles lightly.

"I kinda figured you at least liked me-"

"I'm going to keep you safe forever. That means physically and emotionally. No more hiding any feelings from me just because there are people around. Pull me aside. Hold me if you need or want to- I dont care if the whole world sees that. But just- fuck Y/n. I know you feel fragile. I know what it's like to be scared and hide it. I'm your diary now, ok? Always."

"Thank you...Katsuki. Fuck. You're everything I've ever needed. Plus youre kinda cute too I suppose." Y/n giggles.

"Oi fuck off." Bakugou kisses them again, relieved that he can finally be himself with Y/n, that he has them finally.

"I'm your diary too them, okay? I mean it. Anything, any time, say the word." Y/n says lightly, squeezing Bakugou's hand.

"Fuck. I love you."

"I love you too. I love how that sounds coming from you by the way."

"Me the fuck too-" Bakugou was interrupted by a loud yelling-

"I GOTTA PISSSSSS" followed by banging on the door.

"MAYBE YOU SHOULDN'T DRINK SO FAST THEN LIGHT WEIGHT!" Bakugou responds, recognizing the voice of Denki.

"DONT MAKE FUN OF MEEEE I'LL LAUGH AND PEE MYSELF" Denki whined.

"Let's go, angel." Bakugou whispers into Y/n's hair, kissing them on the head and helping them off of the counter.

[kithtaehyung]

Ryen.. Dear... Kindly take responsibility for all the emotional roller coaster I went through while reading this chapter... I might have read hundreds and hundreds of yoongi fics by now but the way you have written our Yoongi is something I'm going to treasure for long long time.. I have so many fav chapters in this 3tan series so far but this one, right this one is my FAVORITE of them all.. The way you have written those words made me cried so much like I felt like I was living through those emotions instead. I wish I could express more but I'm not great with words like you.. You have just nailed it... That was really a beautiful and fulfilling chapter in every way... Take all the time you need as a break because there are some things worth waiting for in life and 3tan10 will be one of them.. I'm just extremely thankful that you have shared your gift with us💜

#3tan #bestffever #minyoongiourlove

spring my love!! i shall take responsibility but i'm still not holding any hands this time LOLL thank you for reading so soon, babe! and goodness, all of these words are way too damn kind.

first, i'm honored as hell that you like this series. it's come to mean the world to me and getting to know what you all think of it too makes me happy. and this is your favorite? that's super good feedback!! i smiled T^T

you're totally okay if you can't find the right words. it was a whole lot, and honestly you did a great job here anyway because i got the sentiments perfectly<33 i shall take a break and come back! thankful for your support and knowing you'll be here waiting.. that's reassuring and gives me peace fr!!

[ranboo5]

whats 'the clip' and knifetrick?

Augh. Under the cut for shipping discourse and p/dophilia ment (nothing graphic or specific). Gets long bc I discuss my thoughts on DSMP shipping in general. You are setting me up fr anon

Some quick vocab -

intimacy here is used to refer to. Well. Any kind of intimacy between characters, of any sort, as an umbrella term /r, /p, and /qp here are used as shorteners to denote "romantic," "platonic," and "queerplatonic," both as adjectives And as verbs ("to /r" = "to portray romantically") shipping here is used to refer to any focused examination of intimacy between characters

And some clarity that Should follow from the essay next but may not - """anti-antis"""" and RPF writers delete forever

The Clip is from one of if not the? most recent Discord stage(s) Mr Live has done (which I missed when it was live RIP) wherein he issues a hard ban on shipping him ("do not ship me, in any way, with anyone!") which would less influence c!beeduo (which has been portrayed/stated to be romantic AND nonromantic both conflictingly for a while until being confirmed unconfirmed several months ago, that being the last was heard) without its direct invocation if he hadn't also cited for the reason as being underage ("'Cause, one, it's straight up pedophilia") which is! a) immediately applicable to At Least his DSMP character, Partially and b) while not Strictly True (should b obvious that portraying a relationship within the bounds of what it is in canon and in a nonsexual way is not That, and /r-ing c!beeduo etc was possible to do Appropriately again by remaining w/in the bounds of canon) is Clearly Indicative of the fact that baggage-wise it IS associated with people being fucking creeps

This Really complicates things bc like okay the apparent solution is "lol just don't /r it" but it's really like. A Worse issue than that bc like.

Okay the reason shipping in terms of fictional characters is a Different Bar is bc it's an examination of Intimacy and certain lines exist in certain dynamics of intimacy that Isn't Shown (which is the whole Within The Bounds Of Canon thing) which is important in a medium like DSMP because of the smaller gap + more personal relationship b/w character and streamer. Examining intimacy beyond th bounds of the consent that has been established in that regard is Weird at best and Violating And Creepy more often and, As Mentioned In Ranb's Stage, Literally Evil at worst

Which is why writing abt like. QPR or platonically intimate Techno and Philza (characters) is smth that is fine because that's smth that has been shown and repeatedly stated onscreen; it's in the bounds of canon n thus within th bounds of what the streamers've consented 2 be done with their characters. But writing T3chza making out or whatever is fucked up because it's smth that's beyond those consent barriers

And the thing is right

Slapping a /p on T3chza makeout doesn't. Make it less violating

Like what you CALL romantic is not the measure or whether it's past those barriers yk? And if it's indistinguishable, if it's in extrapolative territory that is Past The Bounds, it Does Not Matter how much you /p it EVEN IF IT IS TECHNICALLY PLATONIC y feel? Like at the end of the day placing a moratorium on some/all forms of shipping is placing a moratorium on certain examinings of intimacy

And okay 2 go back to Mr Live and his character. What it implies taken in context w/ older portrayals of c!beeduo and said by invoking smth that both evokes Really fucked up baggage (that does unfortunately exist btw I'm sorry if you didn't know that but People Really Do B Fucked Up Abt Beeduo) AND applies to his character is a revocation of consent to examining deep intimacies:tm: with his character, which is gonna apply regardless of the nature of that intimacy (even if nonromantic)

Like I don't /r c!beeduo myself, do not, never have, but I talk to people who have and have consumed content where they r background /r; I also don't think it matters. Like I don't Actively /r it and I don't Actively Not /r it because imho w/ the intimacy regarding c!beeduo that is plot relevant and character important whether that intimacy is /p /qp or /r doesn't really matter. I don't consider myself Less of a c!beeduo shipper than someone who /rs them because that would be dumb as hell and while none of the content I've made* is Intrinsically or Intentionally /r it certainly can be read tht way as much as it can be read /qp or /p. It's be dumb and hypocritical of me to like, dunk on ppl for /r-ing c!beeduo when I'm also invested in these two and my tonetags r not gonna suddenly Delete the picking apart I've done of the dynamic @ hand

Which Has Been. Within Bounds Of Canon. It's been what's been shown (sometimes to my great distress. There is a reason that the :canon_beeduo: emote looks the way it does) Directly Onscreen and in general keeping with the tone n intensity/directions of what they've Done With The Characters

HOWEVER

As mentioned up there. Revocation of consent

It makes. Full sense 2 me that Mr Live wants to place a moratorium or fullon ban on shipping his characters perhaps where he wouldn't have before because of the Unfortunately Very Extant trends of people being Fucking Weird about shipping his characters AND of using them as a Thinly Veiled Excuse to ship HIM, which. I should not have to explain why shipping real people is fucking abhorrent

THIS creates a problem which is a. Bit of a vacuum in interacting with what is a facet of c!Ranboo's arc, decision making, and character. Like you CAN have c!Ranboo w/o cbeeduo but you Can't Really have his plotline without examining c!beeduo. And as I mentioned earlier: even if your examination of c!beeduo is fully platonic, the significance of it To the plotline means that any examination of it and its relevance to the plotline and characters IS gonna be an examination of intimacy, which. Regardless of it's platonic, Is Still Shipping

Unless some HARD retconning happens it leaves this like. Hole in an aspect of c!Ranboo's arc and decisionmaking and it's very. Uncertain? God. Fucking months ago I was already kind of :huh. Does he know what the fuck he's doing: irt c!beeduo and desperately wishing for things to be cleared up and now it's only That Much Stronger

NOW. KNIFETRICK, FINALLY

Knifetrick (or, as it’s actually listed, Bishop’s Knife Trick) is a fic about "Ran and Jackie from The Pit TFTSMP" in a "canon-typical ambiguously romantic relationship." As you can tell from the scare quotes, especially if you've seen me vague, both of these are, to put it politely, Doubtful. I've read the fic; I will not be sharing my opinions because that would be neither productive nor responsible (I will just say I can't recommend it and leave it at that) but I WILL say the following that Is relevant to the conversation:

Ran's and Jackie's characterizations respectively have very little to do with characterizations from The Pit, and bear a dollar-store-version resemblance to tropes and personality motifs found in ESPECIALLY fanon c!beeduo, especially later in the fic. I would not go so far as to say they are Intentionally Literally Ranboo and Tubbo but they are transparent expies and were clearly written at LEAST unintentionally w/ c!beeduo in mind (esp since. Ran and Jackie barely interacted in The Pit), and for a readerbase that, as far as I can tell, is HUGELY dominated by /r c!beeduo shippers. Like. Sorry. This is off-brand c!beeduo.

The dynamic between the two is pretty unambiguously romantic, also; despite what the fic's white knights claim, romantic tropes and implications/motifs/imagery from at LEAST chapter two, and is very much explicitly romantic by the most recent chapter.

FROM CH1:

"And now, with raised eyebrows and a pursed lip, the newly named General Jackie observes Ran in such a way that makes the enderman’s skin crawl. Ran reminds himself that this kid, as short and harmless as he may look, is trained to kill. [...] Jackie narrows his eyes and tilts his head a little, as if he’s trying to read in between every one of Ran’s imperfect scales."

FROM CH2:

"It makes Ran’s skin itch with discomfort. [...] 'That actually doesn’t explain much of anything at all,' complains Jackie, and he pops a few croutons into his mouth with one hand. 'Tell me what you’re thinking, pretty-boy.'

"Ran feels his face flush, no doubt mildly glowing green.

"Yes, that was the other thing. The unnecessary compliments to his physical appearance.

"They don’t happen very often, and don’t seem to have very much meaning or intention behind them— Jackie often speaks like an unthinking kid— but when they do happen… they’re embarrassing. [...] It’s annoying how the rug is pulled out from under his feet in these moments when he’s 'embarrassed'. Like the conversation see-saw has temporarily shifted weight in the general’s favor."

I am not going to include excerpts from Chapter 6 because it's just the entire chapter.

I WILL SAY, HOWEVER, STEPPING ON THIS SCORPION BEFORE IT STINGS: they are not written in an RPFy manner and I don't think there's any grounds, including Vibes, of accusing Knifetrick of being like. Closet truthing or whatever. Also, while I think there's certainly Some Weirdness ESPECIALLY around the reaction, the romance itself is Not written in any way I'd call weird or problematic pre-clip; it's nothing inappropriate or like Weirdly Fetishy or whatever. Knifetrick is not #problematic or anything and I don't have beef with like the concept of liking it intrinsically; if I thought it was like. Abhorrent I wouldn't be sharing excerpts lmao dhjfnhdsbvdnfjh. Hence: if anyone uses this post or anyth like it to send harassment or bad faith ANYTHING to anyone involved with Knifetrick I will hunt you down in the fucking night even if it WAS #problematic that'd be the LITERAL OPPOSITE of productive and as it stands it's Literally Not. Essentially: Knifetrick is a (questionably-written /mean) fic using Ran and Jackie from The Pit as a vessel for a large chunk of the dynamics and headcanons of fanon /r c!beeduo in particular

And again, I would not call it problematic in any way (aside from the disingenuity of the insistence that it's TOTALLY UNRELATED TO BEEDUO and TOOOTALLY WASN'T INTENDED TO BE ROMANTIC GUYS like own your shit please)... IF it weren't for the advent of The Clip, which is calling in2 question the Entirety of the problem of /r-ing any variant of c!beeduo or any of Ranboo's characters at all

I really do not have an answer for this tbh. I genuinely wanna hear from the streamer on this more specifically because I like,,, I got no clue where 2 go from here? Do I just consider an arc retconned? Was it an issue of speaking abt a troubling subject kneejerk wise and I'm reading too much in2 it?

I just. I dunno

Tl;dr (AT LONG LAST)

- The Clip is a clip of a Discord stage where Ranboo (streamer) loudly explicitly decried shipping in a way that implicitly applies to characters he plays - This would be all well and good but is rendered complicated by the plot relevance of c!beeduo, which does not stop being shipping if it's /p'd due to it still necessarily being an examination of a particular intimacy in a way that is in canon hard to distinguish the /p, /qp, or /r nature of - Bishop's Knife Trick is an AO3 fic centered around using TFTSMP characters as /r c!beeduo expies which is not a bad thing in and of itself unless it also is covered under this moratorium - Things remain unclear until and unless we get clearer word from streamer, but considering Mr Live seems to be allergic to clarifying anything abt c!beeduo this is doubtful

*very little if any of the content I personally have made 4 c!beeduo has been posted publicly, for related reasons. You May have seen it if you're in servers w/ me, depending on Which Ones

[romiantic]

𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐆

⇢ ˗ˏˋ 𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒕𝒂 𝒌𝒊𝒔𝒆 𝒙 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓!𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌!𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ࿐ྂ

彡 ❛ 𝐚 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞 ❜

彡 𝗳𝘁. ryota kise

彡 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: fluff with very little angst

彡 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 2.3k

彡 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: suggestive theme at the end

彡 𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: all characters are 18+. also can we talk about how BOMB this song is 🤧 y’all sleepin on this song fr

·˚ ༘ੈ✩‧₊˚ ╰┈➤ ❛❛ 𝙄 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙒𝘼𝙔 𝙔𝙊𝙐 𝘿𝙊 𝙄𝙏 ❜❜

❝ 𝐘/𝐍 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐘𝐎 𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐔𝐏! You have two minutes till showtime.” Your manager, AKA, older brother, barged and announced to you like he didn’t update you almost five minutes ago.

You did your usual of sucking your teeth and rolling your teeth every time he barged in and interrupted your call, you replied with annoyance in your tone, “AJ I know! Can you wait a minute? Damn, so impatient for absolutely no reason.”

“I’m sorry who’s the one with hundreds of thousands of fans screaming their name and waiting for their ass outside? Me or you? Oh okay. Anyways, end yo little call with yo boyfr-”

“He’s not my boyfriend!” You interrupted, becoming irritated with your brother and simply wanted him to shut the fuck up. A great manager and brother, yet way too uptight for his job.

AJ rolled his eyes and muttered something but you flipped him off and pretended not to hear him until he left your dressing room. You gave your attention back to your phone, giving a cheeky smile to the blonde boy on your screen. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a nervous look growing on you but from what you could tell, he was choosing what shirt to wear to his photoshoot. Leaving him to be seen with a no top on and a pair of denim jeans.

Though it was typical to see your best friend’s exposed upper body, it was a sight you never got used to. His well-toned body, results from years of playing basketball in middle and high school, making your face hot, adding on to the nervousness you were already facing from your upcoming performance. Along with the pearly white smile he flashed at you creating a sick feeling in your stomach, something that you made you clench onto it and try to ignore. Now was not the time to be drooling over your best friend, who interrupted your stare with a laugh and said, “Are you gonna keep staring or are you gonna take a picture?”

Of course, he’d ruin it with some cocky line like that, you rolled your eyes and sucked your teeth. “Boy calm down, ain’t nobody wanna was staring.”

“Your nervous face said otherwise.”

“Akekeke, don’t you have a photoshoot to go to?”

Kise replied with the same energy as yours, “And don’t you have a performance to go to?”

You held up a finger to a screen then crossed your arms, “Aht aht, don’t worry about me now. Worry about yo lil pictures with that famous ass Russian model.” You wanted to roll your eyes just thinking about the brought-up woman but it would make it seem like you’re being jealous for no reason.

Kise let out a small laugh, adoring the irritated look that was starting to creep up on your face. “Somebody sounds jealous.”

You rolled your eyes and let out a scoff, “Oh please, like I would be.” You looked at the time on your watch and noticed it was about one minute until your performance. Your eyes widened at the time and hurried, you quickly ended the call with Kise, “Shit, fuck! I gotta go perform but I’ll call you back when I’m done.”

“And I’ll be waiting for you beautiful when you get back.” The golden-eyed boy winked at you yet you cringed and scrunched your face. “You’re so fucking corny Kise.” You hung up the call, grab any other pieces missing from your outfit, and headed out of your dressing room.

You traveled quickly around backstage, passing by many coworkers and background dancers waiting for you, to head into the small tunnel for artists to come out on stage. You stopped at the exit and gulped as you scanned the stage. An outside arena with hundreds of thousands of fans cheering your name, waiting for your appearance.

Usually, you would be at ease with concerts this large but for some reason this time is different. Unknowing the reason nor cause, you started to feel anxious, your hands mildly shaking and your throat going dry.

There was something in the back of your mind attempting to not make you perform, something telling you to not do it, it won’t be good, people will hate you. A voice there to influence thoughts, hoping that you would fall into the trap and just give up on singing. Though of course, you wouldn’t listen to that voice, that voice always lingered around whenever you were brought to perform, no matter where you were.

The only thing to distract you and keep you safe from that tiny voice is someone who you’ve longed to love. One who just settles your nerves, bringing comfort, and removing all anxious thoughts. One who would deem you as one of the greatest artists he’s ever listened to, maybe it’s opinionated but he loves you too much to disagree.

The now dawdling thought of his soft voice whenever he spoke or his flirtatious nature when you two joked around made a familiar feeling grow greater than before. Something replaced the anxiousness that was growing, a feeling that replaced the nervousness and calmed your shaky hands. Something that was the thought of Ryota Kise, he was like the medicine to all the pain you’ve suffered. A remedy to your anxiety, one of the many causes of the cheeky smile social media often sees you with.

Someone who you grew up and spent all your life with, always noticing how protective he was of you or the way he hummed one of your pre-recorded tracks that he was the only one to listen to. Celebrating one of your songs had hit #1 on the Billboard chart and the way he helped out whenever you hit writer’s block.

Every single thing, noticeable or not, made you grown to love the boy, starting from a platonic, playground friendship blooming to many years of trying to figure out if you are romantically in love with him. Growing familiar feelings of butterflies mixed with the thought of just wanting to cup his face and kiss him whenever he was around.

Just the ultimate feeling of wanting to be buried in the blonde boy’s arms and explain the blooming love for him made you want to sing the song you wrote for him. A new single that you never wanted to put out since you wanted only Kise to hear it, including that the song was your way of telling him what you felt all these years.

Though something changed your mind, something in your brain told you to tell everyone around you that you’re singing solo, no backup singers or dancers, only you on that stage. In this performance, you just had to do it yourself, nothing but you, the stage, and the microphone.

Everyone was confused by the last-minute change of plans but went along with it. They rescheduled it to where your first “official” song to start the concert with was right after your solo performance. You gave thanks to your team and took some deep breaths. You made sure your Bluetooth set was on and working properly in your ear, AJ handed you a mic and brushed off any wrinkling from your outfit and any smoothed out your hair. Uptight about his job yet made sure his little sister was looking the greatest for her performances.

You took deep breaths again, shook off any bad nerves, and walked on stage. The already excited crowd enraged and their volume expanded as they saw you stand before them. Everyone waving their signs that said, “I love you y/n!!” or “Y/N is so beautiful!” You waved to the audience and stopped at the middle of the stage, walking closer to the front of the stage as well.

You turned on the mic and tapped it to see if it was working, “Mic check one two, can you guys hear me?” The crowd immediately responded yes, you continued on to talk to them, “Okay good, have been getting technical difficulties with my mic and I really don’t feel like switching mics three times. Anyways, afternoon to all my lovely fans who made it out here or to those that are watching me live. I love you all and thank you for supporting me, I truly am grateful for every single one of y’all.” Everyone screamed out how much they love you and adore you, showing off their merch that they bought and waving the homemade posters.

You smiled at their response and cleared your throat as you introduced the song, “Thank you, I love you too. This first song is one that has been sitting too comfortably in my heart. A piece that came from genuine emotions and feelings I’ve tried to bury yet couldn’t no matter how hard I tried. It’s something that I never planned on dropping but I just felt like the world had to hear what I had to say. Hopefully, you guys enjoy it cause I did when I was writing this song at two in the morning before I snuck into the studio and recorded it. Was it worth it? Definitely. Now I may introduce to you, Not Another Love Song. A contradicting title isn’t it?”

You took a large breath in and out, you took a position as you waited for the beat to drop. As soon as you heard the familiar melody start, you sang, “I don’t wanna mess this up, could it be too much to say I’m in?”

The crowd lowered down and became silent to hear your new single, grasping the beautiful new lyrics you were singing and just vibing along with it.

You yourself were placing emotion as you sang, not noticing how proudly you sang the chorus or how you were smiling at the crowd the entire time. One thing was clouding your mind to even pay attention to those details, the same thing that more than likely pushed you to sing the song.

As you sang, the feelings for your best friend grew stronger, butterflies in your stomach, and the deprivation of his touch grew on you. Not even realizing how much you missed him until you turned initially to smile at AJ and your team yet saw a familiar face appear as well. You questioned it but then turned back to continue singing to the audience, only thinking that mind is playing games with you.

“I'm finna take my time, my mind, my rules. This ain't no crimе makin' love to you, though you ain't say this. But I had a hard time waitin' for you, boy. Like ooh, boy, you, boy. Got me where you want, just gotta say and it's on, it's like, ooh, boy, do you know you got me like where do you go when you're alone?”

As you sang, you noticed the crowd growing silent, their eyes widening, and their jaws dropping. You were utterly confused at was catching their attention, you turned to your team and your brother pointed behind, giving you a goofy smile as well.

You turned around to what was the cause of this silent commotion and right along with everyone else, your jaw drop and your eyes widened. The flirtatious, handsome model that everyone knew of was standing in front of you with a bouquet of roses in his hand. He walked up to you and smiled greatly, closing in the large gap between the both of you.

Seeing him walk closer to you made you want to say forget concert and sing the rest to him. Half of your feeling was already poured out, not even knowing he was listening to all of it. You didn’t think he would even be here since he had a photoshoot, not standing on an outside stage with a bouquet of roses and dressed in casual attire.

He handed you the roses and kissed your forehead, telling you, “Alone with you, away from the world, where else would I be when I’m alone?”

No response came from you, not even a single gasp or a sniffle to signify that you might cry. The way you responded to his presence was something that shocked the arena, everyone watching you on live, your team, and even the two of you yourself. Who would’ve thought you would be bold enough to grab his face and kiss him right then and there? You snaked your arm around his waist and pulled him closer to deepen the kiss. He responded back by wrapping his hands around your shoulders and hugging you tightly, holding onto you to make sure you wouldn’t separate from him.

You pulled back from the kiss and smiled, softly combed his blonde hair, and expressed, “I love you, Kise.” Saying his name like it was something you’ve been aching to say, a name that you’ve buried away yet brought out today. A name that sounded so lovely and romantic when you say it.

Kise expressed as well, “I love you too y/n. I’ve always loved you and I will never stop loving you.” He kissed you again, he removed his hand from your shoulders and trailed around to find your hands. He removed your hands from his waist and instead intertwined them with his.

He felt you smile when he held your hand and smiled back. He stated in between kisses, “You know I’m staying on this stage to hear you finish that song right?”

“It’s fine, I need someone to do my next performance on anyways.” He looked at you and you did nothing but wink and mischievously smiled at him. Kise had a small idea of what he could expect but suppressed it to enjoy the soft moment he wanted between the both of you. A moment that he’ll never forget and a concert that will always be remembered for everyone around you.

彡 it’s like 5 am and I’m tired 🦧 the only thing that kept me up was the fact that I don’t have school plus I loveeeeee kise

彡 also the show olivia

彡 I don’t think I ever mentioned to y’all how much I love his ass but now is definitely not the time 😁

彡 I’m convinced if it silent black hair blue eye powerful men weren’t my type, cocky and flirtatious ones would be runner up

彡 anyways hope you guys enjoy + pleaseee listen to the song, I highly recommend plus ella mai is VERY underrated

bye babes, drink your water, stay hydrated, and remember that you are the baddest bitch on the planet 🥰 no matter what ANYONE says

𝐏𝐬𝐚𝐥𝐦 𝟏𝟖:𝟑𝟎 💗

© 𝟤𝟢𝟤𝟣 𝗄𝗈𝗂𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝗈. 𝖺𝗅𝗅 𝗋𝗂𝗀𝗁𝗍𝗌 𝗋𝖾𝗌𝖾𝗋𝗏𝖾𝖽

[moonstruckbucky]

Say Love [one shot]

Summary: You and Bucky are at a stand-still in your relationship, all because neither of you can say three little words.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: Idiots in love, a smidge of angst, the rest is fluff.

Notes: So this is a fun fic, but it’s also a very real fic. I know I’ve had that should-I-shouldn’t-I when it comes to saying the L word in a relationship, so this is for anyone that’s had that struggle. Enjoy & let me know what you think! x

P.S. - it’s also a birthday present to @captain-kelli aka MY WIFE 💕

It’s palpable, the tension. A smothering, suffocating heavy cloud stretching between the two of you, and you almost wonder how you got here, to this hurdle in your relationship.

It builds like an avalanche - a tiny, harmless snowball that’s picked up speed as it rolls, rolls, rolls, until it’s so big you can’t be in the same room as him without feeling like you’re walking on eggshells.

Even now, on a night meant for the two of you, you feel distanced from him - despite sitting beside each other on the couch. You’re pressed up against his side, It’s a Wonderful Life playing on the screen - a favorite of Bucky’s. It’s supposed to be a bonding time for you, but you’ve never felt so far away from him.

His arm is around you, but it’s stiff, and where his fingers would normally dance across your skin, raise goosebumps in their wake, now they’re still, limp. Careless.

And despite the movie being a favorite, he looks utterly bored when you peek up at him from under your lashes. Eyes vacant, fingers of his vibranium hand holding up his head, teeth chewing on his bottom lip. 

You wonder if he feels it too, this mountain that’s suddenly erected between you.

You’ve been dating eight months - is he bored with you already? Disinterested? “Just not feeling it anymore”? Is he too afraid of hurting you, and it’s why he hasn’t said anything yet? Is he waiting for you to get fed up and leave?

Because you won’t, you can’t. Despite this emotional gap between you, you feel a connection to him you haven’t felt before. He’s level-headed where you can be chaotic - being an Avenger is probably to thank for that - and he’s soft spoken despite his large, often gruff exterior.

He’s a perfect counterbalance to who you are - how could you not fall in love with him almost as soon as you met him?

Part of you believes that if Bucky didn’t want to be with you, he wouldn’t. He’s sure of himself, thanks to the hard work he’s done for himself since being officially recruited as an Avenger. He’d told you a little of how difficult it had been - in the 30s and 40s, people didn’t openly talk about their struggles, least of all with a psychologist; they just lived with them. 

It only made you fall for him even harder, for the sheer strength he has and the determination to come to grips with what’s happened to him.

But it seems those feelings are one-sided, and the revelation sits like lead in your stomach. With pressure building behind your eyes, you fake a yawn.

“I think I should go,” you mutter, thankful that your voice doesn’t crack. Bucky turns his eyes to you, wide and - is that disappointment?

“Oh, yeah, okay. I’ll call you a cab?”

You stand up with a shake of your head. “Not necessary, I’ll get an Uber on my way down.”

He walks you to the elevator, hands in his pockets and feeling awkward. The kiss you share is quick, chaste, and stiff, much like the rest of your evening tonight. When you turn your back to him to enter the elevator, your chin wobbles.

Bucky stands in the hallway for a while after you’ve gone, his thoughts running away from him. He can’t be the only one between you who felt that distance, could he?

Have you changed your mind about him? Realized the former Winter Soldier isn’t who you want to give your heart to? Perhaps all the atrocities he’s committed are truly too much for you to handle.

He couldn’t blame you if they were and yet... You own his entire being, body and soul. If you were to leave him, a large part of him would go with you, a piece he isn’t sure he’d be able to get back. 

He knows you noticed his demeanor tonight, the way he hid behind himself in an effort of self-preservation. He nearly made himself bleed from biting his tongue so hard to keep three words he didn’t think he’d ever say from slipping out. He didn’t want to scare you, to make you run off,

but it seems he managed to do that anyways.

Bucky leans forward, bonks his head on the elevator once, twice, three times before a door opening behind him makes him pause.

“Are you done brooding yet?”

Bucky’s shoulders drop, in no mood for Sam’s ribbing. The man teases out of love and respect - it’s just how their relationship is - but tonight, he can’t bring himself to return the dig. He turns away from the elevator, shoulders up to his ears and hands still in his pockets.

Sam’s face changes when he takes in Bucky’s posture, and he sighs, leaning up against the frame of his door.

“What’s up, Tin Man?” he prods gently. 

Bucky’s eyes find a place just over Sam’s shoulder, torn between opening up to Sam about the turn his relationship has taken and remaining silent, attempt to sort through it himself.

A helpless look at Sam, and the dark-skinned man opens the door wider, turning to the side to allow Bucky entrance.

“Talk to me, man. You look like someone kicked your dog.”

Sam offers Bucky a seat on his couch, an expensive, black leather that feels as cushy as a cloud. The man leans back, crosses his arms over his chest. The black metal of his arm catches the low lighting in Sam’s room, turns the gold bronze.

“I think she’s going to break up with me,” he starts, and before he knows it he’s spilling all of his insecurities to Sam. The other man listens patiently, cocking his head curiously at some parts and pursing his lips for others.

Bucky half-expects the man to jab at him - joke about how she finally realized what a mess he is - but to his surprise (and relief; he has enough self-hatred for both of them), Sam nods sagely and looks almost empathetic. It would throw Bucky for a loop, if he and Sam haven’t come to some middle ground.

Steve would be so proud of them.

“Then she’s not worth it, Buck,” comes Sam’s response almost immediately after Bucky’s finished. The brunet’s eyes go wide. “If she can’t handle you as you are, if that’s too much for her, then it isn’t worth it. I like her, man, but I like you a lot better, and you deserve somebody who’s going to take your baggage, embrace it, accept it, and help make you better for it. And you shouldn’t have to settle for anything less.”

Bucky wants to argue, say that you are absolutely worth it, but the words get stuck in his throat. He knows Sam is right, acknowledges that yes, he has more baggage than most, but also that he does deserve someone who’ll accept him regardless of it.

But haven’t you? Eight months in and Bucky had been sure you’d accepted him for who he had been, not just who he is now. But perhaps you’d changed your mind. Perhaps you’d thought long and hard over it and realized a broken soldier wasn’t who you wanted at all.

He couldn’t blame you, but it still hurts to think about.

“I think you need to talk to her,” Sam continues, watching the emotions play out over Bucky’s face - shock, sadness, realization, and finally, utter heartbreak. Sam feels no pleasure whatsoever in telling Bucky this, but he’s never one to beat around the bush. His years as a VA counselor wouldn’t let him.

“Talk to her, and find out where her head’s at. It’s the only way you’re going to know.”

You don’t talk to Bucky for two weeks. After leaving the Avengers compound, you thought it best to distance yourself, prepare your heart for the eventuality that Bucky would break it off. But it’s even worse that he doesn’t contact you at all, and you begin to resent it.

Bitterness ekes into everything you say and do, your very being so clouded by resentment you’re not even sure who you are anymore. You don’t recognize yourself or the cynicism your attitude seems to have adopted. 

You hate it.

In a whirlwind of anger, resentment, and self-loathing, you drive to the compound. Flash the card Bucky had given you for access whenever he didn’t come pick you up himself. The gate rolls open, and your heart pounds with the notion that this might be the last time you'll ever see it.

You take the elevator up to Bucky’s floor, hands twisting together as you sort through every thought you’ve had in the past two weeks. Doing so reignites your anger, puts a scowl on your face that could curdle milk.

Bucky’s surprised to see you - even more so to see that look on your face - when he opens his door after you’ve slammed your fist against it.

“What the fuck is going on, Bucky?” you demand, and he winces, steps aside and waves you in so that the two of you don’t draw attention.

His shoulders hunch, hands sliding into his pockets - a clear sign that he’s feeling out of his element and is trying to make himself very, very small. In the space of his bedroom, your anger cools a little, fond memories of time spent in the space taking you over.

“Are we over?” you ask, outright, and Bucky’s head snaps up in alarm. “I mean, did I miss any hints you might’ve been dropping? Am I just making a fool of myself by being here, trying to fix this?”

Bucky’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, rendered speechless and dumb by your questioning. It isn’t what he’d been expecting, and it’s caught him off guard.

“I- what?” He shakes his head as your eyes turn sad and manages to connect his brain to his mouth. “Where the hell did you get that idea?”

Eyes going steely, you straighten your shoulders. “Well, considering you acted like you’d rather have been anywhere else but with me the last time we saw each other, paired with the fact I haven’t heard from you in two weeks? What am I supposed to think?”

He laughs shortly, incredulous, until your eyes flare up in anger again, and he reins it in, but only just. He just can’t believe what he’s hearing from you, how all this time he thought you were bored of him - or scared. Either way, the relief warming his chest keeps the smile on his face.

Your posture is rigid and you move to take a step back as he closes the distance, but his arms wrap around you and tug you into his chest. The kiss he lays on you is firm but warm, an outpouring of emotion that slowly destroys the wall you’ve erected just to face him.

His hands are warm, even the metal appendage, where he grasps your face to keep you close to him. He sighs when your arms wrap around his waist, hands gliding up to his shoulders to grasp his shirt, and he swallows the little whimper you let loose. 

Until he tastes the salt on your lips and he pulls away.

Your eyes are glassy, tears leaking from the corners to slide glistening tracks down your cheeks. His thumbs brush them away as he smiles softly.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry,” he coos. He kisses you again before looking you in the eye. He wants to make sure you know he means every word. “I’m sorry I was a little emotionally constipated. I- I felt it, too, that weird air the last time you were here, and I thought you - I thought you had changed your mind about me, about us, and that you were just too shy to say anything. So I gave you your space even though it nearly killed me to do it. I thought it was what you wanted, but clearly I was wrong.”

Bottom lip trembling, you sniffle and wipe your nose on your sleeve. “No, I... I could have called. I know you felt a little off that night, too. I was just. I didn’t know how much I could push, if you even wanted that conversation at all. I guess I just thought it was your way of saying you were done with me.”

He chuckles, deep and reverberating, and he shakes his head. “Never gonna happen. I love you too much.”

He enjoys the change on your face - the surprise and then the utter elation - and he grins like the cat that ate the canary.

“You what?”

Bucky isn’t sure why he’d been so scared to say it before, not when you’re looking at him like he’s the center of your universe. 

“I love you,” he repeats, punctuating it with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “And I should’ve said it sooner, especially if you were having doubts.”

He’s entranced by the way you chew your lip thoughtfully, shrug a shoulder shyly. “I could’ve said it, too. I love you, Bucky.”

The smile that breaks upon his face is blinding, radiant. This man was born to smile like this all the time. And he’s mine, you think. He’s all mine.

You giggle, tuck your face into his neck as you shake your head. Still grinning, he holds you tight, chuckles in kind when you say, “We’re idiots.”

“Mm,” he hums in agreement. “But idiots in love.”