#hurting myself with this thought this morning

[sjsmith56]

You Know You Love Me

Summary: Bucky drives another member of the Avengers crazy with his teasing of her, and the non-stop women that he dates.

Length: 3.4 K

Characters: Bucky, unnamed and undescribed fem!reader

Warnings: Cursing, Bucky being insufferable, condescension, interference in reader’s dating life

Author notes: Avenger AU; Thanos never happened in this universe.

There were times when Bucky Barnes could be really irritating. Actually, it was most of the time. Living in the tower with him was like having the most irritating big brother / roommate / overbearing neighbour ever, trying to run your life. The worst moments were when he would say something just to get a rise out of me. He’d say it, then smirk, then the smile would get broader as he watched my reaction, then he would practically laugh when I’d call him on his bullshit. Those perfect teeth would be fully exposed, and I swear there would be a lens flare sparkle effect on them as his eyes crinkled in amusement. It was maddening.

He always had an opinion on everything, from TV shows, movies, favourite foods and especially with what I wore, and shared it whether I wanted to hear it or not.

“Sweetheart, you should wear that blue dress more often on your dates,” he would say, or something similar to it. “It will make your eyes pop.”

“You telling me what to wear, Barnes?” I would answer. “You practically live in your dark jeans and Henleys.”

“That’s because they’re comfortable,” he would reply, with a grin. “After what I went through in my life, I’m entitled to a little comfort in my old age, aren’t I?”

“Eat shit,” would be my response, except I never said it aloud as he was still a man of the 40s and would act all concerned at the language people used, which was rich coming from him, as he swore more than I did.

To be honest, I couldn’t really call him out on his life because he was tortured for most of it, and technically he was a centenarian. But to watch him just grin, with that look he often had after saying something outrageous to me, knowing I was holding my tongue, brought out the worst in me. Of course, the other Avengers would say he obviously liked me because he was normally Mr. Silent and Grumpy with all of them.

“Take the smile,” said Sam. “It’s proof the man has a heart.”

“But it bugs me,” I explained. “Drives me up the wall.”

“That’s why he does it,” smiled the winged man. “He obviously likes you and thinks you can handle it.”

That was the real problem for me; I couldn’t handle his attention, seemingly focused just on me. None of the others got as much scrutiny as I did. It didn’t help that the man was insanely gorgeous, with that thick dark hair, intense blue eyes, a jawline and cheekbones that rivalled those of any Hollywood heartthrob, topped off by an incredible smile. Physically, he was the type of man that women drooled over; tall, broad shouldered, sculpted waist, an ass that filled out his jeans so well, and thighs that gave me all sorts of thoughts. Which was another reason why I did my best to ignore or insult him. You would think I would know that my tactics weren’t working but the alternative to his attention was not getting it and that was unthinkable.

He had lots of female company, based on the number of times he came out of his room in the morning with a different woman for the walk of shame to the elevator. He’d stroke their hair, say how much fun he had, kiss them softly on their lips, then send them on their way, never to be seen again. It hurt, and I didn’t think I could compete against that. Not that I ever really tried.

Don’t get me wrong. I was happy with myself. After falling into that trap of denying myself anything that might stick to my figure, I realized I was playing a sucker’s game. I liked food, I liked enjoying myself, and so what if I wasn’t a perfect size 2. I was perfect the way I was, loved my curves and loved showing them off. Dates weren’t a problem, although second dates weren’t automatic, and third dates were rare. I often wondered why that was.

Somehow, Bucky would always be around when my date was picking me up for the first time. He would lean against a wall, his arms folded, gazing intently at the man who showed up. Occasionally he would speak to them with something along the lines of bringing me home before curfew. They would look at him, then me, to determine if he was kidding. It didn’t help when he said it was part of my “parole conditions.” Even if Bucky started grinning and say he was joking, more often than not those would be the dates that didn’t progress beyond the first one. If I did get asked out again, he would be waiting even nearer to us, almost like a lurking parent.

“Did you remember to take your infectious disease medication?” he would sometimes ask.

“Bucky, you know damn well I’m as healthy as a super soldier.”

“Yeah, now you are,” he’d say, with a straight face. “Gotta stay vigilant. Remember Typhoid Mary appeared healthy.”

The last time it happened, and Bucky said something really outrageous, the guy decided not to follow up with any more dates, so I confronted Bucky the next morning.

“Why are you always interfering in my love life?” I was almost apoplectic in my anger. “You told him I had to be home to tuck the kids in.”

“You can do better than him, sweetheart,” he answered. “If he really liked you, he would have asked to meet the kids. He wasn’t right for you. None of them are.”

I was done with his interference.

“How would you know? When was the last time you had a steady girlfriend?”

“Haven’t found the right one, yet,” he said. “But I get lots of action during the search, so I’m not too concerned.”

“Yeah? Sometimes I wonder if you have your lady friends over here just to make me jealous.” A flicker of something appeared in his eyes and quickly disappeared. I obviously hit a target. “You see me giving your dates the third degree?”

“They know our dates are casual,” he said, with an edge to his voice. “I don’t lead them on.” The grin appeared again. “They just want a taste and I’m happy to oblige.”

“You’re such a hypocrite!” I was in serious danger of losing it. “I swear, one of these days I’m going to start dragging guys to my bedroom. See how you like it then.”

With what I hoped was dramatic effect I whirled around and stomped away, not looking back. He just made me so angry. What he didn’t know was that I went straight to my room, turned on the TV really loud, then buried my face in my pillow and cried. Cried for letting him bother me; cried for being jealous of the women he brought back; cried for obviously not being someone he saw as worthy of dating. I hated to admit it, but I was in love with him, but I also knew I was nothing like the women he brought back for the night. They were beautiful; tall, graceful, perfect hair and teeth. Even though I liked myself I still felt like I was a 6 compared to their 9s. I didn’t think he would ever think of me as anything other than someone to tease.

It didn’t help that before I came to the tower, I was in a disastrous relationship with a SHIELD agent who was just as handsome as Bucky. He broke my heart when I learned he was cheating on me, and I didn’t want to be put into that position again. I put up all my emotional guards and just did my job. Except Bucky kept chipping away at me. I was tired of it. Did I already say he drove me crazy? This boomeranging between loving him and hating him wore me out.

For a week after that last confrontation, I wouldn’t talk to him. I wouldn’t even stay in the same room with him as I was so mad at myself for loving him. He didn’t bring any women back to his quarters during that week, so I guessed that my words had an effect.

That lasted until I went out to a nightclub with a bunch of college friends that I hadn’t seen in a while. I was dressed to the nines that night, in a slinky dress, cut low in the front and back, showing a lot of leg. I did my hair, wore makeup, nice jewelry … the works. We walked into the place like we owned it, and heads turned as we made our entrance. Drinking and dancing like it was the first day of the rest of our lives, we drew lots of male attention (and some female, as a couple of my girlfriends were lesbians). It was fun and liberating at the same time.

I was on the dance floor, grinding my ass against a guy as we danced when I saw them; Bucky and Sam, sitting at the bar. I couldn’t believe they would follow me. Women were hitting on both and every time I looked Bucky would lean over, whisper something in their ear, then pull back with that sexy smile he had. I was sure he was doing it deliberately. When we finally made eye contact, he lifted his glass to me. What an asshole.

“Who’s an asshole?” asked the guy I was dancing with, raising his voice so I could hear him over the music.

I must have said it out loud.

“Just a guy from work who showed up here,” I yelled back. “He’s always on my case. We had words and I told him off. Now he’s here and I just find his presence annoying.”

“You want me to tell him to leave?” he asked. “I don’t mind.”

Before I could answer he left me on the dance floor and made his way to Bucky. I watched him point back to me then say something. That smirk came out, then Bucky looked at me and shook his head. Working my way off the dance floor I confronted him, swaying lightly as I was definitely under the influence.

“Why are you here?”

“Baby, I just told him to leave,” said my dance partner. “Come on, he’s just being a dick.”

“Seriously, Bucky, why did you follow me?”

He looked at Sam, then at the guy I had danced with, then back at me, sizing me up in a way that made me a little uncomfortable. “I didn’t know you were here. We often hang out here, don’t we Sam? Good booze, nice staff, and great music.”

Sam said nothing, just arched his eyebrows a little. The guy I danced with was getting impatient.

“Bullshit, you hate this music,” I said. “You always go to that jazz place on the east side.”

That smirk twitched at the side of Bucky’s mouth. “How would you know? You been watching me?”

“No,” I answered defensively. “People post pics on Instagram. You’re a celebrity.”

The guy looked at Bucky again then at Sam and his brain suddenly put two and two together.

Bucky scoffed. “Thought I would find out what the appeal with this place is,” he answered, then he looked at the guy who was definitely figuring out he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. “Gotta say, I’m not that impressed.”

“Yeah? Well, I didn’t ask for your opinion,” I retorted, trying to appear put together, then losing my balance. He caught me before I tripped over the heels I was wearing. “Thank you. Now, I’m going back to dancing with my friend here. You can just … just … buzz off.”

I waved my hand at him dismissively, then turned back to the dance floor, grabbing hold of the guy’s arm. As I headed back into the throng of dancers with him, I lost my balance again and almost fell, but felt a strong pair of arms catch me up in their arms. It was Bucky.

“Put me down,” I said.

“No, you’re going home,” he answered. “You’ve had enough.”

“She asked you to put her down.” Bucky glared at him.

“You're not my dad,” I slurred. “Or my boyfriend. You don’t get to tell me when I’ve had enough.”

“That’s true,” he answered, still holding me in the middle of that dance floor as the other dancers ignored us. All I could see was that cute cleft in his chin. God, I wanted to lick it. “But I am your friend, and I think you should call it a night.”

It was like the other guy didn’t even exist. Bucky thought he was my friend? Never before had he said that and for some reason, it made me cry. Every time I tried to stop, I couldn’t and I buried my face in his chest, soaking his shirt with my tears. Calmly, he carried me off the dance floor to where Sam was, holding my purse and jacket. I still don’t know what happened to the guy I was dancing with, but he didn’t follow us.

“I’ll get the car,” said Sam. “She’s going to have a hell of a hangover tomorrow.”

“She’ll be alright,” replied Bucky, then he looked at me in a way he never had before. “You really need to know your limit.”

“Are you mad at me?” My voice sounded pathetic, even to me.

“No, sweetheart, I’m not mad.” He was still holding me in his arms. “I’m actually sorry.”

We were waiting at the door now, where it was quieter and the pounding in my head that I knew came from how much I drank began bothering me. He stood me upright for a moment, helping me on with my jacket.

“Why are you sorry?” I asked as he buttoned it up.

He breathed out noticeably. “I went about things the wrong way. I might be over a hundred years old but when it comes to women I like, I forget how to act around them.”

I swayed a little, and he put his arm around me, supporting me.

“Who do you like?”

Sam’s car appeared and Bucky helped me into the back seat, buckling me up. Not that it helped as I wanted to lie down and close my eyes. Sam shrugged as Bucky got into the back seat and put his arm around my shoulders so that I leaned against him. He was so warm, and his arm felt so nice and comforting.

“You smell good,” I murmured. That was the last thing I remembered until we got to the tower.

When we got there, I know that he picked me up like I weighed nothing and held me in the elevator until we reached the residential section. He carried me to my room then I could hear Natasha’s voice. For some reason that made me cry again, but she was so nice, telling me to let it out. I ended up in a T-shirt and shorts, tucked into the bed.

“There’s a glass of water and some pain killers on the nightstand,” she said softly. “Next time you wake up, take them, okay?”

She left me there although I could hear her and Bucky talking in Russian, but not understanding it, I didn’t know what they were saying. I just wanted to sleep, and I did, like the proverbial dead. When I did finally open my eyes, the light hurt, even though the curtains were drawn. I took the painkillers and drank the glass of water, then promptly ran to the bathroom, and brought it all up. As I sat on the floor, holding my head in my hands while I leaned against the bathtub, I heard a knock on the bathroom door.

“Go away,” I muttered. “Let me die in peace.”

“Were you sick?” It was Bucky.

“No.”

“Sweetheart, I could hear you. Clint could hear you and he wears hearing aids.”

I closed my eyes, then fought the urge to cry. He must have heard that because he spoke again, in a softer tone.

“Please, let me come in.”

“Fine.”

The door opened and he stepped inside. He turned the cold water tap on then filled the glass with water. Lowering himself to the floor, he sat next to me, holding out two new painkillers.

“I’m guessing you didn’t keep the last ones down,” he said. “You really tied one on last night.”

“Yeah, well, I was trying to forget,” I answered, taking the pills and holding them in my hand.

I took the water in my other hand and sipped it. When my stomach felt better, I swallowed the pills and washed them down with more water. Without thinking, I sighed, and put the glass down on the floor, reaching for some toilet paper so I could blow my nose. Bucky said nothing.

“Aren’t you going to ask what I’m trying to forget?”

“I have a pretty good idea,” he answered, just a little too quickly. “I’m sorry I’ve been a jerk to you. I kind of got carried away.”

I huffed a little. “Why do you act like you do?”

“No excuse for that,” he answered. “None that are valid, other than making up for lost time. Even that is suspect.”

“What do you mean?”

Sighing, then scratching his stubble with his fingers, he turned those blue eyes on me.

“I’ve been trying to make you jealous,” he said. “Juvenile I know. I can turn on the charm for most women, but for the one who I really want, I can’t seem to say the right thing. It makes you respond in kind and instead of us getting closer, it just pushes us further apart.”

“You want me? I find that hard to believe.”

“Why? You’re beautiful, smart, and you have a razor-sharp wit that I love. The worst of it is that other guys see it too, so I got a little prehistoric and bared my teeth at them, figuratively speaking. I’m sorry about that. You deserve better.”

“It hurt when you would bring all those women back here,” I said, frowning. “Then you pulled that double standard shit on me, by chasing away my dates.”

“I know. Guilty as charged. No excuses.” He breathed out. “You know how my senses are amplified?” I nodded. “None of them smelled as good as you. That probably sounds weird, but their scents were all chemical and fake compared to you.”

It was weird. “What did I smell like?”

“Home.”

“What exactly does that mean?”

Before I could say anything else, he kissed me, even though my mouth must have tasted of barf. He didn’t care, and it was the best kiss I ever had, making me feel weak and dizzy and aroused all at the same time. Then he pulled me onto his lap and kissed me some more, while putting one hand around to the nape of my neck while the other one wrapped around my body. Just as I was really getting into it, he stopped, then cupped my jaw in his one hand.

“You need to have a shower and brush your teeth.”

“You kissed me,” I countered. “I figured it didn’t matter.”

“It matters. I just wanted you to know as soon as possible.”

“Know what?”

“That you know you love me.” That smirk came out, along with the lens flare on those perfect teeth. Just as I was about to argue the point, he kissed me again. “I love you, too and I’ll tell you that in public and private as many times as I can until you believe it.”

He lifted me off of his lap and deposited me on the bathroom floor. Then he stood up and went to the door, looking back at me.

“You’re so cute when you don’t know what to say. I’ll be out here waiting for you.”

He thought I was cute. At my age I would take it. He was right about several things. I did know that I loved him. Now that I knew for sure that he loved me too, it was going to be interesting finding out where that love would take us.

One Shots Masterlist

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[hazelira]

when love feels like goodbye

Jake’s flight was in the early morning, a time when everything felt too real. You stood at the airport gate, the weight of your unspoken words hanging heavily between you. There was no grand declaration of love, no desperate pleading. Just the soft hum of the world moving on without you.

“I’ll miss you, you know,” you said, keeping your voice light as you both tried to pretend this was just a temporary goodbye.

Jake smiled, but it was sadder than you remembered. “I’ll miss you, too.”

That was the last time you spoke before he left, the words unsaid choking in your throat. You’d tried to convince yourself that this wasn’t the end, that you would somehow make it work. But deep down, you knew that his dreams lay far beyond the borders of your small town, and you were just a chapter in his life—a chapter he would someday close.

And you did your best to move on, even as every corner of your life felt empty without Jake.

Years passed. Jake lived his life—studied abroad, traveled the world, made new friends. Meanwhile, you stayed behind, growing into someone else, someone you didn’t recognize. But you never stopped thinking about him. Never stopped missing the warmth of his presence, the way his hand fit so perfectly in yours.

When he came back, it was as if no time had passed at all.

But things had changed. You had changed.

You stood in the coffee shop, eyes locked on the man who was now standing right in front of you. But there was a ring on your finger. A promise you had made to someone else. Someone who wasn’t Jake.

“I can’t believe you’re back,” you said, your voice trembling.

Jake smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s been too long. I’ve missed this place.”

The silence between you was thick with things unsaid. Years of history that you both tried to ignore.

“You look different,” Jake said, his eyes tracing the changes in you—the maturity, the way you held yourself, the engagement ring on your finger.

“I’m not the same person I was when you left,” you answered softly, biting your lip to keep it from trembling.

And you weren’t. You had grown, had learned to live without him, to accept that maybe love wasn’t meant for you and Jake.

But Jake’s gaze never wavered. His heart, it seemed, hadn’t moved on.

That night, Jake found you sitting alone by the lake—just like old times, when you used to share secrets and dreams beneath the stars. Only this time, there was a wall between you, a ring on your finger, and the reality that you had moved on from him.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Jake confessed, his voice hoarse. “I’ve been trying to stay away, trying to convince myself that it was better this way. But every time I see you, I remember everything we had. And it’s killing me.”

You looked away, not able to meet his eyes. “Jake... I’m with someone else now. I’m getting married.”

“I know,” he said, his tone strained. “I’ve seen it. And I don’t have the right to ask for anything more. But I can’t help it. I can’t stop thinking about what we could’ve been.”

Your heart shattered at his words, the depth of his feelings almost more than you could bear.

“I’ve waited for you,” Jake continued, stepping closer. “I thought maybe I could let go, that I could move on. But I can’t. I don’t want to lose you forever. I thought if I kept my distance, it wouldn’t hurt this much. But I’m here now, and losing you is going to break me either way.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you whispered, “Jake, I’m not the same person I was. I thought I’d be okay, but I’m not. I don’t know how to choose between you and him.”

Jake’s eyes softened, his pain reflected in yours. “You don’t have to choose. I just... I needed you to know. You were always the one who made me feel like I was enough.”

The days that followed were a blur of emotions. You tried to pretend everything was normal, that you could carry on with your life as if Jake’s return hadn’t torn open old wounds you had spent years burying. But every moment with him felt like a reminder of what you could never have.

Jake didn’t push. He didn’t demand an answer. But the more time you spent together, the more you realized how deeply you had loved him, how that love had never truly gone away.

But you had already promised someone else your heart.

One evening, after a long day of pretending everything was fine, you found Jake sitting alone in the park, staring at the stars.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly, your voice breaking. “I can’t love you the way you want me to.”

Jake’s shoulders slumped, and he sighed deeply. “I know. I’ve always known.”

“But you’re not the one I’m supposed to be with,” you said, as much to yourself as to him. “You’re the one who got away. The one I couldn’t forget. But the life we were supposed to have is already gone.”

“I understand,” Jake replied softly, his voice steady despite the hurt in his eyes. “I just wanted you to know how much I care. And that I’ll always care. Even if you’re not mine.”

And with that, you both stood in the silence of the night, the weight of love unspoken, of a love that couldn’t be. A love that would remain only in the shadows of your hearts.

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[agirlwithglam]

https://www.tumblr.com/agirlwithglam/760858969670582272/no-guys-you-dont-understand-i-love-myself

How does one get here😭

this was asked a long time ago but i think i finally found the words to write it. (i don't im just bored, sorry!)

so how does one fully love themselves?

getting to that point of my life took time. it took a lot of time. like around 1-2 years of time, and im still not 100% there- i still get hurt sometimes, i'm still emotional and sensitive. but the thing is, that over these 1-2 years i've learnt so much that whenever i'm feeling sad or hurt, i'm able to support myself. i am the first person who shows up for me and does my very best to console and help me. i help myself turn that pain into something even better. i walk myself through what happened and whether i may be overreacting or not. i am the one who is now always always always there for myself.

and i think once i realised this, i genuinely was like "woah." no matter what happens in my life, i will ALWAYS have myself and that thought just soothes me. it relaxes and calms me down. i am no longer scared because there is no reason to be. i know that i cannot control other people, other people will always do what they want to do. they can hurt you, make you happy, hurt you again, even unintentionally. i cannot control their actions, but i can control myself. i can control how i choose to view it and react to it. so every time i get hurt i walk myself through the steps of seeing it a different way.

another thing i did when i was insecure & trying to love myself is that i did affirmations religiously. in the morning doing skincare, i would always repeat affirmations or listen to affirmations. it would be phrases like "i love myself." / "i am beautiful", etc. it's not the sole thing that transformed my love for myself, but it did help a ton with me believing it. (doing affirmations enough time can also help rewire your brain into believing what you keep repeating)

also, you need to realise that you do love yourself. a human's natural state of being is love. return to that state of being. a little baby or a child, they are full of love. they give love, they receive love, they are never ending of love. and they are the purest form of a person for they are themselves before society has told them who to be. so do you realise that you deserve love fully and beyond what you could imagine? and the one person in the whole world that can give you that unlimited love, is yourself. but you must choose to love yourself.

stop constantly returning to the state of insecurity okay? thats not you!! you are not insecure, you just think you are insecure! but in reality, there is NOTHING to be insecure about. someone else could have the exact same quality as you and love it so much! so end this cycle of negativity. choose to live a different, happier, more positive life. its all up to you. u can CHOOSE to be different!

finally, to end with, honey it will take time. just because you don't find yourself loving what you see in the mirror after 1 day, doesn't mean you never will. you don't have to keep changing yourself to love yourself. if your daughter looked like you, would you hate her? would you cringe when you look at her? of course not. treat yourself as your daughter. be gentle with yourself. be there for yourself. show up for yourself. it may take time, but please, don't give up on yourself.

[starlitvases]

Unfortunately you do have to make a post explaining what introjection is and why its bad if you don’t support it /nm /gen

Hello, let's a get a few things straight.

1) I never claimed that introjection is bad, and I never said I don't support it. The initial post this anon is referring to involves me stating that holding onto the belief that you are a literal fictional character is anti-recovery rhetoric. Either the anon misunderstood my post, or they're twisting my words, the second of which I don't appreciate.

2) I am a nursing student and am currently employed at a disability office. I know what recovery should ideally look like and what it doesn't look like. Aside from that, people more qualified than me have studied this element of psychology, and there are plenty of resources out there explaining what I'm talking about.

But since you and the original post author asked, and since I'm running on 26 hours of no sleep and don't care to wait for the morning to make this post, you'll get my explanation now. Apologies in advance if my tone sounds rude or aggressive. I don't mean to be, and again, lack of sleep may affect my tone. I'll maybe edit this after I sleep to sound nicer. Who knows.

Let's get started.

Introjection, as defined by the APA (American Psychological Association), is "a process in which an individual unconsciously incorporates aspects of external reality into the self, particularly the attitudes, values, and qualities of another person or a part of another person's personality."

Introjection is something every single human on this planet will do, even outside of dissociation. Cultural values are a good example. If you primarily grow up in a Latin American household, you may introject traditional family values, the same values your parents may display. The same goes for any culture and their own values. This occurs with fictional characters as well. Ever watch a TV show and you suddenly start using your favorite character's vocabulary? That's also introjection.

In dissociative patients, particularly those with a complex dissociative disorder, introjection is commonly found with abuser introjects. These introjects often take the form of persecutors. Here's a screen grab from The Haunted Self:

"Without the ability to mentalize perpetrators, to create symbolic representations, children may "take in," introject, the "bad" object of the perpetrators. Thus, as EPs they claim they are the abuser, and not the abused, and have the affects and behaviors of a perpetrator to varying degrees."

These introjects serve as coping mechanisms, as do all alters within a dissociative system. With these particular alters, the brain creates them to build a barrier between it and the abuse. An internal thought process may be, "if I commit violence against myself, then I'm not really being hurt because I'm doing it by choice." Various thought processes similar to the one I just outlined are used as justification for the internal abuse. Children direct blame towards themselves rather than the perpetrators because they're often told the fault of the abuse belongs to them by their abusers or even by others. To protect the child, persecutory abuser introjects may form to direct the abuse inwards as a way to make sure they're "actually at fault." Introjects are largely used to cover up an internal struggle or trauma within the self.

Fictional introjects are no exception. The thought process for introjecting a fictional character may be, "if I am [character], then the abuse never *actually* happened to *me.*" The brain may see a character that has gone through something similar to the body and grab onto said character as a defense mechanism for denial. This has been documented, however my hazy memory and 26 hours of no sleep is not a good way to hunt down the sources for this. This segment may be edited when I get some sleep.

Taking all of this into consideration, stating and believing that you are literally a fictional character feeds into the denial loop the traumatized brain has created. Denial is never a good ingredient for recovery. Recovery begins by facing what has happened to you and healing from it. Hiding behind denial prevents this process from happening. It prevents integration (the lowering of dissociative barriers), communication, and teamwork from occurring within the system, all of which are needed for healing. Hiding behind what is essentially a lie created by your brain does not help you, nor does it help your alters beside you.

I do understand that not everyone is ready to face the denial and challenege it, and thus saying/believing that you are literally a fictional character is what is keeping you alive at the moment, but the line has to be drawn when you start encouraging others to feed into the denial loop as well. Healing is done on one's own time, and spreading anti-recovery rhetoric removes that autonomy from others. I could visually see that spread in the reblogs.

That spread is the problem I had with the initial post. I never had a problem with the post being about introjection itself. My problem is that it is encouraging others to stunt their recovery when they may otherwise be ready.

Seeing posts similar to that initial post tends to prevent the process of looking inwards and figuring out what is needed in the individual. It encourages the process of looking outwards and only applying what is deemed "acceptable" within the community to oneself. I know that I personally only began to see myself and what I needed when I moved away from the community and stopped seeing anti-recovery posts. I'm sure I'm not alone in that regard.

@certified-silly-guy Here's that post! I don't have the energy to do back and forth reblog replies, so please DM if you have any questions.

[lila-lou]

✨High School Sweetheart - Pt 9✨

Summary: You come face-to-face with a ghost from your past—Dean Winchester. Five years after he vanished from your life without a word, and now he´s here. But neither you nor he are teenagers anymore.

-Listen to "Chance with you"-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Language, Fuff, Angst

Word Count: 8800

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💙

He met your gaze, a mixture of regret and understanding in his eyes. “Guess I left you with more than a few bruises that didn’t heal so easy”. His voice was quiet, and for once, he wasn’t hiding behind his usual bravado. “I know I… wasn’t around to help pick up the pieces”.

You looked down, tracing the edge of your wine glass with your finger, the years of hurt and healing flashing through your mind. “I tried to let it go, you know? Tried to be… okay”. You took a breath, steadying yourself. “But it’s hard when you can’t shake the feeling that something’s missing. Like you’re trying to move on, but there’s always this empty space that just… doesn’t go away”.

Dean opened his mouth, the words forming on his lips, but you gently raised a hand, stopping him before he could speak. “It’s not your fault, Dean”, you said softly, your voice steady but threaded with the honesty you’d held back for so long. “Eight years ago, you were upfront with me. You never promised me forever; I knew what I was getting into with you”.

You looked down again. “I just… I guess I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, you’d feel enough to come back. That one day, you’d walk back through that door on your own”.

Dean’s face fell, the weight of your words pressing down on him, and he took a shaky breath, the flicker of guilt and sorrow unmistakable in his eyes. “I thought about it… about coming back”, he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. “More times than you could imagine. But every time, I told myself you deserved better than a guy who could only give you bits and pieces. I didn’t want to hold you back from having… everything”.

You looked up, meeting his gaze, a mixture of tenderness and hurt in your expression. “Everything, Dean?”, You let out a soft, sad chuckle. “What’s everything without the person you can’t stop thinking about?”.

The vulnerability in your voice broke something in him, and he reached across the table, his hand finding yours, his touch warm and grounding. His thumb traced gentle circles on your hand, grounding you both. “I was scared”, he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “Scared I couldn’t be what you needed… that I’d mess up something real and leave you worse off”. He hesitated, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “But not a day went by when I didn’t regret it. Not one”.

Dean’s grip on your hand tightened, his eyes searching yours with an intensity that held years of unspoken words and hidden fears. “I wanted you to have… kids”, he began, his voice rough, each word a struggle, as if saying it out loud made it hurt more. “That house we always talked about, a life, (Y/N). Not this”. He gestured vaguely, encompassing everything that his life had become—the dangerous hunts, the constant running, the never-ending fight against things that most people only read about in horror novels.

He let out a heavy sigh, his gaze dropping for a moment as he gathered his thoughts. “It’s not just ghosts and werewolves, sweetheart”, he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet urgency. “It’s demons, things darker and… worse than I could ever explain. And you don’t belong on that path. I can’t stand the thought of you living in fear—sleeping in dirty motels, wondering if you’re going to wake up the next morning, or if some creature’s going to turn up and…”. He trailed off, shaking his head, his eyes brimming with something raw and unshielded.

“I want you to have peace”, he murmured, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. “To feel safe, to have that family, to go to sleep at night knowing you’re going to wake up safe in the morning. I want you to have a life that’s… beautiful, and not shadowed by the things I can’t escape”.

You felt the weight of his words settle over you, the quiet, profound ache behind every syllable. Dean had left, not because he didn’t love you, but because he loved you too much to drag you into his world. The realization washed over you like a wave, the years of wondering and hurting suddenly making a different kind of sense.

“But Dean”, you whispered, your voice trembling, “that life… it doesn’t mean much if you’re not there”. You reached up, your hand brushing gently along his jaw, grounding him in your touch, your voice thick with emotion. “I get what you wanted for me, but… all I wanted was you”.

Dean looked away, his jaw clenching as he wrestled with the emotions your words stirred up. You could see it—the conflict, the regret, the deep-seated belief that he was doing what was best for you, no matter how much it tore him apart.

“(Y/N)”, he murmured, his voice thick, each word weighed down with guilt and sorrow. “You don’t understand… you deserve so much more than what I can give you. My life, it’s… it’s a war zone. I’ve seen things, been through things I’d never want you to know about”. His voice broke slightly, and he took a shaky breath, steadying himself. “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to stay. But wanting isn’t the same as doing right by you”.

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, a gesture that felt as comforting as it was heartbreaking. “If I stay… you’ll never be free. You’d be tied to a life that would keep you looking over your shoulder, wondering if I’ll come back each time I leave. And you’d see me—”. He hesitated, his voice filled with a quiet self-loathing that nearly undid you. “You’d see me worn down, one hunt after another, one scar after the next. I can’t do that to you”.

Tears pricked your eyes, but you refused to look away, to let him turn this into a goodbye. “But, Dean… I don’t care about any of that”, you said, your voice thick with the love you’d held onto for so long. “You’re not just some guy who comes and goes—you’re… you’re the one person I never stopped loving. I don’t care about the scars, the hunts, the danger. I care about you. And if you think you’re sparing me from something by leaving, you’re wrong”.

He shook his head, a pained smile flickering across his face. “(Y/N), this life… it breaks you. It’s broken me. And you—you’re strong and good, and I don’t want to be the thing that takes that from you”.

“You don’t get to decide that for me, Dean”, you whispered, your voice firm even as it trembled. “You don’t get to choose what I’m willing to face, who I’m willing to love. That’s mine, and I’m choosing you. I’ve always chosen you”.

Dean’s shoulders slumped, and for a moment, he looked as though the fight had finally left him, his resolve crumbling under the weight of his own feelings. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, they were filled with a raw vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see.

“Do you know how many times I thought about coming back?”, he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though he were confessing a sin. “Every time I thought maybe, just maybe, I’d be strong enough to keep you safe. That we could have that life. But then I’d see… the things I had to do, the people I couldn’t save, and I’d talk myself out of it. I kept telling myself that letting you go was the only way I could protect you”.

Your eyes glistened, a mixture of frustration and heartbreak surfacing after years of keeping it buried. The words escaped before you could rein them in, soft but edged with a quiet, fierce pain. “Nothing… nothing could feel worse than waiting eight damn years, Dean. Eight years for that one guy who took my heart with him when he left”.

Dean’s gaze dropped, the weight of your words settling over him, his own pain evident in the tight line of his jaw, the way he ran a hand through his hair as if trying to find a way to fix what had broken. He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it, the words clearly failing him. He looked at you as if seeing the hurt he’d caused in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to before, the reality of it hitting him with a force he couldn’t ignore.

Your voice dropped to a whisper, carrying the weight of every year you’d spent trying to move forward yet feeling anchored to a part of your life that hadn’t let you go. “Look where I am, Dean”, you murmured, the words trembling with a quiet vulnerability. “I don’t care about my stupid bookstore, or the dress hanging in my closet that I’ll never wear… every step, every plan, every single moment, I kept wondering… what if Dean was by my side?”.

Your voice gained a quiet, trembling strength, the years of suppressed pain and longing spilling over. “I’m anything but happy, Dean”, you whispered, your voice growing more resolute with each word. “Anything but at peace. Every single day, it feels like I’m just… existing, going through the motions, trying to build a life that doesn’t feel real without you in it”.

Dean’s expression twisted with a mix of frustration and anguish, his jaw tightening as he tried to hold back the emotions surging within him. Finally, he let out a frustrated sigh, his voice sharp, edged with pain. “But you’re alive, dammit. You’re here, safe, in one piece. That’s what I wanted for you, even if it meant…”. His voice cracked, but he pushed on, “even if it meant I had to stay away”.

You flinched slightly at his tone, not from fear, but from the raw truth embedded in his words. He had chosen your safety over his own happiness, a decision that had broken both of you in different ways.

Your voice rose, trembling with the intensity of every feeling you’d held back for so long. “I would trade my damn safety in an instant, Dean”, you whispered, the rawness in your voice making him falter, “if it meant I could be with you. If it meant feeling alive again, actually living instead of just… existing”.

Dean stood up, his expression filled with a mixture of frustration and something darker—something that carried years of wounds, both seen and unseen. Without a word, he lifted his shirt, revealing the bruises and fresh stitches scattered across his torso. But the worst of it was a deep, angry gash just above his heart, the skin around it still raw and healing. You inhaled sharply, a wave of shock and horror settling over you as you took in the reality of what he’d endured.

His voice was barely steady, each word laced with a raw edge. “I was possessed, (Y/N). Literally. There was… someone else in my head, guiding me, forcing me”. His eyes flashed with a bitterness that cut through you, and he gestured to the wound on his chest. “I took this knife—my own damn hand—and I slit my chest open. Tried to rip out my own heart. But it wasn’t me… it was a demon. A demon using me, my own mind, my own hands”.

He paused, the words hanging heavily between you, the rawness of his confession unraveling the walls you’d built to protect yourself from fully understanding what his life entailed. “Is that what you want?”, he continued, his voice breaking. “Because that’s the life you’re asking for right now—a life where every time you turn around, you’re wondering if it’s me, or if it’s something that’s using me to get to you, or to hurt you”.

You looked down, your mind spinning as you tried to process the weight of what he’d just shared. Dean leaned back against the kitchen counter, arms crossed defensively over his bruised chest, his expression hard but filled with a pain that went beyond the physical. There was a rawness in his eyes, a desperate, unspoken need for you to understand, and yet… a hesitance, as if he were daring you to truly see the darkness he lived with.

“Look at me”, he said, his voice low and filled with a bitterness that broke your heart. “And tell me… tell me that loving me is enough to overshadow all of that sick shit”. The words came out with an edge of self-loathing, as if he couldn’t fathom anyone wanting to hold onto someone so scarred, so damaged by things most people could never even comprehend.

The way he spoke—as though even the idea of loving him was something ugly—sent a pang through you. You lifted your gaze, taking in the bruises, the cuts, the haunted look in his eyes, and you felt your own heart ache. He’d endured so much, and he still couldn’t see that none of it made him unworthy. If anything, it made him braver, stronger, someone who bore the weight of the world on his shoulders alone because he didn’t want it to touch the people he cared about.

You took a small, steadying breath, meeting his gaze with an intensity that matched the weight of his words. “Obviously, you don’t know how much I’ve fallen for you if you think any of this would stop me”, you whispered, the words slipping out softly but laced with unwavering conviction.

Dean’s posture stiffened, a flicker of surprise crossing his face as he absorbed your words, his defenses crumbling in a way that left him looking more exposed than ever. For a moment, he was silent, his eyes searching yours as if trying to understand how you could look at him that way, how you could see all of him—the scars, the trauma, the darkness—and still be here.

He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again, seemingly at a loss, his shoulders sagging under the weight of everything he’d been holding back. “I just… I don’t get it”, he murmured, his voice raw, almost vulnerable. “Why? Why me, when all I seem to do is break things?”.

Dean’s voice dropped to a murmur, barely more than a whisper. “I’m not worth it, baby. Trust me”, he said, his eyes darkening with an ache that went far beyond the bruises on his body, carrying the weight of everything he’d been through, every person he’d lost. He shook his head slightly, as if trying to push the thought of deserving you away. “All I do is bring people down… get them hurt or worse. You deserve so much better than someone like me”.

Your heart clenched at the self-doubt etched into his face, the look of someone who had spent too long believing he was unworthy of love. You reached up, gently cupping his face, your thumb brushing over his cheek. “Dean, don’t you see? You don’t have to be anything other than who you are. You’ve spent your whole life trying to protect everyone, carrying everyone else’s pain. I know you’ve been through hell and back, and I know you think that makes you damaged somehow. But it doesn’t”.

He looked down, swallowing hard, his expression wavering between hope and disbelief as he leaned into your touch. “But what if… what if all of this, everything I’ve seen, everything I’ve done… it’s too much? What if one day I look at you and I see the hurt I’m so afraid to put you through?”.

You held his gaze, steady and unflinching. “Then we face it together, Dean. Because I’m choosing this. I’m choosing you”.

Your voice trembled as you looked up at him, eyes glistening with tears that held both the ache of the past and the fragile hope for something more. “I spent eight damn years missing you, Dean”, you murmured, the weight of those years evident in every syllable. “Thinking about you, wishing… for nothing but you in my life”.

You took a deep breath, the vulnerability in your words spilling over, raw and unfiltered. “I don’t care about where we go, or what it looks like, or if it’s not what most people would call normal. I just want you. In all those dirty motels, on the road, wherever you go, take me with you, Dean. Please”.

Dean’s face softened, the tension in his shoulders easing as he took in the sincerity in your gaze. His own eyes glistened, caught between disbelief and a kind of cautious hope he hadn’t felt in years. He reached up, brushing his thumb gently over your cheek as if grounding himself in your touch, his hand steady despite the whirlwind of emotions behind his gaze.

“I can’t promise you anything but the life I’ve got… and it’s not pretty”, he whispered, his voice barely audible.

Your breath hitched as you whispered, “I don’t care, Dean”. The words left you in a soft, trembling rush, tears beginning to trace paths down your cheeks. “I can’t let you leave me again, not this time. Not again”.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything, his gaze locked on yours, the intensity in his eyes almost overwhelming. And then, without a word, he pulled you closer, both hands coming up to cradle your face with a tenderness that stole what little breath you had left. His thumbs brushed away the tears as he looked at you, his own eyes shining with a vulnerability he rarely showed. Then, slowly, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that felt like a promise, a reunion, and an apology all at once.

It was gentle at first, like he was rediscovering something precious, but as the years of longing and missed chances caught up with you both, it deepened, each second erasing the distance that had once stretched between you. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you impossibly closer, as if he needed to prove that this moment was real, that you were here, together, in spite of everything.

When you finally pulled apart, your foreheads resting against each other, both of you were breathless.

Dean’s hands slipped from your face, his gaze holding yours for one more beat before he let them drift down to your hips, his fingers gripping you with a renewed urgency. Without another word, he lifted you effortlessly, his arms wrapping around you in a way that felt both possessive and tender, as though he couldn’t bear to let you go even for a moment.

Your arms wound around his neck as he carried you down the hallway, each step steady, his eyes never leaving yours. The weight of everything unsaid, everything lost, and everything found again lingered in the air, creating a feeling both electric and deeply comforting. By the time he reached your bedroom, his breaths were ragged, mirroring your own, a testament to the years of longing you’d both endured in silence.

Gently, he laid you back on the bed, his hands still cradling your hips, and his gaze softened, holding a quiet reverence as he took you in. He leaned down, pressing his lips softly to your forehead, then your cheek, his touch warm and lingering as if he were mapping the parts of you he had missed. The room fell into a calm quiet, filled with the steady rhythm of shared breaths and the comfort of knowing you were finally here, together, without any walls between you.

He kissed you again, deeply, fully, as his hands traced the curve of your waist, his touch saying all the words that had lingered between you.

Only a few minutes later, you found yourself straddling Dean’s lap, your hand resting gently on his shoulder, mindful of the bruises and healing wounds scattered across his body. The heat between you both was undeniable, a palpable warmth building with each passing second, but you hesitated, searching his face, worried that even the smallest movement might hurt him.

Dean, ever himself, noticed the hesitation in your eyes and let out a soft, exasperated chuckle, his hands giving your waist a reassuring squeeze. “C´mon, sweetheart”, he murmured, that familiar teasing glint sparking in his gaze. “You really think a few bruises are gonna keep me down?”. He tilted his head, flashing that trademark smirk that somehow made your heart race and eased your worries at the same time.

“Trust me, I’m not made of glass”, he added, his voice dropping to a low murmur as his thumb traced circles against your hip. “I’ve been through worse, and I’m still here, aren’t I?”.

You felt a smile tug at your lips, your nerves fading under the warmth of his gaze. Dean leaned forward, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Besides, if this is how I go out, I can’t think of a better way”. His voice held that cocky, playful edge that was so quintessentially him, reminding you that beneath the scars and bruises, Dean Winchester was still very much himself—unbreakable, stubborn, and entirely in the moment with you.

With a soft laugh, you leaned in, finally letting go of your hesitation. “Alright, Winchester”, you whispered back, “just don’t say I didn’t warn you”.

Dean’s smirk widened, his eyes sparking with that familiar mischief. “You know, I don’t mind a little pain”, he teased, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he held you steady, his hands warm and firm on your hips. “Actually… might even say I like it”. His grin grew as he emphasized his words by pushing his hips up gently, nudging himself just barely inside you, a silent reminder of his impatience and his eagerness to close the distance between you.

The small movement sent a spark of heat through you, erasing any remaining hesitation. Dean’s eyes locked onto yours, holding you in his gaze. “You’re making me wait way too long, sweetheart”, he murmured, his hands urging you closer. “What’s a guy gotta do to show he’s ready?”.

Rolling your eyes, you leaned in, meeting his gaze with equal intensity as you let yourself sink down onto him, savoring the feeling of being close in a way that felt both familiar and brand new. Dean’s grip on your hips tightened, his breath hitching as you settled fully, and for a moment, the only sounds were your shared breaths.

“Damn”, he muttered, his hands moving up your back as he pulled you in for a kiss, slow and deep, his usual playfulness softening into something more intense and tender. “Guess that was worth the wait”.

You couldn’t help but shiver, caught off guard by the intensity, the fullness, as if you’d forgotten just how overwhelming being with him could feel. You took a steadying breath, letting the sensation settle over you, before slowly lifting your hips. Dean’s hands moved with you, guiding you with a care that softened every edge of the moment. His gaze was fixed intently on your face, his eyes heavy-lidded, a quiet awe filling them as he took in every little reaction, every flicker of pleasure that crossed your expression.

His jaw tightened, and he bit his lip, clearly trying to rein in the sounds building in his chest. But a low groan slipped through, despite his efforts, his breath hitching as he felt you sink back down. His hands pressed into your hips with just enough pressure to ground you both, a silent testament to his own restraint.

“Fuck, you have no idea”, he murmured, his voice strained, as if the words were pulled from somewhere deep within him. “No one… no one has ever felt this good”. He shifted slightly, his hands guiding you into a rhythm that made your breath catch.

You let out a shaky, breathless laugh, leaning in close enough that your lips brushed his ear as you moved, your voice a teasing murmur. “Is that what you say to all the women you’ve been with these past eight years?”. Your words were light, but there was a hint of something deeper, a vulnerability you tried to hide beneath your playful tone as you sank down onto him again, letting your hips roll in a way that made him groan.

Dean’s eyes darkened, his hands gripping your hips a little tighter, pulling you closer, his own breath coming out in a shudder. He shook his head, a small, breathless chuckle escaping him as he looked up at you, a tender honesty in his gaze. “You really think anyone else could ever feel like this?”, he murmured, his voice low, each word laced with that familiar intensity. “Trust me, no one even came close”.

He lifted his hips to meet yours, his movements growing a little more insistent, as if to prove his words. His gaze stayed locked on yours, a silent promise in his eyes. “It’s just you”, he whispered, his voice rough. “Always was”.

A quiet whine slipped from your lips as you looked down at him, your fingers tracing a path along his shoulder, your voice barely a murmur as you teased, “I don’t believe you”.

Dean’s eyes narrowed playfully, a hint of a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he tilted his head, his hands pressing you down against him with a gentle, insistent pressure. “Oh, you don’t, huh?”, he murmured, his voice low, almost daring. “Guess I’ll just have to prove it to you”.

Dean shifted, turning the two of you over despite the clear discomfort it must have caused him. His eyes glinted with that unmistakable spark, the one that told you he wasn’t about to let anything hold him back. You felt him still inside you, steady and unyielding, his warmth grounding you both.

Your gaze drifted down to his chest, taking in the angry, jagged cut just above his heart. The stitches looked haphazard, as though they’d been done in a rush, and the surrounding skin was a mix of deep purples and blues—evidence of just how much he’d been through. Gently, your fingertip traced along the edge of the bruised skin, your touch feather-light, filled with worry and tenderness.

Your voice came out in a quiet murmur, worry lacing your tone. “Dean… it’s infected”, you whispered, your fingers hovering over the wound, the red, inflamed skin and rough stitches telling a story of hurried care and relentless battles. You could feel the concern flooding through you, the urge to make him rest, to tend to his wounds.

But before you could say more, Dean’s hands found your hips, grounding you. His eyes, filled with an unwavering intensity, held yours as if to say he’d handle every ounce of pain if it meant proving just how much you meant to him. Without a word, he shifted, pulling you closer, his own pain evident but ignored as he thrust deeply, a gesture meant to bring you back to the moment, to remind you both why you were here—together.

A breath caught in your throat, a mix of sensation and shared vulnerability bringing you back, anchoring you to him.

Dean's voice was low, rough with both determination and an edge of vulnerability. "I want you here with me, sweetheart", he murmured, his gaze never leaving yours, his hands steady and grounding on your hips. "I’ve waited eight years… so stop worrying about something stupid like me".

His words hung between you, raw and insistent, filled with a depth of feeling he usually kept hidden beneath layers of armor. You could feel his sincerity, the unyielding need that drove him to push past his pain, to have this moment with you, undiluted and real. He wanted to make every second count, to show you that even through all his scars, he was still yours.

You felt the last of your reservations fall away, leaning into his touch, matching the intensity in his eyes with your own. “I’m here, Dean”, you whispered, your voice steady, your hand resting softly over his heart, feeling its strong, unbroken beat.

"Good", he whispered, a soft smile tugging at his lips before he leaned in, brushing a tender kiss across your mouth. His touch trailed down along your jaw, his lips grazing your skin with a gentleness that made your breath catch. All the while, his movements were unhurried, savoring each moment as he thrust slowly, steadily, holding you close as if he wanted to prolong every second of this closeness.

There was an intimacy in his touch, a quiet reverence that spoke volumes without a single word. Each gentle thrust, every brush of his lips along your neck, felt like a vow, a promise made in the quiet spaces between heartbeats. The world seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you—no past regrets, no fears of what was to come, just the warmth of his skin against yours and the shared rhythm you’d fallen into together.

It felt like coming home.

A soft gasp escaped your lips as you instinctively tightened around him, your body responding to his touch, to the feeling of him moving within you. Every inch of him felt achingly familiar, yet new, as though the time and distance had only intensified the way he filled the spaces you’d kept hidden for so long. It was overwhelming, each slow movement stirring up emotions you hadn’t let yourself feel in years, everything raw and unfiltered.

For Dean, every sensation felt like a reunion, a rediscovery of something he’d lost but never truly let go of. The warmth of your skin, the softness of your touch, the quiet gasps you made as you held onto him—each was a reminder of the love he’d left behind, of the emptiness that had lingered in every city, every hunt, every lonely motel room. The pain and sacrifice, the years spent convincing himself you’d be better off without him, all of it melted away in this moment.

Both of you moved in sync, guided not by urgency but by a quiet, reverent understanding of the time you’d lost. His hands held you with a mixture of tenderness and need, each brush of his thumb against your skin, each press of his body against yours, a silent reassurance that he was here, now, and he wasn’t going anywhere. The weight of eight long years, the ache of missing each other, faded into a wordless connection, a love that hadn’t dimmed but had only grown stronger, waiting patiently to be reignited.

In that moment, there was no doubt, no lingering fears—only the overwhelming relief of being together, two hearts finding their way back home.

You spent hours wrapped up in each other, lost in the warmth and connection that had been denied for so long. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word filled the room with an intimacy that felt like both a reunion and a promise. The night stretched on, and the world outside seemed to fade, leaving just the two of you in a cocoon of shared breaths and murmured affection.

By the time the clock neared three in the morning, you were both spent, your bodies exhausted and drenched in a comfortable sheen of sweat. Dean’s face was flushed, a shade deeper than usual, his breathing heavy as he finally allowed himself to collapse beside you. He let out a quiet sigh, a contented sound, as though just being there, with you, had lifted the weight he’d been carrying for years.

You turned toward him, reaching out to brush a damp strand of hair from his forehead, but as you did, you noticed the warmth radiating from his skin, hotter than usual. A small frown tugged at your lips as you gently touched his cheek, the flush there not entirely from the hours spent together. His eyes flickered open, catching your worried expression.

“Dean… you’re burning up”, you murmured softly, concern etching into your voice.

He gave a lazy, dismissive smile, waving off your worry. “I’m fine”, he mumbled, voice thick with fatigue. “Just… been a long few days, that’s all”. But the weariness in his gaze, the slight edge of fever in his flushed skin, told you there was more to it than he was willing to admit.

You pressed your palm firmly against Dean’s forehead, feeling the heat radiate through your hand—a clear sign that his fever wasn’t just “nothing”. Your gaze traveled down to the wound on his chest, your concern deepening as you took in the angry, red edges of the cut. It was obvious that the stitches were barely holding, and the faint yellow tint around the area spoke to a growing infection. The rough bandage job and few pieces of surgical tape were only making things worse, failing to keep the wound clean or properly closed.

“Dean… this isn’t just a little fever”, you murmured, your voice edged with worry. “This is serious. You need proper stitches, and we need to take care of that infection. You can’t just ignore it and hope it goes away”.

He let out a sigh, his attempt at a reassuring smile faltering under your concern. “I’ve had worse”, he said quietly, but even he seemed to know how thin that excuse sounded as he shifted uncomfortably, the strain on his face evident.

You stood up from the bed, slipping into your satin robe. As you moved toward the bathroom, you could feel Dean’s gaze on you, and even though you knew he was stubborn enough to resist, you weren’t going to let this go. Pulling the first aid kit from the cabinet, you began rifling through its contents, mentally cataloging what you’d need.

“Dean, you really can’t keep brushing this off”, you called over your shoulder, your tone leaving no room for argument.

He shifted uncomfortably, grumbling in that way only he could. “You know, just because you took one semester of medical school doesn’t make you a doctor���, he muttered, his voice holding that familiar mix of sarcasm and exasperation.

You returned to the bed, raising a brow as you met his gaze. “And I’m hoping you’re just this mean because of the fever”, you shot back, unflinching, though your worry softened the edge in your voice. “Otherwise, I might start thinking you don’t appreciate the fact that I’m trying to keep you from ending up with an infection that could put you in the hospital”.

Dean huffed, averting his eyes. “I appreciate it”, he mumbled, begrudgingly. “It’s just… I’m fine. I’ve had worse, really”.

You let out an exasperated sigh, rolling your eyes as you took a closer look at the wound, the jagged edges of the stitches clearly the result of a rushed, one-handed job. You stepped between his legs, hands on your hips as you inspected the inflamed, swollen area, barely able to keep the frustration out of your voice.

“Who the hell stitched this up, anyway?”, you muttered, raising an eyebrow as you glanced at him, fully expecting an explanation.

Dean looked away, a bit of embarrassment flickering over his face before he grumbled, “Did it myself. Sam wasn’t around, and I wasn’t about to go to some clinic just so they could tell me to ‘take it easy’”. He paused, glancing at the bruised mess on his chest, almost as if seeing it through your eyes. “It wasn’t exactly my best work”, he admitted, his voice barely more than a mutter.

Your heart softened despite yourself, knowing how fiercely independent he was, how he hated being vulnerable. You let out a slow breath, the mix of worry and tenderness filling your chest. Gently, you touched the skin around the wound, your fingers brushing softly as you examined it.

"Clearly”, you mumbled, trying to keep the frustration in your voice light as you unscrewed the cap of the antiseptic. You soaked a cotton pad, glancing up at him for a brief moment to give him a wordless warning. Dean was already bracing himself, his hands gripping the bedframe on either side, his jaw tightening as he looked down.

The second the antiseptic touched his skin, he sucked in a sharp breath, his knuckles going white as he held onto the bed. His entire body tensed, his eyes squeezing shut as he muttered a string of curses under his breath. You couldn’t help the tiny smirk that crossed your lips, a part of you secretly pleased that you were getting back at him just a little for the stress he’d put you through.

“Hurts that much, huh?”, you teased, though there was an unmistakable gentleness in your voice. You dabbed carefully, doing your best to be gentle while still cleaning the wound properly.

He let out a strained chuckle, his voice rough. “Feels like hellfire, sweetheart. But don’t let me stop you… ”, he bit out.

You gave him a sympathetic but firm look, your tone softening slightly as you said, “You know I’m going to have to take these stitches out, right? They’re… not doing you any favors. I need to redo them, and it’s going to hurt—probably a lot—especially with this infection”.

Dean’s face twisted in a grimace, his fingers flexing around the bedframe as he let out a resigned sigh. “Perfect. Exactly what I wanted to hear at three in the morning”, he grumbled.

A faint smile tugged at your lips as you looked up at him, trying to lighten the mood. “Well, maybe next time you’ll think twice before going all DIY surgeon on yourself”, you teased, your tone warm but edged with concern.

Dean scoffed, though his grin was tight as he braced himself. “Yeah, because I have so many other options on a hunt”, he muttered, a hint of defiance in his voice.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, fingers gentle as you began to carefully peel back the old, grimy surgical tape. He hissed, the tension evident in the way his hands tightened around the bedframe, his jaw clenching as he tried to mask the pain.

“Don’t be such a baby”, you murmured, attempting to keep your touch as soft as possible. “Big, tough hunter, but a little bit of tape has you groaning like that?”.

He shot you a look, his usual bravado slipping just enough to reveal the discomfort. “Yeah, yeah”, he ground out, wincing again as you finally pulled the last bit of tape free. “You try dealing with it and see if you’re all smiles and rainbows”.

“Maybe I would be”, you replied, giving him a teasing smirk, though your voice softened as you took in the state of his wound. “But seriously, Dean… if I’m not here next time, maybe just skip the home surgery routine?”.

Dean’s expression softened, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “Maybe I’ll just… stick around, then”, he mumbled, almost as if he hadn’t meant to say it aloud. The unexpected confession hung in the air, heavy but laced with something hopeful, and you felt your heart tighten.

“Yeah”, you replied softly, letting the weight of his words settle over you both. “Maybe you should”.

As the last of the tape came off, you took a steadying breath and began the delicate process of undoing the stitches, working carefully to minimize his discomfort. Dean’s breath hitched with each slight tug, his hands gripping the bedframe tightly, but he kept his eyes on you, watching every movement as though grounding himself in your presence.

Every so often, a tiny bead of blood would surface along the wound, and you’d pause to dab it away gently with cotton, the antiseptic stinging just enough to make him wince. His jaw tightened, but he stayed still, holding himself steady through the pain with quiet resilience.

“Almost there”, you murmured softly, your voice soothing. “Just a few more, then I’ll clean it up and redo them”.

Dean gave a slight nod, his eyes never leaving your face. “You make it sound like it’s nothing”, he muttered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite the strain. “Forget the one semester—you’re practically a pro at this”.

You chuckled quietly, though your focus didn’t waver. “And here I thought you didn’t think I was qualified”, you teased back, trying to keep his spirits up as you finished removing the last of the stitches.

As you carefully set the first new stitch, Dean’s hands instinctively flew to your thighs, his grip tightening almost reflexively as a pained groan slipped through his clenched teeth. His fingers dug in, steadying himself against the sharp sting, grounding himself through the contact with you. You glanced down at his hands, feeling the warmth of his touch even through the tension of the moment, and you couldn’t help but pause for just a second, your gaze flickering to meet his.

“Hold on, Dean”, you murmured gently, focusing on keeping your movements as smooth and precise as possible. “Just a few more”.

Dean’s eyes closed briefly, his jaw flexing as he drew in a shaky breath, his fingers still gripping your thighs as though he needed the contact to anchor him through the pain. “You’re… doing great”, he managed, voice rough but laced with gratitude, the faintest hint of a smirk breaking through despite his discomfort. “Just… didn’t realize you’d turn torture into a bonding experience”.

You let out a soft laugh, the warmth of it soothing the tense air around you both. “I thought you could handle a little pain, Winchester”, you teased gently, finishing the stitch with as much care as you could manage. He huffed out a laugh, squeezing your thigh once in acknowledgment, his fingers relaxing slightly as he took a deep breath.

“One down, a few more to go”, you whispered, your tone reassuring as you moved to the next stitch. Dean’s hands remained on your thighs, steadying himself, and somehow, amidst the quiet pain and gentle touches, a calm seemed to settle over both of you, an unspoken understanding that this moment—like so many before it—was bringing you closer in a way that went beyond words.

After a few more stitches, the cotton pads in front of you were soaked in his blood, a quiet testament to the care and patience you’d poured into every careful movement. You let out a breath of relief as you finally tied off the last knot, your fingers moving with a practiced gentleness as you made sure everything was secure. Just as you reached for a bandage to cover the wound, you felt a subtle tug at your waist, Dean’s hand slipping beneath the edge of your robe, fingers brushing your skin with a warmth that sent a gentle shiver through you.

You glanced down, meeting his gaze, seeing the flicker of tenderness and gratitude mixed with something else—a quiet, unspoken need that lingered between you both. His hand opened your robe just enough for his fingers to rest against your hip, his touch light, hesitant, as if waiting for your permission.

Dean’s eyes softened, an almost playful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Guess I owe you one, huh?”, he murmured, his voice low, roughened by the combination of pain and something deeper. He leaned forward slightly, the hint of vulnerability in his gaze grounding you both in the intimacy of the moment. “You patched me up pretty good… now I just need to return the favor”.

Despite everything—the pain, the exhaustion—you felt warmth bloom in your chest, the connection between you two as solid and undeniable as ever.

Dean’s lips trailed ghost-light over your stomach, hovering dangerously close to where every nerve seemed to spark under his touch. His breath was warm against your skin, and you felt the familiar ache of anticipation, even as your voice faltered with concern. “Dean, you need to rest now”, you mumbled, trying to keep your resolve firm as you reached to gather the bloodied cotton and gauze.

But Dean’s hand closed gently over yours, stilling your movements. “Just… stay”, he murmured, his voice low and filled with that undeniable pull that only he could create. He looked up at you, a teasing glint in his eyes tempered by something deeper. “Besides, I think you’re the one who needs to unwind”.

You tried to protest, to insist he should be resting after everything, but his gaze held yours with a quiet determination. Dean’s fingers grazed up your thigh, grounding you in the moment as he leaned in, his lips pressing warm, lingering kisses along your skin.

"Let me take care of you for once", he murmured softly, his voice roughened but sincere.

You let out a soft groan, partly in annoyance at Dean’s stubbornness, but mostly at the way he knew exactly how to coax you into letting go of any protests. Just as you opened your mouth to object, he sank back onto the bed, settling himself comfortably with that signature grin that was equal parts challenge and invitation. He lifted his hand, curling his fingers in a slow, beckoning motion, and grinned wider as he said, “Sit”.

You stared at him, your brow furrowing slightly in confusion. His smirk deepened, eyes glinting with mischief as he saw the uncertainty flicker across your face.

Slowly, you climbed on top of him, instinctively moving to settle over his hips, but Dean’s hands tightened gently around your waist, guiding you higher, closer to his face. His touch was both steady and insistent, and when you finally realized what he wanted, a flush of warmth spread over your cheeks, your heart beginning to race. He looked up at you, his gaze dark and filled with a heat that made your pulse quicken even further.

“Right here, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low, filled with a soft, teasing warmth that only heightened the intensity of the moment. His eyes held yours, his expression open and eager, as if he wanted nothing more than to lose himself in the pleasure of you. His hands settled firmly on your thighs, grounding you, reassuring you that he meant every word, that this was exactly where he wanted you.

You hesitated for just a second, your heart pounding, but as his hands guided you forward, you felt every lingering worry slip away. He looked at you with such genuine affection, that familiar, stubborn patience in his gaze, that it was impossible to resist

As the early morning light crept into the room, you found yourself under the warm spray of the shower, the heat easing the fatigue from a night filled with closeness and quiet whispers. Dean joined you, carefully adjusting his stance to avoid getting his wound wet. Despite his best efforts, you could see him wince every so often, his jaw clenched in concentration.

“You’re as stubborn as ever”, you teased, stepping closer to help shield his wound from the water.

Dean took the opportunity to draw you in, his arms wrapping around your waist with a gentle but steady pull. He guided you back just enough so the water wasn’t pouring directly over you both, creating a small, intimate space where the warmth of his body surrounded you.

You felt his lips press softly against your shoulder blade, a lingering kiss that sent a shiver up your spine. His embrace tightened slightly as he leaned into you, his chin resting on your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. His hand splayed across your waist, anchoring you both in the moment.

"Thanks for looking out for me", he murmured, his voice a low hum that vibrated softly against you. There was a rare vulnerability in his tone, a quiet appreciation that went beyond words.

You leaned back against him, resting your hands over his as you both stood there in comfortable silence, the sound of the water filling the room. His hand slid up, brushing a stray droplet from your collarbone, his fingers lingering as if memorizing every curve and line. For a moment, it was as if time stood still, the world outside fading away as you both found peace in the closeness you shared.

With a soft sigh, he pressed another kiss to your shoulder, his lips lingering as he whispered, "I could get used to mornings like this".

You mumbled, barely above a whisper, “You said that before…right before you left me the second time”. The words slipped out, laced with a hint of sadness. You bit your lip, feeling the weight of the past settle around you both, the times he’d walked away despite the promises that still lingered between you.

Dean’s arms tightened around your waist, his hold becoming firmer, as if he could anchor you to him just by sheer will. His breath stilled for a moment, and you could sense his heart beating a little faster against your back, knowing he felt the truth in your words.

You turned in his embrace, looking up at him, a fierce determination in your eyes. “I swear to you, Dean, if you’re not taking me with you this time…”. You paused, your voice steady, holding his gaze without a hint of hesitation. “I’ll hunt you. I’ll join up with every demon, ghost, and whatever else is out there, and I’ll find you. I’m not losing you again”.

A flicker of something softened in his eyes. He swallowed, his hand coming up to cup your face gently, his thumb brushing your cheek in a silent apology. “I know”, he said, his voice barely a whisper. “And I’m done running, I promise. You’re coming with me…wherever this road goes”.

You felt the tension melt away as he pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. In that moment, you knew he meant it—this time, he wasn’t going anywhere without you. The past may have cast its shadows, but standing there with him, you felt the strength of something real, something that wouldn’t break again.

The warm spray of the shower continued to cascade around you, but the world felt perfectly still. Dean’s arms around you, his forehead pressed to yours, were more grounding than anything you’d ever known. For the first time in what felt like forever, the doubts and fears that had haunted you both were quiet, replaced by the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours.

His whispered promise lingered in the air between you, fragile but unshakable, like the first light of dawn breaking through the darkness. “Wherever this road goes”, you echoed, the words a vow of your own, a tether tying you both to the promise of staying together.

Dean looked at you then, his gaze filled with an unspoken tenderness that seemed to reach into your very soul. “We’ve got this”, he murmured, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that was as much reassurance as it was devotion.

You knew deep down that, no matter the battles or storms to come, you’d face them side by side. Together, you had finally found your way home.

-The End-

———————————

A/N: I LOVED writing this one. I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @pughsexual @berryblues46 @deanwinchestersgirl8734 @kr804573 @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @globetrotter28 @ladykitana90

[last-herondale]

You Are Enough Pt. 3

Astarion x Fem!tav

Fluff

Warnings: mentions of blood

AN: a little sweetness for your morning

Part 1.

Part 2.

Enjoy 🤘🏼

You awoke to the feeling of soft blankets around tour body. Your fingers curled slightly but they paused as you felt the cool touch of skin underneath them. Your eyelids fluttered open to the sight of Astarion laying beside you, his arms wrapped around you securely.

His eyes were open and he smiled softly as you opened your eyes. “Hello,” he murmured softly, “how are you feeling?”

Memories of last night flooded your mind. You looked down at your wrist and saw only a thin line of where you had cut yourself. It was healed over of course, and besides feeling a little weak, you were fine.

“I’m more than fine,” you yawned, nestling your head into his chest. You picked your head up slightly to look at him. “And you?”

Astarion rolled his eyes playfully, a smirk playing on his face. The dark circles were gone from his eyes, and his body felt warmer than it had last night. Your blood had done its magic.

“I’m wonderful, you stubborn thing,” he grumbled. “You shouldn’t have done that. It was reckless and quite frankly the dumbest thing you’ve ever done. Offering yourself to a bloodthirsty vampire like that…”

He glared at you seriously for a moment. “I could have devoured you, my sweet. Please, never do that again.”

You let your index finger trace lines on his chest. “You needed blood.”

“I will always need blood, but that doesn’t mean it always has to be yours.” He sighed softly, using his hands he gently moved you so that he could sit up.

The two of you were now sitting up in the bed together. Astarion’s face was thoughtful as he looked at you.

“I’ve come to the realization that you have a strange desire to throw yourself into the pits of danger whenever they arise, but if I can persuade you to reconsider your innate desire for death.”

You rolled your eyes at him. “You are no danger to me.”

“That is exceptionally not true. Just because I have no desire to hurt you— doesn’t mean I can’t just as easily rip out your throat.” He turned serious, his brow furrowing. You kept close to him, placing your hand in his. Your eyes lingered on him, and his expression softened as you did so.

“You’re the first person who’s made me want to believe that I am better than what I was created to be. Your kind heart, your unruly stubbornness to see the good in everything around you— to see the good in me.”

He thumbed your hand, shaking his head in disbelief. “You appeal to me in so many ways… more so than just your blood. You make me feel things— things I’ve only ever mimicked for survival, things I’ve only ever mimicked for Cazador…”

He spat out the name. You squeezed his hand gently, seeing the pain that his past evoked. He shuddered a breath.

“Do you know how terrifying it is to need someone this much?” His eyes searched yours. “To know that if I hurt you— if I lose you…” he said in a pained voice, “that I’ll lose myself too?”

You gave him a sad smile, your eyes softening at his expression. You used your other hand to gently cup his cheek, tracing your fingers on his jaw.

“I do,” you murmured, “You’re afraid of hurting me, of losing me, but I’m afraid of losing you too. I’m not afraid of your darkness— I’m not afraid of your past… I’m afraid of living a life without you.”

Astarion shuddered a breath, leaning into your touch.

“I know you’re afraid—I know you’ve lived a life in darkness and you think that’s all you deserve to know, but we’ll figure this out together. I don’t need you to be some perfect protector, or to have all the answers, I just need you, Astarion. Only you.”

Suddenly his hands were around you, lifting you up and cradling you to him. His cheek rested on the top of your head as he wrapped his arms around you tightly. You embraced him back, kissing the base of his throat gently.

“I don’t know how to do this…” Astarion whispered.

“What fun it will be, figuring this out together,” you murmured.

“You are infuriatingly stubborn,” he murmured against your hair, “No matter how hard I try to push you away, you keep coming back. I think you might be ill.”

You laughed softly against his chest.

“Love is the sickness of the heart,” you said it before you realized what you’ve done. It was the first time you’ve used the word with him.

“You don’t have to say it back,” you whispered, “But I just want you to know— I love you, Astarion.”

Astarion took a deep breath, and exhaled shakily against you. You feared perhaps you had scared him, that maybe he wasn’t ready for the reality to be known. Instead, he just kissed the top of your head gently and chuckled.

“You’ve ruined me, you know. Completely and utterly,” he murmured, “I used to think this all was silly, the devotion, the connection… I thought I was above it all. And now here I am— utterly entranced by you. What a fool I’ve become.”

He picked his head up to look at you with a wicked smile. “I hope you’re happy.”

You smiled back, mirroring his playfulness. The thought of kissing him crossed your mind, but you decided against it. This moment was too intimate to be ruined by any physical interaction. Instead you lay your head against him, sighing deeply in the comfort of his embrace. He wrapped his arms tighter around you, resting his lips on your hair as he inhaled deeply.

The two of you stayed there, wrapped up in each other contentedly. You knew that there were trials to come, battles to be fought, but you knew that despite whatever came your way you could face it. You would face it. For him.

Pt 4

[t00tsmcgee]

Rook as a Companion Banter Episode two: Bellara

Part 1 (Neve) | Part 2 of ?

Banter written with my Rook in mind <- Link to his own post if you want to read more about him!

-

Bellara: “You seem sad, Calais.” Calais: “Just Cal is fine, Bellara.” Bellara: “Oh, right. You seem sad, Cal.” Calais: “Yeah.” Bellara: “Is it because of everything that’s happening?” Calais: “It’s not the only reason, but it doesn’t help.” Bellara: “When I was sad Cyrian always asked me silly questions to cheer me up. Like, what happens if you get scared half to death twice?” Calais: “You know, he was on to something there.” Bellara: *chuckle*

Bellara: “Is it true cannibals don’t eat clowns because they taste funny?” Calais: *laughing* “Ugh!”

Calais: “Why aren’t blueberries blue?” Bellara: “They are! In a certain light anyway.” Calais: “Bella.” Bellara: “Oh, were you doing the silly question thing?” Calais: “Trying to anyway. Not very successfully judging by your reaction.” Bellara: “Yeah, still needs work. But you’ll get there.”

Calais: “Are the good things that come to those who wait the leftovers of those who didn’t wait?” Bellara: “Wow, that one’s deep.”

Calais: “If a fork was made of gold would it still be considered silverware?” Bellara: “I think you’d just call it cutlery.” Calais: “You’re really cramping my style.” Bellara: *laughing*

Calais: “Why does it take 10 minutes to cook rice?” Bellara: “Does it? I thought it took at least 15!” Lucanis: *disgusted noise* “This explains so much about that risotto you made the other day.”

Bellara: “Why is it called a pair of pants, when there’s only one bit of clothing involved?” Calais: “That’s what I’ve been saying!”

Calais: “I’m sorry about your brother, Bella.” Bellara: “Yeah, me too.” Calais: “We’ll find a way to help him. I know we will.” Bellara: “I hope you’re right.”

Calais: “If you tied buttered toast to a cat and dropped it, what would happen?” Bellara: “You’d never do that to a cat.” Calais: “No, you’re right. I’m just upset my buttered toast dropped this morning.” Bellara: “It was a heavy blow for us all.” Calais: “I might never recover.”

Bellara: “What was it like, growing up in the Necropolis?” Calais: “It was idyllic, I suppose. Vorgoth did the best he could to raise me as normally as possible. But my gift set me apart. It was hard to make friends.” Bellara: “Why?” Calais: “When you can peer into the veil and speak with spirits as if they were standing next to you, it gives you a leg up in a place like that.” Bellara: “Oh, leg, because of your leg thing?” Calais: “No, leg because that’s the turn of phrase.” Bellara: “Is it? Oh, right. I got them mixed up again. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive.” Calais: “That’s alright, you weren’t.” Bellara: “Does it hurt? Your leg?” Calais: “Yeah, all the time. Every day.” Bellara: “How do you cope with it?” Calais: “I have salves, and an elfroot tea that helps. Tastes like ass though.” Bellara: “Could you get a brace made, to help with the pain and the walking?” Calais: “I had one made, but I never wear it. The thing is more uncomfortable than the pain my leg causes me anyway.”

Bellara: “I heard you play piano the other night, in your room.” Calais: “And here I was, thinking I had a nice moment to myself.” Bellara: “You're very good. I stood and listened until you stopped playing.” Calais: “Thank you. And yeah, I fell asleep eventually.” Bellara: “You play until you fall asleep?” Calais: “On hard days.”

Bellara: “Will you play piano for me some time?” Calais: “I don’t do well with an audience.” Bellara: *deflated* “Oh..” Calais: “But, for you, I’ll try.” Bellara: *excited gasp* “Thank you!”

Bellara: *Humming song* Calais: *chuckling* “Liked that one, did you?” Bellara: “Oh, yes! You’re a very good piano player, and that song was so catchy. I keep hearing it in my head.” Rook: “Now I’m curious.” Bellara: “Cal played me a few songs last night, to help me get to sleep. But they were so good they kept me awake because I wanted to listen to them.” Calais: “Yeah, missed the mark on that.” Rook: “But it seems you’ve found a captive audience at least.” Calais: *chuckles* “Yeah. Who knows, maybe I’ll play in front of the team at some point.” Bellara: *excited noises* Calais: “No promises!”

[comatosebunny09]

Girl, someone needs to put me out of my misery 😂. This morning, I woke up absolutely convinced I had read Carpe Noctem Part 5, so I thought, “Let me just re-read it”... and next thing I know, I’m on Tumblr, genuinely spending way too much time searching for it.

The worst part? I literally remember the plot I made up for it—like it’s burned into my brain.

HELP 😭 I’m so obsessed it’s actually getting out of hand now.

P.S. I have to tell you, I love your writing! It makes me feel like a little kid just learning to read again. ❤️

😭😭😭 Obsessed?! I am honored! Because you’re so fucking sweet, here's a sneak peak.

Silly woman. Getting your hopes up for nothing.

He’s probably being polite. Still—

He’s yet to set you down—Sylus. Your enigma of a boss, cradling you in his arms like you’re precious bounty. Has his long fingers crooked under your knees and a possessive arm swept under your back. You’re not hurt. He saw to that when he safely lured you down with his Evol. So why does he insist on carrying you like this?

You try not to get caught up in how he smells—earth and cured leather. How he feels—rigid and strong, toned from years of boxing and a past you know little of. How he breathes—even as his heart thrums a steady tempo against your chest.

You’ve long since traded the cacophony of bullets whizzing by and ricocheting off his Evol—of Nikolai’s men shouting obscenities, bleeding malice and vitriol as they bark orders—for the serenity of the night. 

Passersby mill about on the moon-laden street. Couples, laughing, bundling together to ward off the night’s chill. An occasional drunkard stumbling down the sidewalk. Sylus effortlessly sidesteps them, lightly jostling you in his arms.

He’s carried you like this for at least a mile through the city’s heart. Past historic buildings untouched by time, under twinkling string lights that adorn the various shopping centers and outdoor cafes bordering the street. It’s something of a dream. Something like a romantic movie, but you don’t feel like you deserve to be its star.

He’s made no move to set you down. You’ve made no effort to untwine your arms from his neck, studying the flexing tendons in his throat. The bob of his Adam’s apple when he chuckles something throaty after he catches you staring. 

For a moment, it feels like old times. 

A memory far off when he carried you like this once before after you led him on a wild goose chase through the docks. After you took down one of the most prominent human trafficking rings in the underworld, and after he thought he lost you forever. 

You’re sure you were heavy then—he spent half the night searching for you, rendering anyone who got in his way to ash and bone. He was exhausted, violet bangs hanging beneath his eyes, blood speckling his collar. 

You’re sure you’re heavy now. 

He shouldn’t be holding you like this. Despite how natural it feels, a voice admonishes you from the deepest hulls of your mind. He’s not yours. This isn’t right. She might be gone, but you can’t help feeling like you’re betraying your hunter friend. You’ve already crossed her so many times before in your mind. 

You squirm a bit. His gaze slides to you. Scarlet eyes gleam beneath the tawny lights like multifaceted rubies. His brows lift slightly with intrigue, and the beginnings of a smile tug at his lips. 

You clear the phlegm from your throat, tamping down the warm flush rising from your chest to stain your neck and cheeks. He’s effortlessly beautiful—something forged from the hands of a Grecian sculptor. 

“You can put me down now,” you urge, your voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’m perfectly capable of walking by myself.”

He looks forward, wearing a full-bodied smile. “I know.” He continues pressing on like you didn’t speak, making no effort to let you go.

You give him a deadpan look, an indignant noise dredged from your throat. You try again, a little more insistent this time. “Sylus.”

“Yes?” he returns, humored, patient. 

“I said you can put me down.”

“I know.”

You sigh, exasperated after a few moments spent glaring at his side profile. His devastatingly attractive profile. That sloped nose. Those heart-shaped lips. “Aren’t you afraid of someone seeing us like this?” You gesture to your conjoined bodies with your head. “People might get the wrong idea.” 

He huffs a laugh. The sound curdles in your belly. “When have I ever been concerned with how others perceive me?” Those softened eyes flick to you, something cold prickling low in your belly at the weight they carry. “Since when have you?”

Your lips twitch. He poses a fair argument. You’ve never cared much for how people view you, save for Sylus and the twins. More recently, Ms. Hunter.

Still, guilt twists in your throat. Burns like the acrid sting of ash. “Sylus—”

“Am I making you uncomfortable? Because if I am, I’d be happy to set you down.” There’s a beguiled edge to his voice. 

You blanch. Your argument dies in the back of your throat. Like a haughty child, you look down, the drape of your arms around his shoulders slackening slightly. Still, you don’t let go. She’ll have to be upset with you for now. You’re growing too content with the sharp click of his heels against cobblestone.

After some time spent wordless, Sylus slows to a stop. You look up, having been lost in your ponderings. He graces you with an amused look before finally setting you down. You’re bereft of the warmth and safety his body provides, but he helps settle you with deft hands at your hips. Straightening your dress, you take in your new surroundings. 

You turn quizzical eyes to him. “A restaurant?” Come to think of it, you are a little peckish. Killing and running always stir your appetite. 

Sylus pushes back the tails of his jacket, shoving his hands into his pockets. The jaundiced lights of the posh restaurant’s entrance highlight his features as he looks up. “Not hungry?”

“A little short notice, isn’t it? Don’t you normally need a reservation to get into places like this? Will they even let us in?”

With a chuckle in his throat, Sylus brushes past you, tugging the door open. A swell of noise rushes outside, sounds associated with fine dining and merriment. The savory scent of cooked meat and vegetables assaults your senses. Your stomach growls. You pat it placatingly. 

“They should,” says Sylus with a shrug, patiently waiting for you to enter. “I own the place.”

You scoff. “Wow. That’s awfully Bruce Wayne of you, don’t you think?” You don’t pursue it, stepping into the restaurant with a smirk. 

[crowsofdarkness]

Dorogaya: Chapter One

-gif not mine. credit to owner-

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female Agent! Reader.

Content Warnings: language, 18 + implied smut, angst, fluff, kidnapping, violence.

Summary: It has been a few years since Bucky and Reader went into hiding. Just when they thought they were slowly building a life together, the past comes back with a vengeance.

Authors Note: This is the sequel to Soldat! You should read that series first. This takes place during Civil War. Tags are open if anyone is interested!

Tags: @globetrotter28 @sakuracyberhex @chinggay85-blog @bookofriverr @misatxox @that-blonde-girl @cats-chaotic-mind @wintrsoldrluvr @sebastians-love @pumpkin-babydoll @ordelixx @starfly-nicole

Soldat Masterlist | Dorogaya Masterlist

I pulled my hood farther over my head as my hands dug into my pockets, fishing for my keys. My tired and sore feet climbed the last few stairs and before I could even unlock the door, Bucky stood in front of me, a look of concern on his face. 

“Where have you been?” 

Ignoring the look in his eyes, I pushed my way into the apartment. “I had to cover someone’s shift.” 

I tried to keep my answers short with him since I could feel the anger and concern radiating off of him in a small glow. 

“They called you in to work a few hours, not eight. It’s almost two in the morning,” Bucky crossed his arms over his broad chest. 

The black Henley shirt tightened in all the right places. Forcing out the thoughts of me peeling it away from him, I let out a groan. 

“I know, Bucky,” I exasperated, exhaustion clear on my face. 

Stepping past him, I tried to make my way into the bathroom but his soft fingers gently grabbed my arm, stopping me in my place. Without saying one word, he brushed the hood off of my head and the anger I felt radiating off of him intensified. His eyes took in the dark bruise that was forming around my left one. 

“What happened?” He questioned, his voice not matching the amount of anger I could see on his face. 

I shook my head. “It’s nothing.” 

“Who did this?” 

“Bucky, drop it please.” I begged. “I’m fine. I just want to shower and go to sleep.” 

“I’m not going to drop it, Y/N,” Bucky informed. 

My anger was rising and I ripped my arm from his grasp. “It’s none of your business! Drop. It.” 

“Bullshit, Y/N!” Bucky’s voice boomed throughout the small apartment. “You leave to go to work and come back home late. And with a black eye. Either you’re going to tell me what happened or I’m going to find out for myself.” 

My eyes sliced into him and not being able to control it, the warmth spread to my fingers and I felt the fire spark to life. My vision went dark and I lost all control over myself. 

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” I seethed while shooting a fireball towards Bucky. 

He was two steps ahead of me, however, ducking out of the way. The new target was one of the chairs at our kitchen table and Bucky watched in slight horror as it fell to dust around the floor. He turned his attention back towards me and when he saw that I was ready to shoot another fire ball towards him, he engulfed both of my hands in his metal one and locked my body in place against the wall with his hips. 

“Y/N, it’s me; Bucky.” His voice was soft. 

It felt like my soul left my body and I had zero control over my actions. I could hear his voice but the power I felt surging through my veins was too strong to try and overcome. It had never taken over this bad before. I vowed that I wouldn’t use them unless absolutely necessary and since there wasn’t ever a need to use them, I never had the chance to gain control over them. 

“LET ME GO!” 

Bucky winced at the screech of my voice, the glass cups on the counter shattered behind us but he kept his grip on my body. 

“Y/N,” he grabbed my chin and forced me to look him in the eyes. 

He could only see one thing; darkness

“I’m not going to hurt you. It’s me. Soldat.” 

Hearing that name for the first time in years seemed to bring me back to reality. My body released all of the anger and Bucky’s hands gripped my hips to keep me steady. I blinked a few times trying to gain my surroundings and when I saw the destruction I had caused and the look of fear in his eyes 

“What did I do?” I whispered, lips trembling. “Did I hurt you?” 

Bucky shook his head. “No, I’m okay.” 

His metal finger brushed a strand of hair out of my face and the coolness of it eased the pain I felt coming from my black eye. He then cupped my check and I leaned into it. 

“Please tell me what happened.” He begged once more. 

Letting out a deep breath, I nodded. “There was some creep at the bar. He wouldn’t leave me alone all night and he followed me on the way home. He jumped me from behind and he didn’t like the fact that I fought back.” 

“Did he-,” Bucky trailed off, not being able to finish his question. 

“No! I was able to run off before anything happened. I didn’t want to tell you because I knew it would get you upset. Also, I was embarrassed that I let someone get that close to me. I’m supposed to be a highly trained agent and I let some creep attack me.” 

I let out a shaky breath to stop myself from crying. My mind was clouded with thoughts of Steve on my way home from work. I found myself missing him terribly after reading the article earlier in the day and had to fight with myself not to call him. I was the one who told him not to look for us and while I meant it at the time, I longed for the feeling of his lips on mine again. 

Then guilt took over when I thought of Bucky. Our relationship had grown immensely and while we hadn’t kissed or even talked about what our relationship was, I still felt like he was mine and I was his. 

“My powers,” I started, “They’re growing. All I could feel surging through me was evil; I wanted to hurt you.” 

“But you didn't, okay?” Bucky reassured me. “Why don’t you go take a shower and I’ll make you something to eat.” 

All I could do was nod and drag my feet into the bathroom. 

After my shower, I stood in front of the mirror, head cocked to the side slightly as I looked at my reflection. Something was different; off. Letting it go, I quickly got dressed in a pair of shorts and one of Bucky’s old shirts. It was when I went to brush my hair that I finally noticed what was different. 

“Bucky!” I yelled while opening the door. 

He quickly set down two bowls of soup on the kitchen table before rushing over to me. “Everything okay?” 

“My hair.” 

Bucky squinted his eyes in confusion. “What about your hair?” 

“It’s red! Like Ariel the little mermaid red!” I exclaimed. 

When he realized exactly what I was talking about, his eyes doubled in size. “How?” 

“I don’t know!” I screeched, trying not to shatter any other glass. “Unless what happened earlier. Maybe that’s what caused my hair to change?”

“It’s a good possibility.” Bucky nodded. 

“Oh, God. What is happening to me?” I groaned while falling back onto the mattress. “Hydra made me into some kind of monster.” 

Bucky stuffed his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Welcome to the Hydra family.” 

I could sense that his heart dropped with hurt. “Bucky, I didn’t mean-.” 

“It’s fine,” he shrugged but I knew that it in fact was not fine. 

“I didn’t mean that you were a monster. I only meant that they did this to me for a personal vendetta.” 

“And what was I?” Bucky wondered. 

Another groan slipped through my lips and I sat up on the bed. “You’re making me feel like shit, Buck.” 

He shook his head before motioning towards the two bowls on the table. “I made you some soup. I’m going to take a shower.” 

I opened my mouth to speak but with the loud slam of the bathroom door, I snapped it shut. 

“Fucking idiot,” I cursed while physically smacking my forehead. 

How could I complain about what Hydra did to me in front of Bucky? No matter what I went through with them or what they did to me, nothing compared to the hell that he went through for seventy years. 

Suddenly losing whatever appetite I had, I turned off the lights and crawled into bed. The weight of the day had drained my energy and the thought of sleep brought a smile to my face. Bucky had mentioned that he wanted to go to the market in town right away in the morning and if it was anything like it had been on our past trips, we would be there for hours. 

The bathroom door clicked open, Bucky shutting the light off when he noticed that the rest of the apartment was dark. The way he moved quietly in the dark brought shivers to my body. Flashes of him as The Winter Soldier came to mind. Him walking up oh so quietly behind his targets and taking them out, no one around them knowing what happened. 

The mattress dipped next to me and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from letting out a shaky breath when I realized that Bucky turned his back towards me. Every night we had been tangled together in the warmth of each other but tonight he wanted nothing to do with me. The coldness of the night raked my body and I brought the blanket closer to my chin, wishing Bucky would change his mind and wrap his arms around me. 

He never did. 

[strtravels]

It was becoming a rather strange habit to visit Kate at hospital – last time they had sat for hours in her room and had talked for just as long over some takeaway, getting to know each other even more. Even if he had already known, that… It was still difficult to form the words, even if it was just in his head. HE HAD KNOWN HE LOVED HER, and looking at her now, with the relief making his heart feel lighter, that she would be alright, he couldn’t find any other words to describe his feelings for her, too. HE LOVED HER. And it would be a one-way street that he couldn’t go any further than he had already done. Unprofessional. Uncalled-for. He knew that she would not feel the same for him, and it was ridiculous to act on his feelings. There was too much he would risk. If it didn’t work… He wouldn’t be able to stay here; he wouldn’t be able to continue working this closely with her.

But what if…

He didn’t finish the thought but gave Kate a smile as she reached for the package of her favourite biscuits and grabbed one for herself. He shook his head slightly, as she nudged the package in his direction. “ – thank you, but I really don’t want to eat your biscuits then. And I bought myself some breakfast on the way.” Had eaten it in the car, while the same thoughts had tortured him, which still remained. The ever-lasting question of WHAT IF. What if she returned his feelings, despite everything? What if things would work out well? He knew that chances were low, but wasn’t he always someone clinging to hope, while skies seemed grey and the whole universe turned against them?

“ – But my offer from last time still stands visiting you this time, too, Kate. If there’s anything you want or need, I don’t mind bringing it in, when I also come to bring files and some work to do. It’s nothing. I think the only thing I have to fear is Ellie finding out, I am not letting you rest and watch daytime television.” Chuckled at the words as if they were a joke. They partially were. Not the part about Ellie surely having his head for bringing Kate work to her hospital bed, but was there any other way? Kate couldn’t just sit back and he understood. Had felt the same. While sometimes a hypocrite, he tried to do more than his best now. For her.

Eyes wandered back to the file he had handed to her and the picture of the page it had been opened at. A young man, that looked absolutely harmless; couldn’t hurt a fly – and surely the militia hadn’t been hired by him. TOO EASY. Too obvious. And even without experience in that field, he could tell the cost of that whole attack against UNIT would have been outrageously high. Of course, that was one thing they had tried to track down (with rarely any hope that it would be this easy) – finances. Suspiciously high pay-outs. Nothing. Which had led to the conclusion that this attack had been planned for a long, long time in the first place.

He moved his chair a little, so he could have a better look at the file again; inching closer to Kate, as the picture now was no longer turned upside-down for him. – Keeping some distance still between Kate and himself, he turned the page to have Kate’s attention drawn to another picture. Artie Garman again; his skin even paler under the bright street light and every colour washed away from him in the dark of the night, the picture had been taken in.

“He was photographed apparently drunk – possibly under the influence of substances – a few weeks ago. Not unusually for young politicians to find their first scandal printed in some gossip magazine, before their career has even fully started. Not unusual for said young politician to claim he has no recollection of that night, either. BUT the bodyguard he has hired, had lost Mister Garman for two hours between around midnight and two o’clock in the morning on this Wednesday…” Pointed again at the file; the date highlighted by the clean half-moon of his fingernail for a moment.

“… the same Wednesday some energy spikes in a part of London, close to where Artie Garman was last seen, were registered. We had a small team investigate the site just about an hour later, but they reported back that there was nothing out of the ordinary. The working hypothesis is now, that Artie Garman is being used as a potential scapegoat – or a face and a name for the public, while someone else is pulling the strings in the background, wanting a push an agenda that UNIT would be in the way off…”

Raising his gaze from the file to meet the warm brown of Kate’s eyes, he gave her a somewhat awkward smile as he realised, that he had just been summing up what she could have read herself. He shook his head about himself and then leaned back in his chair again. “I’m sorry – I don’t think your ability to read is impaired, just because – How is your arm?”

Forty Eight hours. A lot could change in forty eight hours when one had little company to keep but their own thoughts. Forty eight hours, twenty six of which were spent trying and failing to convince the medical staff that she was well enough to be discharged. It had taken the threat of having her clearance revoked till the end of the month by UNIT's CMO herself to convince Kate to seat herself back in that hospital bed, pop the telyl on, and enjoy the ah, gourmet offerings that the hospital kitchen had to offer.

Ellie had sounded tired and overworked when Kate had spoken to her over the phone, no doubt running herself ragged trying to keep up with the demand of wounded and dead personnel. Vikram too had sounded just as exhausted. His extensive search for the culprits had yet to yield results at their last call, though he had mentioned there may be a lead he was keeping under wraps Didn't want anyone to go getting their hopes up. The younger staff were back on their feet in no time, Josh, Chloe, Howie too, all eager to help where they could, all of them thankfully unhurt. That just left Ed.

Kate had spent an awful lot of time thinking about Ed....against her better judgement. She had no time, she barely had time to go home these days. Even if she were to pursue this, whatever this thing was between them, it was liable to end disastrously. No. It would be utterly selfish of her. She couldn't possibly and yet she kept replaying those final moments in her mind over and over again. Those blue eyes, his face standing out in the midst of all the chaos around her, the look he'd given her when she'd ordered him to leave her behind. Stubborn as she was and twice as kind.

Twenty hours left.The children visited of course, despite her protests that she was fine, she'd be out of here soon and that she was sure Moira was using this as an excuse to go off gallivanting with her brother. Eighteen hours left, Ed had visited her again, flowers in tow. She'd never particularly liked to receive flowers. Had bought them for her ex-wife on occasion, but the thought of receiving flowers? Had always somewhat irritated her. Convinced they didn't mean anything. Flowers were meant to bloom in the garden, not be plucked and placed artificially in a vase to die three days later from dehydration.....and yet. when Edward bought her flowers, they always lasted for days after, brightening up the hospital room, bringing a little bit of cheer indoors.

They'd talked of work mainly, Kate determined they find whoever was behind the attack on HQ. Just like Vikram, Ed had no new news on that front, though she suspected he too, knew more than he was letting on. That thought both comforted and frustrated her in equal measure. She should be out there chasing leads with the team, not stuck in this bed!

Eight hours.The nurses had let him stay much past the usual visiting hours, right up until she'd looked at the time and realised how late it was, coaxing him off home for a bit of sleep before work tomorrow. She'd slept fitfully. Images of crocodilian teeth and a set of spindly arms reaching out in the night gripped her with cold dread. The militia were gone. But whoever had paid for them was still at large. She woke to a searing pain in her right arm, finding she had rolled over on her side during the night, putting pressure on the wound. Gritting her teeth, she'd righted herself, stubbornly refusing to ask for help. The pain lingered long after, until finally, sleep could take over her once more.

Zero hours. Morning broke, a chilly English sunrise hovering over the horizon and with it, it brought Ed. She offered him a small, tired smile as he set down the custard creams. Barely a second after he'd placed them down, she reached over quickly to open the packet and extract a biscuit, biting off the top with undisguised relish. She washed it down with a sip of lukewarm tea, which had been placed in front of her not three minutes before he arrived.

❝ The biscuits here are rubbish. ❞ She explained by way of apology, nudging the packet over to him. Listened as he spoke, instantly alert. Kate set the biscuit down on her saucer, her brows scrunched together in deep thought. Dusted crumbs off her fingers before reaching for the picture, her fingers brushing against his briefly as she took the photo.

A young man stared back at her, perhaps just a little older than her own son. But where Gordy was a brunette, this man had a mop of bright ginger hair, his pale cheeks dotted with a smattering of equally bright freckles. ❝ Artie Garman, y-yes. I know him. Young, ambitious. Enough aristocracy in his blood to make him think he ought to be in charge of everything, but lacking the financials to back a solid campaign ...I agree. He's too obvious. Not to mention unlikely, Artie barely has the funds to string together for a corflute, never mind an Alien militia. There's more to this! ❞ 

[elysiuminfra]

more morning thoughts. i also did not expect to make as many friends as i have over the past year living in michigan. i have my inner circle of my former coworkers and best friends who i see weekly, and a looser web of friends and acquaintances and friends-of-friends that i see less often. i think this is because 1. most of the people i have become fast friends with are also neurodivergent and operate on a similar wavelength and 2. i just walk up to people and start talking. i am, as my friends describe, a "social butterfly," which is shocking because i used to be a complete and total hermit. zero offline friends, and it was hard to keep ones i met. i owe coming out of my shell to my time in dinner theatre, where my circle of friends there got me out of the house and into the world. traveling on my own too helped so much. when i got to visit a dear friend in california, it was my first time traveling by plane, and it instilled a lot of confidence (despite some hiccups at the atlanta airport in which i missed my flight because i had somehow accidentally made my way out of the security area. a kind stranger saw me upset and helped me find a staff member, who then reassured me that everything was going to be okay and passed me onto a flight attendant, who then helped me get onto the next plane. a beautiful chain of kind strangers.) but anyways, another story for another time. my grandma also says i never meet a stranger. the more i think about it the more true it feels. i go to the bar every once in a while, and every time i do, i end up talking to someone new. i compliment people's outfits, i offer a light or a cigarette to those who need it, i am always on the look out for anyone who's having a rough night and needs a kind word, and all of these invite conversation. i've made many acquaintances this way, people who remember my face and think of me fondly. people who i can rely on to keep an eye out for danger, who will watch my back on nights out. it feels very good to know that people genuinely consider me a pleasant person to be around. i didn't know what kind of person i would grow to become living independently, but i have come to find out people consider me kind and reliable. i was told my whole life i was a terrible person, manipulative and selfish and cruel, but i know now i am the total opposite. my parents just sucked the life out of me. many such cases. anyways, i have been reflecting a lot on the past year. i am very thankful for the person i have grown to become, and look forward to seeing what my future is like now that i have a future. i am also thankful for the many many friends who have supported me along the way. i wouldn't be where i am without the people in my life who have helped me get my life truly started.

[devilat-thedoor]

Morning soft!Jake thoughts😔

He’s not awake yet, but he can sense that you’re about to get up. His arm would lazily lift from the mattess to curl around your waist and hold you down.

“Jake, I have to pee. Let me up.” But you don’t fight him because when he buries his nose into your hair and releases that sleepy groan, you’re at his mercy. So instead, you roll over to face him and trace your fingers over all of his features with a featherlight touch, “You’re so beautiful…” You whisper it so quietly to yourself, admiring how truly pretty he really is(especially when he’s in such a tranquil state).

His lips would start to lift into a tiny, shy smile while his arm tightens around you. He lets you continue to ghost your fingertip along, absolutely loving it when you trace down the bridge of his nose and his long lashes. It’s when you finally go over his lips for the third time that he opens his mouth and catches the digit between his teeth. The sound of your giggle warms his body as he releases your finger to peck your lips once…twice…three times, “You’re so beautiful.” He mumbles it against your mouth right before the fouth kiss.

You’re blushing because he never fails to set the butterflies loose. You fold your hands over his chest and lay your chin atop to gaze at him, “Can I go pee now? And start the coffee pot?” You watch him scrunch his face in contemplation.

A hot cup of coffee sounds great but, “Just stay a little longer, love…” He brushes the fallen hairs from your face before circling his fingers on your bare back, “Mornings with you are my favorite.”

“They’re my favorite too, Jakey…” You flash him a warm smile and lay your head flat over his beating heart while muttering an I love you.

He hugs his arms around you, squeezing you tight, “I love you more…” When he finally loosens his hold, you look up to see his bright(yet always still tired) eyes, shimmering as they look into your own. Just when you think he’s about to say something really sweet, he hips out of bed with a cackle and makes a run for the door, “I call bathroom first!”

You can’t help your own laugh as you clamber out of the bed to chase after him, “Jacob, i swear to god, don’t you dare!!!!!” All while he’s laughing and running to slam the bathroom door shut…

.

.

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i blame @losfacedevil @ohgodthefeeling-gvf @klarxtr and @writingcold for this…. they won’t let me rest😩

[zukkaoru]

family line, conan gray || jujutsu kaisen chapter 219 || antigone, tr. anne carson || flu game, fall out boy

my thoughts on the latest chapter [id in alt text]

[goodvibesandsunglasses]

Jeremy looked away for a second as it all sank in. As much as it was an honor to have inspired such as powerful song, he also felt incredibly sad to be the source of Cora's suffering. All he'd wanted was protect himself but things turned out to be more complicated than that, and it was such a shame that he was finding out after all this time.

Cora still held those feelings just like he did but was it as simple as that? Should he admit that he still loved her and everything would fall back into place? It seemed way to good to be true but then again, it was probably just Jeremy punishing himself because he felt guilty. However, if there was something he was 100% sure of and it was that he owed her the truth , just like she'd bared her soul this morning and on stage.

His gaze found her again. It was now or never.

"I'm honestly not sure how to feel because I'm honored you still have those feelings for me but I'm also deeply sorry to have caused so much pain. To be honest with you, I was hoping you still felt that way because things haven't changed on my side either... I mean... with so many pairs of ears around, it's probably not the best place to talk about this". With that, he offered a small smile before rolling his shoulders back. It wasn't important if anyone overheard their conversation, what mattered was that it was finally happening. Maybe it was meant to be after all? Maybe as she'd said, they needed to work on being happy individually before meeting again? Although he wished they'd remained together, he liked that explanation because it actually made sense. "What I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry for hurting you, I thought... I was trying to protect myself because I thought it was only a matter of time before you'd want to move on and trust me, I realize how much a of a fool I've been and I'm pretty sure I don't deserve you now that you seemed to be where you want in life. But I still love you, Cora. I never stopped".

Cora asked for a bottle of water, and when the bottle was handed to her, she took it and took a sip, then looked at Jeremy as he approached her.

She smiled at him and felt a sense of relief that he still was there.

"Its one of my more popular ones. Usually the regulars request it." She explained to him. She chewed her lip a little. "I'm glad you like it." She then added. "It was... kind of inspired by you. First thing I wrote after we broke up" She said softly.

She took another sip of her water and wondered what to say, she took another breath and looked up into his eyes "It was the hardest thing I ever wrote, but every word of it was true. It was like every emotion poured into those lyrics. And I sing it so often, that it feels almost natural to say those words over and over again, but seeing you here, and saying them out loud in front of you makes it all feel a little raw again." She admitted. "And please don't think thats me telling you to leave, I don't want you to leave, I couldn't bear it if you left me." She said honestly. "I mean.... its good that once again I feel those emotions with that song, because i really do mean them." She said softly.

"You were my biggest happiness in life Jeremy, and my biggest regret. I don't ever regret being with... I regret how we ended, and I know I should of been honest with you, but I was scared of the truth, that if I admitted all that, that I wasn't good enough, that my job was something to be ashamed of, then you might of seen it too." She said.

"I didn't want to be stripper.. It was a way to survive." She told him.

Tears began to fill her eyes. "All I have dreamt of, since the day we got together, was to have a future, to have a family. But I couldn't do that in that job, I couldn't be that person at that time. So I thought I was doing what was best for not only me.... but for you. So you could have that with someone you didn't have to lie to your parents about." She breathed.

"And I know I tod you most of that this morning, but that song, its everything I felt after we broke up. How I knew it felt like the right thing, but I regretted hurting you the way I did, and that my heart will always be yours and that one day, I hope you could forgive me." She told him.

She knew it wasn't exactly the right place to talk about this, but the song had brought up so much for her.

She knew, looking up at him, that the song still stood. That she did still love him. Never Stopped. But she also knew it was possible that he had fully moved on. So all she could hope for, was his forgiveness.

[shutup-andletme-go]

I cannot rely on one person for me to be happy my happiness isn't allowed to be only triggered by one person I can be happy at every little thing it doesn't matter about this one person

[giddlygoat]

sometimes i think about how me and my twin brother used to make elaborate plans about how our future homes would be right next to each other or connected somehow. for a long while we did live right next to each other and i mooched off his wifi from my front porch because i never got mine installed. now we live in the same house again. i hope we always stay close because those human-sized hamster tunnels between houses we always discussed would be really awesome to bring to fruition