#here are my hunches of what disorder is giving me The Words:

[https-chaos]

Honestly one of my favorite things about my weird brain is when I get something I call "The Words". It usually starts with getting excited about something, and suddenly I'm typing out a monster fic or putting together a research essay in a quarter of the time it normally takes.

Another thing I do when I have The Words is talk nonstop. If you're in the room you're listening to me. If you're my friend I'm texting you nonstop. If you follow me you already know I'm posting. The Words are coming and there's nothing I can do about it. Luckily my friends love me despite (or because of!) the sms essays they sometimes get at 2am.

I just have so much to say! My fingers fly across the keyboard and so many words fall out of my brain, it's such a magical feeling

[carladuquette]

My best friend is super brave. She has been struggling with severe mental health issues the entire time I've known her. And this past Sunday, she opened up about all of it in a social media post – all of it out there for everyone, her family, her friends from all stages of her life, to see. Can you imagine?? She said it had been on her mind so much that she needed to get it out and that after sharing her story, she felt tearful but relieved. I am still in awe of her, and the idea of opening up, sharing something of yourself that you normally keep hidden, inspired me.

It also freaks me out and I'm not as brave as my best friend, so I'm not sharing my story with everyone in my life. It's easier to do it here, where most people don't know my full name or my face or where I work or who my mom is. At the same time, it's not the same as screaming into a void, because I do feel like I have some sort of connection with some of the lovely people I've met here. A perfect middle ground, if you will.

If you know anything about me, you know I'm wordy and can't be short and to the point to save my life, so it's no surprise that this is going to be on the long side, too. But hey! As my best friend put it, I'm giving myself the "gift of openness and understanding."

I have an eating disorder. (And I'm going to be somewhat explicit about it, so if this is triggering for you, please take care and put yourself first.) I have never used these words before and even right now, part of me thinks that's bullshit. That I'm being overdramatic, trying to get attention. Because I'm fine! I'm not anorexic, I'm not bulimic, I'm just not the healthiest eater and don't really like the way my body looks, like almost all women everywhere ever.

But the fact is that I threw up my dinner tonight because I felt like I shouldn't have eaten it, or all of it, in the first place. This is what I do. I don't binge to then purge, but I throw up food when I feel disgusted with what I ate. I'm mad at myself that I don't have the self-control to just eat less, so instead I throw up what I regret. That can be the occasional junk food haul, the treat I was excited about when I picked it up and took it home (an excitement that turns sour quickly), or a nice dinner at a restaurant with friends. I've been hunched over the toilet in my favorite Mexican restaurant more than once, waiting for the woman in the other stall to leave so I could throw up without anyone overhearing.

The part of me that doesn't think I have a problem points out here that I don't do this all the time. I go for months at a time without throwing up at all. Years sometimes! (Other times, when it’s bad, I do it several times a week.) I first started doing this when I was 16. Before tonight, I haven't thrown up in a few weeks, and before that, probably two months. So, clearly not a problem!

Except that it's exhausting. I want to be able to have mediocre fries and chicken filet bites, or feel full and stuffed and happy without panicking about how all this food I just ate is going to make me gain weight. And on that – I would love to return to a place where I can tell what my body actually looks like. Because I have no idea anymore. I don't know what's normal anymore.

I look in the mirror from the side and will be destroyed because what I see is disgusting, even though I'm pretty sure (I hope?) that's not objectively true. Then I see a current photo of myself where I think I look good, or I catch a glimpse of myself and think "Hey, that's not too bad!" Then that same day I see my reflection in a window at the office and am horrified again. And I know, rationally, that it is not possible for my body to look completely different a few hours apart. That it's just in my head. But there's nothing I can do about it.

This distorted body image, unlike the throwing up, is relatively recent, something that crept up on me during the pandemic, and I'd love to go back to a time where I was happy with the way I looked. Which, by the way, wasn't that much different from now, I think. But I'm not sure.

I've gone on a couple of rants here about how mad I am about what society has done to women. How angry it makes me to see women feel like they have to starve themselves for love or approval or success because thinness is valued above all else. And I've talked about how that behavior is nothing to emulate. I hope all of what I've shared in this post today doesn't make me a hypocrite. I still stand by what I said earlier. The thoughts that are put into our heads by everything we see around us, the way it's drilled into girls and women, sometimes subtly and sometimes less so, that what matters most is our looks, is infuriating. It's hard not to let that get to you, and I guess I did, too. Even though the part of me that thinks I'm just being overdramatic says that my problem isn't society, it's just the fact that I am lazy and can't watch what I eat. But you know what? Fuck that girl. At least right in this moment, I can say that and believe it.

I feel better just having gotten all of this out for the first time. My best friend, the brave one, is the only person who knows about my eating disorder, and she encouraged me to do this. So I'm sharing this in her honor – cheers, girl. It's ok to be open. It's also fucking terrifying. But maybe it can help. And if you have something you feel you need to get out, if you feel inspired by my best friend too- my inbox is always open, for a private chat, an anonymous ask, whatever.

Aaaaand post 💌

[psithurista]

Stuck

pairing: Marc Spector x F!Reader, mentions of Steven Grant x F!Reader word count: 4.1k rating: Explicit 18+ warnings: Improper use of contact details in a workplace, brief mention of injuries, mentions of alcohol, oral sex (f receiving), protected PIV sex, brief overstimulation, some scratching. Anything I haven't flagged appropriately, please let me know x

an: My understanding of Marc and Steven's 'system' is that Marc is conscious of Steven's life, while Steven, as an alter, is not conscious of Marc's. This is an expansion of Marc's (maybe slightly selfish) attempts to assist with Steven's romantic life, based on the detail that Marc had apparently tried to set up a date for Steven without him realising. The reader is not aware of their disorder, and Marc doesn’t tell her, but she is aware that he is not Steven when she gives consent.

You stop by Steven's place one night after work. Somebody else answers his door.

part two

Standing outside the door, you consider, once again, that you are not supposed to be here.

You weren’t supposed to work late tonight. You were supposed to leave with everyone else; get home early, get a good night’s sleep for once. You felt good about the decision—so good, in fact, you’d felt the tension melt away from your temples, leaving you free to sink comfortably into the embrace of the stack of didactic labels and exhibition programs spread in front of you.

It wasn’t until the clatter of a vacuum cleaner startled you back to reality that you’d finally looked up from your screen to find the entire office around you had faded to darkness; the rest of the archival team long gone.

In your frustrated subsequent rush to leave, you’d nearly missed it. Just barely managing to juggle your bag, your thermos and your keys, the little white rectangle on the floor leading out to the museum’s exit had looked like a piece of litter; nothing worth paying attention to. You couldn’t say what it was that had made you stop and clumsily crouch to pick it up.

It’s lucky you did. The black lanyard clipped to the top had been camouflaged by the carpet. Turning it over, you’d met the dark, sleepy-lidded gaze of Steven Grant. Of course. Out of every single staff member, he would be the person most likely to drop his ID card.

He’s also the person most likely to hold the door open for you, or stop and help pick up a folder full of dropped papers, or to dash out into the street to give you his umbrella—this being the most recent example, having only happened a few weeks before.

You’d developed something of a crush on him; drawn in by his sweet nature and earnestness—his animatedly bright love for the exhibits that of a first-time visitor, not a man who sees them day in and day out. And, secretly, you’d stifled more than one undignified snort at his cheesy jokes; though nobody else had seemed to find them funny.

You’d shoved it down, trying not to feel too wounded by the nervous, stunned way he’d waved before skirting around you in the halls at work, or stumbled over his words, hurrying off with his shoulders hunched after you’d wished him a good morning one day as you passed the gift shop. He didn’t seem to want to talk to you. And that’s fine. You’d left him alone, even as you still harboured your soft spot for him.

Sweet, absent-minded, gentle…and on his absolute final warning. You’d overheard as much just this morning when Donna was tearing him a new one for inexplicably missing an entire week’s worth of work, while he’d stammered some flimsy apology about being sick in bed.

You should just leave the ID card on the counter of the gift shop. He can pick it up in the morning. Never mind that Donna will probably be in earlier than he will, and find it first…and drag him over the coals again.

You’d stood there, deliberating, chewing your lip, remembering the way he’d looked that afternoon as you’d slipped silently into the break room to make a cup of tea. Slumped sleepily over the table; a library book in one hand, a falafel wrap in the other. Wearing colourful, mismatched socks; a dark, loose curl hanging across his forehead.

So, your second poorly-considered move of the night: breaching privacy policy. Well intentioned or not, you definitely weren’t supposed to access the staff directory to find his home address.

Now, outside the door, you shift your weight from one foot to the other. Looking down the street, you feel cold and nervous. Should you ring the buzzer again? Maybe it’s broken. Maybe he doesn’t even live here anymore. Maybe he’s moved and forgotten to update his records.

Then a click, and a quiet beep. Bewildered, you test the door to the building, and find it’s been unlocked.

Okay. You take a hesitant step forward, then pause. He’s inviting you up. Right? He unlocked the door; he must be inviting you up. The foyer is empty as you step inside, brutally self-conscious.

“Oh, God, Steven,” you mutter to yourself, shut safely in the lift. “Please don’t report me to HR for this.”

By the time the doors open on his floor, you’ve almost convinced yourself to turn around and head straight home. It’s sheer force of will that gets your feet moving, one in front of the other, until you’re at his door. You just need to slip the ID under the gap and leave him to it.

You kneel to do just this, when the door swings open. You’re face to face with a pair of knees, and your gaze travels upward, your face tilting.

He leans his weight comfortably to one side, his arm propped against the doorjamb, a faint smile playing around his lips as he looks down at you. You swallow.

He looks…hot. There’s no other word for it. You can’t tell what’s changed, exactly…he looks no less exhausted, but he seems to be wearing it remarkably well. The shadows underneath his heavily-lidded eyes accentuate their darkness; their depth.

Gone is the hideously baggy jacket he was wearing at work, as is the novelty-print button down. Instead, a dark, form-fitting shirt stretches tight across his chest, pushed up to bare his toned forearms.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

You open your mouth, close it again. You hurriedly stand, awkwardly straightening your skirt back down over your thighs. “Um. Hi, sorry, I wasn’t going to disturb you.”

He grins; a flash of white. “You’re not disturbing me.”

You blink, confused. His voice sounds…off. Is he making fun of you? Is that an accent? He’s still considering you, his expression open and vaguely amused. You can’t remember why you’re here. Has he always had such high cheekbones?

“Would you like a drink?”

You stare at him, stupidly. “Huh?”

He tilts his chin, gesturing back into the flat behind him, but his eyes don’t leave your face. “I was about to make a drink. You want to join me?”

This is not the response you’d expected. You swallow again, feeling a little hot. “I. Um. Sure.”

He steps aside to let you in. His flat is dim and cluttered; books and decor piled haphazardly on every surface. It’s not an entirely unpleasant overall effect, you consider, peering around. The warm lamplight makes it feel cosy; almost like a tiny jazz bar.

You plonk your bag on top of a leather-bound collection of translated poetry, digging through it. “I have your ID card. You dropped it. And I thought…well, I didn’t want you to get in trouble again. You don’t deserve the way Donna speaks to you.”

“Thanks, that’s really nice of you,” he says, distractedly. “Just leave it anywhere.”

You drape the lanyard over the back of a chair, and wander off to snoop at his profusion of stuff.

“Old-fashioned? Or G&T?” he says, the top of his curls sticking out from the open door of a low cabinet, half-tucked behind a bookcase.

You turn away from the glowing fish tank in front of you, something tickling in the back of your mind. You step toward him, frowning. “I thought you didn’t drink.”

He stands, and places two glasses on top of the counter. “Why would you think that?”

“Because you said you didn’t. At the Christmas party.”

He nods to himself, as though he’d forgotten, turning and leaning against the counter. You creep another step closer, your eyes narrowed. He’s looking at you with a directness you find slightly disconcerting. You can’t seem to drag your eyes away from the bow of his top lip. His posture, his voice…

He’s not just hot. He’s gorgeous. Exuding confidence. Some shift in his body language; a certain quirk of an eyebrow here, the timbre of his voice there…it’s difficult to believe this is the same guy you once busted crying over a dog video in the break room. He’d denied it, of course, scrubbing his hands over his face, but you’d been able to tell. Even the way he blinks is different; slower, easier, calmer.

It hits you like a freight train. “Holy shit,” you breathe. Somehow…impossibly…this isn’t Steven at all. “Who are you?”

His lips are pressed together thoughtfully, still slightly lifted into an easy little smile. As he speaks, he leans in, tucking a loose wisp of your hair behind your ear. “You can call me whatever you want, beautiful.”

You’re utterly thrown off. “Oh. Thank you. Um. You’re…beautiful too.” You laugh, nervously, swaying toward him. Internally, you cringe. What are you saying? Heat muddles your head; creeps out to the tips of your toes and fingers. You wet your lower lip with your tongue, still staring helplessly at his mouth. “But I don’t understand. Are you…his brother?” I don’t care, you think, dizzy. He called you beautiful. He thinks you’re beautiful.

“It’s a little hard to explain,” he says, his face close to yours.

You feel like your insides are liquefying. “Okay,” you breathe, your voice embarrassingly weak, “so expla—”

His lips meet yours, and you let out a strange little squeaking noise. He kisses firmly, almost with an insistence, but it’s slow. His lips coaxing yours apart, the heat of his breath, his tongue, softening your entire body.

Your knees wobble worryingly, and he smooths his hand down your back, holding you against him as you bend weakly in his arms. He walks you backward, across the flat, humming a low note of amusement into your open mouth as you stumble over the lip of a rug.

When the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, you drop gracelessly onto your ass, panting up at him. “Is this…are we really doing this?” you manage, your face hot.

The extent of your secret daydreams had seen you cosying up with Steven on a cool afternoon, peeking over his shoulder to see what he was reading, or curling your fingers around his underneath the table at that cute vegan bakery down the road from your place, oat lattes in front of each of you. You never got quite this far.

He leans over you, tilting his head, brushing his lips across your jaw. “That’s up to you.”

Your heart is thrumming in your throat, and you reach for him, wanting to feel him under your fingers. He feels solid enough. Okay. “Okay.” You nod, biting your lip, spreading your knees as far as your tight work skirt will allow.

He lowers himself to his knees, catching first one foot in his hand, then the other, coolly easing off your shoes and dropping them to the floor with a pair of low clacks.

You gawp down at him, positive that your eyes are comically wide. But he just continues smiling privately to himself, coasting his hands up the outsides of your thighs, shucking your skirt up, finding the edges of your underwear.

“Do you…want me to help?” you gasp, feeling awkward, unsure whether you should stand up to let him slide them off. He doesn’t answer, lifting your ass in his palms, rolling your underwear off in a fluid, practised movement.

He knows what he’s doing. Clearly. You don’t need to help him out. You didn’t think it was possible to feel any hotter, but with this realisation, you’re suddenly on fire. Your skin prickles; leaving you feeling slick and overly sensitive.

His nose brushes the inside of your thigh, nudging your legs apart. “Oh my God,” you hear yourself say, flopping onto your back. Warm breath fans over your skin, and then his lips; dragging lightly, the feel of his tongue pressing gently into the soft give of your leg.

As he works higher, your breaths grow shorter. He’s barely even started yet, and he has you shifting your legs, squirming into the bed. His hands gently encircle your knees, holding them apart, and you hear the quietly wet glisten as he spreads you open. You make an undignified little choking sound. “Doing alright up there?” he drawls, his strange accent resonant.

The sound of his voice alone has you squeezing your cunt in anticipation. “Um, yeah. Doing…doing well. Thank you. How about you?” You wrinkle your nose, staring up into the shadowy beams of the ceiling, wishing they’d come tumbling down to crush you. He’s too smooth. You’re embarrassing yourself. But he doesn’t seem to mind.

He laughs quietly. “Yeah, I’m good.” Then his nose meets your cunt, and you lose the ability to form coherent thoughts.

He closes his lips around your clit, his mouth hot and close. His tongue rolls against you, steady and skilful, and you rock your hips unconsciously up to chase his movement, bumping into his nose.

This feels nothing like the clumsy, half-hearted efforts you’ve experienced in the past. This is masterful; attentive, glorious. Better than your own fingers. Better than your vibrator. You’re already seeing stars.

He grips your thighs, pinning you in place while you whimper and gasp. You can feel his jaw working as he drags each little sound out of you; every movement unhurried but deliberate. You crane your neck down to watch; his thick curls tickling at your sensitive inner thighs.

You jolt as you meet his gaze. While the entire lower half of his face is pressed between your legs, you find his attention still fixed to your face; his eyes inscrutable. You have the crazed, ridiculous urge to wave down at him, even as your legs begin to shake and cramp with the tension of holding still. It would be such a Steven move, you think.

He works firmer, and you choke out a tiny curse, grasping fistfuls of the sheets. It might be because your thoughts have drifted, but it’s at that moment you notice the tiny scar just above his left eyebrow. You know exactly where he got it: walking dozily into the edge of a packing crate down in the collection stores. You remember it vividly. You’d even had to write up the incident report for it while he’d dug a bandaid out of the first-aid kit at the security desk.

So…he is? But he isn’t, he can’t be. You’re so confused. You’re too far gone to figure it out.

The pleasure is winding tighter, and your leg jerks alarmingly in his grip as your abdominal muscles tense to the point of breathlessness. Your head swims from lack of air, and you realise you’ve been holding your breath, sucking in a frantic lungful just as time stops around you.

You cry out wordlessly as you come, suspended in the moment, arching up off the bed even as he calmly pins you in place.

“Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod…” You don’t even realise you’re saying anything until he’s climbing up over you onto the bed, grinning again, pressing his finger to your lips.

“I know, I know. Shh,” he says, his humour palpable. You can’t seem to get enough air in, and you shake your head at him, your eyes wide.

“Oh my God,” you finish, breathless.

He traces the outline of your breasts through your work shirt, still buttoned to the top. “You want to keep goi—”

“Yes,” you interrupt, already reaching down to yank your shirt from where it’s tucked in under your rumpled skirt. “Yes, keep going, Ste—whoever you are.”

He shifts your hands away, opening your shirt far faster and with more dexterity than you would’ve managed. One-handed, he pulls his own shirt over his head, and you stare at the lean muscle of his torso; scarred and toned and beautiful.

The thought of Steven caring enough to cultivate a body like this seems laughable. His chest muscles flex as he kicks his pants down. So, this is your answer. Your heart lurches uncomfortably. This feels like a betrayal, despite the fact that there’s nothing going on between you and Steven.

And yet, the man now tossing your bra over the side of the bed looks so much like him. You dart a not-very-subtle glance down, and see his cock is hard, flushed, thick. Beautiful. Awestruck and filled with renewed heat, you trace the edge of his bicep with your fingertip. “Do…do you think it’s okay? Doing this? In his bed?”

He shrugs. “Well. Technically, it’s my bed.” He places a strange, ironic emphasis on ‘my’, then stretches up to reach toward the nightstand.

Nothing is awkward about him. Even ripping open the condom, rolling it over the length of his cock, shifting his weight onto his knees over you. Every movement fluid, easy; like that of a man who trusts his body implicitly. It’s unsettling, but it’s unbearably sexy.

He gently cups your face, his thumb stroking across your lower lip. “Still good?”

You nod, and he tilts his hips forward, and you exhale breathily as he slowly eases you open.

“That feels…oh,” you groan, dazed. He sinks deeper, angling himself downward, and you could swear your eyes roll back.

He’s nodding slowly, gently easing himself back before sinking back in, deeper than before. “Yeah. Yeah, it does. God, you’re pretty. No wonder he likes you so much.”

You don’t have time to figure that out before he’s rocking into you again, more smoothly this time. He cups your breast, groaning quietly, and you let your head tilt limply back as he begins to set a steady, beautiful rhythm.

Your bones feel like melted caramel; thick and syrupy and warm. He feels perfect inside you; the ridge around the head of his cock stroking at your g-spot, even through the layer of latex.

Your grasping hands are curling and uncurling in the covers, when you find the edge of what feels like a bicycle chain lock with a buckle at the end. You turn your head to the side to squint at it, shaking it free and finding the other end affixed to the column at the foot of the bed. You blink at it. “Is this…?”

“You should probably ignore that,” he murmurs, covering your lips with his own. He tastes of you, tangy and slippery. You moan weakly into his mouth, wrapping your legs around his waist, reaching up to feel the softness of his hair. The bed thuds hollowly against the bookcase behind it with the force of his movements inside you.

He stays deep. Barely withdrawing; grinding himself inside you. You aren’t sure whether it feels any good for him. But God, it feels good for you. He noses along your jaw, his lips at your neck, gathering your limp body up into his arms to hold you close.

You’d like to be more engaged. Pull your weight a little. Make him feel as incredible as he’s making you feel. But you’re too pleasure-drunk; floppy and lazy and warm underneath the weight of him. The best you can manage is a lifting of your hips to meet his, and he pauses, letting you clumsily work out your own disjointed rhythm. “Can I…? I’d like to…” you trail off, unsure what you’re even asking for.

But he seems to understand all the same. He shifts to the side, gripping your hips and taking you with him as he turns onto his back, until you’re straddling his waist, his cock seated deep inside you.

It’s immediately even better. You gasp down at him, and he sinks his teeth into his lower lip, a faint sheen on his forehead. “S’this what you wanted?” he murmurs.

You nod, encouraged, and lift your weight onto your knees before sinking yourself down onto his length. This time, he’s the one who groans. It travels straight to your cunt, and you clench around him, the feeling exquisite.

“Careful with that,” he breathes, his hands on your waist, holding you steady. “You’ll make me…oh, fuck—”

You hadn’t meant to do it again, but it’s hard to control yourself. Everything feels incredible. Grinding yourself down onto him, sheathed all the way to the base, where his neatly trimmed dark curls are already stuck damp to his skin with a combination of sweat and your arousal.

You rock your weight back and forth just a little faster; the movement catching at your breath, and your head drops limply forward as you brace your hands onto his chest.

There’s too much blood pounding in your brain. You feel dizzy and desperate, riding down harder, your inner thighs tensing with the movement. You feel as though you’ve been there for hours, but it hardly matters; it’s good, you think, the softness of your breasts rippling upwards with each bounce, it’s so good, so good…

Too soon, you can feel yourself reaching a renewed peak and, needy with the sensation, you chase it down, your legs cramping with your sustained effort. You can feel yourself growing weaker; trembling with exertion and overwhelming pleasure.

You feel as though you’re racing your own stamina toward your release, whimpering brokenly, grinding yourself down. It’s an awful thought; you’re desperate to continue, but your movements are losing their rhythm; too weak to continue. You can’t bear to stop, but you have no choice.

He doesn’t let you.

Seizing the softness of your ass in both hands, he drags you back and forth against him, forcing you to keep riding, even after you’re too weak to move yourself. You could be a toy in his hands as he pulls you onto his cock; thrusting up into you, gritting out something obscene as his cock twitches inside you.

You can tell he’s growing close, and the thought is enough to nearly push you over your own edge again. He fucks you harder now; your head rocking back on your shoulders, and your cries are softer, more breathless as your entire body tenses.

Your orgasm crashes over you, near-violent, and instead of slowing, he speeds up, forcing you toward immediate overstimulation as his hips smack up against your slick skin. You mindlessly sink your nails into his chest, hard enough to break the skin.

His brows draw together and he hisses, long and harsh, and you’re worried you’ve hurt him, but then he curses, his hips stuttering as he empties himself into the thin layer of latex separating you.

Panting, you unpeel yourself from his hot skin, slumping onto your side on the bed. He reaches over, mindlessly stroking his hand along the length of your side, down to the swell of your hip.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you say, your attention caught on the way his hair sticks in ringlets around his ears. “I’ve never done that before. Jumped into bed with someone I’ve only just met.”

“Mmm,” he returns, his palm gentle on your skin, dark eyes lazily half-lidded. “Have we? Only just met, I mean?”

You frown at him, bewildered. You don’t know how to answer that.

When you stand, your bare feet hit the cool wood floor at the foot of the bed; weirdly grainy, as though in need of a thorough clean. You shake out your bra before you put it back on, sand skittering out of the cups. He stays reclined, watching as you straighten your skirt and tuck your now-wrinkled shirt back in.

He slips out of the bed behind you, stepping back into his pants, leaving his chest bare. As he walks you to the door, you realise your nails have left painful-looking little crescent moon-shaped cuts in his skin. They’ll probably fade after a few days, you tell yourself, but you feel slightly guilty all the same.

You need the loo, but you’re too shy to ask. You itch to get home and mentally sort through the events of the night. As though in a dream, you turn to leave without saying goodbye. But he catches your elbow, pausing you just outside the door. “He doesn’t know how to show you, or tell you. But he likes you. A lot. Give him a chance.”

It should be a wildly strange thing for him to say, considering what you’ve just done together, but in the context of the entire nights’ disjointed, unreal sense of overall strangeness, you know precisely what he means. Your heart swells in your chest, and you nod, shy, a tiny smile lifting your lips.

“I’ll, um. See you around,” you tell him, not knowing if that’s true.

You wait until you’re back in the lift before you slip your shoes off to shake out the loose grains of sand still stuck to the bottom of your feet.

[mochikeiji]

Exact Replica

Request: "Hi! I really love you're writing and was wondering if you could do prompt 25+29 for Kuroo Tetsuro from Haikyuu? And could it be angst to fluff? (Maybe Kuroo was ignoring the reader due to lots of work/stress so reader feels neglected?) It's totally up to you tho! Ty so much!!"

25. "Would you notice if I was gone?"

29. "I didn't mean it."

↠ Pairing: Kuroo Tetsuro x F!Reader

↠ Warning: angst to fluff, mentions of pregnancy and kuroo's sad childhood

↬ Word Count: 3.7k

↠ a/n: okay this is my longest one yet. I swear the prompt screams angst to fluff so much that I go into it.

↳ from Go! Go! Gogatsu Event

Kuroo Tetsuro achieved many great things in life after graduating from his university, with multiple acknowledgements and honors. Landed a position as a young CEO from a sports association at the age of 24, he had enough money in his pocket and bank to stable both of you financially. Life was good to him after having to build from the roots  of his ruined childhood; the only years of defeat Kuroo doesn't ever want to repeat. His father and mother were in the same position as you both are; owning your own shared house, good working environment, investments and stability, married.

Up until this day Kuroo questions why his parents split. They were fortunate that they had every thing completed, sadly it was the family and love that wasn't taken care of. You could be the happiest person, yet the void inside would still be there, Kuroo thought. Foolish people were to neglect something more valuable than any object that is given. Whether it was his father or his mother that stopped nurturing what they both bonded for the longest time, they were both fools to let each other go over something simple. He vows to never let history repeat itself.

But now the tables seemed to have flipped for the both of you. Your lives not far from what he had ran away from. If Kuroo could eat his words back, he would've now that he was running late yet again to coming home, forgetting about the promise he swore to about joining you after a full month of being occupied in his office. Coming home to have you already tucked in bed, but suffering in silence.

Most days he didn't bother greeting you in the morning and night. As a good wife, you understand. He was a busy man with an important position to maintain.

There were times where you'd be tapping your foot down on the floor as the clock strikes at an ungodly hour with your messages still not bothered to be replied to or even read. But you understand. He's working! Always doing what he can for the both of you like the good husband he wanted to be.

Even if sometimes he'd come home without a kiss or a simple, "I missed you." you understand. He's drained. No time for silly, endearing affections. You've done them a lot before back when you were younger. You're adults! Married! A married partner shouldn't be feeling so needy when the other was only doing their part.

Even when sometimes your insecurities would kick in whenever you'd visit your husband to drop his forgotten lunch again, only to see him flocked by different women; probably secretaries, interns, and assistance.

You understand. You always did took such good care of what you two have.

Well had.

His home office door slams shut, awakening you from your nap on the couch. Didn't Kuroo notice you when he walked in? Looking at the clock you noticed it was near 11:30 PM since he's arrived. Late again, maybe he hasn't eaten anything? No worries, you thought sadly. Stretching your aching muscles, you made your way to the dining area. So far dinner was left untouched once more. Just how many times has it gone to waste because you continued on cooking for two?

Or rather, three.

You beam at the sudden reminder while preparing your husband's plate. You'd always miss him whenever he'd come home, never had the chance to surprise him at the right time of your little discovery about a week ago. Fear did struck you because of the possible reactions he'd give, but you were so excited in sharing the news that a couple would share the equal happiness from, you couldn't contain it any longer.

Maybe you should've chosen another time unbeknownst to you how your husband was hunched over his desk, clearly in displease of the previous events that had occurred during the meeting back in his office. Hence why his work stack added more piles of predicaments, only fueling his headaches more wishing he could just lay down peace and quiet without disturbance.

He grumbles at the knock on his door, only typing furiously with emphasized taps on the keyboard. You, not sensing the emitting aura from the room took it as a response for you to enter. It surprised you a bit on how disordered his home office had become. It was obvious his coat had been thrown carelessly as it lays on the floor, wrinkled. Carefully placing the plate full of food on the small coffee table at the side, you gingerly picked up the article of clothing. Lightly trying to smoothen out the lines before hanging it behind his door and turning back to your husband.

"Tetsu?" cautiously calling out his name, you were kind of wary at the fact he didn't turn to see you unlike he does before whenever you'd enter the room. "I brought you your dinner. You came home pretty late." you tried to maintain the light hearted tone of your voice to hide how nervous you were in telling him the big news.

The atmosphere was kind of eerie when all he did was hum meekly from your words. Feeling a bit disheartened from his lack of attentiveness, still forcing a smile, you padded a little closer behind him with your hands clasps together. "I also wanted— well needed to tell you something." averting your eyes away from him as you prepared in your head. With a small hope he'd turn around for once after a long time.

"Can it be another time? I'm in the middle of stuff here."

Another time.

Why is it always next time? It's frustrating enough to not see him or have him speak to you even for a moment, but this made your stomach churn in an unpleasant way. Frowning at his poor reply, you gulped a few of your sentence back. Not fully trusting your emotions getting in the way, "You never really talked to me before, Tetsu.. I get that you're busy, but it wouldn't hurt for you to give a little minute for me."

Even just a second as long as he'd finally notice you.

"(Y/n) if you understand then why bother? You can clearly see I'm busy." chest huffing out a harsh sigh, still not bothering to turn around. Gripping your hands tightly, your patience were starting to snap. "You're always busy, Tetsu! I never had a proper conversation with you again." raising the volume of your voice a little made his actions come to a halt. Chair revolving around to face you. His appearance made it obvious how exhausted he has been; tousled hair that he usually takes longer to style, the light forming bags underneath his eyes from the screen and lack of sleep. The visible annoyance marked in his expression. But couldn't he say the same for you?

"Fine. Here, you have my attention now. Are we talking properly now?" his way of provoking you wasn't in the right place. It only made you look at him in disbelief because you've grown to never meet such side of your husband before. The news you had originally planned to share vanished from your head, replaced with the restrained emotions that has been building up inside your heart, tipping over.

"Tetsu, what is wrong with you?" looking at him now seemed like you were talking to someone else. His words were curt and short with no intention of prolonging the conversation, itching to get back to work so he could be done with it. "I already you I'm just busy. I would be done by now if you didn't want to talk properly with me." he says as if he's the one in distraught. "Seriously, nothing's wrong but I think you aren't. You're never like this."

"That's because you never cared to noticed in the first place!" wailing out the collapsed emotions that has weighed you heavily. It was too late to stop yourself from voicing out the things your husband left aside. A full month of being a good, understanding image of a wife thrown away to the rubbles without even appreciating the the long nights of you waiting up for him, cooking meals even though the next day they'd end up being in the trash, tolerating the coldness of the used to be warm sheets, putting up with the insecurities you took upon yourself to hide to avoid troubling your husband further when all you wanted was for him to assure you that he still loves you and only you.

The fascade you put up just for him crumbles. And it infuriates you more of how he still doesn't notice.

"(Y/n), you know I've been working! There's so much stuff that needs to be attended for just so you and I could live normally!"

"Tetsuro, we are stabled, it's okay to slow down a bit. How is this any normal to you when you don't even realize how this affects me?!"

The chair slides back roughly against the floor with a loud creak as he towers over you. Glowering eyes with a dark expression looming over his face, clearly now enraged. "You're being selfish right now. I'm here doing what I can to support us and all you could think of was you, you, you. Can't you see I'm doing this for you as well? God what else do you want from me, the world?"

"I only wanted you to give me your time and attention even just for a second, Tetsuro! I've been doing my best for you all this month and I never said anything to trouble you!"

It hurts when he said how you were being the selfish one when it was the opposite. It dawned to you that all those days of giving your all for him wasn't once noticed. "Will you ever grow up already? Attention? Really? We're adults, (Y/n) not teenagers for fucks sake. My time is just wasted because of you!" he doesn't stop there even if you've had your mouth already shut from how he portrayed you as. His words were beginning to leave a deep scar in you as you quiet down to the next line.

"If you think that nothing is troubling me, there is! And you just happen to add in for crying out loud!"

There were no words exchanged after his meltdown. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he looks away from you— who's eyes were already watery. Unable to even tell your side anymore at the ache of your heart. "So..I'm just troubling you then?" quivering out your words, Kuroo clenches his jaw as the bubbling frustration was being held back with the last bit of restrain he had.

"Would you notice if I was gone, Tetsu?"

Instead of being alarmed by your chosen form of sentence, you watched with sad eyes as your husband pulled back his chair and faced his workload. He didn't even noticed you're already crying silently, "Not now, (Y/n). We'll talk later."

He doesn't even noticed how you walked out sobbing with a shattered heart nor the door in the living room closing. Leaving him alone for the next few hours in peace like he wanted.

Time went on quickly when one doesn't take their eyes off from their consecutive workaholic state. With a groan, he almost slams his laptop shut before stretching his bones, slowly relaxing the tense muscles. It's up to his co workers and assistance to deal with the load he's prepared to dump onto them after they threw all theirs to him. Hoping to freshen up his face, Kuroo tidies his desk up before making his way to the door. Stopping in realization of the now cold dinner that was left on the coffee table.

His stomach growled loudly at the lack of food it's digested in the longest run. It was still good if he heats it up, he does miss eating home made meals than his stale ones back in the cafeteria of his workplace. Grabbing the plate carefully he first made a short journey to the kitchen to heat up his food. Unusual it was to have all the lights out in the house. You'd always leave some opened when he was awake. Then again the guilt started to crawl up to his chest knowing he's the cause of why you'd forgotten.

Now entering the bathroom with water running down his face, he plans ahead the apology he owes you when he wakes up tomorrow morning. He could reschedule his own time since he is the boss. He closes the faucet right after he was done rinsing. Looking around for the towel his eyes caught something below the small organizer you put up next to the sink. Grabbing the towel above the first part of the organizer, bending down slowly to avoid getting cramps, his actions were quick to grab the object that caught his attention the moment it seemed so familiar and surprising.

Pregnancy test. Two lines for positive.

Having a child with you was the last thing he's yet to accomplish from his list, and here it was. As much as he wanted to be in denial, it all felt like surge of contentment drowns him in because he was going to be a dad. However his body began to tremble whilst still holding the test and staring intently at it. The previous guilt that was crawling beneath his bones became a dark, desolated hole of anxiety and fear that ate him whole. The things he's said and done will never be taken back no matter how he apologizes to the past events a few hours ago.

Hours ago. It was already 2:25 when the fight had ceased. Deep down he knows he couldn't wait until the next day to plead for forgiveness. After all, he did vow to never leave you both a day feeling heavy alone. Kuroo felt nauseous of how much of an asshole he had treated you. Like starting a game of volleyball once more, he was beyond nervous when he approached your shared bedroom. There was no excuse of his actions indeed as he solemnly enters the dimmed room. He sighs a little shaky when he closes in your bed, "Baby?" he starts, "Baby, are you awake?" it was one of the little things he's memorized that you'd do when you both aren't in good terms. You never really slept, just pretended because you always had the heart to wait up for him.

When he gets no response he reaches out to pat you, only coming to the sense that the sheets were left untouched; no warmth traced behind. You weren't there, any where. His blood runs cold and immediately fishes out for his phone in his pocket, speed dialing your number while he circles the entire area of the house in case you'd be there. Now he was more terrified when he hears the familiar voice mail from the living room couch where you had slept while waiting for him.

You left your phone. His wife wasn't home— his pregnant wife.

"Fuck." running a rough hand through his tangled hair. The lump on his throat grows but he refuses to let out a string of sobs. It was his fault you were gone at such an ungodly hour. Kuroo felt more than a bigger asshole than before he's made you come to the point of leaving home. Just as his mother did and never returned. The one thing he swore you two would never be the same came to life, only thought now is Kuroo doesn't know whether you've left him for good after being a neglectful husband and to have dishearten his own beloved wife like that.

"Would you notice if I was gone?"

Rang in his head as he stood outside the neighborhood, running. Chasing after a hallucinated image of you any place he tried to remember you'd be in. A fool he has been to have left you in a loveless marriage. He loves you, he really does. He can't imagine a life without you in it. Just as it was about to become the happiest he's wanted, he pushed it all too soon. A bad husband, he cries. "(Y/n), please come home." legs aching and panting from having to study all areas. It was pitch black; there were no opened spots for you to even go at an hour of slumber and chaos. The only convenient store did not even have you in it. You were no where to be seen and Kuroo breaks.

Of course he'd notice when it was all too late. The past he's ran away from was still the place he's returned now that the house was only occupied by nothing but rotten memories of the love he didn't took care of. The exact replica of a married life he desperately tried to dodge. "I'm so sorry." for the lonely nights he's left you to sleep, over thinking of what may have been your fault and always figuring him out tirelessly. For the small efforts of adoration he didn't took a glance at and gone to waste. For the words that were never even meant for you to ever feel. For being a neglectful husband. He was sorry he noticed too late how he ruined his precious wife.

Now he's left you on your own out in the dangers outside. If anything horrible happened to you he will forever be crushed. But the world thinks that second chances are given to those who truly deserve them after you came in quietly, slipping off your sandals and waving back to your friend who had dropped you off home. Your short break to the convenient store changed when you met up with her and drove back to her place to rant about what happened. Being the sluggish person you are whenever sadness hits, you never noticed how long you've over stayed. It wasn't like your husband was going to know if he still was working.

Much to your surprise that he wasn't, you stifled a gasp to find him with his hands holding his head that was leaned down on the table. His shoulders were lightly jolting with escapes of audible sniffles, indicating that he was in fact crying. If he looked exhausted before, it wasn't enough to describe his current state; as if he was a man who'd lost every thing as he sat there with all hope lost. Your foot padded on the creaky part of the floor in attempt to tiptoe over his hunched back to comfort him. Squeaking in the awkward situation you've put the room in when Kuroo turns his head behind to see you standing there a bit frightened, but concerned when you saw how disheveled his face looks.

"Tetsu—" his name got cut off short from when you almost tripped over your balance at the sudden impact of Kuroo throwing himself into your arms with his weight. You couldn't make out what he was mumbling on about, but you melt to his embrace even if he squeezes the living day lights from you, afraid that he was going crazy and you weren't real. "Thank God," litters of kisses were placed on your clavicle, "You're back."

He repeats, slowly convincing himself that you are indeed home in his arms, safe, no harm detected. Just home. "I'm so sorry.."

"I didn't mean it. I didn't mean any of what I said, I-I'm so sorry." your bodies swayed gently to the sound of your hushes and his cries of apologies. "Please don't leave me like that again. I was so scared."

"Shhh, it's okay, Tetsu. I'm sorry. I'm okay— we're okay." leading him to sit down at the couch, you placed the bag of different brands of sweets and junk on the table before facing your husband. You had to stifle in a laugh watching him wipe his nose, you couldn't help but be reminded of a mini Tetsuro by looking at him. The argument that stung you faded when he took a hold of your hands and mumbled another apology.

"You shouldn't be sorry for anything. I should be.." flickering his eyes from your belly to your bloodshot eyes from your own fiasco back in your friend's place, he slides in closer next to you where your shoulders touched. "I haven't been a good husband lately, have I?" he looks at you expectantly. Frowning, you still nodded. Tired of hiding your own feelings from him.

"I know you're busy most of the time, Tetsu. But I just wanted you to recognize me as your wife." thumbs quick to swipe away the tear that had shed from your eye, "We're in this together, remember?" he pulls you right from the arm, shoving your face to his chest in need to hold you for all the times he should've. Ignoring the dampness of his white long-sleeved polo, breathing in the scent of your sweet shampoo. You were still so forgiving and understanding despite on how equally tired as he was you are.

"I'm so sorry I've made you feel as if I never cared anymore. You never deserved that." his lips found it's way to the crown of your head. "I don't deserve you, and I really don't want to lose you after me being stupid." giggling through tears, fist connecting a soft punch on his chest, bubbling a chuckle to the surface as he lightly pulls you away from hiding.

"I really didn't mean all of those things I've said, baby. I love you and only you." stroking ever so lovingly your cheek, you don't catch on to the fact that his other hand was placed over your stomach protectively. Making a silent promise to not only you, but the soon to be new addition to the family that he will never again neglect what he should've cherished more and looked after than the constant worries at the back of his head.

Because he will never again repeat the replica of a broken family he once was born in.

© all content belongs to mochikeiji. Please do not repost or copy, ありがとうございました!! (=^･^=)

[winter-soldier-vibes]

You Aren’t Somebody? (Bucky x Reader)

Bucky x reader

Word count: 2647

Summary: Bucky knows that the reader has struggled with an eating disorder before, but thought they were doing better. Little does he know, they had just gotten better at hiding it. Until one night, he catches her doing something she had promised she had stopped

Warnings: eating disorder, purging, angst, fluff

Tags @abitgryffindorky @buckys2thicc @thatfangirl42 @buckfics @barnesplums @mardema @stucky-on-spiderman @thundering-barnes

Main Masterlist

A/N: It’s finals week and I am running on energy drinks, reading fanfiction, and longgggg hot showers. But the semester is almost over, and then I have no obligations aside from my hobbies. I see the requests and I’m working on them I promise! I have a list of all the requests that I get, and I am working through them I PROMISE!!! Thank you all for all of your support.

A/N 2: This deals with heavy and dark themes of mental illness. The specific warnings are above. If you feel that in any way reading this will be harmful to your mental health and your journey, PLEASE skip it. I write from my own experience and I know what I would’ve wanted to hear in these situations, and writing/reading fics helps me feel comforted. This fic is based on one experience more specifically than most of my fics, so I apologize if it’s not exactly the same as your experience. This is what I would’ve wanted to hear. If you need or want someone to talk to, vent to, or get advice from, feel free to message me, really. I’m here! <3

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Bucky was standing in front of you, blocking the door. His piercing blue eyes were locked on you, your own refusing to meet his. 

He wanted answers that you were not ready to give.

“Y/n, please. I just want to talk about this”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Bucky.”

He looked you up and down. Your hair was in a messy bun, a few loose strands sticking to your tear stained cheeks. Your eyes were puffy, and your face was red, voice raspy. He took a deep breath. “You told me you would tell me if it was getting bad again.”

“You promised.”

You closed your eyes. He wasn’t wrong, you had promised. But that was because you never thought you’d see the day when you were purging again. You thought you had gotten over it. You really thought that this time you wouldn’t slip up.

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

You had been struggling with an eating disorder for a while. The cause, you weren’t quite sure. An innocent diet soon turned into a competition for yourself, but the end goal was never there. At first you had thought it was just about the weight and how you looked, but then you found that some of your behavior patterns were tied to your emotional ones. 

Stress was the major trigger, you had come to learn.

Whether it was a mission gone wrong, you getting injured, someone else getting injured, or even just basic social interactions you thought could’ve gone better, you found yourself inclined to comfort yourself with food. 

Until you panicked, which would lead you to the bathroom with music blaring and water running to cover up the noises of your retching. 

You hated it, and every time you told yourself it was the last time. But the more you did it, the more you felt the urge to do it. At first it was triggered by large stressors, but now smaller things could trigger you to want to throw up. You tried to keep it hidden, unaware of the true reasons for why you did it. You were able to help yourself sometimes, it wasn’t worth bringing anyone else into. 

You couldn’t explain it to yourself, so how were you supposed to explain it to anybody?

The best way that you had figured out how to describe it was that whenever you felt a negative emotion, you could soothe it in a physical way with food, especially with all the warm comfort foods that are known. But at the same time, that feeling lasted as long as you could taste, and you would feel guilty as you felt full. When you threw up, it felt like you were also throwing up the negative emotions. 

But when you said it out loud, it didn’t make sense. When people are sick and throwing up it’s one of the most uncomfortable feelings ever. Inducing it hurts sometimes, but it’s almost not as bad. Like you know it’s coming, and you’re in control of what’s happening and you could stop at any point. And there had been times where you could soothe yourself in other ways, and you knew your own physical limits. You knew when you had to stop for your own health.

Until you couldn’t stop.

Which is what led to you fainting on a mission after purging too much. Your electrolytes had bottomed out and you almost had a heart attack at an age no one should. Bucky, your boyfriend who was on the mission with you, had put it together when the first words out of your mouth upon gaining consciousness were “Is this a glucose drip?” while tugging at the IV.

He hadn’t been mad, not exactly. He wasn’t mad at you but he was furious with himself for not noticing, and for making you feel as though you couldn’t tell him. You assured him that you did trust him, but he wished you had come to him before you could’ve gotten yourself, and those on the mission, seriously hurt or killed. 

Nonetheless, you still didn’t know how to talk about it.

“Can you try to tell me about it?” he asked gently, running a hand through your hair. He held you to his chest, you unable to meet his eyes.

“It won’t make any sense,” you had said, tears glazing your eyes.

“I want to understand. Can you help me understand?”

You paused for a moment. “It’s a long story and I don’t know where to start. There’s so much going wrong.” you had said, tears beginning to streak down your face.

“I have all the time for you. And it doesn’t have to make sense, these things rarely do. I’m not here to judge you, I’m here to listen.”

And true to his word, he had. He had listened and held you while you tried to talk about what you could. He didn’t understand everything, he naturally had a ton of questions, but they weren’t for that moment. He had promised to help you the best that he could, and you had promised to try and tell him whenever you felt the urges get too strong. And if you couldn’t, to tell him after.

It was easier to talk to Bucky than anyone else. Not because he was your boyfriend, but because he seemed to understand you more than anyone else could. He had his own share of mental health struggles. Neither of you knew exactly what the other was going through, but you both understood that it was easy to feel alone and guilty even though you couldn’t control it. 

It was rough, but he was never mad. He was sometimes firm, and sometimes you had gotten angry with him. Only to later apologize to him with tears in your eyes. He was never mad with you. He understood that this was something internal. Upon research he had done and conversations he had had with Bruce, he understood that this had nothing to do with him. Some people thought eating disorders were about getting attention when it was one of the furthest things from the truth.

All he could do was love you and be there for you.

And to your surprise, talking about it did help.it took a long time, months, of long and hard conversations, panic attacks, slip ups, and really dark days. But it got to the point where Bucky felt that you were doing better, making an effort to tell you how proud he was and how much he loved you. 

And you were doing better, in a way. But you had been slipping up more recently, and you hadn’t told Bucky. You didn’t know how. After going the longest you’d ever had between slip ups, you found yourself retching over the toilet. You would have gone to Bucky but he had been away on a mission that was extended a few days. You couldn’t interrupt him because your feelings were too much to handle. People needed his help more than you did.

You were going to tell him, but he had been so tired when he had come back. He needed his time to relax, and it wasn’t the right time to tell him. And the next day when he was rested, you felt that it was irrelevant. Any negative feeling you had felt the day before had since past, and you didn’t see the point in bringing it up today. It would worry Bucky, he wouldn’t want to go on missions, and you weren’t going to do that to him. Besides, it was just one time.

Right?

You soon found yourself purging when Bucky wasn’t around. If he had gone out with Steve, if he was on a mission, or if he was down in the gym you found yourself taking more opportunities to give into your urges. It wasn’t nearly as bad as it had been, but you were spiraling. But at this point you had been slipping up so many times, you had been so secretive about it. 

It would kill Bucky inside to know that you were hiding this from him again. He would feel like you didn’t trust him. You trusted him with your life.

You just didn’t want to let him down. Not again, not when he had explicitly told you to come to him and you had been blatantly ignoring that.

You wanted to tell him, you did. But you couldn’t let him being so proud of you be based on a lie.

One day you were hunched over the toilet, legs sahking and tears streaming down your face from exertion. Bucky was away on a mission, so you didn’t even bother with the music or the water. What you hadn’t anticipated was him coming back hours earlier than he should’ve

The mission had gone much more smoothly than anticipated, which everyone was happy about. Bucky was glad he would get a few more hours with you. He had gone up to your shared room and let himself in, surprised to see you weren’t there. But then he heard you coughing from behind a closed bathroom door.

He felt like someone had punched him in the gut. You had been doing so well, what had happened?

He walked over to the door, knocking on it and calling out your name. He heard you muffle a small fuck before he knocked again.

“Y/n please, let me in.”

He heard the toilet flush and the sink turn on, you on the other side washing your face. You could feel the tears from exertion be replaced by ones of shame and embarrassment, biting your lip slightly. What the fuck were you going to tell him? 

When you finally turned off the water, you rubbed your face with a towel, sighing heavily into it. When you took it away, you looked long and hard at the doorknob. 

Bucky sighed on the other side of the door. “Y/n please. I’m not mad. We’ve been here before, I just wanna talk to you.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, taking a breath before you made your expression nuetral and opened the door. 

Bucky’s eyes immediately saddened when he took you in. your face was still red and there were tears in your eyes. You had tried to put up a front, he could tell that too. Sometimes you got angry with him because you didn’t want to be vulnerable. He was prepared because like he said - he’d helped you before.

Before he could say anything you crossed your arms. “You’re home early,” you said coldly.

“Y/n.” 

“How’d the mission go? Well, I assume.” you tried to slip past Bucky but he was blocking the door. 

Bucky took a deep breath. “Yeah, yeah, the mission went well.” He wanted to be gentle with you. “But how are you?”

You shrugged, trying to appear oblivious. “I’m fine,” voice wavering slightly as you looked away.

“Y/n please. You’re not fine. Can you tell me what happened?”

“The same thing that always happens” you said bitterly. “Something stupid comes up, I start feeling like shit about myself and I ignore it until I’m puking it up with everything else, alright? It’s the same story, different time, and now I have you looking at me all hurt just like I was worried about which is why I couldn’t tell you!” you exclaimed, eyes filled with anger and tears. Bucky looked at you as if you had just punched him in the face. He would’ve much preferred that you had.

“Y/n.”

You shook your head, trying to get through the door that he was blocking. “Bucky, just let me through the door, forget it.”

“Y/n just talk to me please, I -”

“JUST LET ME THROUGH THE GODDAMN DOOR.” You yelled, surprising Bucky. It had been a while since you had gotten this angry or defensive. But he stood his ground. Bucky was standing in front of you, blocking the door. His piercing blue eyes were locked on you, your own refusing to meet his. 

He wanted answers that you were not ready to give.

“Y/n, please. I just want to talk about this”

“There’s nothing to talk about, Bucky,” you said, feeling tears threatening to spill over. 

He took a deep breath. “You told me you would tell me if it was getting bad again.”

You closed your eyes and felt a pang in your stomach. “Bucky, I - “

“You promised,” he said, voice cracking.

You shook your head. “Why do I have to talk about this. It’s not like I’m hurting anybody” 

“You’re hurting yourself, y/n.” he said calmly.

You shook your head and narrowed your eyes slightly, tears falling. “That’s different Bucky, you know it is.”

“You aren’t somebody?”

You looked at him for a moment before a sob escaped your body, leaning on the counter for support as you brought a hand to your mouth. Bucky quickly came up behind you and pulled you into him, wrapping his arms around you. You started crying harder, embarrassed and ashamed. 

“I’m sorry Bucky, I didn’t know what else to do, I didn’t know how to tell you, I -”

“Hey it’s okay, it’s alright y/n, I’m here.” Bucky kept whispering reassurances in your ears, rubbing a hand up and down your back. 

After some time passed, you didn’t know how long, you were able to calm down enough to take some shaky breaths, hiding your red face in Bucky’s chest.

“When did this start happening again?” he asked softly

“I don’t know… few weeks at least, not really sure.”

He took a breath, trying to stay calm. A few weeks and he hadn’t suspected anything, and you were alone. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were on a mission, I couldn’t interrupt that.”

“Why didn’t you tell me when I got back?” he pressed gently.

“You were so tired Bucky - ”

“Y/n.” he said more firmly.

You paused for a moment, knowing he wouldn’t take those answers. If they were truly the reason then you would’ve told him the next day or the day after, as soon as the opportunity came. There was more to why you waited, and Bucky knew that. 

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” you whispered. 

You heard Bucky sigh. He was angry with himself, for not being approachable to you. All he wanted was to make you feel safe enough to come to him, and to hear that you hadn’t because you thought he had expectations for you crushed him. “Y/n, I told you you could tell me about this. When have I ever been disappointed or angry with you?”

“You haven’t. You were just so proud and I - I didn’t want to ruin that for you. I didn’t want to tell you that you were proud of a lie.”

“Hey, hey look at me.” Hesitantly you looked up to meet his eyes. “None of this was you lying. You put in the hard work day after day, and I told you I was here to support you. But I never did the work for you. You did that. I’m proud of you and I always will be because you’re a fighter. It’s okay to have bad days, it’s okay to slip up. It’s okay to need a little help too, and that’s what I’m here for. A slip up doesn’t erase all the hard work you’ve put in before. I’m proud of you for the progress you’ve made, and of the work you put in. This doesn’t change anything sweetheart.”

He pulled you back into his chest.

“I’ll always be proud of you.”

[whosscruffylooking]

The Purest Things-A New Home

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

a/n: this is a repost considering it didn’t show up in any of the tags yesterday. have i mentioned how much i despise tumblr sometimes :) again, i want to give a special shoutout to @avengersbau for giving me a second set of eyes on this one.

word count: 2k

warnings: canon-typical violence and descriptions of injury.

The Purest Things Masterlist

gif is not mine! credit goes to @hqtchner

au! october 2007

Bookend: “It’s never too late to become who you want to be. I hope you live a life that you’re proud of, and if you find that you’re not, I hope you have the strength to start over.” — F. Scott Fitzgerald

++++

"I am SSA Hotchner. Welcome to the team Agent Y/L/N," his voice reminds you of the transatlantic accents of Hollywood stars of old. The kind you used to hear in the old black and white movies you would watch as a child.

"It's an honor to be here sir," you stare directly into his brown, soulfully deep eyes.

"J.J., get us started, please," SSA Hotchner suggests.

Sitting down, you look to the screen that displays the frightful footage of bombs detonating in various locations.

"Yesterday, an 81-year-old woman was severely injured when a bomb exploded in the toilet of a women's restroom," J.J. informs.

"Interesting spot to hide a bomb," Agent Prentiss sneers.

Jennifer flips through the slides and shows another bombsight located in a subway station, "Last year a similar bomb that had been attached to a phone box detonated. No outstanding injuries were reported. However, the bombs' similar makeup alerted detectives to dig into other bombings throughout the years. They have positively identified attacks over the past twelve years as perpetrated by the same bomber."

Spencer adds, "His M.O. is similar to George Peter Metesky, better known as the Mad Bomber. He terrorized New York City over a period of 16 years. He planted bombs in theaters, subway stations, libraries, and offices. They were left in phone booths, storage lockers and restrooms."

"Do you think we are looking at a copycat?" Derek questions.

"If we are, we need to stop him soon," declared David.

"He's escalating-becoming bolder and more vicious," you say, scanning the report.

"Tell Boston we can be there by 9:30," Hotch notifies J.J...

++++

"It seems like he's a textbook paranoid schizophrenic. People suffering from this disorder may think that other people are regulating them or plotting against them. They tend to be reclusive, antisocial, and obsessed Hwith hatred for their presumed enemies," you twist a loose string from your shirt around your finger, unwind it, then repeat the process.

It's a nervous tick you developed over the years that has worn down numerous tops before achieving their intended lifespan. You glance at Agent Hotchner, seeking a sign of approval. His eyes meet yours, and he poignantly nods.

Did I say too much? No. Don’t overthink this. They can probably smell fear.

"In his letters left at the bombsights, he uses words like 'broad' and 'chick' to signify women," Dr. Reid chimes in.

"Do you think the unsub is motivated by hostility towards women? "

"It's possible," he continues, "These speech patterns age him significantly, however. Phrases such as these were mainly used in the 30's, 40's, and 50's."

Agent Hotchner begins to delegate tasks before the jet lands, "Morgan and Reid, I want you to head to the bombsights and see if you can't work out the motive. J.J. and Prentiss talk to the victim's families, determine our victimology. Y/L/N, Rossi, and I will head to the precinct and familiarize ourselves with the lay of the land and see if we can't formulate a geographical profile."

++++

At the precinct, you observe Agent Hotchner's ability to singlehandedly transition an entire police force's obligation to under his jurisdiction.

"Captain Moreno, this is SSA David Rossi and SSA Y/F/N Y/L/N," the Unit Chief introduces you.

The captain tilts his head at you, "Aren't you a little young to be in the FBI? How old are you anyway?"

You nail him with a you're-full-of-crap look. 

Everyone gets to be young once; your turn is over, old man.

Choosing to take the high road, you say, "I'd like to get my hands on the bombers handwritten notes. There has to be something in those letters that can give us a clue into the who, what, when, and where of this case."

Skeptical of your request, he narrows his eyes and looks to David and Agent Hotchner.

"You hear her," Dave exclaims, "Lead the way!"

Your enigmatic smirk no doubt gives away the great pleasure Dave's gibe brings you.

++++

"Agent Hotchner," you hand him your preliminary geographical profile. With his arms crossed, he intimidatingly peers into your research.

Don't burn a hole in my paperwork; I worked hard on that.

He is impressed by your work, taking in your comprehensive outline of proof that details the unsubs point of origin. For someone so young, your attention to detail puts even his most observant profilers to shame. "How did you come to this conclusion?"

"My family is from Chicago. When I was little, I used to read through my grandfather's old newspapers that he collected throughout the 1950's. On the jet, I knew some of the phrasings that Dr. Reid was using sounded familiar, so I cross-referenced it with some of the particular articles I remember from my childhood and found his wording to be exact iterations of the Chicago Crier."

Without taking his eyes off of the paperwork, he commends you, "Impressive use of your prior knowledge. Often, the information drilled into us through education is lackluster compared to that of real-world experience."

You turn to walk back to your makeshift desk when he calls out to you, "And Y/L/N, call me Hotch."

Your shoulders relax from the tension you hadn't even realized you'd been clinging onto, "Alright. Hotch."

++++

You immediately regretted your decision. In pursuit of the unsub, you had wandered off down an abandoned subway tunnel and cornered him.

"Harold Watts, FBI. Gently place the remote detonator on the ground," You shout. Grappling to keep your gun from slipping between your clammy palms, you grip the weapon tighter.

Ordinary people's first days of work are uneventful; they're given a series of mundane tasks at most. Me? Of course, my first day involves being secluded in a subway tunnel facing down a man decked from head to toe in explosives and wires.

"D-don't come any closer. I have my finger on the trigger! I'm not afraid to die, and I will not hesitate to take you up in flames with me," he stammers.

The stampede of footsteps, no doubt from your colleagues and half of the Boston police force, resonate through the echo chamber you're standing in. Watts spooks and loses his balance. You begin shouting for the people behind you to stand down.

"The tracks are live, one wrong step, and we all blow up. I repeat, stand down!"

Turning your attention back to Watts, you attempt to soothe his irrationality. You slowly return your gun to its holster, raising your hands up in surrender. Hotch yells something unintelligible from behind you, but your focus is on the unsub and trying to prevent any more casualties.

"Harold, let's just talk this through for a couple of minutes. My men behind me will leave us alone. It's you and me now. Before this, you never wanted to hurt yourself. You wanted to be heard. All of your life you felt like you were forced into the shadows, and you began to fester there in your pain and rage."

He tenses up; you have his attention now.

"Those girls who teased you and ripped your masculinity from you needed to be taught a lesson. But you didn't just stop there; you decided to do all women a favor and demonstrate to them the kind of pain they could cause, hoping to prevent them from making the same mistakes. In fact, you helped me to see what I can do better. I never want to make someone feel the way you did."

"Y-you learned that...f-from me?" Harold quietly sobs.

You nod, "Yes! Yes, Harold. And you can still be heard, but not if you die today. I could be your greatest advocate. If we walk out of here right now, think of how famous you could be. Harold, you will never be stuck in the shadows again."

It is crucial to your survival and your teams that you are brave just long enough to analyze the situation and keep your self-control. Panic won't do anyone any good right now.

Your mouth dries as you await Harold's next move. Suddenly, he hunches over, extending the hand gripping the detonator. Pausing for a moment to be sure he isn't making any drastic moves, you promptly hurry to his side and gently pull it from his clutch.

As the police officers and your colleagues rush to your aid, Harold looks up at you with hopeful eyes.

"Make me famous," he murmurs with a grin that churns your stomach.

Hotch ushers you away from the unsub, backing you up against the wall of the tunnel, "You actively defied my orders."

Searching every inch of his face for an accurate reading of his emotions, you are unsure of how to respond.

"I'd like to think it won't happen again," his eyes studying you just as intently.

You swallow hard, aware of the lump in your throat and take a deep breath, "You have my word, Agent Hotchner."

"Good," he affirms, eventually freeing his hold on your arm.

You let out a shaky sigh of relief and relax your spinning head against the wall.

Opening your eyes, you observe your new team tieing up all loose ends. They're safe. You are safe. Despite this first day not being as mundane as others, you wouldn't have it any other way. This feeling is what you signed up for, and it's already fulfilling you in ways you couldn't fathom before stepping inside the BAU office this morning.

++++

Aboard the jet, you tuck your legs underneath you and open up a book to read.

A cup of steaming hot coffee appears on the table in front of you.

Hotch sits across from you with a similar cup and offers you a subtle smile, "Impressive work out there today. I'm sorry your first day of work couldn't be more eventful."

A joke? I didn't take him as the joking kind.

Rolling your eyes, you put on a disappointed tone, "God...if you guys drag your feet like this every day, I might have to consider a transfer."

In a more serious nature, he asks, "How are you feeling?"

"Alright, I guess. You were right, you know, no amount of studying or lectures can truly prepare you for what it's like when you're staring into the eyes of a killer. I've learned the negotiation techniques and memorized the textbook 'put the gun down' speech, but all of that flies out the window when you're in the moment."

"You will find that improvisation at times is the key to success in this job. Just know that this team is a family. You will never face this alone or be at a loss for anything. Your career is in its infancy, but I can tell you have a long and triumphant journey ahead of you. We will do whatever we can to ensure that you are at home here and can use this team as an opportunity to refine your abilities. All I ask in return is that you work with us, not against us. You have nothing to prove. They see your resourcefulness. So do I. You are one of us now."

Some gazes are the promise of protection; his is all that and more. The words "at home" resonate in your mind. You've spent your whole life searching for a home, and here it is, its doors being opened to you. After a lifetime of running from place to place, perhaps this is where you can finally settle down.

"Get some rest," Hotch whispers to you. And with that, you lean your head against the chilled window and shut your eyes.

++++

Tag List 🏷

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[shini--chan]

Okay, I've been wracking my brain to think of an ask for you because I know your writing is fire, and I don't want to waste it! If the mood strikes you, can you write a little yandere Levi in a universe of your choosing or constructing? I'm sort of interested to see how you imagine him as a yandere 😊

Thx, fam!

As I told you once before, this is the ask that almost made me forfeit my principal of answering asks chronologically. :P

So, this will be my usual mix of headcanons and Imagines if you don’t mind, since I have a lot of thoughts on this man and just don’t want to stumble into the snare of writing a full length story … yet.

I’ ll also keep this general, since the universe any Levi fic is set in just changes the nuances, and not fundamental character traits.

Also, I have to remark that it is already too late for me - I’m hip deep in academia.  

Yandere Levi Ackerman  

Captain Levi is a very orderly person, it is part of his lifestyle and how he interacts with others and himself. It is something he is really strict about and he wouldn’t tolerate anything less than perfect hygiene in a lover. To him, there is nothing less disgusting than poor body hygiene and should you start slacking off in anyway when it comes to taking care of yourself, a very fundamental aspect, then he won’t shy away from taking matters in his own hands.

You gasped as a bucket of water was frigidly emptied over head and you threw yourself out as your bed, expecting your assailant to have lunged onto you, should you have remained there.

Instead, he was standing right in front of you.

Somewhat shyly, you looked up into Levi’s pale face and sneered at the accursed object that he was holding in his hand. He sneered right back at you, the corners of his lips curled slightly upwards in disgust. A rather uncommon display of extreme emotion on his part, for being a commonly stoic man.

“Get up!”, he curtly barked to which you stiffly groaned. Sloppily, you got up, still groggy from being rudely awoken and not in the best mood because of it. The water running in rivulets down your body and made your sleep wear cling to your skin didn’t help either.

“What was that for?”, you whined, completely oblivious as to why he was being so imperious to you. What had you done to warrant such poor treatment?

“Don’t get cheeky now, little brat. You didn’t shower last night and went all sweaty to bed. You deserved what I did to you now.”

Him being orderly isn’t restricted to personal cleanliness, it is also about how disciplined a person is with themselves. Having had to live in harsh environments for his whole life, he is a firm believer in pulling yourself up by your own bootstraps. That also means that should you suffer from any mental disorder, trauma induction or not, he wouldn’t be very understanding. Not that he wouldn’t be concerned about your broken state of mind, rather he wouldn’t see how being kind and coddling you would fix it.

“You know brat, if you would stop sulking and feeling sorry for yourself, your life would start getting damn better”, he snarled at your cowered form.

Hunched over the table, you had elected to grab a beer to numb the pain that was ravaging your heart. Watching people die never became easy, especially when they were close to you.

“Just leave me alone”, you begged and raised the tankard to your mouth again. Yet before the wooden rim could touch your lips, it was shamelessly ripped away from you. Levi’s sharp grey eyes were honed on you, the fire of anger dancing in them. Just why did he have to play judge now of all times?

“No, you look like shit and you’re talking shit. Moping around wouldn’t make anything better you idiot. You need to your act together, not get piss drunk.” 

Furthermore, he needs to be in control. As soon as he feels like his vice-like grasp over reality is slipping, he does what all people do that are losing their power – he scrambles to re-attain it. And he doesn’t hesitate to utilize violence. On top of that he sees respect given, as power given, so he demands the piety that his position ought to give him.  It doesn’t matter that you’re his lover, if anything you ought to give him his due. Rows with him are literally the worst – be prepared to be swept of your feet! 

Roughly, you were slammed against the wall in a manner that knocked the wind out of your lungs with a crude sound. It was followed by a gasp as your ears rang from your skull having banged against the stone and your muscles and bones ached.

“What did you just say?”, Levi snarled, a rare look of utter rage on his handsome face. You knew it was a rhetorical question, he had heard you the first time around. But you were too steep in your own anger to not push your luck.

“Don’t be like that, darling”, you spat the last word as if it were poison in your mouth. Warranted actually, since you had been coerced and tricked into this relationship. “I said that maybe you should take a leave out of your superior’s book because all your shortcomings make you unbearable to be a runt. Somehow, I doubt that would work, though – you’ll always remain a sewer rat at heart.”

A wrong move – those handsome features contorted to something utterly ghastly.

“You know we wouldn’t have such problems if you could control that attitude of yours. And if you would show me respect”, he hissed as he pressed you further against the wall, so that you were sandwiched between stone and muscles to a painful degree. The hands grasping you by the front of your clothing didn’t help either.

Lips twisting into a snarl of your own, you countered: “Respect is supposed to be earned, Captain. I will only respect you if you respect me.” You were really insistent on digging yourself your own grave, weren’t you?

“You’re much prettier if you keep that mouth of yours shut.

“Consider the feeling to be mutual, brat. Why should I give you any respect if you won’t give me any? And remember, I’m above you, so I don’t owe you anything. You owe me the world.”

Levi also has a strict set of rules that he expects you to follow to the dot. A fair warning, however, he may change the one or the other spontaneously and not inform you of it until you’re bent over his desk. Also, it is common knowledge that he endorses corporal punishment and celebrates pain as a prim method to install discipline. He really thinks that bad behaviour can be beat out of somebody. He is also exceptionally cruel with his punishments. This can be traced back to how he was desensitized to violence at a relatively early age and revels in have people submit to him.

You had barely set foot in his study when he looked up from his paperwork and ordered you: “Come over here, and bend over the desk.”

Shocked by his harsh words, you nevertheless complied. You knew that resistance would only make matters worse. Still, as you bend over and pressed your cheek against the cool oak you asked: “What did I do wrong this time?”

Briefly, he stopped rummaging through the chest that stood by the window and glanced over his shoulder.

“Are you serious? Don’t you already know? And I though you weren’t so goddamn stupid”, he snapped.

Finally, having found what he was searching for, he turned towards you again. There was a semi-bored expression gracing his visage as he drawled: “I told you a thousand times before, pet. When you are finished with your afternoon chores you are to come directly to me. No chit-chat with somebody else, no fooling about and yet you disobey me again and again. Your ears really are just for decoration.”

You opened your mouth to protest but he carelessly cut you off: “I don’t care if they are your friends, you don’t need them. You just need me.”

Upon that you fell silent and closed your eyes in hopelessness as you waited for your punishment to commence. When do pain came after a minute of silence you dared to open your eyes and glance back.

Seeing that you were focused on him, Levi cleared his throat as if to say “Aren’t you forgetting something?” Then you remember and with a great amount of shame you bared your bottom and meekly requested: “Please Levi, my love, spank me thoroughly.”

As usual, it sickened you that he made you ask to be punished. It was his way of normalizing and justifying his abuse. And conditioning you.

A dark chuckle rumbled in his throat as he grabbed you by the nap as he pressed you against his desk. “There is a good little pet”, he whispered as leather made contact with your supple flesh. 

This man has a difficult time warming up to people. All the agony of losing those that meant the world to him repeatedly has caused him to become cold and reserved. That means that in his mind, you should view it as a privilege that you are the love of his life. Because of that, he won’t accept rejection. Also, since he hasn’t had somebody really close to him in ages, he will be very clingy and overprotective. The world has the habit of robbing him, so you won’t allow you to be stolen as well. Not to forget that he is a man of action – being passive or also relying on words to solve situations just isn’t his style. 

Your skin was on fire due to his ministrations, or rather because of the disgust they evoked. The arm around your waist that pressed you against him made you want to claw at his skin and his lips against the tender skin of your neck made you want to throttle him.

Yet you knew that it was just wishful thinking. Engaging in such protest would be futile since he was stronger and quicker than you.

“Look here Levi, I told you…”, you tried to reason with him but he just silenced your objection:

“Shush, sweetheart. Don’t ruin the moment.”

Then he resumed kissing your neck and collar bone, sometimes tugging at your skin with teeth in order to cause bruises. You tensed as his free hand snaked down your leg and hooked itself under your knee.

The captain is a military man and fairly intelligent. He knows how to deal with an enemy, how to assess their strengths and weaknesses and how to keep them contained. And also, how to best combat them and capture them. He really is the worst opponent you could meet on the battlefield.

So how to evade him? You take him off the battlefield, place him in a situation where aggression can’t help him achieve his goals. He is a military man, as said before, so he is accustomed to low context communication – words must be direct, and you must mean what you say so that they are no muck-ups. Little conversation and more orders and demands. Levi doesn’t have a silver tongue to begin with, quite the contrary actually.

That means he cares a bit for codes, since they are of use to him in his branch of expertise. But he cares little for symbolism since he has categorised that as sappy nonsense reserved for romantics. So, you have an avenue to express yourself that he won’t catch up on unless somebody explicitly told him what it meant. Consider yourself lucky, it is exactly this that will prevent you from going insane.

“Flowers? Again?”, he gruffly asked.

It made you look up from the novel you were reading to see him eyeing the tansy and peonies that you had placed in a vase on the nightstand.

You had to suppress a smirk and work to keep the self-satisfaction out of your voice as you meekly inquired: “They are there to give a bit more colour to the room. I can always put them away if you want.”

You were being obedient to him for a change and that was why he decided to allow you a few luxuries. Besides, since you were so affectionate in the past two months, why shouldn't he return it with gestures of his own.

“Keep them. I’ll just never understand why you like them so much”, he answered and then stalked over to the bathroom. Of course he would never comprehend it, with his spartan and austere tastes, just like you would never understand that the small yellow flowers meant ‘I declare war on you!’ or that the orange lilies that had been there a few days ago actually proclaimed your hatred for him.

Hopefully, he would never find out.

Intelligence doesn’t automatically mean that he is omnipotent or that he is an all-powerful overlord. It just means that he is quick to comprehend tactics and strategies and devise his own. He isn’t immune to mistakes. So, when he ropes you in, in his games, you have to play a wholly different game of your own if you want to get out. Military, remember? There are many walks of life that he is unfamiliar with, many possibilities for you to escape his clutches that he wouldn’t even account for.

Giddily, you smiled at yourself in the mirror. You barely recognized yourself, with all the paint and heavy cloth that decorated your body. Levi didn’t either, just how it was supposed to be.

You had spotted him in the audience as you had pranced about the stage, looking very disgruntled at not having you by his side or locked up in his quarters. Even you had heard the rumours of how a few days ago he had flown into a frenzy, searching high and low for something.

You were one of the few that knew it was someone and that someone was you. Knowing him as well as you did, you made the fair guess that he also wasn’t here by his own volition, rather his comrades had dragged him here in an attempt to distract him.

And you also knew that had looked everywhere he presumed you to be – in the forest, somewhere tucked away in his estate, in the taverns and at the city borders and at the docks. Just not amongst the theatre troop.

That would probably stay that way, and you could use the opportunity to escape him.  

Adding to the fact that he is bad at expressing himself like a normal human being, he is also very emotional underneath that stoic veneer. In combat situations, he has an outlet for all his pent-up emotions. Else you have to suffer his outbursts and mood swings. Nonetheless, the world isn’t a gigantic battlefield and if the right buttons are pushed, he could lose it at exactly the wrong time and place. Levi would lose badly at the game favoured in the royal courts of provoking-the-other-until-they-embarrass-themselves.

Levi was very close to unleashing his unholy rage and as a precaution, you had taken to stepping out of range. While you found the whole situation very amusing, you didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire.

“…however, since you come short on some things, I don’t expect you to understand that. Should I repeat what I said, in bitesize chunks  so that you don’t lag behind this time”, the nobleman prattled while he looked down on your “lover”.

Said man pressed through gritted teeth: “You filthy swine, go stuff all your pretty words up your ass.”

The noble emitted a fake gasp and murmured aghast: “You really are so crass. The rumours of you being a dwarf barbarian are true.”

That was the last straw for Levi. In the following minutes, a small crowd gathered to see what the commotion was all about and it ended in the guards having to restrain him. Really, it was hypocritical of the Ackerman to threaten you about causing a scene when he was the one prone to temper tantrums.

[alice-dont-break]

checking | janthony one shot

Jasmine's heart wasn't racing, but rather beating slow and heavy in her chest, a steady thumping to remind her of the weight she carried. She could tell herself her fears were stupid or irrational, but that only served to amplify her frustration. She couldn't shake the obsessive thoughts that gnawed at her relentlessly, so she'd just have to sit with them for now, fingers drumming repeatedly over the back of her phone.

Watching Anthony's leaden breaths was the best reminder that tranquility was still possible. He looked so peaceful, so unworried, so content, and she just wished she could fold herself into his shelter. She yearned to lift the arm that rested heavy on the mattress, slightly outstretched as if searching for the body it usually held secure, and lay it over her rigid midsection. Every inch of her was tense, and while she knew her husband's touch could unbind her, she couldn't bear to wake him. These thoughts were too ridiculous to be worth his time, she thought, and she'd hate to disturb such a peaceful-looking sleep for her childishness. But luckily, all her stressful energy, or perhaps some invisible power of their bond, did the job for her.

"Whatchu still doing up, baby?" Anthony grumbled, rubbing at his tired eyes. He rolled onto his side to face Jasmine, who was propped up against the headboard scrolling through her phone. He didn't know exactly what time it was, but he did know that when he rolled over in the night, he'd expected to find her fast asleep.

"Go back to bed, love," she cooed, reaching over to comb through his tousled curls. Her mind was protesting against the words she forced from her lips, but her hushed tone concealed the stress of conflict in her voice. She looked over to him with soft eyes, letting the genuine adoration of his sleepy and disheveled appearance mask her underlying anxiety.

Regardless, the non-answer concerned Anthony enough to draw him out of his groggy state. He looked over at the alarm clock and found it was nearly three in the morning, so he sat up and shifted towards his wife. "Jas, what's going on?" He asked softly, sweeping a curl behind her ear so he could capture her gaze and study her expression. "Trouble sleeping?" His hand came to rest on the top of her shoulder, where he kneaded her taut muscles.

"Not really," she mumbled, "just haven't tried." Her eyes broke away from his, dropping to her lap while her fingers twisted and tugged at the sheets.

Anthony noticed her fidgeting and reached over to slip his hand into her restless one. He squeezed her palm gently until he felt the tension dissipate, then rubbed his thumb carefully over each knuckle. "It's late, Jas, d'you wanna tell me what's keeping that beautiful mind so busy?"

Jasmine grappled with whether to admit her silent battle, until she met Anthony's eyes. They had widened but they weren't strained; they were just locked on her with a quiet concern that showed her she was safe and welcome, and compelled her to let him in. "I'm trying not to go check the stove," she muttered.

"Oh, babe, you don't have to worry," he frowned, "I checked it before I came up." His pitch escalated along with his worry. He knew whatever was keeping her up wasn't as simple as his response implied.

"I know. We didn't even use it today because we had salads and then ate out for dinner, and we haven't used it since yesterday and I checked it yesterday so there's no way it's on," she rattled off, as if the schedule for using their stove was imprinted on her mind. It may as well have been.

"Baby, is this...? I thought the meds - "

"I know, I'm sorry," she cut him off with a deep sigh. Her eyes fell to her lap again, sunken and clouded. "I haven't been good about telling you what's gone on at my appointments..."

Anthony shook his head sharply before looking over to find the shame that squeezed up her shoulders into hunches. "Don't have to apologize Jas. You dont owe me any explanations. All I wanna know is if there's a way I can be taking better care of you." His last few words lightened, as he looked over to catch her heavy-lidded eyes.

Her jaw relaxed into a sad smile, before tentatively giving a slight nod. He reciprocated though just barely, as if offering a safe place for her to speak if she wanted, but imposing no expectations. Blinking away the haze, she inhaled a trembled, hollow breath. "With us trying and all, I've been talking to my therapist about weaning off the meds because they aren't super safe during a pregnancy, which means a lot more of other methods of treatment. So we lowered my dosage a little and I'm just supposed to make it a little longer every night without checking."

Jasmine's obsessive-compulsive disorder had been mostly kept at bay over the past few years by a combination of therapy and medication, but he recalled many sleepless nights from when it was more prevalent. He remembered the pit that would fall in his stomach whenever he would wake to the mattress sinking beside him, signaling she was back from checking the door lock or the stove. He, like most people would, first envisioned meticulous cleaning and organizing when she first told him about her diagnosis, but soon he learned that was only one possible manifestation.

For Jasmine, compulsions were a need to go check something that she simply couldn't shake. The obsessive thoughts would barrel through her mind with no regard for rational thinking. It didn't matter how many times she'd dragged herself out of bed to go check already, or how desperate she was to sleep; the thoughts and the anxiety that always tagged along wouldn't go away until she got up. The anguish grated against Anthony's heart even as a bystander. For so long, there was nothing either of them could do to fight back, but after weeks and then months of treatment that started to change. Every night that passed, even the ones that were far from perfect, had Anthony growing more and more proud of his girl. He knew he was watching her endure something that would at times feel excruciating, so the least he could do was be by her side. Tonight would be no different.

Anthony pushed against the mattress to sit up, and leaned back against the headboard with his arm outstretched. "How much longer we got?"

"Ant, you don't have t-"

"I know," he said firmly, "but I don't want you sitting and stewing all on your own." He reached over to love on her, tenderly holding her opposite cheek as he began to paint every inch of the side of her face with soft, slow kisses.

"It's just another hour and a bit. I just need to get through it... it's gonna suck but then tomorrow maybe it'll be easier..." Jasmine trailed off as her eyes fell back to her lap. She soaked in the warmth of his lips for one more breath, then tilted her head away to shake off his grasp. "It's stupid, babe. The point is you should go back to sleep." Her hand softened in his as she tried to pull back, but he redoubled his grip. His spare hand moved to cradle her chin again and his thumb brushed over her cheek in soothing half circles.

"You can argue all you want baby, but I'm staying up with you. Now are you going to leave me hanging, or curl up into this awfully inviting arm and cuddle me?" He wiggled his shoulder with a goofy smile, letting her arm flop around as he held her hand tightly.

Jasmine squeezed her eyes shut, but relented as a giggle tumbled from her pursed lips. She couldn't resist the way his eyes softened through his laugh, saying more than his snarky words ever could. With a final roll of her eyes, she released his hand and curled into his side. Her head found a pillow in his chest while she was enveloped in the warmth of two protective arms around her. He knew from practice exactly how tight to squeeze so she felt secure but not trapped, and quickly the tension in her shoulders seeped away. She nuzzled against his t-shirt to inch just a little closer, as his fingers delved into the curls that tickled his chin.  The thumping of his heart coaxed her to melt just a little deeper into his arms, as his nails grazed her scalp in calming strokes.

His lips affixed to her forehead with careful attention, pressing and relaxing every few seconds. They weren't distinct kisses, as Anthony couldn't bear the thought of space between them, but rather one long transfer of the warmth and protection he wanted to seclude them in. Her eyes were squeezed shut with little creases spurting out from the outer corners, as she tried to focus on all his sweet touches while blocking out all the distractions and intrusive thoughts that threatened to disturb their peaceful little bubble. Every second she melted further and further into the embrace, letting the easy feelings of warmth and safety crowd out the obsessions that had been hoarding her energy.

Even as Jasmine started to settle, she still had nervous energy vibrating through her body. Needing an outlet, she started tracing little circles, mindless drawings, around Anthony's chest. It was an easy way to fidget; just small movements that she could keep up without shifting from the cocoon formed around her of Anthony's arms. After a while she realized it was a familiar pattern, essentially the same thing she did when she was on her own, but it felt so much safer. Whenever Jasmine needed to expel some tension on her own, she'd use her fingertips to write words on her thighs. She would silently come up with lists of absolutely anything, to let her mind focus on something other than the stressor at hand, and give her anxious buzz an escape route. The difference now was that she had yet to choose a category.

When she thought about where she was, and what brought her here, it was easy to think of something that would soothe her. She voluntarily lessened her medication not just because she wanted to give herself and Anthony the one thing they wanted most in the world, but because she already cared about that baby so deeply. She would already do anything to protect them and give them every chance at health and happiness, no matter how hard this battle to adjust might be for her. The thought of holding a baby, their baby, to her chest, and witnessing a heartbeat and giggles and cries that were all theirs to nurture was motivation enough to keep fighting, and also helped her realize the perfect inspiration for her musings.

What she hadn't realized was that the use of her new notepad also threatened to expose her little game. "Whatcha writing?" Anthony asked with a cheeky little grin.

Her fingers froze, and then curled into her palm. "Nothin', jus' fidgety I guess." Her cheeks started to burn but luckily they were still hidden as she nuzzled against his chest.

"You can keep goin' if you like. S'kinda fun being your canvas," he smiled.

She lifted her chin so he could see the shy smile that crept across her face, then unfurled her fist. For the next few moments, she focused again on mindless patterns. Fleeting circles, hearts and spirals tingled across his t-shirt until Jasmine had wrongly assumed he'd forgotten all about her artwork. She started spelling again, and Anthony tuned right in.

"J..." he thought to himself, mentally following the paths of her fingertips to solve her secret message. "U... L... I..."

"Julia? Who's that?" He asked, breaking the silence that had floated for the past few moments.

Jasmine rolled her eyes sleepily, and hushed him. "You didn't let me finish."

"E... T... T... E..." her fingers continued to dance.

"Juliette? I still don't get it," he frowned. "Who is that?"

"It's nothing babe," she sighed, "seriously it's embarrassing just ignore me. I just like to make lists when I need a distraction."

A series of kisses peppered across her forehead and temples was Anthony's way of pleading for an answer, and it had Jasmine's resolve melting away. The way he had her totally engulfed in his essence - his musky smell, the warmth of his skin pressed to hers, his voice's vibrations against her head - and the way it had her heart slowed and her mind cleared made his efforts irresistible.

"Okay, okay, fine. Was makin' a list of baby names," she mumbled under her breath.

Anthony knew better than to push her any further given her delicate state, so he tried earnestly to contain the burst of excitement that pulsed from his heart. He reached a little further with each of his hands, trying to pull her even closer despite the fact that she was already flush against his side. The thought of a family never failed to send his mind spinning, and all he could think about was being close to her. It was something they'd talked about of course, even already tonight, but something about seeing her use planning for a baby as a way to calm herself down had him near flustered. He reached down to squeeze her knee gently, then pull her leg over his hips. She was straddling him now, laying fully on top of him with her head undisturbed in the crook of his neck. He rubbed up and down her back slowly while pressing kiss after kiss to the crown of her head until she had fully settled, content with the new way their bodies had melded together.

As time passed, Jasmine no longer had to focus on steadying her breath; it had simply aligned itself with the slow rhythmic heart beat that vibrated against her cheek.  Truthfully, her focus wasn't being tugged towards anything anymore. No more worries forcing themselves upon her, and no more obsessions pleading for her attention. Instead, her mind had been granted the freedom to focus on whatever would make her feel most comfortable, most safe, and most at home. And right now, that was certainly Anthony. The stubble on his chin that prickled against her forehead, the hands that radiated heat across her back, and the soothing trills that hummed from his lips all worked in tandem to make minutes feel like seconds until Jasmine's internal timer was up. Not long after, Anthony noticed the time despite her still appearing unfazed.

"Hey, it's about time, isn't it?" His words came as quiet murmurs, with silent pleas for her to stay as calm and composed as she was before.

"Mhmm, about five minutes ago," she grumbled, nuzzling deeper into Anthony's chest.

He grinned and lowered his chin to press a kiss to the crown of her head. "Jas, that's amazing babe. You did that and I'm so, so proud of you. Do you wanna go? I can come with you, or wait here, or -"

Jasmine closed her eyes to inhale deep into her belly, letting the comfort Anthony exuded drown out the last of the her pestering thoughts. "You checked it, right? And it's fine?"

"Yeah, but there's no shame if y-"

"Okay, I think maybe I'm good," she interjected, needing him to just agree before her compulsions reclaimed the ground she'd fought for. "Maybe we could just sleep?"

His smile pressed into her curls as felt his cheeks warming with pride. "Whatever sounds best to you, angel."

Jasmine just nodded, letting her cheek rub against his chest before tilting up to kiss his chin. She smiled into the kiss he pressed to her forehead, then let herself slide off his torso to sink back into the mattress. She kept a leg draped over his, and he slithered an arm under the arch of her waist so he could pull her tighter to his side. Her head tucked into the crook of his neck like a puzzle piece locking into place, and their hands clasped together just as perfectly atop his chest. Warm breaths washed over Anthony's neck, the slow rhythm allowing his worry for Jasmine to dissipate just slightly. She was still fragile, but she was fighting through it and at least for now she was okay. Her breathing was under control, and he could keep her just like this, snuggly in his protective hold.

"D'you know how ridiculously proud of you I am?" He murmured.

He felt her cheeks puff up, her lips curling into a bashful smile, but she banished that from her tone. "No reason to be. Jus' using common sense, really."

Anthony shook his head, fighting off the emotion that was started to glass over his eyes. A lump formed in the back of his throat, as he reflected on the significance behind why Jasmine was needing to be so strong tonight. "We both know its not that simple, babe. You're fighting something wired into your brain and you're doing that for our.. for us," he choked out."You're already making sacrifices for our baby and they don't even exist yet." A tear finally broke free and slipped down his cheek. Jasmine heard the break in his voice, and reached up to press a series of kisses down the track now paved through his freckles. "I'm just, so proud of you, and I love you so much," he added, his voice no stronger than a whisper.

"I love you too, Ant." Jasmine squeezed the hand in hers and felt whatever tension they each still held disintegrate. The weight she felt had finally been lifted as a peaceful sort of exhaustion washed over her - it wasn't one she had to fight off, but one she could now embrace.

Anthony could feel a heat spreading through his chest, made of some mix of pride and admiration. This woman was a warrior and he was lucky enough to be the one by her side. He nodded down to watch her eyes flutter shut, her lips parting slightly as her breaths deepened. "Now get some rest, my love. God, do you ever deserve it."

[knotnotknowing]

♓️ i find it fascinating the way things align in the stream, where waves stream and revert back to signatures that ripple into presenting a similar energy or vibe, the frequency that gives you feedback to spur activity ♊️ idk, if i were to break that down, it’s like, i get hit up with an image by a person and their sign is the same as the next person and something the other does correlates to something i did and that sends me on a wave that activates my brain to recognize things and see how it links to other things ✡️ for example, the thought to post on tumblr came yesterday, and after a few interactions and occurrences i was sparked into motion that lead to me doing a few things that lead to something that brought me to do this *♋️ i’ve been doing drawings in that nature thanks to @laysiaprincess ♑️ who recommended i number the things in the order that they happen and ever since then an entirely new world has been unfolding 🌹 and what kicked it off was @imturningblue ** liking one of my posts on ig(afroknotical) that came when i was speakin’ with a colleague ♋️* earlier this morning that got me in the flow of even creating that current piece, but the fact that one of her** posts had a slide of the same exact sake sent me 🍾 excitement got the best of me and i went on a liking spree, now i’m coming back to my senses (´∀｀) on the spectrum(autistic) and sometimes mania(schizo) tends to get me goin’ off on a trip (｀・ω・´)

even creating this post reminds me of a why that commenced this journey[circa 2013], when i saw the similarities and parallels with mental illness/disorder** with spirituality***. psychology paints it one way, but in ancestral times it was embraced because they knew there were spirits doing work and that person was channeling entities that made for communion and communication with other realms to which those that knew and understood could consult those who were in between worlds** were able to bring back to them things to contribute to the tribe and community. ⚡️

***psychosis or spiritual awakening: phil borges at TEDxUMKC on youtube

alexander shulgin - varieties of psychedelic experience

dr. rev phil valentine also speaks on this subject matter(i have this here: https://www.instagram.com/p/CSPcxOEFBN7/?utm_medium=copy_link )

these 3 cases support something i’ve had a hunch about in my gut and am recently coming into information and knowledge that are either peer-reviewed or backed by facts of what i’d felt so long ago. i’m only beginning to find the words and articles and things to be able to communicate this stuff clearly{still in the process of learning, unlearning, and relearning}, but the timing of this all is intriguing because had certain things not occurred in the order that they did this post would not be, so continued thanks to @imturningblue for interacting with my instagram profile.

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now, back to this hunterxhunter episode (*´ω`*)

[theladyofdeath]

Alone in the Ashes {22}

A Court of Thorns and Roses fanfction, characters belong to Sarah J Maas. Modern au. Revolves around Nesta x Cassian, Feyre x Rhysand, and Elain x Azriel. Other characters appear throughout. Based on multiple prompts sent in by anons tbr below.

Warning: Mature content. Alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, drugs, sex, language, eating disorders.

For summary & chapter index, click >  Alone in the Ashes {Acotar}

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: Yeah....I don’t even have a nice little book quote for this one.

The days passed by quickly, the weeks all blurring together. Planning a wedding was stressful, apparently, and trying to fit it into three months was a nightmare. With a month and a half to go until he and Feyre said I do, Rhysand had only crossed off half of his to-do list.

He had the day off of work and planned to try and knock off the other half during his afternoon at home, but it was morning, and Rhysand sat with Mila in the visiting room of the Velaris State Prison.

He hated Amarantha.

Loathed her.

But he loved Mila, and he couldn’t say no to Azriel when he’d asked. Azriel couldn’t miss Elain’s doctor appointment. They would be listening to the heartbeat for the first time. It was unmissable.

“You scared, Rhysie?”

Rhysand looked down into Mila’s big, pleading eyes. He hadn’t said much, felt incredibly uncomfortable. But for her, he smiled. “I’m okay. She should be coming soon, I would think.”

“The big men bring her in,” Mila said, referring to the guards. “She can’t talk a long time. They take her away.”

Rhysand nodded, taking her little hand in his as the door pushed open and Amarantha entered. The minute she walked in and spotted Rhysand, she grinned. 

Rhysand hated that grin.

He and Amarantha had dated right after he graduated from high school, for just a few months - a few months too long.

She sat across from them and Mila beamed. “Hi, mama. Rhysie came with me today! Uncle Azzie is with Lain at the doctor.”

“Hi baby,” she smiled, then looked to Rhysand. “Rhys.”

“Amarantha,” he said, her name uncomfortable as it rolled off his tongue. “How’s prison life?”

“About what you’d expect,” she said. “I hear you’re getting married. To Feyre, of all people.”

“We don’t have to talk,” Rhysand said, trying to keep his voice light for Mila’s sake. “Talk to your daughter.”

“Oh, I will,” Amarantha said, “but this is such a great time for us to catch up. So. Feyre finally got rid of Tamlin, did she?”

Rhysand’s jaw locked. It seemed his last visit to Tamlin went better than he’d hoped for. Neither he nor Feyre had heard from the asshole since that day. 

“Ah, she did, and fell in love with you,” Amarantha crooned. “And Azriel’s a baby daddy. How about Cassian?”

“Cassie is in love with Nesta,” Mila said.

Amarantha’s brows nearly shot into her hairline. “Archeron? Shit, his standards must have really lowered.”

“Shit,” Mila repeated, and giggled.

“Don’t say that word,” Rhysand whispered to Mila.

“Don’t tell my daughter what she can and can’t say,” Amarantha snapped. “She’s not your daughter.”

“Do you even know who her father is?” Rhysand asked, before he could stop himself. Mila didn’t seem to notice, an older guard was coming around, handing lollipops to the kids, and Mila was waiting eagerly in her chair. 

Amarantha’s eyes had narrowed. “Yes, jackass, I do, and now that Az is having a child of his own, Mila will be seeing him a lot more.”

Rhysand stilled. “The fuck are you talking about?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot these past few weeks,” Amarantha said, sitting back. “Azriel’s negligence has already begun. He’s not here, doing his duty to Mila. Instead, he’s with Elain, obsessing over his unborn child. It’s only a matter of time before he starts ignoring Mila entirely.”

“Azriel loves Mila like she’s his own,” Rhysand spat. “Letting her go with anyone else would be fucked up, even for you.”

Amarantha took no offence. She simply grinned as Mila hopped up from her chair and dug through the bucket of lollipops. 

“I disagree. In fact, I’ve already given Mila’s dad a call. He’ll be paying a visit to Azriel, soon.”

Rhysand said nothing as Mila crawled onto his lap. “Can you open this, Rhysie?”

Clearing his throat, Rhysand took the sucker and took off the wrapper before giving it back to Mila.

“Thank you,” she grinned, putting the sucker in her mouth before throwing her little arms around Rhysand’s neck.

“You can’t do this,” Rhysand breathed. “You just want something to control, but it’s not right, and you know it.”

Amarantha shook her head. “You don’t even know who her father is.”

“I know if he slept with you he must be a lowlife dipshi-” Rhysand’s word broke off, remembering there was a four-year-old within earshot. “Not good.”

Mila was singing a song in his ear, oblivious to it all, her entire, innocent world revolved around her lollipop. 

“You’ll all find out soon, won’t you? Besides, you used to sleep with me,” Amarantha said, lips twisted upward. “Now, Mila.” Mila turned around at the sound of her name. “Tell mama what I’ve missed.”

Just like that, Rhysand was forgotten. Mila told Amarantha about preschool, about all she did while Azriel was at work.. Then, she told Amarantha about Rhysand’s wedding, and how pretty she felt in her flower girl dress. She also told her mother that Uncle Az was going to be a daddy, and she would have a little brother or sister soon.

Rhysand’s heart broke at the words, at the little girl’s excitement. 

Innocent.

She was so fucking innocent.

Rhysand felt sick. He didn’t know who the father was. None of them did. They all just assumed Amarantha was sleeping with so many different men that she didn’t know. The thought of some random dick coming to take Mila away from Azriel…

Azriel would be crushed.

But he wouldn’t let Mila go, not without a fight - a fight he didn’t need as he prepared to bring a child into the world. Elain would support him, of course. She had grown to love Mila, too.

They all loved Mila.

The guard by the door soon announced that visiting hours were over.

Amarantha stood diligently from her chair, kissed Mila on the forehead, then pressed her lips to Rhysand’s, quickly. His jaw went hard, his lips tight.

The second she broke away from him, she whispered, “Let Azriel know about my little surprise.”

As Amarantha walked away, Mila looked up at Rhysand. “Why you kiss mama?”

Rhysand didn’t answer. With a sigh, he stood up, picking her up as he did so. She clung to his neck, the sucker still in her mouth, as they hauled ass to the parking lot. 

~~~~~

Elain was practically bouncing out of her chair. Azriel, as always, seemed perfectly calm.

“How are you not freaking out?” she asked. 

Azriel chuckled. “Because I know everything will be fine.”

“How?” she asked, rising to her feet. “Oh, I’m gonna puke.”

“There’s a garbage-”

But she had already found the trash can and was hunched over it, vomiting up what little she had managed to get into her stomach for breakfast that morning. Azriel was behind her, instantly, holding back her hair.

She leaned back into him and groaned. He stood there for a moment, comforting her as she caught her breath.

“What if they can’t find a heartbeat?” she whispered.

Azriel turned her around so that she was facing him. He kissed her forehead, softly. “Nothing out of the ordinary has happened, okay? According to my sources, you are a perfectly healthy pregnant woman, and there is a baby with a strong, little heartbeat in there.”

Elain couldn’t help but smile. “And who are your sources?”

“The internet,” he mumbled, and Elain laughed, pressing her forehead into his chest. 

She didn’t have to stress about the unknown for much longer, though, because the door opened and the doctor walked in. They had gone to high school with him, he had been in the same grade as Azriel, played basketball alongside him.

His icy blue eyes shone as he took in Azriel and Elain.

“Hey,” he grinned, clapping Azriel on the shoulder before shaking Elain’s hand.

“Hey, Kal,” Azriel replied with a smile. “Long time.”

Kallias chuckled. “Yeah, it has been. I’m glad you told Viv you were looking for a doctor. She hauled ass home and told me if I didn’t make room for you two, she’d riot.”

Viviane was Mila’s preschool teacher. She had also graduated the same year as Azriel. Her and Kallias had gotten married just after high school.

Elain laughed, quietly. “We appreciate you getting us in. It’s good to see you.”

“You too,” he replied, gently. “Hop up on the table for me.” 

Elain did so and laid back. 

“Morning sickness?” he asked, as he sat on a stool that he wheeled toward her. Azriel stood on the opposite side of the table, quietly.

“Ugh, yes,” Elain began.

“Good.”

When she looked at him like he was crazy, he chuckled. “Believe it or not, it’s a sign that the baby is healthy.”

Elain looked at Azriel. He was grinning - no doubt something he already knew from his sources. 

“At this point, your baby is the size of a kidney bean and only weighs a few ounces,” Kallias continued, pulling out a tube of gel. “You may start to notice your abdomen starting to grow, and you may notice your breasts getting bigger, too.” At that, he winked at Azriel. “If you haven’t already.”

Elain’s cheeks heated.

Kallias huffed a laugh. “Alright, pull up your shirt for me.”

She exposed her belly and took Azriel’s hand. Kallias’ smile softened at her tiny, growing bump. “Alright. We’re gonna try to find a heartbeat. If we don’t find one today, don’t panic. It’s normal, considering the fetus is so small. In that case, I’ll have you come back in a few weeks to try again. Okay?” Elain nodded. Kallias asked, softly, ”Ready?”

“Yes,” Elain breathed. 

“Sorry, this part’s cold.” He squeezed the gooey gel onto her abdomen, then took a little probe and spread out the gel before slowly moving it around her abdomen. 

The seconds seemed to pass too slowly. 

Azriel’s thumb was lightly brushing over the back of her hand as they waited. 

Suddenly, Kallias stopped and looked up at Elain with a smile as a fast-paced beating filled the room. 

Elain looked up at Azriel and laughed. The heartbeat was fast, seemed too fast, but Kallias said it was normal, meant it was a healthy heartbeat. 

Elain decided then, as tears filled her eyes, that it was the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. Judging by the softness of Azriel’s eyes, of his smile, he felt the same.

~~~~~

Cassian pulled into the townhouse’s driveway. He’d barely taken off his helmet as he knocked on the front door. 

He hadn’t seen Nesta since the night he spent with her, watching movies. He had texted her the night before, though, asking her if she wanted to go out.

She had said yes, replied quickly.

So, Cassian had taken a bike home from work and planned to take her to dinner.

The door opened a minute later, and Nesta walked out onto the porch. She took one look at the bike and raised a brow.

“You should know by now what a night out with me entails.”

Nesta huffed a laugh then gestured to her close-toed shoes. “Obviously.”

He grinned and handed her the extra helmet. “Come on.”

She took the helmet and pulled it down onto her head. Cassian helped her fasten the chinstrap before putting on his own. 

Her arms wrapped around him as they sped down the road, into the heart of the city, where they eventually came to a little restaurant in a brick building. Nesta smoothed down her hair as they entered. 

“Italian?” she asked, keeping close to Cassian as they were led to a little table by the window.

“You don’t like Italian?” he asked, as they sat down.

“Everyone likes Italian,” she muttered, with a small smile, looking down at the menu.

But Cassian was looking at her.

She didn’t look up from her menu when she asked, “May I help you?”

Cassian chuckled, picking up his own menu. “You look nice.”

“I know,” she said, quietly. “You look pretty nice, too.” 

“I know,” Cassian said, mimicking her tone.

Nesta shook her head. “So, after we eat a delicious meal, where are you taking me this time?”

“You’re so impatient,” he said, grinning.

“Yeah, I am,” she laughed. “Answer my fucking question.”

Cassian shrugged. “Wherever you wanna go. Tell me where, and I’ll take you there.”

“Anywhere?” she asked, brow raised.

“Within reason,” Cassian muttered.

She snorted, but nodded. “I like that idea.”

“That’s because you like to be in charge,” he countered.

Nesta didn’t deny it. “Obviously.” 

Nesta pretended to think about it the entire time they sat at that table. Every time Cassian asked what she was thinking, she gave him the same answer he had always given her - it’s a surprise.

“You’ll have to tell me eventually,” he laughed. “I’m driving.”

Nesta had finished her plate of pasta as she said, “Are you?”

Cassian stilled, eyes narrowed, before taking his last bite. “Oh, I’m sure as hell not letting you drive my bike.”

“Think I can’t do it?” she asked.

Cassian hesitated.

It was a trick question, he swore.

“Let me drive,” she said, cocking her head to the side. 

“Hmm,” Cassian grunted. “No.”

“Come on.”

“You don’t know how.”

“Then teach me.”

They stared at one another, neither of them budging. 

Cassian let out a long, slow breath. “Fine, but if you wreck it, I will make you watch so many shitty old movies-”

“I’ll be careful,” she interrupted, chuckling. 

“Better be,” he muttered, before asking for the check.

Far before he was ready, they were back on his bike, Cassian sitting behind Nesta.

“Alright,” he said, firing up the engine and starting to back them up. His arms were around her, his hands on the handlebars. “Put your hands under mine.”

She did so. Cassian’s hands tightened around hers. Yeah, he wasn’t sure about this one bit.

“Alright,” he said, again, guiding her hands as they approached the edge of the parking lot, ready to merge onto the road. 

Cassian had never let anyone else drive any of the bikes he brought home. She would be disappointed if she thought he was going to stop guiding her hands.

Not happening.

He revved the engine and Nesta’s body shook against him with laughter. 

“Here we go,” he muttered, heart beating wildly as she motioned for them to turn right. 

Right they went.

They drove down the main street, through the city, until they were heading down a familiar backroad. Cassian let his hands loosen, just a little bit, once it seemed Nesta was getting the hang of it. She was going slower than he would’ve, which he was grateful for.

Eventually, Nesta was pulling off of the road, to a familiar place he’d brought her a couple months before. 

She stopped the bike, and Cassian put his legs out to catch them, finally fully releasing her hands.

After turning off the engine, he took off his helmet.

“Come on,” she said, not waiting for him as she found the trail in the woods. 

With a fond smile, he followed her into the trees and down the pathway, toward the waterfalls. 

“This is my favorite place you’ve taken me,” she said, although she didn’t turn around as she did. She climbed down the path until she was on that large, flat rock, where she slipped off her socks and shoes. After rolling up her jeans, she hung her legs over the rock, into the water. 

Cassian did the same, sitting next to her. 

“I’m glad you liked it,” he said.

“You told me you liked me that day,” she said, looking out at the falls. “It was a good day.”

Cassian looked at her through his side eye before reaching over to gently take her hand.

She didn’t pull away.

“Yeah, it was,” he agreed.

When she looked at him, she froze. “You’re giving me that look.”

“What look?” Cassian crooned.

“The look that says you’re about to do something that’s going to piss me the fuck off.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Cassian said, innocently. 

Just as Nesta opened her mouth to reply, Cassian was wrapping his arms around Nesta’s waist and pulling her down into the frigid waters of the Sidra. 

When they came up out of the water, Nesta was screaming. “Fuck, that’s cold!” 

She splashed Cassian in the face, who simply laughed, treading in place. 

He splashed her back.

With a scowl, she swam to where Cassian was staying afloat and pushed him back under the water by his shoulders. He came up, laughing, right in front of her face.

Her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

His arms wrapped around her waist.

He admired how she looked, clothes and hair soaked, droplets of water falling down her face. Her lips were slightly parted, her blue-gray eyes wide as she looked into his. 

“You look nice,” he whispered, the sound of the waterfalls nearly drowning out his words.

“You look pretty nice, too,” she said, brushing his wet hair back off his forehead.

He could feel her breath, warm against his mouth. 

Her legs wrapped around his waist as he pulled her up, closer toward him.

She could never be close enough.

Closing the short distance between them, Cassian softly pressed his lips to hers.

~~~~~

“You WHAT?” Feyre yelled.

Mila had let the beans spill about Amarantha’s goodbye. Azriel had shown up mere seconds later to pick her up and, after giving them a quick rundown of Elain’s appointment, they were gone.

Leaving Rhysand and Feyre alone in their apartment.

“She kissed me,” Rhysand said, “not the other way around, calm down.”

“She put her dirty mouth on my husband’s!” Feyre said, throwing her hands in the air. “Bitch. And don’t fucking tell me to calm down. Never tell a woman to calm down.”

Rhysand didn’t correct her. Instead, he started picking up the dirty plates, silverware, and dishes off the table, bringing them to the sink. They’d had chicken nuggets and macaroni and cheese - Mila’s choice. 

Feyre shuddered. “That pisses me the fuck off. Just when you think she could do all the damage she could do, she pulls shit like that.” 

“That’s not all she pulled,” Rhysand said, rinsing off the dishes as he put them into the dishwasher.

Feyre came up behind them and pulled herself up on the counter. “Care to elaborate?”

Rhysand turned off the sink and ran his hand through his hair. “She decided she doesn’t like that Elain is pregnant. She plans to use Azriel’s baby as a tool for manipulation.”

A minute passed when Feyre said nothing, and when Rhysand turned around to face her, leaning against the counter behind him, she finally said, “I don’t understand.” 

“She told Mila’s dad that Azriel has her. And, apparently, told him to take her away from Az.”

Feyre blinked, letting the words sink in. “Wait- Mila’s dad? As in...she’s actually acknowledging who the bastard is?”

Rhysand nodded. “So she says. She wanted me to tell Azriel, but...I don’t know. He was so happy, just now, I couldn’t.” 

Feyre’s eyes softened. “It’s not your fault, Rhys. But fuck Amarantha. She’s been a shitty parent all these years. Azriel has been that little girl’s only constant, and if this jackass takes her away….” She shook her head. “Did she say who it was?”

“No,” Rhysand breathed. “But, I have a really bad feeling about it, Feyre. Amarantha kept him away all these years, and, as you said, she’s been a shitty parent. If Mila’s dad is someone Amarantha wanted nothing to do with…”

“Why would she want him now, then?” Feyre asked. 

Rhysand shrugged, turning back to the sink to finish the dishes. “Because she’s bored, and she’s bitter, and she likes to watch Azriel suffer, as she always has.” 

Feyre said nothing else. She stayed sitting on the counter, quietly. 

There was nothing else to say.

Nothing that would change the hell that Azriel was about to find himself in, anyway.

 ~~~~~

Azriel had driven Mila home and put her in bed before he joined Mor on the couch with a glass of wine.

“No Elain tonight?” she asked.

“Apparently it’s sister night. Nesta’s on her way home. They plan to watch a movie and paint each other’s nails or something like that.”

Mor laughed. “Sounds fun. We should do that, too. You’re good at painting my nails.”

Azriel rolled his eyes. “I was in high school. My skills may have faded through the years.”

“Doubtful,” she said, grinning. “Well, I may be being selfish, but I’m glad to have you for a night to myself. Daddy.”

“Do not call me that,” he muttered, sipping from his glass.

Mor’s grin widened. “Why not, daddy?”

“Stop.”

“I like it when you use that tone with me,” she said, winking, then added, “Daddy.”

Azriel flicked her nose, and Mor’s laughter filled the air.

It was cut short when a loud knock came to the front door.

“Who the hell is that?” Azriel mumbled. “It’s late.”

Concern consumed him, suddenly thinking it was Elain, suddenly thinking something was wrong. He pulled his phone out of his pocket as he padded toward the door to make sure he hadn’t missed any messages.

He hadn’t.

Shoving it back into his pocket, he threw open the door and froze.

Eris Vanserra stood outside, grinning. “Azriel. I hear you have my daughter.”

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

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Prompts:

{ “I’m gonna fuck you so hard that you forget you ever met that asshole” - Feysand } -anonymous

{ “How about Nessian needing to fake date when they go home for the holidays?!” } - anonymous

{ “could u pls do like an elriel fic where azriel is like this mysterious bad boy and elain is a goody two shoes lik aaaaa i cant get that image out of my head” } - anonymous

[worldcakecakecake]

Feliciano and the King of Hearts

Chosen by the gods as the Queen of Hearts from the moment of birth,  we follow Feliciano’s story as he grows into royal life, learns to rule,  go against age old customs, and his relationship with his husband to  be, the King of Hearts.

Chapter 1 I  Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 IChapter 9I Chapter 10I Chapter 11I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13 I Chapter 14 I Chapter 15 I Chapter 16 I Chapter 17 I Chapter 18 I Chapter 19I Chapter 20 I Chapter 21 I Chapter 22 I Chapter 23 I Chapter 24 I Chapter 25 I Chapter 26 I Chapter 27 I Chapter 28I Chapter 29 I Chapter 30 I Chapter 31 I Chapter 32 I Chapter 33 I Chapter 34 I Chapter 35 I Chapter 36 I Chapter 37I chapter 38 I Chapter 39 I Chapter 40 I Chapter 41 I Chapter 42 I Chapter 43 I Chapter 44 I Chapter 45 I Chapter 46I Chapter 47 I Chapter 48 I Chapter 49 I Chapter 50 I Chapter 51 I Chapter 52 I Chapter 53 I Chapter 54 I Chapter 55 I Chapter 56 I Chapter 57 I Chapter 58 I Chapter 59 I Chapter 60I Chapter 61 I Chapter 62 I Chapter 63 I Chapter 64  I Chapter 65 I Chapter 66 I Chapter 67 I Chapter 68  I Chapter 69 I Chapter 70 I Chapter 71 I Chapter 72 I Chapter 73 I Chapter 74 I Chapter 75 I Chapter 76 I Chapter 77 I Chapter 78

                                                  Chapter 79

“Now!” Arthur shouted.

 Renata quickly ceased the glow in her hand, gone like the flicker of a candle.

 “Now somebody go get-” Louis was interrupted by a sudden blast, white and rampaging across the room. They quickly thought it an attack from Destro that had managed straight at their location, but they didn’t hurt…the light became one of warmth, of familiarity. They actually heard Augustino laughing. The light was gone swiftly, everyone began to stand from their fall, just in time to see Feliciano arise, taking a large deep breath, to then cough as he held to the stairs of the pool. The first one to come to his side was Kiku, one hand to help him stand on the dry stone of the room, the other comforting on his back. They all rushed to circle him, but Kiku held a hand to give Feliciano some decency of space, to breathe back in actual living oxygen into his physical body…alive again after a month.

 In all honesty…Feliciano looked horrible. He was hunched as he leaned to breathe again, wet, dripping water to the ground, his clothes haggard and his body was only slowly recovering back its color. He still leaned on Kiku, who still offered to give him support.

 This was not how they expected him to return. If he was like this…it only meant… “You…couldn’t get it…couldn’t you?” Roderich guessed, deflated, all joining in this accept of what was soon to be a world ending failure. They believed it more so when Feliciano hanged his head lower, refusing to look at them.

 They sighed, some began to tear and whimper, given up, kneeling to the floor ready to have everything destroyed before them. But whatever wallowing that wanted to continue, was broken with a sudden red glow, cracking and even drawing upon Feliciano’s fallen hand. Feliciano chuckled, beginning to stand, carefully moving Kiku to the side. All water on him left, dried, looking pristine even if he was bare footed and still wore a simple blouse and pants. His hair and skin shone brighter, with deeper colors and from him came this stronghold of magic, decorating the room in a sense that alighted them, shone them forward to be coated in this new air.

 “I got more than just the alignment,” he assured as he opened and showed them his eyes covered completely in magic, bright, powerful, but yet still they held the childish wonder of Feliciano, assuring them it was deeply him. “Much…much more.” He opened his hands to let his arms begin to get decorated in shines of gold and red, letting the room tremble and grow with a garden of magic, of sparks and lights that fascinated all to a stupor. He let it all stop with a simple sway of his hands lowering, his eyes closing to then alight again with his usual amber. Before all could word and celebrate, smiling and shinning deeply with hope, another crash came into the room from a messenger, tired, huffing and ready to fall to the ground.

 “Destro is in the midst of the city! He’s approaching the castle and we are not enough to hold him! You must come and help us!”

 “Perfect! We have Feliciano with us and he holds the alignment,” Yao announced, as all brandished their weapons and magic again. Only but Feliciano startled and questioned as his gaze was frantic.

 “We’ll help him however necessary. We will attack this instant and make sure Destro is dead by the-"

 “Wait! Wait! Wait!” Feliciano interrupted his father, standing before all as a blockade.

 “Feliciano, we have to act now!” Lovino shouted.

 “I know, I know! Just please…don’t kill him…”

 They all widened and stood perplexed, for not just the words but the feel in his tone.

 “What do you mean not kill him? He has helped destroy a large part of Clubs and is the culprit for having the entire southern Hearts kingdom obliterated. If he comes any closer he’ll have us all killed instead!” Aldrich shouted.

 Even if all the energy currently rested inside him, Feliciano hurt, holding back tears as he shook and tried to control them to stay inside. “Let me deal with this! You can help me all you want when we have to defeat Khaos…but leave Destro to me.” With the words he managed his calm and straightening, a stronghold that actually got the rest to fall and stand back, lessening the hold of their weapons and even the energy of their magic.

 Feliciano sighed, calm…then potence as he turned to the messenger still trying to calm his breaths. “Tell everyone to fall back…and to come straight to the castle. One brigade is commanded to keep a Titanium shine spell so Destro can attack until everyone is safely secured inside. Once done, I myself will place a protective shield to keep the castle safe. I assure you all no harm will come.”

 “And then you’re going to face Destro alone?” Lili was dreading.

 Another shook that caused pieces to fall in the room, a roar that made them all shutter.

 “Yes. I will.” Decreed strongly in his voice, one everyone knew they could not go against, having to nod and accept, if even shaking with worry. “I will only put up the shield once everyone is in…and you have to promise you will stay inside.” He turned with strength in his foots, one that made all bow to in reverence and accept. “Only then will I head out and face him.”

 “Your majesty…what are you doing now?” Elizabeta dared herself to ask.

 “I will watch and make sure that my commands are fulfilled…and I have to look for my harp.” And with a surprising calm he took to the halls to head to its storage.

  The call was done quickly. Feliciano saw from his heights as messengers spread and began to lead way back to the castle. Some rushed alone, others needed assistance because of their wounds, depending on the help of other soldiers to make way, but they made haste. Whoever was left in the city made approach to the castle, all behind a line of wizards that kept the Titanium Shine as the Queen had told. The spell was but a hallucination, a tall pillar of strong grey magic that feigned the energy of a living person, a perfect distraction for Destro, who attacked it as viciously as he had done everything, the ricochets deadly to the city, tearing and coating in smoke of destruction. Entire streets were there no longer, others blackened, Destro’s mere presence calling poison to reign even in the skies, tempting to rain with burn.

 This was the first time Feliciano’s eyes fell on Destro, the expanse of darkness, raging and swinging with its own arms and face, with runes of red and white, shaped with strengths that were actually wider than Khaos. He had yet to see Khaos in his alignment, but already Destro proved much more evil than the depictions he had seen long ago in the cave of artifacts.

 He gulped, he gripped harder the column of the harp he had now…trying to contain his fear…to see…

 The ground shook, awaking Feliciano from his thoughts, to realizing that the wizards and the last of the soldiers were entering the front gardens of the castle. It was his time to leave…to face…to begin and end this all. He actually…believed. He had confidence, one that made him stand prideful, with a deep breath that was only for the beginning of a melody.

 “I’ll journey and see beyond the lines of our kingdom,

Never a fear to be lost, never a fear to fall,

In pleasure, I will take the mysteries of what I could meet,

If you accept to be mine, my Queen.”

 He sung it underneath his breath, tranquil and peaceful despite this disarray.

 In the eternal reserve, there was indeed much more than just the alignment, more than just power and magic. There was information, knowledge and instructions about everything, even notes of power left behind. One of those messages was the ability to actually change the harp. No…he would not dare change the design, structure and color Augusta had placed, for it was sufficiently beautiful. All he needed was to change its size, something small he could carry in his palm, to easily begin his descend down the castle, like a singular entity that existed out of everything, merely trying to make a passing.

 “No heat, no cold, will stop me of my search,

No sun, no rain to go against my strength,

Just promise me your hand,

And love me in our eternity.”

 This music he tried to make his own sound, away from the shouts, the hurry of everyone trying to make their place in the castle for the shield.

 “My sun, my moon, my land, my love,

I know it’s a journey you will overcome,

But I don’t need you to go so far,

I want you here to kiss me.”

 He entered the place of action, of all running and creating a panic that Feliciano felt suspended in as he made his way across. He paid no mind to them, he left them to their disorder. No one really came into silence until they noticed him…easy, like he was just strolling through the castle trying to find a pleasant breeze.

 “Would you want all the gold I will find for you?

Would you like the songs I will bring from afar for you?

Would you accept me as your shield?

And would you want me always by your side?”

 He sang on, making that image more the one that all thought Feliciano was really going through. They all stood as they witnessed him, letting a rare peace fall on these halls.

 “What is he doing?” One soldier asked.

 “Isn’t he supposed to be facing Destro?”

 “They said he was going to do it alone!”

 “But he’s just singing!”

 The whispers continued.

 “I don’t want any of the riches you will bring,

I don’t care for any of the songs,

I only want you to hold,

I only want your arms around me.”

 The voices would always fall, beginning to just accept…and trust whatever it was that the Heartian Queen will do.

 It was his own silent parade down the rest of the halls, down every stair he needed to take, reaching ground, the main door of the castle now appearing before him. The commotion was the strongest here, filled, with people in shouted pain and tears, healers coming to act quick, screams and hurry to head in from the royals at the front.

 “Bring me your love, your kisses, your loyalty,

Your passion, your hope, your defeat,

Your promise, your weakness, your strength,

I will keep it all in my heart.”

 “The casters are almost here!” Kandake shouted, shock panic in her expression.

 “And where in the hell is Feliciano?” Vash shouted, just as he was met with a surprising silence, noticing how all gazed back to the very figure he questioned, making his way singularly down the hall.

 “Let the doors open wider…let the last of them come in,” Lili reminded, strong and pushing so all could fulfill despite this rare glow Feliciano shone in, distracting and even beautiful.

 “I’ll journey and see beyond the lines of our kingdom,

Never a fear to be lost, never a fear to fall,

In pleasure, I will take the mysteries of what I could meet,

If you accept to be mine, my King.”

 Nobody dared question the song…they just gave the necessary space for Feliciano to take, in that moment handing everything to him. He now had their lives and future, hanging in his hands and power.

 The last of the soldiers made entrance to the castle, the casters were now right before them, still holding to the spell, turning to the royals awaiting the next command.

 “Stop the enchantment. Head inside. I’ll deal with him.”

 They nodded, albeit fearful still as they turned their hands to release the hold. They rushed inside, leaving the pillar as it was, able to withstand a couple of more whiplashes from the remaining energy.

 There was still some time.

 While all shook at the image of Destro so near the castle, Feliciano stood stable, unaffected and with a calm some were envious the Queen could keep. The royals kept a guard around him, watching and waiting for any action. Only Pookie broke this as he took landing on Feliciano’s shoulder as usual, cuddling and comforting no matter the turmoil. It was almost like the monster before them wasn’t there at all.

 “If you are waiting for me to change my mind, I am not.”

 “To be honest, do whatever you want…just get rid of that thing,” Arthur admitted, his fear shown in the slight shake in his tone, as well as the fierceness he gave that made this a command.

 Vincenzo glared, but it eased as he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder, “we’ll be here, ready to serve you for anything. Defeat this menace…but stay safe.”

 Feliciano smiled, the enchanting one that spread and made them all shine on this eve of darkness. “As I’ve said before…stay in the castle. Leave everything to me.” And with that he took a step out of the threshold, beginning his way, the others not daring to close the door, for it was their watch to the spectacle they knew would mark them all forever. Many others took watch from any of the windows, frozen and expecting.

 In that chest of power, not only had Feliciano found information, but he found the forgotten lyrics to a song Augusta had long ago created, a hymn to the misery of losing her beloved.

 “My sun, my moon, my land, my love…” he had begun to sing again. It was louder this time, echoing to the point that all in the castle could hear it…they even wondered if it spread to the whole city, since Destro suddenly stopped, a widened expression in his eyes that was eerily human.

 “The sky has all fallen…” he continued, but he didn’t go on without a sudden deep breath, alighting in beautiful marks, ruby red. Once all that energy he needed was gathered, as he released his breath, large red lights began to grow from different corners of the city. He didn’t have to twirl his hand or utter some incantation…he walked on down the main courtyard, a simple thought in charge of letting these lights glow the streets they were located on, rushing forward until they reached the center of the castle. From the base it created at its edges, a net like structure began to grow, beginning a covering sphere of the castle, slow as Feliciano was still kept at its circulated area.

 “The kingdom weeps their king’s farewell…” he managed to sing on as he found himself ever reaching the official gates, only a matter of steps now.

 “And a queen breaks at her lover’s parting again…”

 To his surprise…Destro remained awfully still…as if he was enjoying from the song…perhaps trying to find its location…or trying to find his target.

 “But in your defend, all will join and fight for our future…”

 The shield continued its upward current, to the amazement of all who stayed inside the castle, distracted in its form enough that they didn’t see as Feliciano finally placed a foot outside of the perimeters. With his exit, the shield met at the top and finished. The castle was now well protected…nothing would be capable of destroying it…and even at the worst it will still stand. Feliciano could now keep his focus on only Destro.

 “…so the heavens will bless in your rest our perfect peace,” he finished the song, elongating an indeed rare silence in the city. To the surprise of those back in the castle, Destro didn’t lunge forward and Feliciano didn’t attack…they were easy in this stillness. They both continue to breathe out, nervous, like two strangers worried over their first meeting.

 Somehow…even for this, Feliciano had a song, new and his…with thoughts for Ludwig and a willingness to do anything…absolutely anything for him.

 “My sun, my moon, my land, my love…” he then began a slow reach, a walk forward, brave and with a shining happiness from his expression to his steps, eager, each new approach lighting the more, extinguishing more the fear.

 “My king who shines above all,” he smiled, such joy that already teared at his eyes.

 Destro continued this stillness, awed and wondered, frozen yet in his spot.

 “Darkened, lost and taken…” and Feliciano finally took that weakness to use, beginning a spell that lighted up the entire city, glowing in gold as he used it for an intense heat, one that surely burnt and brought Destro back to screeching and sending swings, destroying streets and buildings…and yet Feliciano stood in  their fault, smiling and unaware.

 “I know your heart is stronger.”

 Now the song was an add to this poison. Destro wanted rid of it, so he trampled forward meaning to fulfill his kill as intended.

 Raging, monstrous, Feliciano still looking so diminutive in his shadow, and yet the Queen continued to smile and only move forward, in a want to meet him.

 Many in the castle had to shield their eyes, some began to weep and others shook as if Destro’s was above them ready for taking. It could very well happen if he just swallowed Feliciano…which seemed would be very likely the case.

 “Your light is brighter…” And Feliciano dared halt, much to the anguish of the castle, slowly, painfully slow, raising a hand…not the one that had the harp. From there, he gathered light…warming and loving…comfortable and even…happy. Despite how diminutive it was, right in the middle of this darkening blaze, looking like it could easily drown between all…Destro stood just as Feliciano, both not daring any harm to the other.

 “You are ruler, you are king…” and they saw then that the song was dedication…dedication to Destro. The gaze their eyes shared was of childhood friends…turned to lovers…to then the King and Queen of Hearts. Destro let himself sit, the viciousness of his killing hands, turning gentle, forming fingers…familiar fingers that reached only for a simple touch. There was no fire, no magic, when Feliciano reached for its touch, he didn’t hurt, in fact, his smile was only larger, letting his hand caress the large hand of darkness like any regular skin. He embraced it, he even cradled it, letting himself lay on it, already feeling him entirely. He gazed up, with hint of tears from the peak of this happiness, to those large eyes that now more than ever reflected his beloved.

 “I know it’s you…Ludwig…” he couldn’t keep the last words in the tune of the song, for it was more important that he knew he was there, more important that they had this reunion, a reminder that at the worst…they would triumph.

 Destro…Ludwig…accepted this welcome, letting himself lean in blissful rest and comfort, careful as he lay right over the tiny figure of his husband. How he could, Feliciano raised his arms and embraced him, even as his face was formed this monstrous, loyal in giving him his ever devoting love, caressing and mending and how he wished he could kiss him. It was difficult, but…he tried, his lips reaching to any corner of a mouth he could reach, and with it, he began the full intent of his spell, one that went on its own course as he instead focus on feeling the powerful emotion of having his husband's lips again.

 “Is he…is he kissing that thing?” Vash couldn’t help but mention. The rest were too dumbfounded to response, only watching as the city began to glow more in the scene of this kiss.

 Despite how it was all gold, it seemed like color was brought back to the city, enveloping everything, slowly tearing apart every inch of darkness from this evil vessel. No more storms, no more poison, instead there was healing, coating everything in flowers, in new jewels to the buildings, in a brightening that made the damaged parts of the city new again. Destro turned smaller, smaller, every part of him slashed to nothing, disintegrating instead in shine and stars that made this grey day shinning with the colors of a beautiful morning. Piece by piece this vicious monster began to be chipped away until only this body remained…a human body. The golden light it was developed in was too much to really notice any features, but there was no hesitation in the way Feliciano desperately held to it, letting it rest on him, coming to kneel down until it could lay on his lap comfortably.

 Knowing it was safe, the shield on the castle fell, in a blink, and in that instant the castle doors slammed open with the insistence of the royals. Feliciano didn’t care for this commotion, he simply let his hands trail on the figure’s hair, their blond strands coming back, their silk and softness, the hardened head, the strong jaw, nose and cheeks. His skin turned its rightful pale, his body as perfectly as Feliciano always considered it, left with only tattered remains of surely the last armor he had fought with. The brightness began to dwindle, leaving a wondrous heat in the city that made them swear a melody continued to sing. With the last twinkling of gold gone, there was a sudden grasp of air, of steady breathing…along with a heartbeat.

 Ludwig remained in this rest, letting his body slowly get used to skin, to breathing in and out his control, testing with sudden grips and shakes that indeed…he was his own again. He baptized that aware with a fluttering of his eyes, that beautiful blue that the very sky seemed to have granted him. He saw a shining day, he felt the warmth of great summers and then he saw…his own angel, his sun, his love and queen and already he smiled. It caused a slight pang…but it didn’t matter…it was just the right reminder he was back…this was real…Feliciano was there.

 “Ludwig?” Feliciano still questioned it, still wondering if this was the plethora of all dreams and he was still stuck in one of the realms.

 Ludwig groaned and still found it hard to move for now…but it would pass, he would heal…and he will live. This time he could show a grin that reflected the light of this new sun on him, making it more real for Feliciano, who began to tighten the hold he kept on his body, whose eyes began to water, but even so his own grin wanted to keep expanding.

 “Feliciano…” he managed to speak, rusted and sore, “…do you…remember that spell I used to do as a kid after my power activation…the one I had to do-” “-two for each afternoon hour,” they repeated together in a perfect sync that made them chuckle.

 “And do you remember…how it was you that always convinced me to do it when I complained about it…and you always…tried to heal or calm whenever I got burnt afterwards…”

 “Yes…yes, yes I remember that dearly.” Tears fell, but even with this shake, Feliciano went on smiling.

 “I feel like…something just like that happened now…I couldn’t…control my power…I couldn’t…I couldn’t….” Ludwig found it hard to speak when he was shaking with the same tears that took him, the emotion piling. “-do anything…I left myself turn into a monster and destroy everything I hold dear, but you …you brought me back…you stopped this…you saved me…”

 “Oh, but Ludwig, despite all this darkness, you managed to see me between and let the spell heal…you let yourself be freed. It wasn’t me alone. Oh, how I missed you and how I love you, I love you dearly and I just…I just had to save you. These last few weeks…without you were awful. I was so lost…everything was darker and hopeless…I was so ready to give up and join you wherever you were but…there’s a world looking up to us, there are tons of other millions we have to save and…” he raised his arms to the jewels were their children lay. Ludwig managed slight reaches to be able to caress them, smiling, the joy letting him raise from his lay a slight more. “…we have our own kids to show the very world we live in.”  The jewels had gotten brighter, new red vines began to grow around Feliciano’s wrists and Ludwig was sure to touch every line, proving to his children that he was there…that he will be there. Their gazes met and they knew for sure all was real, their touch was theirs, their breath running and every fiber of magic in them was glowing now for their return. It exploded as they reached forward for their kiss, deepening and passionate, letting themselves in that fuel, letting whatever tears come down and fall for once in comfort and trust in the new flourished land below them. They settled between on one another in whimpers, in a hold all around them that was tight and placed, nothing, nothing…not even the approach of all, shouting, crying and celebrating was enough to depart them.

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There’s so much that went wrong while writing this. To me, this chapter should have meant more, but in the end…I don’t know…it doesn’t feel like I wanted it to. I tried what I could of fixing it but after noticing I haven’t gotten any comments or words for this story in months…yes including the last amount of chapters…I should just…no care about this as most people do. So many times the last few weeks I’ve thought about stopping…but, NEWS, there’s only about three chapters left to finish the story, and after five years with this…I think I should give it the chance to at least let it be done. I told myself many times, I created this adventure for myself and anyone else who reads is just welcomed to come along on the ride. I really don’t like coming here all guilt trippy like this, but just…been through a lot the last few weeks, thinking a lot about usage of time…and sometimes I wondered why continue with a story that I only care about, wasting time? But then, exactly, I care about it, I adore it, I don’t need the lack of interest of strangers. It is great, I love it, and it is taking swell time. For those who have stuck and the very few who are the pushes that keep me going with this hideous mammoth. Thank you, and thus, I bring you a chapter in what I could of messy holiday shenanigans.

 As I said, savor it…only three more to go.

 Also, was this part really like the one in Moana? Yes, I know. I had this idea long before the movie came out, but sadly I was slower. The movie did give me the idea to add a song though~

[alexandrablake]

restless soul, lie down

Prompt: 16. “Do the drugs still get you high?” from this prompt list and 52. “Sometimes, memories are the worst torture.” from this one! Pairing: platonic!Hotch/Reid Word Count: 1,537 Warnings: mentions of drug abuse. references to the events of “revelations” (2x18). A/n: ooh baby, we’re late again. didn’t even start this one until 10 minutes before i was supposed to post it!! nice one, eva!!! (this is my interpretation of how they should have dealt with reid’s drug addiction btw)

     It was a fitting day- dark and dreary, rain pouring down as if to drown the world. The droplets splattered the windows, and the clouds blocked out the stars that would normally dot the night sky. It was quiet, too, the normal sound of people hard at work long gone. Two figures remained in the office, a tall, pale, and wiry one and a dark, serious, and concentrated one.

Hotch looked out his office window and saw Reid still sitting at his desk, hunched over with his head in his hands. Sparing a quick glance at the clock hanging on his wall, he noted the time far too late for even Reid to be there. He abandoned the report he had been working on and walked out into the bullpen. 

His footsteps were heavy as he descended the stairs, but the normally over-observant Reid took no notice. Hotch grabbed Emily’s chair and rolled it over so he sat in front of Spencer. It was only then that the younger man noticed his presence. 

“Hotch,” Spencer breathed, eyes darting wildly, “what are you doing here?”

Hotch leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Filling out reports. Why are you here?”

He received a light shrug as his answer. Hotch took in Reid’s disheveled state. His desk was in complete disorder; pencils were scattered, notes with indecipherable words scribbled onto them were placed haphazardly, and the essence of Reid was just gone. His normally ironed clothes were crumpled. It didn’t escape Hotch that they were the same ones from the day before. 

His physical appearance was almost worse. Reid’s eyes were sunk into his sockets, and dark circles sat beneath him. He hadn’t slept properly in weeks, and it was evident. His hair was a mess of brown hair, and it was clear that it as well hadn’t been cared for in a long time.

Hotch knew exactly what was happening. 

Rather than stating the obvious, he gave the young profiler a chance to admit it himself. “Are you alright?” “Hm?” Reid had become engrossed with fiddling with the array of pens across his desk. “Oh, yeah, no, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” “Yes, Hotch, I’m sure,” he snapped, completely unlike himself. 

Hotch tilted his head to the side and eyed Reid’s messenger bag. “Do you mind if I look through your bag?” “Yes!” Reid picked the bag up from the ground and clutched it to his chest. “Yes, I mind,” he added in a much softer voice.

“Why?”

“Stop profiling me.”

Sighing, the unit chief moved his chair closer. He pushed away the mess on the edge of the desk, and leaned his elbow onto it. He was done dancing around the issue.

“Do the drugs still get you high?”

Reid dropped the pen he was twirling around his fingers. He began to bounce his leg as he reached down to grab it, hands shaking the whole time. 

“I-I beg your pardon?”

Very calmly, Hotch repeated himself. Spencer seemed just as taken aback by the question the second time. He blinked harshly a few times, and wiped his palms on the top of his pants. 

“What are you-are you talking about?” His voice was shaky, and he stumbled over his words.

He was nervous. Hotch had struck a nerve.

“I mean, it’s very obvious you’re having a drug problem.” He held his hand out and began to tick his fingers as he listed off the reasons. “You’re snappy. You disappear periodically throughout the day. You’ve just undergone a traumatic experience. You very clearly have trouble focusing. You’re jittery.”

Reid pushed his hair behind his ears. 

“Need I go on?” Hotch blinked slowly and gauged the man’s response. 

“Those are all indicators of post-traumatic stress disorder. What makes you think I am doing drugs?” Hotch smiled grimly. That was more like the Reid he knew. “What are you using? Adderall? Something harder?”

The mop of brown hair flew around as he shook his head rapidly. “I don’t know what you are talking about.” “Reid…” Aaron trailed off, looking at the man with concerned eyes.

Spencer’s shoulders sagged, seemingly in defeat. “It’s not my fault, I didn’t mean to get addicted!”

“I know it isn’t. It’s never the victim’s fault,” Hotch said softly so as not to deter Reid from telling the story. “How did it start?”

“Back in that barn, Tobias- and it was Tobias- gave me some. Uh, he said it was to help me, that it made the beatings better. And it did. Then, um, when I shot him and I, uh, I asked you to let me stay back, I took the vials he had in his pocket.”

“Dilaudid?”

Reid’s face showed more years than he had lived as he answered quietly, “Yeah.”

“Is it to help the pain?” Hotch asked in an equally hushed voice.

“It was at first, yeah. I mean, it really started as most addictions do. Uh, you start to distract you from the world around you. It makes everything easier, you know? Well, no, you don’t know, but-”

“Reid,” Hotch stopped him, holding his hands up, “breathe.” “Breathe, right. Uh, yeah, it was a distraction at first. But then I had to have it. I think- I think I got used to the high? And then the flashbacks started, and I needed more. I just wanted to forget, Hotch. And it let me forget,” Reid stopped and looked away from the ground to the still droplet-covered windows. “I just wanted to forget.”

They sat in a saddened silence, the only sound being the rain falling from the sky and hitting the roof. Hotch was the first to break from the trance they had fallen into. 

“You’ve seen more horrors in your short years than almost everyone will see in their entire life. I don’t think wanting to forget is something anyone would blame you for. But using isn’t healthy, you know that.” Reid nodded. “We’ve both seen the effects that long-term drug use can do on a person’s mind. I’d hate to see what it would do to a mind as great as yours.”

They fell into silence once again, unspoken words hanging in the air like fog over a harbor.

The youth shined through Spencer as he asked, “Am I in trouble?”

“No, you are not in trouble.”

Reid sighed in relief and leaned back in his chair a little. His leg had stopped bouncing, and he could finally shift his gaze to meet the older profiler’s.

“You know that my office door is always open if you need to talk,” Hotch told him gently.

“Yeah, I know.”

“Is now one of those times?”

“Not really.”

Hotch didn’t press the matter. “Okay.” He held his hand out. “Now, let’s work on getting the real Spencer Reid back.”

Hotch could tell that Reid knew what the offered hand meant by the sloop in his shoulders. The younger man reached a shaky hand into the bag he was still clutching but paused before removing it. 

“Hotch, I don’t want the memories.”

A wave of sadness swept through Hotch at the question. “I think sometimes, memories are the worst torture. But I also think sometimes, they are the only cure.”

Reid frowned at the sentiment. “And how do I know which time this is?”

“You won’t until it happens. Is that a chance you are willing to take?”

Reid removed his hand from the bag, clutching three bottles with a clear liquid sloshing in them. “This has to work,” he said, his voice raspy. He sounded as if he were on the verge of tears as he continued. “This has to work because I don’t know what I will do if it doesn’t.”

Hotch pocketed the bottles and stood up from his chair. Spencer followed suit, wiping his hands on his thighs again.

“There’s a group I’m going to sign you up for, alright?” Hotch said, not unkindly.

Reid cleared his throat as he gathered his things. “What- what kind of group?”

“Drug support group. You’ll be surrounded by people who have and are experiencing the same thing you did and are.”

Pausing in his clean up, Reid looked to him inquisitively. “And what about Strauss? What happens when she gets wind of this? She already has me on thin ice because I failed the field exam.”

“I’ll deal with Strauss if it comes to that. I’ll be with you every step of the way. I’ll even go with you to the meetings so you know you aren’t alone, if that’s something you would like.” Reid swallowed harshly and gave Hotch a weak smile. “Yeah, I think- I think I would like that.”

“Okay,” Aaron responded softly and walked away from the desk.

As he grabbed on the railing that supported him on the stairs to his office, he paused. 

“Spencer?” he called.

“Yes?”

“You’re going to be okay. You know that, right?”

Giving him a lopsided smile, Reid told him, “I have never wanted to depend on people because I have always been afraid it will make me seem weak. But I think that I am learning that there is nothing wrong with asking for help sometimes.”

“Good.”

[sillyrabbit81]

Her Heavy Cross

Summary: Three years after tragedy hits, Lana she decides to start dating again. She meets Will through a dating app and they begin an online romance. After months of constant requests, Lana relents and agrees to meet and go on an irl date with Will. But is Will who he says he is? Lana is quickly pulled into an intense relationship forcing her to confront her tragic past. Will Lana face it or will she close her heart forever?

Pairing: OMC x OFC

Word Count: Approx 2.5k

Warnings: Swearing, smut, spanking, Dom vibes.

Authors Note: The story started as a Henry Cavill fanfiction but I changed it to be an original character, but shades of Henry are still there. Hope you enjoy the story and thanks for reading.

Part 8 Part 10

Part 9

We went to bed not long after that. I think we were both tired from staying up late the night before. Liam went to bed in his underwear, and I wore a singlet and PJ shorts. We talked some more before we fell asleep.

I asked Liam a bit more about his work. He told me the next two weeks were costume fitting, rehearsals, fight training and a few media events. "It's more of a nine to five thing at the moment. It'll be different after Easter when filming starts."

"How is it different?"

"Really long hours, usually fourteen to sixteen hours. There are a few weeks where I'm not needed, though. Although I'm the male lead, the female role is the central one."

"Who is the actress?"

"Myra Roberts."

"Oh, she's Australian."

"Yeah, most of the cast is Australian. I'm the ring in. I'm for, and I'm quoting here, international appeal and name recognition."

Liam asked me about my job. "I told you most of it before," I replied.

"You told me what you did, but you didn't tell me about it."

I told him about my work in a mainstream school support classroom. Most of the kids have cerebral palsy and intellectual disabilities. The classes are small. I was teaching a combined year 3 and 4 class.

Without mentioning specifics or names, I told him some funny stories about the kids, some of the challenges they faced. Some of the feel-good moments when they finally achieved goals they were working towards. Some of the goals were as simple as being able to feed themselves or to write more than a few lines without tiring.

I opened up and told him about the girl who passed away from aspiration pneumonia the first year I was teaching full time. She was in a wheelchair and had a genetic disorder that required ventilation at night. I smiled as I talked about her. I wasn't surprised when a tear rolled down my cheek.

"It's tough, but I love it. I like knowing that the kids get to have a real school experience, be part of the whole school community. They go on excursions, go to assembly, play at lunchtime with the other kids and its good that the mainstream kids grow up with people with disabilities around them. They get to be kids, not hidden away from the world like they were in the past."

Liam wiped my tear away with his thumb. He asked tenderly, "why do you do it?"

"Why do you act?" I asked rhetorically. "It's a calling, a passion, I guess. It's like nine days out of 10, I go home from school happy. Feeling like I've achieved something and feeling like I've supported eight kids to achieve their own small victories. It makes me feel satisfied that I'm doing good in the world. You know, adding something positive."

"That's really beautiful," Liam said. Then he laughed, "It makes what I do feel ridiculous. All I do is play make-believe all day."

"You help people too; you make us feel things. You show us truth and beauty. Give us hope when we feel hopeless. Laughter when we are sad. Make us inspired instead of apathetic. It's no small thing. Our scale is different, that's all. You can effect millions of people for a short time. I aim to effect maybe a hundred people over my career for the rest of their lives. Both are noble causes that will help to leave the world in a better place than when we found it."

"Did I say that you were intelligent earlier?" Liam asked. I shook my head. "I should have."

"Is that more important than being an excellent shag?"

"I don't know about that." Liam laughed, "But I know I like it."

Not long after that, we fell asleep.

When I woke up the next morning, I was trapped by Liam's heavy arm over me, and his hand was cupping one of my breasts. He was still asleep. His breathing was long and deep with a soft snore. I didn't want to disturb him, but my bladder wouldn't wait.

I tried to lift his arm off me and climb out from underneath him, but he pulled me closer. I could feel his morning erection against my bum. As much as I wanted to snuggle into it, I couldn't wait. I lifted his arm again, and I was able to sneak out.

I went to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth and washed my face. Then hopped back into bed. I looked at Liam while he slept. I brushed his hair off his forehead. His dark hair was so thick and soft. He had a few lines on his forehead that just seemed to make him appear more manly. His eyelashes seemed even longer as they laid against his cheeks. Up close, I could see a few faded freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose.

I traced my finger down his nose. He had a slight bump on the bridge. Somehow it didn't make him less attractive. His lips were so kissable, and I couldn't resist touching them either. I ran my fingertip down further, tracing his lips and then down to his dimpled chin. Liam opened his eyes and nearly made me shit myself when he growled and tried to bite my finger.

"Cunt!" I cried in shock, pulling my finger away.

Liam's face took on his own look of shock at my language. Then he laughed and tried to kiss me. I turned my head.

"Nuh-uh. You scared me half to death. How long have you bloody been awake for?"

"A while." He admitted, still smiling. My heart was racing, so I gave him a look exaggerating my anger. "Come on, Sweetheart. That was funny."

"Don't Sweetheart me. Here I was, innocently laying in bed thinking about how gorgeous you are. Meanwhile, you're laying there thinking wouldn't it be funny if I scared the shit out of her." I was trying not to smile, but I'm sure he could tell I wasn't really mad.

"You called me a cunt, though, so I guess we are even."

"That's a term of endearment in Australia." I grinned widely.

"Really?" Liam raised his eyebrows, looking dubious.

"Yeah, for sure. You'd say something like 'Oi mate! You're a sick cunt'." I was enjoying this.

"Which means?"

"Hey, friend! You're a good person, and I like you."

"I'll stick to calling you Sweetheart if that's ok?"

"Alright, cunt."

"Just bring your bum over here so I can fuck your cunt," Liam said, reaching for me.

My stomach flipped, and I felt myself getting aroused. Liam manhandled me onto my stomach and climbed on top of me. His bare hairy chest tickled my shoulders. I could feel him hard, thick and ready against me.

"Let's see if your tight little cunt is ready for me." Liam forced his hand down the front of my shorts. His fingers found their way to my centre, and I moaned as his fingers easily slid between my folds, my desire evident by how wet I was. He slipped a finger into me and my muscles clenched around it.

Too quickly, he removed his hand. Liam's wet fingers made their way to my mouth. "Open up, Sweetheart. Taste how much you want me." My lips parted for him, and he shoved his finger in. I closed my mouth around it, and my tongue lapped the sweet taste of my arousal.

Liam withdrew his finger, and his weight lifted off my back. I turned my head to see what he was doing and saw the condom in his hands. I continued to look over my shoulder as Liam dragged his underwear down, leaving them on his thighs. He held himself at the base and used the other to apply the condom. I watched in fascination as Liam rolled the condom down his shaft, his head was down, and his shoulders were hunched over the task. I really wanted to watch him masturbate one day.

When he was finished, he grabbed my hips and wrenched me up by them until I was on my knees. My head was still on the bed, and I was forced to look away by the new position. My shorts were pulled down my thighs. There was nothing gentle about Liam this morning. Then I panicked, realising how on display I would be. I tried to lay back down, but his firm hands gripped my hips, keeping me in position.

"Don't move," Liam ordered roughly. His hands moved from my hips, and he ran his hand over the curve of my bottom. "You should see yourself from this angle, Sweetheart."

He pressed his hand against my slit and put two fingers straight in. I jumped in surprise, pulling away as his thick fingers stretched me. I felt a sting on my arse cheek, and I flinched in pain.

"I told you not to move. Move again, and you'll get another one." Liam's voice was stern. He rubbed the spot he had just spanked, soothing it.

I waited, not moving, for what seemed like an eternity. The anticipation was killing me. I wanted to move, to tell Liam to stop, but I also wanted to scream at him to hurry up. I needed him inside me. Then I felt the tip of his cock rub against my wet opening, sliding smoothly up and down. Every time it grazed my clit, my anticipation built.

"Please," I murmured.

"Please what? Tell me what you want."

I licked my lips. "I want your cock."

I heard Liam inhale through his teeth. "I'm not going to be gentle."

"I don't care."

I felt Liam position himself at my entrance, and it was all the warning I had. Suddenly he was in me all the way. "Fuck," I cried out in relief and pain.

Liam didn't wait for me to adjust to his size. He started ramming into me like a piston. His hands were back on my hips, pulling me onto him with each thrust. The slap of our bodies meeting was so loud it was nearly all I could hear.

Grabbing my shoulder, Liam lifted me on my knees until our bodies were flush. He grabbed my head and turned it to the side. His lips met mine, and he forced his tongue into my mouth. His kiss devoured me, consuming me completely. His other hand lifted my singlet, freeing my breasts, and he kneaded one roughly before he found my nipple. He gripped me and pinched hard, but I barely felt it. My body reacted to the pain as though it was a pleasure, and electricity seemed to flow through my veins as my whole body felt ablaze.

Liam wrapped his fingers around my neck. The pressure was only slight, but it felt dangerous. He was so strong. If he wanted to destroy me, he could, and there would be nothing I could do about it. Instead of terrifying me, the thought thrilled me. I knew it was insane, wanting to play at the edge, confusing fear and arousal, but the combination was intoxicating.

He broke our kiss. I felt his lips tickle at my ear, and his voice was husky with exertion. "You fucking love this, don't you?"

"Yes," I panted. My voice was ragged and breathy. "Yes, I fucking love it."

I was thrown down on the bed again. My arse still in the air, and my head was pushed down into the bed. Liam held me that way while he unrelentingly pounded me. I felt like a plaything, a toy for his pleasure, as he threw me around where he wanted me. I felt helpless, but I didn't fight him. I submitted to his desires, knowing my body gave him pleasure was its own reward. I let him use me, dominate me, own me, and I knew I would beg for it to happen again and again.

He wasn't completely selfish though, his other hand found my clit, fingers moving over it in rapid little circles. "I need you to cum, Lana. I need to feel you cum."

He played with me varying his speed and firmness. He seemed to understand my body, my moans, my breathing because quickly, he found the rhythm I needed. I shattered beneath his touch. I shouted into the sheets as my release ripped through me. Liam didn't stop rubbing me until I was still.

Giving me no time to recover, Liam continued to rail me, but now he seemed to move impossibly fast. His fingers were digging into my hips, rocking them violently against his thrusts. I felt him engorge, and I braced myself for his release.

"Fuck!" Liam's voice thundered as I felt him pulse inside me. He held my hips still, his movements controlling his orgasm now. He grunted as he made each of his final drives.

Liam finally collapsed next to me, withdrawing himself as he did. I fell to the bed, unable to hold my own weight now that he wasn't holding me up. I took deep, calming breaths, and slowly I felt my strength return.

Shyly, I looked over at Liam. He was on his back, his chest heaving. A sheen of sweat glistened over his body in the morning light. He saw me peeking at him, and he half-smiled. A giggle escaped my lips.

"What are you laughing at?" He sounded amused.

"Nothing, I just feel really..." I didn't know exactly how I felt. I was sore, but that good way you feel sore after a hard workout. I was also calm, relaxed and euphoric. "Content."

"You really liked it?" I nodded. "I'm not too rough?" I shook my head. "Good, cause that was fucking amazing."

I giggled again and looked away. I felt Liam's fingers caress my back. My singlet was still pulled up, and my shorts were still around my ankles. He moved on the bed, and I felt him shuffle closer.

"Your bum's got a perfectly shaped red handprint on it. Did I slap you that hard?" He asked with a hint of concern.

"Yeah, it was hard. Good hard. I mark pretty easily." I turned to face him. He was laying on his side, his elbow bent and his head rested on his hand. He was looking down at my bare bottom, rubbing the spot where he marked me. "Bruises also show up pretty bad. They usually look worse than they feel. I rarely remember where I got them."

"You'll need a safe word if we keep this up." Liam looked up. He smiled briefly when he saw I was looking at him. "I don't want to go too far and really hurt you."

"Yeah, it's probably a good idea." I rolled over and laid on my back. I lifted my hips and put my shorts back on. Liam leaned down to kiss my exposed nipple before helping me pull my singlet back down. He laid his head on my chest, and I played with his soft hair, curling it around my fingers.

"Any ideas?" He asked. "For a safe word, I mean."

"Freeze?" I suggested.

Liam was quiet for a moment before nodded in agreement. "Freeze," he repeated. "I like it."

Part 10

[winter-soldier-vibes]

You just have to keep trying (Sebastian Stan x reader)

You just have to keep trying

Sebastian Stan x reader

Warnings: eating disorder(various behaviors and ‘mantras’), negative self talk/worthlessness, panic attacks/anxiety 

Word count: 4268

Summary: Sebastian and Reader are dating, and while Sebastian is away filming, some comments get to you. You start developing eating disorder behaviors, and a concerned friend reaches out to Sebastianw.

A/N: Sorry this took so long, it was really hard for me to write and I had to take a few days for myself before I could finish it. This one is really personal for me to write, and I don’t mean to be insensitive towards anyone. This is just written based on my personal experience and what I think would help me. If any of you are struggling with anything mentioned here and you need someone to talk to, relate to, or rant to, I’m all ears. This isn’t something to go through alone. Also I know this may seem like an unrealistic solution and it’s not always this easy, but this is fanfiction and I used some phrases that helped me. It’s often never as easy as reassurance, but it does help. Again, I’m sorry if this is triggering or insensitive to anyone out there, I just really enjoyed writing it and imagining someone caring as much as I wrote here. Stay safe.

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It wasn’t easy dating an actor. 

There was media attention, often unwanted, in every corner of your life. Interpretations of everything you did, said, and posted. Comments of your relationship, what you say, what you wear, what you also don’t say. Assumptions were made about your entire life and you just wanted to scream at them to shut up. They didn’t really know you, and they’d do anything for a headline. 

But it was all worth it to you. You loved Sebastian very much, and wouldn’t trade what the two of you had for the world. He was everything you wanted. But the goddamn media were ruthless.

He told you to ignore it. And you tried and were successful for a while. But eventually hearing the same shit over and over again just ate away at you. Now it was easier to believe them than it was to believe yourself.

Somethings were less bothersome than others. You knew your love for Sebastian was real, and no headline ever made you doubt that. It was the critiques on you, and everything you did and said, that really got to you. Specifically when it was targeting your appearances.

You never had a problem with your confidence. It never really occurred to you that your appearances mattered or would matter, so you didn’t really focus on it. But it was different now. Suddenly everyone cares and is saying that you should look different, that you don’t deserve him, that you weren’t good enough. And on top of that there were the comments of everyone reading these articles and posts. 

Currently you were scrolling through Instagram. Sebastian was God knows where shooting for a new movie. He had been gone for a few weeks and you weren’t sure when he was coming back. You were scrolling through a bunch of old photos of the two of you together. You loved all of these when they were taken and posted, but now was a completely different story.

More than half of the comments were negative, and 75% of those were directed towards you. You didn’t think it would bother you like it was, and you intended to only read a few before moving on. But it was a wormhole - as much as you wanted to stop reading you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

There were tears in your eyes but you didn’t really care. You wanted the honest truth of what people thought about you. Sebastian told you their opinions didn’t mean anything, but after a while you thought he was just being nice. 

What does he even see in her?

What makes her so special?

God she’s disgusting

He could have anyone, why her?

Anyone else hate this chick as much as I do?

The last one had over 300 likes.

You finally put your phone down and got up, making your way into the bathroom. You studied yourself in the mirror, looking for every possible flaw that was there. And you found a lot of them. It hurt, but you needed to do this if things were going to get any better.

Your hips were too wide, waist not pulled taut enough, a bit of flab here, too thin there… everything seemed out of proportion to you. Your skin was a mess, your hair was flat and dull, it just seemed like everything was wrong. No wonder people were tearing you apart and saying you weren’t good enough. They were right.

This was the start of something very new for you. You decided to take things into your own hands, make yourself better. You had heard how celebrities went on crazy diets to lose weight for a role, and you wound up pulling inspiration from them. It started fairly small and almost harmless. You were counting calories and doing more cardio. It was fine.

But then it wasn’t.

It became much too addicting, much too fast. It started slowly. There was one day where you had an extremely busy schedule and you ended up forgetting to eat and before you knew it, it was 9 pm. You really did intend to eat something, but then it occurred to you that you could just...go to bed.

You started skipping meals, loving the way that hunger made you feel. You felt more focused, more alert, just overall stronger. You kept telling yourself that hunger makes you stronger, and that eating was for the weak. And you wanted to prove everyone wrong, and if denying some hunger was the way to do that then so be it.

Sometimes you would indulge in your body’s cries for help, eating anything you could. But as soon as you realized what you were doing, panic would overtake you. The first time you frantically tried to find an option, which eventually led you to the bathroom hunched over the toilet. After that you threw up anything you ended up eating, no matter how small.

You took weight loss inspiration quotes to a dangerous level. Anytime you would walk to the fridge you would tell yourself that ‘fat lasts longer than flavor,’ or ‘minutes on the lips forever on the hips’. After that it wasn’t that hard to walk away. 

You were working out a lot more too, and found that addicting. You pushed yourself until you basically fell over from exhaustion. Then you would give yourself a break. But absolutely no rest days. You didn’t deserve them. Not yet, at least.

You stopped going out with your friends. They would invite you to a bar or dinner but you would always decline. It was easier that way. You were losing weight of course, and rapidly at that. You didn’t see it, you saw things that still needed work. But your hair was beginning to fall out, you were always tired, and just generally felt like shit. You were never overweight in the first place, so your ribs were beginning to just out, and you could see your hip bones for the first time in your life. But this only egged you on. It should have scared you, but you liked it. You thought it was progress.

You hadn’t seen anyone in weeks, and you had been doing this to yourself for months. You would still talk to Sebastian on the phone most days, and text on the days you didn’t. You didn’t dare tell him about any of this for fear he would try to stop you. You weren’t good enough yet. That was all that you really wanted. You would give everything you had just to feel like you were good enough.

Eventually, your friends started getting really concerned. Denying a girl’s night here and there was nothing to worry about, but weeks of near radio silence prompted them to come and check on you. One day they knocked on your door, and you padded over to it, still in your workout gear.

They nearly passed out when they saw you.

You were gaunt, dark circles under your eyes, pale, and just...smaller than you were. You weren’t hiding behind your usual baggy clothes that kept you warm, exposing how much weight you had lost. You thought everything was normal, but they were absolutely freaking out. This wasn’t you.

“Are you okay?” y/b/f/n asked after a few moments of stunned silence.

You shrugged. “Yeah. why wouldn’t I be?”

They swallowed. “Y/n, you look...sick.”

You rolled your eyes, frustrated. “Gee, thanks.” That did absolutely nothing for your self esteem. “Look, I’m fine and I have work to do. So thank you, but please just leave.” You shut the door on them.

They stood there stunned for a few minutes outside the door, worried as hell about you. Eventually they decided to leave, but they couldn’t stop thinking about you. They sat in their car, trying to think of what to do. But then they remembered something.

A few years ago when the two of you were getting serious, Sebastian had given them his phone number in case something happened to you while he was away. They had never had to use it before, but now seemed like an appropriate time. They scrolled through their contacts until they found him, and started typing.

‘Hey this is y/b/f/n. Something’s wrong with y/n.’

Within a couple of minutes, he called back.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, worry filling his voice.

They sighed. “I’m not sure. I hadn’t heard or seen her in a few weeks and I went to check on her today and she’s just…” they shook their head. “She’s lost a lot of weight. She looks sick, Sebastian. I don’t know what’s going on but I barely recognized her when she opened that door.”

On the other side of the line, Sebastian was freaking out. He was in between takes on set, but he walked off to a more private place to have this conversation. “Did you try to talk to her?”

“She said she was fine and shut the door.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. Sighing, he said “Alright. I’ll tell the director something came up. I’ll be there tomorrow. Thank you, y/b/f/n.”

“Thank you.”

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

The day continued normally for you. You worked out some more, busied yourself with different things around the house, avoided eating like it was poison. Your usual routine. You hated what you were doing to yourself. You wanted to stop but you just didn’t think that was an option yet. You thought you had to get to a certain image, a certain weight, or just reach some kind of destination before you tried to change. But you weren’t there yet.

You tried to sleep, couldn’t sleep, tried again, and then eventually gave up and settled for the 1 hour you were able to get. You got ready for your day as normal: workout gear and to the gym. When you came home, you showered and went to lie down again. You were so exhausted but you didn’t feel like there was anything you could do.

You don’t know how long you were there, but the sound of a door closing brought you back into awareness. You sat up, confused as to who was here. Sebastian always told you when he was coming home.

“Y/n?”

You perked up, knowing it was Sebastian’s voice. You practically ran into the main room to hug him. He smiled and wrapped his arms around you, immediately stiffening. “Oh my God,” he whispered. Underneath your sweater he could feel your bones jutting out and you were smaller than he remembered. He had only been gone for about 2 months, what the hell had happened?

He pulled back a lot sooner than you would have liked. But when you looked at his face, you were surprised to see him looking at you extremely concerned. “What’s wrong Seb?”

He looked you up and down and shook his head a little “What happened to you?”

You smiled a little, oblivious. “What do you mean?”

“You - you’ve lost so much weight. You look sick, yn, just - what the hell happened?”

You looked away for a second, stepping back and crossing your arms. You didn't know what to say. Sebastian stepped forward and grabbed both your shoulders, forcing you to look at him. Gently but firmly, he asked again “Y/n, tell me what happened.”

You shifted your gaze away from him. “I just wanted to be better.”

Sebastian felt his body go cold. “When was the last time you ate?” You shrugged your shoulders and shook your head, not knowing what to tell him. You didn’t even know the answer yourself. He sighed. “This isn’t because of some stupid reporter, is it?”

Your lack of words and the tensing of your body was enough of an answer for him. “You know that they are trained to rip people apart? They don’t know what it’s making you feel. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“Because I don’t fucking deserve you! You could literally have anyone you wanted, I just don’t understand why you chose me! I don’t understand why you’d want me, just….” you shook your head. “I’m not good enough.”

He stayed silent  for a few moments, not knowing what you meant. He had no idea you felt this down on yourself. “What do you mean?”

You looked away from him again. “Sometimes I just don’t understand. You’re absolutely perfect in every single way and then I'm just here. I don’t get why or how you could love me.”

He closed the space between the two of you and hugged you again, firmly but not as tightly as usual. He was afraid he would hurt you. He felt tears pricking his eyes as well. His girl, his y/n, was wasting away because she didn’t feel good enough for him, when usually he thought it was the opposite. It broke his heart knowing that you had done this to yourself for him or some ignorant reporter. You were crying because you thought this would be the end of it. You didn’t think it was possible for him to love you after something like this.

“Babe, listen to me. I need you to hear me out here. I love you so much. I love you for who you are, who you were, and everything you could be. And nothing would ever change that. You are absolutely perfect to me no matter what. And because of that it breaks my heart to know what you’ve been doing to yourself. You don’t have to change, especially not for me. Hurting yourself like this cannot be an option, okay?”

Tears had begun to fall from his eyes and you were shaking in his embrace. “I’m sorry,” you choked out. You felt him shake his head before he said “You don’t have to be sorry. You just have to trust me. Can you do that?”

Your heart was melting. “Why are you so nice to me?” you asked quietly.

He let out a shaky breath, trying his best to hold it together for you. “Because I love you more than anything. And I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you.”

You buried your face further into his chest, letting out another sob. He tightened his grip on you and kissed the top off your head, scared you would disappear at any second. He swallowed back his own tears, knowing he needed to be the strong one here.

“Please, y/n, let me help you.”

You nodded into his chest, feeling a sickening sense of relief and terror. To be honest you were mostly petrified as to what was to come. You had spent months telling yourself you deserve to starve, and you still believed most of it. You knew deep down it was a problem and you wanted to let Sebastian help you, but you were so scared of disappointing him or yourself. 

By this point, it was early afternoon. The two of you spent a few hours on the couch, you curled up to him and his arms protectively around you. He kept telling you how much he loved you and how you were beautiful, and you would do your best to believe him and ignore the voice in your head telling you it was all a lie. In all honesty you got more distracted as time went on. You knew he would want to make you dinner and you couldn’t ignore the anxiety growing more as the time went on.

You weren’t going to bring it up, and you were just waiting for him to. He was nervous to bring it up too. He didn’t want you to be uncomfortable or trigger you, but there was no way that he could let you skip another meal. You had already gone far too long without eating anything. He shifted in his seat and tensed a little, and you sighed, knowing what was coming.

“So...uh..”

“I don’t know,” you finished for him. You looked up to meet his eyes. “I’m not sure what I’d want or even could eat. It’s so stupid trying to explain it to someone else…” you shook your head and closed your eyes. “It makes sense in my head but it doesn’t when I say it out loud.”

He sighed a little, brushing your hair with one of his hands. “It can be something small,” he said gently. “I’ll be here the whole time.”

You felt tears in your eyes again as you brought your hand to your stomach, running it down your ribcage, feeling the divots. It was a nervous habit you had developed whenever you thought about eating, and you cursed yourself for doing it now. “It’s embarrassing Seb.” you said quietly. 

Sebastian didn’t stop his movements, looking down at you. “What can I do to make it better?” he asked, feeling so helpless in this situation. He wanted to take all of your pain away but there isn’t a quick way to heal the mind. He had learned that himself a long time ago. You shrugged, not knowing the answer yourself. 

You took a deep breath. “Nothing’s going to be easy Seb. I think it’d just be easier if you chose something and then just sit with me or something. I don’t know… God I feel like an idiot right now -”

“Hey,” Sebastian stopped you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Whatever you need babe.” He gave you a smile before he stood up, and you curled into the corner of the couch, bringing your knees to your chest. Your heart was pounding and your mind was racing. You had no idea how you were going to be able to do this, you could barely eat on your own out of shame, how were you expecting to eat in front of the man you loved? 

Meanwhile, Sebastian was trying to think of something that would be easiest for you to eat while still providing sustenance. He didn’t want you to be uncomfortable, but he also didn’t want to enable you. 

Eventually he came back out with two plates of food, one holding less than the other. (Insert whatever you want here for the meal). He gave the smaller portion to you with a small smile and you were trying your best to hide the trembling of your hand as you took it from him. You ended up counting the calories with the blink of an eye before you could stop yourself, and cursed your mind because you didn’t think that there was a way that you could eat that much. Even if you knew logically you burned more calories in your workout that morning.

You begna bouncing your leg up and down, tears building once again. You didn’t want to disappoint him, but you couldn't stop the anxiety building inside you. “I’m sorry,” you said shaking your head and covering your mouth. Your breathing was becoming uneven, and your heart rate was increasing as well. Which only made you more anxious. 

Sebastian moved both plates out of the way before wrapping his arms around you again. You were so embarrassed, having an anxiety attack around something as stupid as food. You felt so weak and stupid. Your leg was moving uncontrollably at this point, and you barely had any control over your breathing anymore. Your hands balled into fists and you buried your head into his chest out of shame. 

You kept trying to spit out apologies but you couldn’t catch your breath long enough to do so. He just tightened his arms around you, hushing you whenever you tried to speak. “Y/n I need you to try to breathe with me, can you try that? Just try to match mine.” He started taking deep breaths, chest rising and falling slowly and you tried your best to match his. It took a few minutes but eventually your breathing evened out. Once the panic had washed away you started crying harder, more out of shame and embarrassment than anything else. 

“I’m sorry, I know it’s so stupid -”

“It’s not stupid y/n.” he said gently but firmly. “It’s okay to be anxious.”

You shook your head against his chest. “Not when it’s about something as silly as food.”

“Hey, it’s not stupid. Thoughts don’t make sense all the time, but that doesn’t make them fact. You’re just having a rough time right now, but beating yourself up over it is only going to make it harder.” 

God, you love this man. 

The two of you stayed like that for a few minutes, him rubbing a hand through your hair gently like before. He knew you had always liked that. You closed your eyes, wanting this moment to go on forever, but knowing you would have to eat something at some point. 

“Do you think you could try to eat something? Please?”

You took a deep breath before nodding again, pulling away from him. You grabbed your plate and played around with it for a minute or so before you began eating. You wanted to make Sebastian happy, but you were terrified as well. You didn’t exactly know why, logically speaking. You had thoughts running through your mind of weight gain, but you also knew logically that one meal wouldn’t cause it, and that you were too skinny anyways.

You knew that logically. But your mind wasn’t exactly a logical place to be right now.

You weren’t able to eat everything, but you ate more than you thought you would be able. To. you apologized for the nth time that night, and Sebastian stopped you before you could finish. “Don’t be. I’m proud of you.” he said with a smile as he brought the plates to the kitchen. He was nervous to say the least. You hadn’t eaten much, but again, it was a start. Everyone needs to start somewhere.

He hadn’t told you that he had come home in the middle of shooting to check on you. He didn’t tell you that he had initially said he’d be gone for a week before pushing it back even further, realizing you needed him at the moment. You were more important to him, and he honestly didn’t care if he got fired. He’d find another job at some point. 

He stayed with you for the next few weeks, helping you in every aspect. He made sure you deleted all social media apps on your phone, so you weren’t inclined to look at toxic comments. He helped you tone down your time in the gym and take rest days. He made sure you ate something at each meal. It started out small, and gradually he helped you to eat more. He sat with you through all the panic attacks and tears, and the times you would lash out at him. He never took it personally.

There were slip ups. Times where you snuck out at night to go for a run, or when you would find yourself throwing up after the anxiety got to be too much. He wouldn’t get angry with you, just offer you a sad smile and hug you. You would apologize and he would assure you it wasn’t your fault. “It’s not going to be perfect, you just have to keep trying.”

He would never stop telling you that you were beautiful and how much he loved you. You couldn’t help but feel like a burden to him at first, but as time went on you began to believe him more and more. 

Months later and it was still a daily struggle. You had bad days, slip ups, and days where you just wanted to quit. But Sebastian never left your side through all of it, and eventually you were able to pull yourself out of your own darkness. You were able to catch yourself in your negative thoughts before you descended too far down the wormhole. You were starting to feel happy again, more like who you had been.

The two of you were watching a movie, laughing over some funny line that had been said. There was popcorn in between the two of you and you just felt happy. After a few moments, you looked up at him and smiled. “Thank you.”

He smiled back down at you. “For what?”

“Helping me believe in myself again.”

[noocturnalchild]

Of Thieves and Poets

Warning : Mention of abuse, light depiction of wounds, hurt

Well, that was a hard chapter to write, mainly cause I’m still strugling with my English, and sometimes, ideas are here but I find no words to describe them as I want to !

Many thanks to a great friend who’s always been there to beta read my fics and correct the MANY language mistakes I’m still making,it’s a shame that I can’t tag her here !

Sara maybe you’ll never read this but I LOVE YOU ( this is me talking to myself lol)

Also many thanks to all who are sharing and liking my fics, I love you guys, you are the best !

All the poetry in this chapter is William Carlos Williams’ ! 

Chapter one here ! 

Chapter 2 

* 

Give me something to eat! Let me take you to the hospital, I said and after you are well you can do as you please. She smiled, Yes you do what you please first then I can do what I please

“Who’s she?”

The day Laura died, he wrote his most accomplished poem. It rested between her cold fingers, folded in a small sheet of damp paper and he briefly wondered if the dead could read. Heavy rain washed the sleepy city that day, and everyone said that they’d never seen so many white peonies in the same place before. He buried all his other poem books with her, tucked between her curls and the black and white satin.

He never made a copy.

Paterson didn’t write love poems anymore. But never were his fingers as ink stained, bruised and abused by so many hours spent writing as they were now, and never was his desk inundated by so many notebooks. They piled up in complete disorder, competing with books and tools, making the old wood squeak uncomfortably.

“Who’s she”

Only now he saw her fiddling with the framed photo he kept on his living room table, so that it was always the first thing he saw as he woke up.

“Wife?”

Paterson didn’t answer.

Mina had her back turned to him. She couldn’t see the man’s eyes watering, or the frown of his brows, nor could she feel his struggle with his breath, repressing the tides of anguish that menaced to crash on him again.

“Gorgeous, dude! bet she gives great head” She turned to look at him over her shoulder, winked suggestively.

Beaming and smug at the same time, Mina looked like one who’s sure just dropped something so smart and funny, completely oblivious of the hands clutching on the cold marble of the kitchen counter. White knuckles, white pain…

“No complaints.“

Paterson’s reply of choice. Life was going on for everybody, for him too. Doc got a TV in his bar after all. Marie went to New York and Everett to LA. And he was still a bus driver, eating cereals every morning, writing in his yellow pages and sitting on the wet benches of Paterson’s waterfalls, so why would he complain?

“Go and freshen up, bathroom first door to the left”

“You’re no fun” She stuck out her tongue and left. Paterson couldn’t be mad.

Laura was laughing, straddling the arm of the sofa and eyeing him with mischief in her eyes. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Won’t ya help me with my clothes?”

“I can’t do much with a broken wrist”

“It hurts”

(…)

“Dude, come on, so prudish!”

Laura had a hand on her mouth now, in mock shock, her eyes were still laughing, and Paterson was confused, a pretty blush rising to his cheeks. He remembered now that the only clothes he had that might fit Mina were Laura’s, and even those were big for the bony creature waiting for his help in his bathroom.

“Hold… hold on a second”

Paterson drew in a shaky breath, fetched one of his sleep shirts from his bed drawers, strode to open the bathroom door and… oh God.

A trembling dry leaf stood before him. Only in her white crop top and equally white panties; Paterson imagined her cracking under the passers-by’s soles, giving in under their rough stumpings, each one leaving a stain on her weak frame. Paterson’s eyes descended to her bare thighs, and she kept her eyes on the floor.

“Jesus… Who… who did this to you?”

Her thighs were a hideous map, little red and yellowish scabbed dots and circles on tarnished, discolored skin.

She shrugged, eyes avoiding his. Why would he care, why was he so insistent, why couldn’t he just be like the others, why won’t he try something with her, on her, like she deserves… she would let him, this one, she would.

“Just help me with my top” a wobbly voice replied, but Paterson was already looking for something in his medicine cabinet.

“Sit on the stool there” His hands were shaking as he put the ointment and the bandages on the side and proceeded to wet a washcloth.

“Can… I?” He kneeled, and their eyes met. She kept silent and nodded and he thought the sparkle in her eyes was gratitude.

With infinite gentle touches, Paterson washed her thighs and legs, dried them carefully, applied the ointment and wrapped them in clean bandages.

Laura was watching in reverence. The scene exuded something religious; the saint washing the sinner’s faults. And none spoke a word.

Afterwards, Mina laid in white clean sheets, but for all the comfort she had, she couldn’t sleep the few hours separating the night from dawn. She counted the hours, watching the bus driver as he slept peaceful and soft; not so far from her spot on the sofa.

The domestic rituals, the warm clothes, the vanilla soap smell lingering, the nice buzzing of the fridge in a quiet space, and the dim light he kept on just for her… His… his kindness coiled her like sticky ropes. Mina was suffocating.

She got up, slid in her dirty jeans, but kept his shirt on, and with a final brush of his hair, she took his watch and slipped out of the quiet house, and the monsters took her in their arms again.

***

Recycled air and synthetic notes, shopping carts rolling and low, lustful giggles.

With his favorite brand of cereal in hand, Paterson’s food shopping was almost done for the day. He was just strolling, verses starting to form in the fog of his mind as he saw two forms melting in each other, just against one of the snack vending machines. A smile began to tug on his lips. Life was simple, young lovers making out in malls and supermarkets, in the streets and gardens; the boy handsy, in baggy jeans and a loose jumper, fake golden chains around black collar, the girl…the girl.

Paterson’s mind went blank, and verses fled away like frightened pigeons.

“Oi man, whatcha lookin’ at!”

The guy addressed a dazed Paterson, and the girl turned her head from off her lover’s chest.

In all the scenarios she imagined at night, curled up in the corners of the streets and between the brushwood of the parks , meeting him again while in the arms of another man was never on the list. It shouldn’t be like that, it wasn’t supposed to be like that. He shouldn’t think that she… but what was she anyway? She was everything he might think of her now.

He was so beautiful she wanted to bury her pain in his chest, between the threads of his regal hair. Curl all the hurt in a bundle and he would take it, in his large warm palm. He would know how to make it disappear, like by magic, vanish in thin air. With a touch of his finger pads, he could wash away scars; wipe away the purples and the blues and the burns. He was so clean she feared to touch him. He was so wholesome and she felt so queasy, so sickening she wanted to puke. Her hand skimmed the hidden pocket in her rat nibbled jean vest; the watch was still there, burning a hole in its worn fabric. She didn’t pass it on to Ian. It earned her new cigarette burns and a slap that made her nose bleed a little, but she had survived worse treatments.

“Who’s that, you know that guy? You do boring now?”

Carlos giggled, showcasing many missed teeth. He pinched her sides playfully, slapped her cheek playfully, squeezed her tits playfully, and she wished to die.

“Yo dude, wanna suck my dick? Ow no? Maybe a threesome? My chick here gives amazing head”

Oh, that again.

“See, not interested”

Carlos giggles sounded like gallows bells.

“I’m not your chick, for fuck’s sake!”

Mina screamed in frustration, pushed a stunned Carlos away, wriggled free from his sloppy hold, hand reaching out for salvation.

“I’m… I’m sorry!”

What she meant to be loud and clear, came out as a choked whisper.

But Paterson was already turning his back to her. This time he didn’t wait for her, not even a hum or a discarding hand, his long silhouette drawing away, swallowed by the light.

Life was going on, no complaints.

***

Mina was out, really out.

Even when she told him she wouldn’t play “pretend” with him anymore, Carlos still hung around for some time, and the money she could get from him she saved with scrutiny, starving herself to death. She never came back to the “pack”; her steps always took her to the quiet small house at the end of the stairs. She lurked there, watching when the lights went on, and stayed hunched behind shrubs and bushes, clutching the watch to her heart, listening to their combined tic tic tic… the mechanics soothed her, and she slept there every night.

Whatever happens, never sell the watch.

She started doing windshield scrubbing too, helped some nice grocery shop owners with their crates for some dollars, and by the end of the month she could buy a dozen cigarette packs and tissue boxes to sell in the streets. She was always hungry, but at least she could picture him in the back of her mind smiling, not disappointed in her anymore. He might not know, for now, but the thought was comforting. The thought was like a pier, supporting the bridge she was building towards him and she was sure she would reach him again, one day.

***

Sun benches at the curb bespeak another season, truncated poplars that having served for shade served also later for the fire.

It was Saturday morning. The rainy clouds of the day before blew over for a shiny crystal sun to come out. Excitement and expectations wired the air with buzzing electricity around Hinchliff Stadium. Kids and teens, middle aged and old people formed noisy groups, stomping on empty chips bags and placing bets.

Mina thought herself lucky when she laid hands on second hand baseball game tickets. Her wrist completely healed now, she roamed the area around the stadium, surfed the crowd, hands full, voice rusty from a cold she was nursing, over exploited vocal chords, yelling, trying to convince hurried passers-by to buy, by means of jokes and charms.

That’s when she saw him.

“Fuckin’ Carlos” a livid Mina stumbled a few steps backward, eyes seeking a gap between the crowds, quickly calculating her way out.

Fuck!

She could recognize Ian’s red sneakers anywhere. She thanked the heavens for his poor cover-up skills, giving her the high ground for a moment. She knew he could see her, but she took her chance. One group blocked his vision for a moment, and Mina took off her oversized leather jacket, let her hair down and started to walk slowly in the opposite direction.

She mentally counted to ten, chewing furiously on an overused gum, her hands started sweating. She knew that if caught this time, it wouldn’t just be cigarette burns on her thighs.

So Mina ran.

She ran aimlessly, not looking back, eyes closed and breath shagged. She could feel the adrenaline rush shot through her bones, just like every time she plunged her skillful hands inside the pockets of an oblivious passer-by, but this time there would be no euphoria of the gain waiting at the end of the road, just a sliced head.

Five minutes of sprinting and she couldn’t take it anymore, were her lungs that damaged? Fuck you Carlos, couldn’t keep his trap shut! Fuck! She was losing speed, she could hear Ian’s red sneakers batting the asphalt, tap tap tap, just behind. It was common belief that, at moments like these, the film of your whole life would flash back before your eyes, that the spool of all your wrongs would unfurl the threads that would wind around your legs and throat, choke you to death, drag you to hell. But Mina only saw two amber gems, Mina saw warmth and large, strong arms wrapping her in endless depths of comfort, and she felt peace descend upon her, Mina saw the future so she ran faster, and this time, with one destination in mind.

[kissjane]

DELAYED DATE / Short(ish) fic

#12 from this prompt list.

TW / Mental illness, mention of suicide (but no actual attempt)

We dated in high school but then you moved away but now you’re back in town

“Have you guys heard?”

Basile came running towards them, ten minutes late for the gang’s weekly pizza night. As soon as he was near enough, he came to a skidding halt, bent double, his hands on his knees, his face red and ruddy, taking in gulps of oxygen while he tried to tell them his big news.

“Daphné told me, she heard from Imane, who had it from Sofiane, so that must mean it’s true, because obviously Sofiane would not just make something like that up, would he? Anyway, so Daphné heard it this morning when the girls went all shopping together, and she came over to my place to tell me just as I was about to leave, so that’s why I’m late, sorry about that, guys, have you ordered yet? You remembered to leave off the mushrooms on mine, right? Anyway, so what do you think about it, huh?”

He looked around expectantly.

“Baz, my man,” Arthur said, shaking his head fondly but exasperatedly, “why don’t you sit down first, and then tell us this piece of bombshell gossip Daphné thought was more important than pizza with your friends.”

Basile did as suggested, and then looked around again with aplomb, eager to share his news.

“Eliott is back in town!”

Silence fell, as Yann and Arthur glanced over at Lucas.

“Eliott Demaury?”, Yann asked after a long beat.

“Of course, Eliott Demaury, do we know any other Eliotts?”

Basile was so extraordinarily proud of surprising his friends with his announcement that he completely missed how Lucas suddenly had gone pale.

“We should text him, ask him if he wants to hang out again, like before!”

Lucas noticed how Yann elbowed Basile in the arm while Arthur frantically shook his head, and it made him feel bad. If the boys wanted to hang out with Eliott again, they should be able to. But Yann knew, and Arthur could probably guess, that Lucas would very much prefer not to. But whether Basile tried to set something up or not, chances were Lucas would run into Eliott at some point anyway.

“Yeah, sure,” he therefore said. Better to meet him with Yann there for emotional support, than running into him alone and when he was least expecting it. This way, he could prepare.

But not enough, it turned out, when Basile immediately took out his phone, and before anyone realized what was going on, announced gleefully, “That’s arranged! He’s coming over.”

Lucas choked on his own saliva, and a worried look appeared in Yann’s eyes, but the damage was done, and when a familiar figure walked up a few minutes later, Lucas took a big gulp of air and hoped for the best.

“Hi,” a hesitant voice came, and Lucas had to close his eyes against the memories crashing over him.

Eliott calling him late at night, his voice warm with sleep.

Eliott whispering nonsensical words in Lucas’ hair, against Lucas’ skin.

Eliott breathing out Lucas’ name into Lucas’ mouth, his lips taking on the shapes with Eliott’s.

“Hey,” he crooked, willing himself to act normally, to just greet him like an old friend he hadn’t seen in a while.

And why wouldn’t he? Of course, he had had the biggest crush on Eliott for most of the time they’d known each other, and Eliott had definitely given him the impression it had been reciprocated, until he had just disappeared – but nobody needed to know that.

Only Yann knew the full story – he had confronted Lucas one night, a few weeks after Eliott had left. Lucas had barely left his room for days, not speaking, eating only because Manon forced him. When he finally came back to school, he had been silent, withdrawn, and pale, and he snapped at the boys a couple of times for no reason. And then Yann had shown up, demanding answers, and Lucas had broken down and cried his heart out, telling his best friend about his whirlwind romance with Eliott, and the bitter taste it had left when Eliott had just packed up and left, not answering Lucas’ attempts at communication.

He would have sworn, only this morning, that he was definitely over Eliott Demaury, after three years – although maybe his glaring lack of any boyfriends in that time might suggest otherwise. Oh, sure, he’d kissed the occasional guy here and there, but nothing serious. And now, seeing Eliott, watching his grey eyes shine and his hands gesture wildly, he was forced to admit that the reason nothing ever went further was that he was the farthest thing away from being over him.

Basile was already jumping around Eliott like a young puppy, bouncing up and down, asking him how he was, what was going on, whether he was back for good, where he had been, why he had moved without notifying any of them – all in rapid-fire, without giving the older boy a chance to reply.

Finally, Eliott spoke up.

“It’s not the happiest story, but if you guys are up for it, I would like to tell you all.”

He stared straight at Lucas, and Lucas needed to turn his head, afraid of falling for Eliott all over at the slightest opportunity. He steeled himself not to believe any of his beautiful words this time, not to walk into his trap again.

But Yann nodded solemnly, and Eliott gangly sat down, folding his long limbs and hunching his shoulders.

“So, uh, I am bipolar. I don’t know if you guys know, but it’s a mental disorder…”

A silence fell. They all knew what that meant. Lucas had finally told the gang about his mom’s admission into the mental ward in their last year, and Basile had told them about his mom’s mental illness.

“We know,” Arthur said. “That sucks.”

“Uh, okay, yeah, it does. So we didn’t know at the time, but a lot of the stuff I did at my old school was due to episodes. It’s also why I failed my bac and got expelled from my other school and came to your high school. But like I said, nobody knew at the time and so, one day, I went into a manic stage and I tried to jump off a rooftop because I thought I could fly. A police agent managed to talk into me enough to get me down safely, and I got brought into the station. They called my parents, and they thought I had tried to commit suicide – which wasn’t true. I had everything to live for, and I wouldn’t want to give up –”

He looked at Lucas again. So did Yann. Both sets of eyes were trying to gauge what Lucas was thinking, feeling, but Lucas was numb.

“Anyway. They had me admitted into a psych ward near Le Havre, where they had moved to a few months earlier, that same night. I couldn’t keep my phone or anything, I couldn’t contact anybody, I –”

Again, his eyes found Lucas, pleading.

“I wanted to call you so badly, I swear, but they wouldn’t let me, and then when they finally gave me my phone back, it was weeks later, after they had diagnosed me, and I just – I thought you would be better off without me. Or that you would have forgotten me, or had moved on, and so I just… didn’t.”

Lucas saw Eliott’s eyes shine with something different now, as if he was blinking back tears. He wasn’t sure his own eyes looked any better.

It remained silent for a while. The boys looked from one to the other, unsure what was going on.

“So why are you back now, then?”, Yann asked, when nobody else made a move.

“The simple reason is that I finally got accepted into the Arts program at the University of Paris,” he answered, but his eyes still never left Lucas.

Yann nudged him with his elbow, willing him to ask the obvious reason, but Lucas was still too much in shock to do so.

In the end, it was Arthur who finally broke the heavy tension.

“And the complicated reason?”

Eliott took a deep breath.

“I had to leave something behind I never wanted to leave. Or someone, rather. Someone who I hadn’t even known all that long, but who meant everything to me. Someone who I missed every goddamn day I was out there. Who I have written thousands of texts to, and deleted them all, who I wanted to call millions of times, but never did. Someone I made so many drawings for over the years I could barely get them all to Paris with me – I just hope he gives me a chance to show them to him one day.”

“Sound like someone pretty important,” Yann said, when Eliott’s voice broke.

“The most important person I ever met,” Eliott agreed. “I loved him then, and I hate the fact that I never got to tell him, so I just hope I get to tell him now.”

“Do you – still?”, Lucas whispered. “Love him?”

Eliott nodded. “I never stopped. Please, Lucas,” he said, suddenly giving up all the pretense, beseeching him, “I swear I never meant to hurt you, it all happened so fast, and I know I am years too late, and you probably have somebody else by now, I just – I need you to believe me. I fell in love with you the first day I saw you walking the hallway at school, and I never stopped.”

Basile gasped.

“You are in love with Lucas? Our Lucas?”

“Oh, come on, Baz,” Arthur said as he stood up. “Let’s go get pizza. You coming, Yann?”

And as Basile still protested indignantly – “But I didn’t know! Lucas never said anything!” – Arthur and Yann dragged him along, the latter winking over his shoulder at Lucas.

As Basile’s voice finally died down, Lucas lifted his eyes to Eliott’s, and then dropped them to his mouth almost immediately.

“Lucas?”, Eliott said tentatively, gingerly reaching out a hand to Lucas’ shoulder.

“You drew for me?”

He didn’t know why he came up with that, after everything Eliott had said, but he was rewarded when Eliott smiled.

“Hundreds of times. Hundreds of happy hedgehogs and raccoons.”

Lucas smiled.

“Do you… I mean, maybe… If you wanted… You could come with me and I could show them to you?”

Eliott’s tone was hopeful, but cautious, and suddenly Lucas didn’t want to waste another minute. He’d pined over Eliott for years, and here he was. Nobody could predict the future, but tonight, he wasn’t going to let Eliott slip away.

“Only if I can stay the night,” he said, softly, and he laughed as Eliott’s eyes went wide and his breath hitched.

“I can’t wait until we get there to kiss you,” Eliott replied just as softly, when he was sufficiently recovered.

“Please don’t.”

And when their lips found each other again after all those years, they both knew it was going to take a while to get to the drawings – but neither of them overly minded.