#just to see how deeply out of his depth the therapist is

[aingeal98]

Daisy: You know after having spent 25 years alone and unloved I really thought searching for my birth parents would be the only way I could find a family but you know what this team is kind of-

Daisy: OK so at least one of my team is a traitor and my birth parents are alive they're just evil monsters. Cool cool cool I am once again not feeling very safe and secure

Daisy: Oh actually wait my bio parents love me? They want me? I can make a home here mayb-

Daisy: Oh never mind my mom just tried to murder me. And my dad is still a monster but he's agreed to have his memory wiped. At least he's still breathing I guess?

Daisy: Good news is I still have my found family parents so at least-

Daisy: Aaaaand found family dad is dead. You know what this is fine as long as I just have-

Daisy:

Daisy: Universe. Universe listen to me very closely. You bring back my found family mom right fucking now. If I have all four of my parents die on me I will destroy this world just like you all said I would

Daisy: OK good. We found a nice compromise. I get to keep one parent and don't have to watch four of them die. Oh hey it's my bio mom from another timeline where she didn't get tortured into insanity and could actually love-

Daisy: Are you fucking KIDDING me.

[bossbtch1]

Shadows Of The Past

The GIF and picture are not mine; credit goes to the respective artist/creator.

Summary : Bucky's nightmares have returned, and you wanted to make him feel better. However, both of you have different approaches in mind. Bucky then attempts to make a deal with you. What kind of offer will he propose, and will you accept it?

Pairing : Bucky Barnes x Reader (No mentions of body type or ethnicity other than the reader being female)

General tags : SMUT, 18, Porn with Plot

TW: Needy!Bucky, Gentle!Bucky, Fluff, Comfort, PTSD, Cuddling, Oral (f receiving), Fingering, Dirty talk, Unprotected sex, Rough Sex, Vaginal sex, Anal sex, Aftercare

Word Count: 7,5k

A/N : Hey there! As I promised, here's the first version of this story. Funny how it was meant to be short fic, but it turned into quite a story, huh? It's around 70% smut, but I've added some sweet fluff and comfort to the mix (so you won't get bored). So, go ahead, dive in! Hope you sin with me!

While you were asleep, a sharp cry pierced the silence, jolting you awake. Your eyes flew open, and your heart raced as you realized the agonized sound came from Bucky. He thrashed against the blankets that had been wrapped snugly around him, his face contorted into a pained grimace, his body glistening with a sheen of sweat.

The nightmares that had haunted him before had returned, and it seemed they were more relentless than ever, plaguing him for weeks. He tried to keep his suffering from you, not wanting you to worry, but he could no longer hide his distress.

Amidst his cries, you could hear him desperately calling out your name, his voice laced with terror. "No! Please no, don't hurt her. Y/N! Y/N!"

Hearing him call for you, pleading with someone who wasn't there, broke your heart. You hated seeing him suffer, and you wished there was some way to ease his pain.

You wanted to blame Shuri, blame Wakanda, blame his therapist. They said he was free of his trigger words, so why couldn't he sleep? Why couldn't he be free from the nightmares?

With a racing heart, you reached out, gripping his quivering shoulder, "It’s okay Bucky,” you whispered, your voice soft but urgent. "You're just having a nightmare, baby. Everything's going to be okay. I'm right here. It's just a dream. Please, just wake up, baby,” you murmured, running your hand gently over his cheek.

But he remained trapped in his own subconscious torment, lost in the depths of his nightmare.

Desperation welled up inside you, and you shook him more vigorously, hoping to pull him back from the horrifying visions that plagued his sleep. "Bucky, please, come back to me. I'm here with you, and I'm safe."

Slowly, his body began to relax and he stopped thrashing, his eyes fluttering open. He sat up, breathing heavily as his eyes frantically searched the room, his face wet with tears.

"Hi, there you are." You smiled, trying to mask the pain in your heart. "It's okay. You were having a nightmare, but it's over now. You're awake. I'm right here. No one can hurt us."

He looked at you, his eyes full of fear, still trying to discern what was real. You could see the fear still lingering in his gaze as he recognized you. "Y/N?" his voice cracked with fear and confusion.

"Yes, Bucky. It's me. I'm right here. See?" taking his trembling hand and placing it over your heart, letting him feel the rhythmic beating.  "I'm okay. Everything's okay."

Bucky let out a sigh of relief when he felt the beating of your heart beneath his fingertips, and he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. "Thank god." Burying his face in the crook of your neck. His arms tightened around you as he breathed deeply, the tension slowly leaving his body as he relaxed.

"It's okay, it's over," you whispered reassuringly, running a hand through his hair soothingly.

"I'm so sorry, baby" he murmured against your skin, his lips ghosting over your collarbone, sending a shiver down your spine. "I didn't mean to wake you."

You cupped his face, looking into his eyes, seeing the exhaustion there. "It's okay, really. You don't need to apologize."

His gaze dropped, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the bare skin of your thigh. "I should be better. Stronger. You shouldn't have to deal with this."

"I told you I would be there for you no matter what, and I meant it," you insisted. "It's okay, Bucky," you whispered, holding him close and stroking his back soothingly. "It was just a dream. I'm right here, and I won't let anything harm you."

He clung to you, his grip tight as if he feared letting go would send him spiralling back into the horrors of his dreams. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice strained, "I thought... I thought I lost you.”

"You will never lose me, Bucky," you said firmly, cupping his face and looking him straight in the eye. "Never. I promise."

He let out a shuddering breath, his body relaxing at your words. His breathing began to steady as he focused on your presence, the reality of your touch grounding him. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he confessed, his voice barely audible.

"You don't have to know," you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his forehead. "You have me, I'll always be here with you. And I'm not going anywhere."

Slowly, the panic receded, the adrenaline subsiding. His grip on you loosened, but he kept his arm around you, needing the reassurance of your touch.

Your fingers carded through his hair, gently working through the knots. "Would you like to talk about what happened?" you asked, your voice gentle and understanding.

He shook his head slightly, his lips forming a hesitant smile. "Not right now. Just being with you is enough."

"Okay, we can just lay here and cuddle. I love cuddling with you." You pressed another kiss to his forehead.

He smiled up at you, his blue eyes meeting yours. "I love you."

You wiped sweat from his face, kissing his temple. "I love you too."

He sighed, closing his eyes and settling back against your chest, listening to the steady beat of your heart. "Thank you, baby. I'm sorry I keep waking you up like this. I don't know why I can't just let go of these nightmares."

"Shush, it's okay, Bucky. You don't need to say sorry.” Your voice was soft, your touch tender as you caressed his face. "We'll face this together. You're not alone."

His eyes met yours, and he gave you a small smile. Then you noticed both of your glasses were empty on the nightstand. As you tried to get up to fetch some water, Bucky caught your hands, holding them gently but firmly. "Where are you going?"

"Just to the kitchen," you replied. "Don't worry, I'll be right back. I'll get us some more water.”

“No, please. Don't go. Just stay with me." He tightened his arms around you, not letting go.

"Please," he pleaded, his voice strained. You could see the panic and desperation in his eyes, the fear of losing you still lingering in his mind.

You didn't want to leave him, and you had never seen him so distraught. You felt his grip tighten around your waist, his arms holding you close to him.

"Okay Bucky, I’ll stay. I’m not going anywhere," you whispered, laying back down beside him. He curled up against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and clinging to you as if he were afraid you would disappear.

He curled up against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck and clinging to you as if his life depended on it. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I don't mean to be like this.”

You held him tighter as you murmured soft reassurances. "Shh, it's okay, Bucky. You have nothing to be sorry for. I'm here for you."

"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better? To help you relax?" Your fingers gently stroked his hair as you placed soft kisses on his forehead, offering him the comfort and security he desperately needed.

He looked at you, his gaze intense, the look in his eyes darkening with desire. "No. No." You knew where this was going.

"Why not baby? You know it will make me feel better." His mood changed in an instant, and he suddenly looked predatory, like a wild animal ready to devour its prey.

He didn't even wait for an answer as his lips captured yours in a heated kiss, his hands roaming your body hungrily. He kissed and sucked your neck, his hand trailing down to your thigh and stroking your skin teasingly. He was already hard against your leg.

You broke the kiss, "Bucky no…”

He moved in and began to kiss the nape of your neck, making you moan. "Just a little? I'll be good to you, baby." He said in his best innocent voice. "Please, I need you." he breathed against your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin.

“We can't keep doing this. Dr. Raynor is very clear about this." Dr. Raynor, his therapist said this wouldn't help him, that it would just be a distraction every time and wouldn't actually help him through his trauma. You both had agreed that she was right.

"Screw the doctor, Y/N. I want you." He pecked a quick kiss to your lips and looked into your eyes, a pleading expression on his face. His hands were everywhere, touching and exploring every inch of your body.

"Will you help me forget about it?" He moved lower to between your thighs. Bucky lifted his head from between your legs and looked at you, "Will you let me pleasure you, my love?"

"No, Bucky. We can't." You said sternly even though your pussy getting wetter by the second. "You know it's not just my decision. We both agree," you whimpered as his finger kept hovering above your pussy, barely touching.

“Mm… I know…” He hummed. “But, I can also see you're getting wet." He slid his hand to touch your panties, rubbing your pussy, feeling the wetness seep through the fabric. "I don't think you want me to stop, doll."

"Mmmm," you moaned and tried to keep yourself from squirming under him. His thumb brushing over your clit and causing you to buck into his touch.

As much as you wanted to give in, you couldn't. You slapped his hands away and sat up. "You know the effect you have on me. That's not something I can control." You said, annoyed.

Then he trailed his hands over your breasts and cupped them, squeezing and kneading, his thumb circling your hardening nipples through the fabric of your dress. You arched your back and pressed into him.

"Doll. Please? I just need a little taste. I'll be good. I'll eat you out, lick your pussy and make you come, let me taste you.” He said, begging, his voice pleading.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep the last bit of your composure. You "Ah! No…” You grabbed his wrist. "I'll do anything for you, but this is not the way. We're not having sex, Bucky."

He grabbed your waist, his hands gripped your hips tightly as he leaned forward, his lips just a breath away from yours.

"If it's going to make you better..." he guided your hand to his crotch, and you could feel how hard he was through his sweats. "You feel that? One look at you and this happened." You wanted to stroke him, but you needed to stay strong, for him.

"Bucky, stop," you pulled away your hand and looked at him. "We talked about this. Why can't you be reasonable?"

"Alright, what if we made a deal?" He asked.

"A deal?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Yes. A deal."

"Go on." You were intrigued.

"No sex, no intercourse, no penetration. How about if I promise that I won't try anything, you let me have a taste. Let me please you."

"Hard pass. You said that the last time and we knew what happened. No." You said firmly, recalling the last time.

"C'mon doll, please? I'll be on my best behavior," he kissed your cheek and whispered in your ear, "I'll make it worth your while, I promise."

"No deal. You're a terrible influence, Bucky Barnes." You moved away from him.

He groaned and leaned closer and bit your ear lightly. You shivered and turned your head slightly. "Okay, if you let me fuck you right now, I'll go see that doctor tomorrow," he offered, and his lips moved over the pulse point on your neck.

You could feel your breath hitching, "Really? You'd go see her willingly?" You beamed at his progress. But you didn't want to cave in yet and give him what he wanted, "But you need to see her regularly after this.”

"How often?" He said, he sucked on your neck, leaving a mark, and started to move on top of you.

"Twice a week, at least," you replied, closing your eyes and enjoying his body against yours as he rubbed his hard-on against you, teasing you through the thin material.

“And what do I get on my end? If I do all that for you, I need something in return. It's a deal. Right?"

"Right," you replied. You thought of what you should do with him. What could you offer in exchange. "You get me?" It sounded absurd even to your own ears. But the look on his face told you that was the best thing you could offer.

Bucky chuckled, "Hmm. That's a very tempting offer." You could see him smiling, and his hands caressing your waist. "But I already got you. Try again, sweets."

You could see how his blue eyes were shining with lust. His pupils dilated, and he licked his lips, his eyes not leaving yours. You could feel his excitement rubbing against your inner thighs.

He moved his hand lower to under your breast. You stilled a moan when his thumb rubbed your nipple. "Okay then, we can have sex as often as you want."

Bucky hummed, and his fingers moved from your breasts to your belly, and lower. "As much as I love that idea, I already get you as often as I want.”

"Oh fuck." You breathed heavily, "Bucky, you're not being fair."

"Says the woman who wants me to go back to that old therapist, so she can dig into my head." He said, his fingers slipping between your legs. "She's annoying. And she asks too many questions."

"She's not annoying. She's just doing her job," you defended Dr. Raynor. Bucky shrugged.

"Fine, I'll suck you off." You could feel yourself getting more and more wet, you wanted him now, but you held back, not yet, not until he agreed to go see Dr. Raynor.

"That's not a bargain, that's just a normal day for us." He said, teasing. "Come on, what are you willing to give me?" He grinned and his tongue traced the outer edge of your ear.

“You're not playing fair." You whined.

"Oh but, baby. I never play fair. So, what are you offering?" He licked your neck and kissed it.

You bit your lips, you knew what to say. You knew exactly what to say. But the only thing is, would you say it? You stared to his blue eyes, those blue ocean that was full of desire.

You stared to his blue eyes, those blue ocean that was full of desire. "Well?" He said, his thumb flicked your lips.

You swallowed hard, your voice barely audible. "You can put it in my ass," you whispered.

Bucky's movements stilled, his eyes narrowing in surprise and confusion. He leaned back slightly, studying your face intently. "I didn’t hear you," he said, his tone demanding an explanation. "What was that?"

Your cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but you gathered your courage. With a steadying breath, you spoke louder, your voice carrying more conviction this time. "I said, you can put your dick in my ass."

His lips twitched and his eyes crinkled. "Y/N. Look at me." You shook your head, feeling shy.

He moved his hand and took your chin and turned your face towards him. "Are you sure?" He asked, a serious expression on his face.

"Yes," you replied, your voice quivering slightly. "If you agree to go to Dr. Raynor, if you see her and promise to work with her, I'll let you fuck me in the ass."

"Baby, please, don't," he pleaded, his voice laced with both concern and guilt. "I don't want you to force yourself."

"No, no, no, I'm okay. I want this. I'm willing to try. Beside I’ve been thinking about this. So, no. I'm not forcing myself." You reassured him.

"Fuck. Are you sure, baby girl? This is a big step. I can wait. You know that, right? You're worth the wait. If you're not ready, you should tell me. It's not like we're rushing it."

"I'm ready, Bucky. I trust you," you said, your voice firm yet gentle. You paused, your eyes locking onto his, determination shining through. "However, there's a new condition. You need to see your Dr. Raynor regularly. Make it three times a week," you added, your tone unwavering.

He looked at you, his expression conflicted. You didn't want him to back down, "And I will make it worth your while. I'll let you do anything you want with me."

A mischievous smirk played on his lips, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Anything, huh?" he teased.

"Within reason," you quickly clarified, clearing your throat, ensuring there were boundaries even in your desperation to help him.

"Alright. It's a deal. Three times a week and I get to put it in your ass." Bucky agreed, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. You couldn't help but smile too, relief flooding through you. You pulled him close, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"That's how you bargain, baby." He teased you.

“Just kiss me please.” You couldn’t resist him anymore. You missed his dick inside of you, missed the feeling of him thrusting inside you, filling you.

"Only because you asked nicely," he said, his voice tender, before leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

You moaned, "More." You begged, tugging at his hair.

He chuckled and crashed his lips into yours. He pulled you closer, kissing you fiercely. You moaned and opened your mouth, inviting his tongue in. He sucked and swirled his tongue around yours.

Your tongues danced together, fighting for dominance as his hands slid down your body. They landed on your ass and squeezed before he pulled away to pushed your shirt up to your neck, exposing your breasts.

He grinned as he stared at your breast. He cupped them, giving them a squeeze before his thumbs rubbed your hard nipples. You threw your head back and moaned.

He licked a stripe from between your breast to the valley, then to the other breast, giving it the same attention, licking and sucking, then biting lightly.

You moaned at his touch, your breast and your clit felt so sensitive, like you could come any minute. He grinned satisfied by your reaction, he loved how wet and sensitive you got for him. He kissed your neck, biting gently on your skin, leaving his mark on you, he wanted the whole world to know you were his.

"Now, first let me taste that delicious pussy of yours." You gasped as he pulled you toward him and knelt in front of you, putting your legs over his shoulders.

He placed his metal hand on your stomach, and he rubbed your inner thigh to opened your legs wider. He pushed your panties to the side, his hand slowly made his way down to your core, teasing you before inserting his fingers inside you.

You moaned at the sensation. "Bucky, please..." You moaned, desperate for his touch.

"Don't worry baby, I'll give you what you need." He slowly dragged your underwear down. You felt the cool air hit your wet pussy, and you shuddered.

He took a moment to admire the sight of you completely exposed to him, his eyes roamed over every inch of your body. His pupils were blown wide and you could see the desire in his eyes.

"You're so wet, so ready for me." He groaned, his breath tickling your inner thighs.

You felt the tip of his tongue lick a line up to your clit, and you felt a shockwave run through your body. He licked your slit from bottom to top, then he swirled his tongue on your clit, causing you to gasp loudly. He inserted a finger in and started to fuck you fast with his fingers, his tongue licking your clit.

He was so good, his tongue lapping your pussy like a starving man, lapping up your juices, teasing your clit and fucking your hole. You moaned loudly and made him chuckle, "So fucking responsive."

It felt amazing, the sensations of his tongue and fingers was almost too much, but not enough at the same time. His other hands travelled to your nipples, tugging and pulling them, the sensation going straight to your core. He knew exactly how to drive you insane, he was so good at this, and it was so hot.

You could feel your orgasm building, and you tried to hold back. You were so close, but you didn't want to come too soon.

"Do you like this, baby?" He asked, his voice low and husky.

“Yes, I do. It feels so good."

You felt his tongue deep inside of you, lapping and swirling up your juices, while his thumb pressed against your clit making your toes curled. You bucked your hips up to his face, searching for your release.

He added another finger, his fingers pumping in and out, and then curling, hitting the spot inside of you as he continued to eat you out. "I believe this is the spot that gets you going, baby."

"Yes, Bucky." You moaned loudly, not caring about anyone hearing.

His fingers kept stroking you, and his tongue was licking and flicking your clit. "Please don't stop."

"Come for me baby, scream my name." He pumped faster, curling his finger harder. He went up to your clit, sucking and biting. His flesh hand on your breast, twisting your nipples. He pinched your nipple hard, and you came.

Your orgasm hitting you hard. "Ahh. Bucky. Mmmhhh.. Yes, yes, ahh.."

He slowly stopped, his lips leaving your pussy. He pulled out his fingers and licked them clean, moaning at the taste. "Mmhh, so sweet."

"Thank you Bucky."  You pulled his head toward you so you could kiss him. He came up and kissed you passionately. You could taste yourself in his mouth and it was so hot.

"We're not done yet, babydoll," he murmured, his voice deep and husky, sending shivers down your spine. He held your gaze with intensity. "The deal is still on, but first, I need to fuck that tight pussy," he continued, his tone low and seductive, making your heart race with anticipation.

He pushed his briefs down exposing his rock hard erection. You bit your lip, admiring the sight in front of you. He was a very attractive man. His chiseled abs, his strong arms, his piercing blue eyes. And his cock, it never cease to amaze you how you can take him everytime.

Then he pushed your knees up and opened your cunt wide open. You felt so exposed and vulnerable, your pussy lips spread wide open as he moved forward.

You moaned again when his cock made contact with your dripping pussy. He teased you for a little while, rubbing the tip against your swollen folds.

"This going to be hard and fast. So get ready, babydoll."

He said as he began to push himself inside you. You were so wet that he slipped in easily, but the stretch still hurt. You let out a gasp. Your pussy lips wrapped around his cock and you felt his balls hitting against your ass. He then pulled back and slammed into you, making you moaned. He did this a couple of times, slowly fucking you.

"Fuck, baby, you feel so good." He groaned.

"Faster. Oh, Bucky. Please." You begged.

"As you wish." He smirked.

He picked up the pace, slamming into you. You felt his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, stretching your hole wide open. He was using all his strength to fuck you and you loved every second of it. You couldn't believe how good it felt. You were screaming his name and moaning, not caring about the world. All you cared about is the feeling of Bucky's cock pounding into you, hitting all the right spots.

"Oh Bucky, oh god, please don't stop." You felt his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, stretching your hole wide open. He held your legs tightly, preventing you from squirming.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist, as his hands gripped your hips. His fingers dug into your flesh, sure to leave bruises. But you didn't care. The only thing you were focused on is how good Bucky was fucking you.

"Do you like that, Y/N?" He said, his voice low and husky.

"Mhmm." You mumbled, too lost in pleasure to respond properly. He was fucking you so hard, you could feel his balls slapping against your ass.

"That's what I thought." He growled, leaning down and sucking on your nipple. You cried out as he bit down on your sensitive bud.

You felt your orgasm building up inside you. He started thrusting harder, and deeper, hitting your G-spot over and over again. "Oh, Bucky, I'm gonna cum!" You screamed.

"Milk my cock, baby.” He grunted. With that you felt your orgasm hit you hard. Wave after wave of pleasure swept through your body and you felt your pussy contracting around his cock.

He didn't stop pounding into you as you came, instead he fucked you harder, pushing you through your orgasm. He then pinned your arms above your head, leaving you completely helpless and at his mercy. "Bucky, please!"

"Oh no, baby, I'm not finished with you yet." His grip was so tight, and he continued to thrust into you. He used his one hand holding your hands there while he used the other to reach down and rub your clit. You moaned and arched your back, loving the feeling of his hands on you.

"That's right, keep doing that. Let me hear you."

You were lost in pleasure, completely oblivious to anything else around you. You were a quivering mess beneath him, and you couldn't form a coherent sentence.  This time it went much deeper than his normal thrusts. The pleasure was overwhelming. Your second orgasm was approaching, and you knew you couldn't last much longer.

"Oh yes, Bucky, I'm close. Please, fuck, oh god."

"I'm close too, babydoll. Come with me."

"YES! YES!" You screamed, reaching your second orgasm.

His thrust became more erratic, and you could tell he was about to come too. You felt his cock pulsing inside of you, and he let out a loud groan as he released his seed into you.

"Oh, fuck!" He cried out, his face scrunched up in pleasure.

You both rode out your orgasms together, his head falling onto your chest. Your legs were shaky, and your heart was pounding.

You both lay there, panting, trying to catch your breaths. You smiled as you looked up at him, "Wow. That was amazing."

"You're damn right, babydoll. You're so beautiful, and I love you so much." He replied, kissing your forehead.

He let you catch your breath first before leaning over, his eyes locking onto yours. "Are you ready for the main event now?" he said, a playful glint in his eyes as he winked at you.

"Yes." You said, nervously. You were both excited and nervous for what was about to happen. You had never done anal sex before, and you were scared that it would hurt.

"Don't worry, baby, I will make sure to be gentle. If it hurts, just tell me to stop and I will." He assured you by gently kissing your lips.

"I trust you, Buck." You smiled, feeling a little bit better.

He climbed off you and reached for a bottle from the nightstand drawer. "What's that?" you asked, your curiosity piqued.

He sat on the bed and opened the bottle. It was lube. "Oh." You blushed. "You had that just lying around?"

Sitting back on the bed, he opened the bottle. It was lube. "Oh." Your cheeks flushed with surprise. "You had that just lying around?" you asked, a hint of amusement in your voice.

"Yes. Just in case," he said, his tone nonchalant.

"In case of what?" you inquired, raising an eyebrow in playful curiosity.

"In case we did this," he replied, gesturing between the two of you, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You couldn't help but giggle, realizing you had fallen right into his trap. "You cheeky bastard, were you planning this all along?" you teased.

He flashed you a grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, let's say I had a hunch you might eventually succumb. Although, I must admit, this scenario played out differently than I imagined," he added, referring to being dragged to the therapist, his tone teasing yet affectionate.

"You're such a naughty man, James Buchanan Barnes," your eyes narrowing playfully.

"That's why you love me," he replied with a wink, his tone flirtatious.

A tender smile graced your lips, and you let out a soft sigh. "One of the many reasons," you confessed, your voice softening as you gazed at him with affection.

Then, there was a brief silence. Bucky broke the quiet, his voice laced with concern, "Are you sure you want to do this? I don't want to force you into something you're not comfortable with."

"I do, really. I'm just a bit nervous, you know? What if it hurts?"

His hand brushed a strand of hair from your face, his touch tender. "It might hurt, yes," he acknowledged. "But I will make sure it won't be long. If it becomes too much, you need to tell me, alright? I don't want you to keep it to yourself."

You nodded, "I trust you, Bucky. How do we do this?"

A reassuring smile curved his lips. "That means the world to me, Y/N."

His fingers traced delicate patterns on your skin, his touch soothing. "Well, I need to prep you first. " he whispered, his breath warm against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "I need to make sure you're ready and lubed up, then I will ease myself into you."

With a deep breath, you closed your eyes, surrendering to the moment, trusting Bucky to guide you. "Okay," you said, your voice barely more than a breath. "Let's do this."

He opened the bottled and you shivered in anticipation. He poured a big amount of the liquid on his hand and spread it all over his member, giving special attention to the head.

He poured more lube on his hands and he pressed his lips against yours, kissing you softly. He gently pressed his finger against your entrance, circle your hole. You tensed up a bit, and he stopped. "Relax, doll. I'm just massaging you, don't be so tense. I need you to loosen up."

He kissed you again, and this time, you relaxed. He continued his ministrations, "I'm gonna try to enter one finger, okay? Let me know if you feel any discomfort."

You nodded and watched as he poured more lube on his fingers. Slowly pushing his finger past the ring of muscle and slowly eased it inside. You moaned as his finger slipped inside, stretching your walls. It was a weird sensation, and you felt a slight discomfort, but not a painful one.

"How does that feel, doll?" He asked, his voice low and husky. "Does it hurt?"

You took a deep breath, trying to adjust to the sensation. "Yes, it feels weird, but I'm okay. Don't stop," you assured him.

"That's normal," he said, his tone soothing, and he placed a soft kiss on your neck. "Just try to relax, okay?" His words were comforting, and you found yourself nodding, trusting him completely.

He was gentle and slow, taking his time. He started to move his finger, sliding it in and out, until he thought you were ready for a second one. He pushed the second finger inside, and you moaned.

"Do you like that?"

"Mmhmm." You moaned, your eyes closed.

He smiled, moving his fingers in and out, making sure to stretch you well.

"You think you're ready for a third one, sweetheart?"

"Yes, please."

He pushed the third finger in and you moaned, arching your back. The pain was still there but now, there was pleasure, and you were beginning to feel the pleasure taking over the pain.

"You’re doing so good, baby. I can't wait to fuck your ass, baby. I'm going to fill you up." He mumbled. kissing you deeply.

His kisses went down to your jawline and you moaned, gripping his hair. He curled his fingers inside and you screamed, arching your back.

"Does that feel good, doll?"

"God, yes! More, please." You begged, pushing your hips against his hand.

"Fuck, baby. Your ass feels so good. So tight and warm." He growled, licking your nipples, sucking on them, teasing you. His metal hand went to your clit, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves.

His hands and tongue were all over you, making you feel so good, so loved. You were squirming and moaning, digging your nails into his skin. You could felt your orgasm approaching.

"Please, Bucky. I need you. Please." You moaned, gripping his shoulders.

"I've got you, doll. Just hang on." He growled, he circling your clit and you cried out, the pressure feeling good, so good.

"Let me know who makes you feel this way." He whispered, his hot breath tickling your neck.

"Oh god! Yes! Bucky!” You cried as you came. You laid there panting, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. You couldn't believe, you came from his finger on your ass.

"You're such a good girl, doll. So perfect, so beautiful. So amazing." He growled, pulling his fingers out of your ass.

"You okay, sweetheart?" He asked, rubbing his nose against yours.

"Yeah, that was... That was surprisingly good." You panted, smiling.

"Good.” He smiled brushing your hair, “I think you're ready for my cock now." He poured generous amount of lube to his cock. He stroked himself, getting his cock coated with the lubricant. "Are you ready?"

"Yes, I'm ready, Buck."

He cupped your face tenderly, his thumb caressing your cheek. "If it's too painful, tell me to stop, okay? Your comfort is my priority."

"I will, Buck."

You looked down at his hard cock as he got into position. He lined his cock on your entrance. Slowly, he entered you, making sure not to hurt you. It was a very different sensation. It didn't feel like you were being torn apart, but you did feel a slight burning sensation, and the fullness was quite intense.

"Oh, fuck!" He groaned. "God, baby, you're so fucking tight!”

You tensed, and Bucky hissed, he looked at you, his eyes clouded with lust. "Baby, you gotta relax. If you tense up, you'll make it more difficult for the both of us." He said, his breath labored.

You took a deep breath and exhaled, trying to relax. "Sorry, it just feels weird. But, don't stop, I'm okay." He moved in a bit further, and you bit your lip.

The more he pushed, the more you felt like he was tearing you apart. You whimpered and he stopped, caressing your face. "Baby... tell me if it hurt. Don't bear the pain. I can stop, if you want me to." He reassured you.

"I'm fine. Just getting used to the feeling. Don't stop."

He pushed further and further, and you cried out, clutching onto him. "You're doing so good, sweetheart."

When he was finally fully sheathed inside you, you both let out a sigh.

"Oh my God, Buck." You panted, moaning at the feeling. You immediately felt too full. You felt so full, and it felt so good. You were breathing hard, adjusting yourself to the size of his cock. Why did it have to be so huge? It would hurt less if it were a bit smaller.

"Are you okay, baby?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Just adjusting myself to your size. Fuck, you're so big. I feel so full.” You groaned.

"Where's the fun in being small, doll?" He smirked, biting his lips.

"Don't be cheeky," you retorted, rolling your eyes but unable to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

He kissed you, his tongue swirling with yours, and you moaned. He pulled away, a string of saliva still connecting your mouth to his. He wiped it off with his thumb and sucked it clean, licking his lips.

"Fuck. That's so hot, Bucky."

"You're taking my dick so well, doll. I can't believe it." He said. "I'm going to move now okay?" You nodded and he moved his hips, and you gasped. He started to move slowly, and you moaned, wrapping your arms around him, burying your face in his neck.

"Fuck, you feel so good. So warm, so tight."

Bucky was moving so slow, it was almost torture. He was so slow and gentle, treating you as if you were a fragile porcelain doll. You could see how hard he tried to hold himself back, his eyes closed, and his teeth clenched.

"You can move faster, you won't hurt me." You told him.

"Doll, I don't want to hurt you. You're still so fucking tight, and it takes everything in me to hold back."

"It's not gonna hurt, Buck. Please, don't hold back. Just do it." You begged.

“Tell me if you need me to slow down or stop, okay?"

He pulled out almost completely and slammed back in, making you moan. You moaned and wrapped your legs around his waist, making him go even deeper. He groaned, and you whimpered, digging your nails into his flesh.

"Yes, yes." You braced yourself again. The sound of your skin slapping was loud and obscene, and the feeling was overwhelming.

"Ah, Bucky, it's so good." You moaned, feeling him pounding into you.

He leaned in to kiss you, his tongue exploring your mouth. You moaned into his mouth. "You gave me your first time, doll. Thank you." He whispered.

He moved his hips faster, and you cried out, you could feel him speeding up. He was panting, his forehead pressed against yours. You started moving your hips with him, meeting him with every thrust.

"Fuck. You're such a good girl. Taking my cock like this."

You were a moaning mess. The only words that came out from your mouth were his name and incoherent babble.

"Faster, Bucky, please!" You urged him.

He complied and picked up the pace. He started thrusting into you faster and deeper. He was fucking you hard and fast. The headboard of the bed was slamming on the wall. You were lost in the sensation.

"Is this what you want, babydoll? You want me to fuck your ass roughly, don't you?"

"Oh god, Bucky! Yes, yes!" You moaned.

"What a bad girl, wanting to get her ass fucked.” He brushed your hair from your face and stared at you as he fucking you. “God, Y/N, you look so fucking sexy. Your breasts bouncing and jiggling, the way your mouth hang open as you scream my name, the way you're clenching around my cock. You're fucking perfect."

His words went straight to your core, "Oh Bucky, you feel so good." You moaned, feeling yourself clench around his dick.

Bucky pounded harder, making sure to hit that spot every time. You moaned and cried as the pleasure intensified. You couldn't even think straight. You couldn't remember what was going on, or why, all you could think of was the feeling of Bucky's cock inside you.

"Are you close, baby?" He asked.

"So close." You gasped.

Bucky continued thrusting, chasing his orgasm. His movements were erratic and frantic. He pounded into you, his balls slapping against your skin. "I’m close too. I'm gonna come, doll. Where do you want me to come? Do you want me to pull out?"

"No! Don't stop! Please don't stop!" You cried.

Bucky's movements were frantic and wild. His breathing was labored and his moans were louder than before. "Fuck! I'm gonna come!" He yelled.

You were seeing stars as you screamed his name, coming around his cock. You could hear him grunting, and soon enough he came too, his cock pulsing inside you. You felt him spilling his load into you, his hot come filling your ass. He kept thrusting until he was done.

He collapsed on top of you, his sweaty chest sticking to yours. You were panting, trying to catch your breath. He kissed your neck and rolled to the side, taking his spent dick out of you. You hissed and felt a trail of cum falling from your hole.

"You did so great, baby. I can't believe it. How are you feeling? Does it hurt?" He caressed your cheeks.

You turned to face him, a smile on your face. "Yes, I'm sore. But it was worth it. Thank you, Bucky.”

"You are such a perfect girl for me. Thank you, doll. I love you."

You were so tired afterwards, he overstimulated you. You came too many times and you could barely speak. He held you and kissed your forehead, whispering how proud he was of you.

You were lying there with him as he stroked your hair, humming a soft melody. The room smelled of sex, but you didn’t care. All you wanted was to be in his arms. Your muscles and ass would be sore the next day, but it was worth it. It was a special experience and you couldn’t be happier.

"Stay here, I'm going to clean you up." He went to get up and get a towel, he knew you were too sore to move.

"You don't need to, just lie down with me."

"But you are a mess. We both are. I need to take care of you. You are the one that has my seed inside you."

"Bucky, please," you pleaded softly, not wanting him to go through the trouble.

He didn't listen to you. He gently kissed your forehead before getting up and walking over to the bathroom, giving you a perfect view of his toned toned ass. You giggled and shook your head, he was such a dork. He came back with a warm wet towel.

When he came back, you couldn't help to admire how hot he looked right now, his body glistening with sweat and all messy, thoroughly fucked. He was still naked, standing in front of you, his cock hanging between his legs.

As he returned, his eyes caught yours, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "What are you smiling about?" he asked.

You bit your lip, trying to hide your amusement, but it escaped in a soft giggle. "I'm just enjoying the view." you replied with a playful grin.

He chuckled, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. "Well, I'm glad you find it enjoyable," he teased, his eyes lingering on your face before he shifted his gaze down your body, and then back up again. "I must say, the feeling is quite mutual."

Your cheeks flushed with warmth at his boldness. "Smooth talker, aren't you?"

He grinned, his confidence infectious. "Only when I'm around someone as stunning as you."

You rolled your eyes playfully, but the compliment had its intended effect, making you feel both flattered and a little bashful. "You know how to charm a girl, Sergeant Barnes."

He winked at you, his smile turning into a smirk. "I aim to please."

He crawled into bed with you, Bucky gently began cleaning you up, his touch gentle yet firm. You were exhausted and sore, and in that moment, his care felt like a lifeline.

He spread your legs and started cleaning you up, removing the cum and wetness that was leaking from your entrance. "Are you okay? I wasn't too rough, was I?" he asked, looking at you with concern.

"You were perfect, baby. This is exactly what I wanted. I'm so happy right now.” You said and smiled at him.

He ran the warm cloth along your thigh, and then did the same to your other leg. His hair was messy, but his eyes were sparkling with contentment. You couldn’t help but stare at him, mesmerized by the sight of him.

He broke the silence, his voice heavy with the weight of his confession, "It was Zemo."

"Huh?" You were too mesmerized with his beauty, so you didn't pay attention.

His jaw clenched with the memory, as he wiped you clean, gently. "My nightmare." He began, his voice strained. "We were back at the Berlin facility, and he was talking about Sokovia. He wanted me to become the Winter Soldier again. But I couldn't, not after everything I've been through. I couldn't go back to that darkness."

His voice cracked, and you could feel his pain as if it were your own. "But then he said that you were going to get killed instead. I didn't have a choice, I had to do it. I was fighting myself, trying to break free and reach you, but I was trapped, helpless, and just screaming..."

His breathing became rapid, shallow gasps escaping his lips. "Hey... hey..." you murmured, gently bringing his face to meet your gaze. His eyes were clouded with fear, refusing to meet yours directly.

"Bucky, look at me," you implored, your voice soft yet unwavering.

His blue eyes finally bore into yours, searching for solace amidst the storm of his thoughts. "It wasn't real. I'm here, safe and sound, and so are you. You're safe now. He's gone," you assured, your words carrying a soothing cadence.

Moving closer, you delicately stroked his face, your touch a balm to his turmoil. A tender kiss landed on his forehead, a silent promise of security. "Zemo is not here, and neither is HYDRA. You are safe, and I am safe. They can't hurt us anymore."

He remained silent, his vulnerability laid bare before you.

"You can't change the past, Bucky," you continued, your voice gentle but firm. "It's behind us, and we have to live in the present. We're together now, and that's all that matters. I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah? You promise?"

"Of course, I do. I'm not leaving you, Bucky." You tried to lighten up the mood, “Where else can I find someone that can fuck me like you?”

He laughed, “Yes, no one allowed to fuck you. Only me.” He was getting possessive. He hugged you tightly and kissed your forehead. "Thank you baby, thank you for everything. I love you, babydoll."

"I love you too, Bucky. Get some sleep. You need rest."

"I love you more, doll. Sleep well."

He cleaned himself up, then lay next to you and covered you with a blanket. He cuddled up close and wrapped his arm around your waist. You snuggled up against his chest, closing your eyes.

A/N : Woah congrats, I'm glad you can make it till the end with how long the smut is. Is it to your liking? Gentle and Needy Bucky are in my top 3 so I've been really wanting to make this kind of story. That aftercare especially ugh I feel like it doesn't get enough attention.

Stay tuned for version 2 - it's going to be packed with angst, fluff, and some hurt/comfort, maybe with a touch of mild smut. Is that something you're interested in? Let me know!

If you guys like my story, please check out my other stories : masterlist

Happy sinning! (is that a word? lol)

[seleneprince]

Hear me out

With the growing popularity of transmigration webtoons, I assume we've all read those ones about a random girl or fan reincarnating in the villainess' body and changing the original plot completely, and often finding out the villainess wasn't so bad and the MC was the real enemy all along.

I'm obsessed with that trope and I don't care how repetitive or predictable it gets sometimes, it fuels me. It gives me life. And since I recently started to re-read The Remarried Empress on webtoon (i'm following I Abdicate my Title as Empress now and the nostalgia hit me), I had an idea I can't stop thinking about. Well, two ideas:

A fierce fan of The Remarried Empress dying in an accident or falling into a coma, I don't care, and reincarnating in Rasha's body, right when's she found by Emperor Sovieshu on the trap. She's a BIG supporter of Navier and hates Sovieshu with passion, blaming him for everything. Her opinion on Rasha is the same as the average fans...until she experiences the girl's trauma and hardships herself, and realizes that there's more depth in the unfamous webtoon villainess than she thought. Despite her new identity and knowing most of the plot, she cannot bring herself to stay away from Navier and show her adoration for the Empress, acting like a fangirl whenever she sees her or hears about her. She helps push all the strings to guarantee Navier and Heinrey's love story to shail, because even though she wants her close, she wants Navier to have the happy life she deserves.

Or the original Rashta going back to the past after her death and, feeling terrible for what she did, vows to not commit the same mistakes again and decides to do her best to help Navier from the distance whenever the Emperor fucks up. She doesn't want to be empress, just have a cozy and secure life away from slavery, so she's resolved to make Navier stay and if she has to act as a marital therapist for them so be it. She knows her position is secured with her baby, so it's not like she needs the Emperor's affection on her, just his promise to look after her (plus she resents him a lot now, so the less she interacts with him, the better).

These ideas were born out of my new found realization that Rashta, while she works amazing as a pitiful villain, her character was deeply misunderstood and forever condemned to be mocked and attacked by everyone, both in the story and the fandom. She wasn't a saint, sure. She did bad things out of selfishness and purposedly went against Navier to steal her place, and I was satisfied with the ending she got. But most of the flaws that made her so annoying for the fans are actually reasonable within her character's past. Rashta was sold as a slave by her own father when she was a child, placed in a house with masters that abused her and treated her like trash simply for existing (Lotteshu even gave her a dead baby to let her believe it was the one she lost, how the fuck no one talks more about it?). Then, she escapes and the Emperor saves her, showering her in affection and riches and promising her a fairytale love story. She think she's safe, that she can finally be happy, but Lotteshu re appears and begins to blackmail her, and then turns out the Emperor doesn't love her but wants to the heir she can give him. Ergi is her only friend in court apparently, but he's manipulating her from the beginning and eventually betrays her. And Rashta wasn't purposedly rude to Navier at first, the girl was illiterate and knew nothing about etiquette, but she admired Navier and wanted to be close to her, but Navier assumed she was mocking her instead. And Sovieshy obviously never helped this situation.

I want to see a story where Rashta's traumatic past is properly explored instead of showing it as side information, and she gets the development she should have had. And what better way than with a reincarnation story? At least in my opinion

Anyway, thanks for coming to my ted talk lmao

[buckybarnesss]

I’m back with more Thots™

(Sad ones this time sorry)

When Kate shows back up in town and comes to the burnt out Hale house and attacks Derek it literally makes my stomach turn. Like. This is his rapist, assaulting him in the place where she murdered his family, the place where he’s punishing himself by staying. Like. To me, it always reads as an act of psychological self harm to stay in the burnt out ruins of his home, the destruction of which he sees as his fault and it just. It ruins me.

It’s always interesting to me to see how quickly Derek accepts harm to himself as acceptable—he tells Stiles to cut his arm off, pushes him out of harms way, and over and over again we see him devaluing his own well being. As a therapist watching the show, it makes me ache for him, to see his trauma so deeply affecting his every decision, to see him being hurt over and over again because he thinks he deserves it. He throws himself on the sword every time to try and protect others, and it’s always at the cost of himself.

And then I think about Stiles and him losing his mom and how he’s got his dad but he doesn’t really—he shares him with all of Beacon County, and what a lonely heartbreaking existence that must be for him. I feel like he sees in Derek so many of the things he feels, and that sparks a deep interest in him, a sense of kinship that only grows as he learns more about Derek, and in turn, Derek senses in him a person that understands pain, loss, and loneliness and with whom he can be himself.

Idk idk, I just, there’s so much depth to these characters that is so rich and I wish we had gotten more time with Derek and Stiles one on one where they talked about these things they’ve experienced.

this is such a good analysis. you are absolutely correct. i've said it before but i'll say it again: derek hale is one of the most traumatized characters to be on television.

the scenes in the tell where kate is just tormenting derek are brutal once you know the whole story. kate is truly an evil, evil person.

in my meta on laura i discussed how in addition to everything kate is doing to derek she's also demeaning laura and refusing her personhood. she never uses laura's name, refers to her as a literal bitch dog and croons at derek how they desecrated her body. it is a deeply, deeply fucked scene when you peel back the layers.

kate and gerard argent are the two biggest villains of the show and so many issues are because of them. especially gerard. like, fuck that guy.

most of stiles and derek's relationship is in the subtext of the show but the threads are there and once you pull on them it unravels revealing a surprisingly deep relationship despite the audience not seeing it all playout on screen.

(a lot of the relationships on the show are like this tbh but it's there).

it amazes me to realize that stiles learns so much about derek and is the only one who actively seeks out to know and understand him. stiles wants derek to trust him and once that trust is earned derek would do just about anything for stiles. it's such a core aspect of their relationship.

their first real scene in the back of the cop car where stiles is all "I'm not afraid of you." is practically his thesis on derek the entire show. derek believes he is something to be feared not because he's a werewolf exactly but because people around him die. he thinks someone caring about him, loving him is a death sentence and he doesn't deserve it. stiles deconstructs all of it by sheer stubbornness.

in the finale of the show stiles -- on his own -- saves derek from an fbi raid where he was falsely accused of murder. it's the inverse of the beginning of their relationship where stiles was the one accusing him of murder.

and the writers never make stiles confront derek over anything, or use it against him. it does nothing but give stiles more pieces to the puzzle that is derek. he holds derek's secrets just like he holds his own.

i think if derek had been around in s5 stiles would've turned to him for support with the whole theo ordeal and derek would've backed him up which would've honestly been a nightmare scenario for scott for a lot of reasons.

(but theo would've had no choice but to go die of shame once derek called him the wish version of peter and shooed him away.)

[darkvenus3]

Sooo...

I was wondering if I could have your input on something.

I'm someone who can't stop fantasizing about being cucked. The emotional pain is so addictive. In the past with an ex-boyfriend, I tried simply role-playing the idea of being cucked during "sexy time". We just sort of pretended he was seeking out another girl. We talked about how he'd find a "better" woman, someone "more attractive" and "more suited to his physical preferences". There were phrases such as "she will be better than you" and "she will be prettier than you could ever be".

While this turned me on like crazy, I was deeply hurt for days and days after. Even though it was a hypothetical situation and fantasy talk.

He gave me care before and after this happened. I know the words weren't real. But, I carried them with me for weeks to maybe a month after. I'd randomly cry with anxiety, or insecurity for a long time after this fearing I wasn't good enough or attractive to him.

We decided to NEVER try that again. Now that partner and I have separated.

Now years later I'm with someone new. But, in my own time, I cannot resist this cuckquean fantasy. It's the first thing I read on tumblr, first adult content I look for, and I just cannot stop fantasizing about it, even though i don't think this is something i could ever handle, or even necessarily want to handle.

Nothing turns me on like this, but nothing hurts me like this either. Is that normal? Is it okay to keep obsessing over my cuckquean fantasy all alone, in the dark depths of my mind, as my own little secret?

First off, I think it’s smart that you tried this out in fantasy form first. Secondly, I do think even when you find something very sexy as a fantasy, you may have to build up a tolerance for that kind of emotional masochism. For example, when my husband and I take a break from cucking, diving right back into it can send me reeling, so we try to start back with him seeing other people less frequently. It’s always good to start out small and see how we handle things.

Perhaps being degraded is sexy in your head but not in practice. Would it be attractive for you instead to role play having a threesome with your current partner? Rather than him degrading you, he could praise you for how well you’re pleasing him, bringing him extra women to fuck. How sexy you are to him that you find this hot, etc.

Also, if you ever do decide to find a woman to try this with in real life, I would recommend starting out with threesomes that way too. When I first started sharing my husband, it was during threesomes, and gradually over time the focus became more and more of him with other women.

I think the reason this is such a difficult fantasy to explore is because we are taking something we fear and making it real. On one hand, it’s empowering. It can bring us closer to our partner, bring us out of our shell, and conquer our worst nightmare by turning it into something pleasurable and sexually enlightening. On the other hand, it’s literally turning our fears and insecurities into a reality, so there is definitely a delicate balance there.

My last suggestion would be to take care of yourself while you’re exploring this fantasy. Whether that means having a close friend or partner you can confide in, a therapist, or just an outlet, like yoga or a hobby you find stimulating. Do something that makes you feel good about yourself because even though the bad things we tell ourselves aren’t true, it can be easy to believe our worst fears when they’re all we think about.

All that to say, it’s definitely normal and okay to have a fantasy like this, and yours doesn’t have to stay in the closet unless you want it to. Our dark desires don’t define us, they just make our lives more fun in the bedroom. 😉😘💕

[candygalaxyyy]

It’s 4 AM for me rn, I should probably go to bed because my sleeping schedule is a mess… but I’m dead set on understanding the timeline for the eighth sense. Sorry in advance for any misinformation or plot holes :) I’ve been rewatching episode 6 since Wednesday and I’ve just finished rewatching all six episodes again, safe to say things are becoming clearer. So first of all, it’s not a dream. The whole of episode 6, the drowning scene, jae won pulling ji hyun out of the water, it’s all very real. Even though the gas station scenes felt very surreal and almost mystical, especially with the lighting, blurred polaroid effect and music, but it’s still real?! People have already mentioned that on here; about it being real, time being warped with future events and other theories. And idc if this is obvious but I need it in writing to come back to.

Here’s my understanding of the past/present/future theories. Everything in episode 6 is the present, up until the trauma kiss. After the trauma kiss scene the screen fades to black, I believe that indicates a shift in the timeline being shown (it happened before but i forgot when exactly I’ll update later after I’ve watch it again). So the eighth sense is centered around jae won’s therapy session! How do I know this? Well after the opening theme in episode 1 the first scene we see is jae won at his therapist’s, and she says ‘tell me about your worries’. And so the story begins. He mentions in either episode 4 or 5 that his current worries kicked in after leaving the military so we meet ji hyun exactly when jae won’s been discharged. We still get ji hyun’s focus sometimes because as much I feel this story is jae won centered, ji hyun’s perspective gives a full picture of their relationship (have not grasped the whole story of why yet, probably to give depth to ji hyun and his importance in this story).

Jae won’s present day therapy session only appears after certain triggers are brought up, and the most telling one is him getting wasted, and his dad smashing the camera his brother gifted him (episode 5). I think this is the trigger that causes the whole therapy session, cause he mentions him putting up a front (his fake friend taehyung talking about his family), his dad aggression (broken camera) and other things we’ve seen. Furthermore, it was the longest snippet of the session we’ve seen thus far. It’s also all one session, we know this because they’re wearing the same clothes and hair in every therapy scene. Anyways, as he lets all his worries out and she asks what makes you happy these days. He thinks of ji hyun, tells her and then she says she should further their relationship if that’s the case. So he decides to take ji hyun to the beach, following the advice of his therapist and since ji hyun told him to rely on him. (present day leading to episode 6). So now we are in episode 6, going to the beach and all that good stuff, Jae won opens up because he’s just been advised to deepen his relationship with ji hyun and he feels comfortable to do so. They surf and give each other trauma through kisses… THE SREEN FADES TO BLACK.

We’ve jumped to the future, the lighting, tones and atmosphere after the trauma kisses has totally shifted from the rest of the episode, so it’s fitting to say it’s future events. To me that hotel scene is another trip in the future because they clearly say that they are only staying for that one night on the beach, because they don’t have clothes (and after them getting close on that trip it is safe to assume they will definitely go on more boyfriend trips). One reason I think the writers might have done this is to remind us of jae won’s current relationship with well deep relationships. All of his relationships after his brother and up till ji hyun were surface level. Why? Because he lost someone who he loved so deeply in such a traumatic way, he couldn’t protect his brother, he couldn’t protect his love so he chooses to disassociate from human relationships. But he can’t do that with ji hyun, he’s on his path of loving ji hyun. HE TOLD HIM SOMETHING HE’S NEVER TOLD ANYONE EVER BEFORE, HE WANT TO BE A PHOTOGRAPHER AND ONLY HIS YOUNGER BROTHER KNEW THAT. JAE WON IS ALREADY TRUSTING AND LOVING JI HYUN ON ANOTHER LEVEL THAN ALL HIS CURRENT RELATIONSHIPS. And of course after this we cut to them getting even more intimate and in their boyfriend era in the hotel, that’s their future. The drowning scene is also their future. And how will jae won react to *potentially losing another loved one after just starting to open up again (JI HYUN WON’T DIE THOUGH). How will he handle the guilt and pain he feels when ji hyun ends up in a hospital bed because of them surfing together in deeper water when ji hyun can swim that well? How will ji hyun handle it this time around?

[heartlilith]

Hi Heartlilith ! I saw you said that no matter how you look you will always feel ugly if you have moon oppositin pluto ( and i unfortinetly agree with this) , i have that placemnt plus chiron in the 1 , pluto sextile ascendant and lilith square the node so finding myself as pretty or attractive is never gonna be an option, self hate and depression is just the theme of this life but my question is what does chrion conjunct the ascedant mean - does it have the same theme couse i have that too and i cant find info about that placement ? Thank you for the help :))

Hi Anon,

Moon square/harsh aspects can be notoriously hard to deal with, but that doesn't mean you should give up. Depression and self hate do not have to be the theme of your life, just some obstacles. First, before answering your question, I want to discuss the positives of the aspects you mentioned because even if you feel ugly, that is not actually the truth. Everyone has something to offer this world, something much much more valuable than being "attractive" (what does that even mean anyways?).

Moon opposition Pluto: The opposition aspect is like a seesaw, switching from each extreme and struggling to find a middle ground. For you, this is happening between your Moon and Pluto. It's hard to express your emotions, you would much rather brush them under the rug. But this is what gives this aspect its ammo. You repress and repress and repress, eventually bursting when you can't take anymore. You need to channel these emotions instead of acting like they don't exist. Whether that's through writing, talking, painting, working out, etc. You may find that you're an extremely creative individual, emotionally intense and profound. Able to see your goals through. The emotional depth this aspect gives you is like no other, learn how to make it work for you instead of against you.

Pluto sextile Ascendent: Charming, emotionally intelligent and deep, magnetic, intuitive, and transformative. Just by meeting people, you have the ability not only to transform yourself, but to transform others as well. This aspect makes you mysterious, magnetic, and intriguing. You are a powerful individual.

Lilith square North Node: This aspect in and of itself is transformative. Your soul's growth chart (NN) is squaring Lilith (the dark feminine, the oppressed, the dark side of the moon), inviting Lilith to be explored and then eventually, expressed healthily. As you get older, it'll be easier to unlock Lilith traits, and you'll be better at expressing your authentic self.

Chiron conjunct ASC: This aspect is basically taking Chiron in the 1st house and amplifying the energy, since it's sitting close to your ASC line in your natal chart. You are deeply compassionate and understanding. You are very familiar with your "demons", as it's a part of who you are and how you see the world. This is a healer aspect, both to yourself and others. This aspect is probably in the natal charts of the best therapists in the world! It comes easy to you, how to help others and the ability to really listen to them. Your wounds are at the forefront of your identity, they've given you the power to be resilient and strong. You can teach others this - to turn their wounds into strengths. Without putting effort into trying, you are a natural healer.

I hope this helped!

[hitawall]

I made a list.

I made a list of the ways I loved you

That’s what the therapist said to do

And all of them were nothing but

Broken promises and half-truths

Battles won from my fits of madness

Begging you to love me back

I made another list when I gave up

Of all the ways I loved my best friend

And I had no problem hitting ten

I finally realized I wanted him

That’s when my life started to end

Way back then…

I made that list before he left

I couldn’t stop him leaving

I knew the depth of my love as I wept

All these months, I’ve been grieving

I revisited the list again, today

Half a year has slipped away

I’ve had to relearn how to pray

Someday, things might go my way

You

1. He misses me every day, and he wants me around more than anyone else.

2. He will try new things with me when I really want him to.

3. He’ll always help when I ask.

4. He loves animals, and he is very kind and gentle with them.

5. He is strong enough to stand up to his family, even after all he’s been through.

6. He is really great with kids, and I love watching him play with our nieces and nephews.

7. He lets me be Passenger Princess most of the time.

8. He always has wonderful movie suggestions. His suggestions have gotten me into film.

9. He tries to be louder with his compliments than my insecurities are in my head. He compliments me all the time.

10. He never judges me. He does truly love me as I am.

Him

1. He cares deeply for his friends - Often more than they deserve, me included.

2. His shoulders, oh my God. And those strong hands.

3. The way he looks at me like he sees right through every wall I keep up. And those eyes.

4. Impeccable sense of humor. I’m never bored talking to him.

5. Leadership abilities. He’ll give me short and sweet instructions to fix it when he knows I’m too low to think.

6. He’ll keep what he really wants to say quiet if he thinks it will hurt me. He doesn’t hurt me on purpose ever. He just wants me to be happy. Sometimes, I want more of his words, though.

7. He sees me as an equal, and doesn’t ever look down on me, even in areas that I really need to improve.

8. He can tell me I’m out of line and still be kind about it.

9. He is so so smart. Certainly one of the smartest people I know.

10. He challenges me to be better. Physically, mentally, emotionally - all of it. But I never feel overwhelmed by his challenges. He makes me feel capable.

11. He always knows what I mean. I don’t feel like I’m weird around him. He never makes me feel self conscious or misunderstood.

[tenderloviingcare]

when: 19 august, late at night with: @annisa--adler where: amoretto residence, delilah's den

Months had passed since the perplexing events that'd taken place in the basement of Leonardo's workplace, and the gouges in his flesh had begun healing, leaving pinkened scars across his chest, arm, and cheek. But the incident still played on the backs of his eyelids every time he laid down to chase sleep. Rest escaped him more frequently these days, his mind plagued with questions and still attempting to make sense of it all. He knew nothing of his patrilineal medical history or if there was anything lurking in the depths of his DNA that would cause him to hallucinate so vividly.

It was lucky, then, in a way, that he had had a fellow witness, and victim. It was a shame they'd been forced to meet in such a way.

As disturbed as he had felt, the pediatrician couldn't imagine how his young companion was feeling seeing a clone of herself, much less being attacked in such a vicious way. The two of them had exchanged phone numbers before parting that night, with a promise to contact the other in case something new arose that could have pertained to their little case. And he'd been thinking of Annisa a lot. hoping they were healing well, planning on calling them soon...

The physician typically had always gone to bed rather early, being a stickler for his routine; but in the past months, he'd been dreading bed, unable to fight off the reel that played in the void of his closed eyes, and totally unwilling to spill it all onto a therapist, out of fear of being committed. He'd detailed the encounter to Anka, but there wasn't much they could do besides comfort and support him; and his closest friend had their own life to worry about. Yes, bedtime had always been a welcome respite for the deeply anxious, painfully depressed doctor; but now his comfortable bed was no longer a nest of isolation, instead now an incubator of terrifying visions, so he'd been staying up later than usual out of reluctance to restart the typical routine again.

He had to go to bed eventually, though, or he'd no longer be able to perform his beloved job properly...

With the TV turned off, and all the lamps in the living room except one darkened, Leo paused as he sensed something on the patio not far from the living room. Maybe it was one of the stray cats he fed? Or a raccoon scavenging again? One of his own cats—Maria Pia, affectionately known as Meep, a fluffy calico—was waiting for him to go to bed; but she stood stock-still, poised in a defensive stance, green eyes wide. "Comu va, Meep?" he murmured curiously. When he pulled back the curtains obscuring the sliding glass door, he wasn't prepared for the sight that would greet him.

That face—cold, lifeless, robotic—the one that had attacked him and Annisa, the one that resembled Annisa. He was able to tell the difference between the original and the doppelganger, based on the warmth and sheer life that came from the real one, from blood rushing behind cheeks. Leonardo could feel his own blood freeze in his veins with panic. "È il...?" he breathed, though it felt like his own voice was disembodied. Distantly, he heard Meep growl.

Should he check it out? To see if it's real, or if he's just hallucinating? His cat was growling, but his subconscious would have probably added that to a hallucination, too... And what if there was someone still out there, waiting for him?

He squeezed his eyes shut tightly and swallowed down the bile threatening the back of his throat. He needed to be brave, for Annisa and anyone else who could be in danger. The lock on the door clicked as he prepared to open it, but the sound barely registered over the blood rushing in his own ears. He felt like he was having an out-of-body experience when he stepped out onto the patio in his slippers.

Slowly Leo reached out and touched the hair on the head, feeling it between his fingertips. It was certainly there, he didn't think hallucinations could conjure such vivid sensations. The eyes were gone—a violent shiver was sent through his body at how uncanny it felt. A note in the mouth caught his attention.

Be brave, be brave, be brave, be brave...

He wrestled the note out of the mouth and looked around to see any obvious signs of someone hiding: thanks to the midnight sun, it wasn't completely dark out just yet, affording more visibility than the lights attached to his house would have provided. But he saw nothing out of place, and returned his gaze to the note, frowning. Trembling hands unfolded the letter, and his heart stopped once he scanned over the message.

SKELETONS ALWAYS CLAW THEIR WAY OUT OF THE CLOSET.

Looking around once again, Leo then rushed back inside, still feeling like his heart had ceased all activity. What the hell could it have possibly meant? Skeletons in a closet? The closest thing he had to that was his own origins, his relationship with his birth mother. Maybe this was meant for someone else? But then why would it be delivered via decapitated automaton head that he took down?

Perhaps Annisa would know more...

Locking the patio door once more but leaving the curtain drawn, Leonardo scrambled for his cellular phone that he'd left on the side table next to his comfy armchair; his hands were still shaking violently as he fumbled with the buttons, thanking whatever deity that her name was so high up on his contacts list. He winced when he realized how late it was; but surely they would understand once they heard more.

"Ciau, ciau, ciau," he rushed out breathlessly once his call was answered. "Hi, s-sorry for c-calling so late, it's—it's Dr. L-Leo. Um, h-how are you doing?" His stutter and somewhat breathy, hesitant tone were normal; but this level of panic and pitchiness certainly were not.

[freezeriafan]

Section from unfinished Papa Louie fanfiction from like 2 years ago. This part is in second-person and from Allan’s POV, musing about Robby in retrospect as he and Lisa take a stroll on the beach. I Don’t Know Why

The rolling oceans were to your left. It was a wicked teal that you had only just gotten used to.

Once Robby had told you a story about the ocean’s teal scent, how she had earned it and why she would sometimes lose it. It was in the depths of the AM’s and you were withstanding a power outage in your one-story Tastyville house. You had tea candles lit and you and he were bunked out in the living room. The flickering shadows may as well have been cast by a flickering campfire, and the spackled ceiling may as well have been the stars; you had s’mores-type poptarts open and bottled water scattered around you.

Wrapped in the comfort of a thick comforter, you had sat and listened with intent. In a stupid pair of pajamas that he only wore when he had the wherewithal to remember to put them on, Robby recounted for you a gut-dropping fable about the ocean’s sweet teal hue. Effortlessly he summoned the gravity and gruffness of an aged sea captain, and he commanded his words with respect, but not fear.

Of course, it was all made up. Robby presented as someone strange or scary or borderline psychotic, and while all those things were true, you had the fortune of knowing his goofier side as well.

Largely, you lived alone in Tastyville. Often you would take a vacation at your Oniontown flat, but eventually work or friends would summon you back to your Tastyville roots. You enjoyed the fluidity and the opportunity to experience the best of the city life and the suburbs.

Robby largely followed work, but sometimes his sector would take a break and dock for a while, or he himself would earn a vacation, or violent weather would cause a moratorium of all local business.

It was so that you would sometimes wake up in your Tastyville house and find Robby conked out on your couch and your kitchen a mess. Once, the window was shattered from the outside. He had forgotten that you left a key under the welcome mat specifically for him. (You implored him once to just take the key with him, but he refused, citing that he has “lost too many things to the ocean’s blameless want.”) He was just a deckhand on a shrimp boat these days, but you knew that the ocean did something to him that it didn’t do to you or anyone else you knew.

Without question and without rent, he was your intermittent roommate with a penchant for poptarts and a habit of swinging deeply between nadirs and zeniths. The latter he called “ocean madness” - the embodiment of a wave’s trough and crest, foam and sputter, deep blues and high teals, tempests and temperance, indignation and vindication.

“Lady Neptune has got her trident in me,” he would say, “and beyond what I can control, she owns my soul.”

You would tell him that Neptune was classically depicted as a man. But he would say that he knew better.

You would tell him to maybe see a therapist or a psychiatrist. He would say that no doctor who lives comfortably inland would ever understand the spirit of the water that had taken its unsightly home inside him.

They say that mania can taper with age. But you struggled to see him when he was in a trough and a burden to your couch.

Looking back, the fantastical stories that he would mesmerize you with in his duly pithy way were often synthesized by him and often carried a similar theme.

You glance at the teal ocean. Themes of vexatious life beyond death, death within a life. Of being trapped or owned, of writing yourself off only to find you are beyond your control; themes of being alone in the fecund wilderness and madness of one thousand beating hearts; themes of being consumed whole; themes of being left to rot.

[unclejezzzy]

My Hands At Risk I Fold | Chapter 14 | Look Me In The Eyes

Steve hated therapy.

He hated how clinical it all felt; the pretentious decor dressed up in plush couches, exotic plants  and the water dispenser that bubbled incessantly in the corner every so often which only served to annoy him.

The box of Kleenex that sat atop the rounded coffee table in the centre, staring at him. A silent witness. Urging him to show an ounce of emotion.

He didn't cry. He never cried - not in front of another person, anyway.

He hated how he had to try to whittle down decades worth of feelings to a glorified listener for fifty bucks an hour. He'd wince at the empty platitudes; 'learn to let go', 'the only way out is through', 'you cannot pour from an empty cup.' It felt trite and rehearsed. Steve was certain that nobody in the history of the world had felt as bad as he did. It was impossible to even attempt to relate or empathise.

Despite his disdains, he showed up every week. More for Robin than for himself.

Robin, with her worried eyes and pleading hands grasping Steve's arms on his couch. Begging him to speak to somebody.

So he did, and he'd cringe as he wrote out his cheques week after week.

He told her it was helping, just to see her smile.

He'd make up elaborate conversations he had, had with his therapist and his tangled journey of self discovery. How they had delved into the depths of his past and Steve could see a kernel of truth to all of the cliche's.

When really, he sat hunched over on the couch and would mumble half hearted responses whilst sipping his water and watching the hands on the clock. Praying for the hour to be over. Wishing time away like it was liquid through his fingers.

He started running again.

Between his Walkman and his heartbeat pounding in his head he had no time to let the elusive thoughts win. The world around him faded into a blur. The steady cadence of his feet hitting the sidewalk, a monologue with his body and mind. He felt everything and nothing.

He ran until it hurt. Until he was buckled over on the side of the road, spitting up bile. Until his thighs ached and his stomach cramped. And that's when he would cry. Because there was a physical pain, therefore it was acceptable.

The pain had moved from his chest deep into the muscles of his limbs, and he would feel it for days. A constant ache that made it all real.

He possessed a peculiar blend of his Mother's apathy and his Father's rage, which made for an excruciatingly lonely combination.

'You're going to be okay, by the way.' Robin would say to Steve as they sat on opposite ends of his couch. 'I know it doesn't feel like it. But you will. They're just feelings, they don't make up who you are. They're going to pass.'

And Steve already knew this. He knew he wouldn't be able to recall this exact feeling that sat on top of his chest like an anvil in twenty years. But he hoped that he would, because if he couldn't - it would mean that he had forgotten about Eddie. And Steve didn't want to do that.

Steve's birthday came and went. Nancy and Robin brought a homemade cake to the apartment and they watched movies wrapped in blankets on the floor. He blew out the candles, but he didn't make a wish. Wishing was a futile feat and nothing that he truly wanted came to fruition anyhow.

He was 24 and he cursed the world for spinning so carelessly.

Then he remembered he'd never asked when Eddie's birthday was. If perhaps he had kept it from him on purpose because he didn't like to make a show of it. That seemed like something he would do.

He wondered if it had been in the months he hadn't seen him. He wondered if his friends did something for him to make him feel important. He hoped he knew that he was.

Then he would think about how stupid it was to be in love with someone so deeply it felt like it was cutting into his skin, and not know when their birthday was.

He ached for something else. Something less physical but more mentally demanding. He joined painting classes on Saturday evenings at the local civic centre.

He'd never painted a day in his life before and it showed.

The canvases were vast territories that Steve struggled to fill in their entirety. He could never summon anything big enough to take up the entire space. The brushes and the pencils were a conduit, a bridge between his mind and his hands.

He went out to the lakes and he would paint the ripples of the water, the reflecting sun. The trees, the foliage. He liked it because time became fluid. He wouldn't know it was passing if not for the setting Sun.

The Summer passed and T-shirts became sweaters that became coats. Cold soda's in Robin's apartment became warm mugs of cocoa. Tingling drunken evenings coming home from the bar turned into 'let's just stay home's.

Halloween decorations were in every store window and the trees were draped in a tapestry of golden decay. The days grew shorter and became less and less like trying to breathe underwater and more like being the first person to reach the finish line in a marathon and breaking the ribbon when his head hit the pillow.

It was a Monday when Steve felt the world stop.

When the mundane hum of everyday life turned into an electric tension with palpable uncertainty. When he was certain his heart had stopped beating for a fleeting moment and that familiar static feeling returned in the tips of his fingers. When he had to remember to breathe and blink and walk.

It was a Monday when he saw Eddie reaching into the tall refrigerator of his local grocery store to pull out a six pack of beer and he had to refrain from crashing his shopping cart into an elderly woman.

He was a solid twenty feet away from him and he hadn't seen him.

He was safe.

Safe enough that he could swiftly wheel his cart around to the end of the aisle and pretend he didn't actually need anything down there after all, feigning disinterest.

He was rushing, cart turning every which way aside from forward. Steve internally cursed himself now more than he had been for choosing the cart with the dodgy wheel.

"Steve Harrington." It was loud, abrasive. Teasing.

Steve turned around slowly, a light pained look on his face as he tried to summon a polite smile. He wheeled his shopping cart around slowly as suddenly he became all too interested in its contents.

"Pretending not to notice me? Ouch." Eddie acknowledged with that all too familiar calculating smile.

"No, I - I just"- Steve stammered, not able to think of a cohesive answer under Eddie's brazen glare. "I guess I didn't really know what I would say - I didn't know if you'd want me to."

"Thought for a moment you wouldn't recognise me." Eddie shrugged, the creases by his eyes disappeared as a semblance of disappointment seeped into his tone.

"Well - you haven't exactly changed much." Steve said simply, an accusatory confusion in his tone.

He felt his surroundings melt away, certain that his feet would slip right through the flooring if he wasn't careful.

"False, I had a trim." Eddie said, taking his pointer finger and thumb and using it to dangle the ends of his hair in front of his shoulder.

"Oh yeah, I see now." Steve said restlessly. "Sorry - I just - I wanted to say hi I just didn't know how."

"Did the basic grasp of the English language escape you?" Eddie asked. "You could try Bonjour, hola"-

"You're back. Is what I was going to say. Or rather - point out. Which you know, obviously. Because you're here."

"Yep. Present and accounted for." Eddie said frankly, dispirited by Steve's lack of excitement.

"That's - good." Steve acknowledged, nodding slowly and averting his gaze.

"Yeah. I'm starting to think so, too." Eddie smirked. "Forgot little old Missoula had it's charms."

"Easy to forget about when you're living the dream." Steve said, the words escaping his lips a little harsher than he intended.

"I didn't forget." Eddie bartered, looking on at Steve sternly as the silence grew exceptionally loud. "And if the dream is getting changed in locker rooms and sleeping on a moving bus that smells like a thousand unwashed ballsacks after an orgy then yeah. That's the dream." Eddie joked, laughing to himself.

Steve was all too caught up on the realisation that he was here and standing in front of him to possibly entertain anything that he was actually saying. He couldn't even pretend to find it funny. He just wanted to take every line and wrinkle and preserve it lest there be another time he has to create him in his mind from memory. To ensure that no freckle or eyelash went amiss.

"And you?" Eddie pressed as Steve snapped back into the moment.

"Oh, it's - Monday." He said meekly, fingers flexing irritably against the handle of the cart.

"Grocery day." Eddie nodded.

"Yeah."

"Watcha got?" He asked, but Steve knew he was only pretending to be interested. Eddie wasn't the kind of guy to stand in a grocery store and want you to recall every item you'd meticulously taken from the shelf.

"Oh - just some granola, meats, veg. Gonna cook up a bunch of stuff to have for the week."

"Nice. Good - variety. Gotta get your five a day." Eddie spoke, lips thinned and white as he mustered a smile.

"Is that your five for the day?" Steve quipped, pointing to the pack of beer that hung delicately between his ringed fingers.

"Yeah, guess so." Eddie let out a soft laugh, raising the beers up in acknowledgement.

His gaze returned to Steve for a moment, adopting a more solemn tone. "How you been?"

Steve could tell the truth. He could recall every terrible day that surpassed into just a bad day. He could tell Eddie that the second he left he felt the invisible string between them snap and take his sense of self with it.

"Good. Good, yeah - I'm good." Steve said exuberantly, nodding to really sell it.

"Take it you've been good?" Eddie said teasingly as Steve reverted back into his self conscious state.

"You?" He managed to choke out.

"Yeah, good." Eddie said softly.

"Well - that's - good." Steve cleared his throat, battling an invisible itch crawling beneath his skin. "It's good that you're - back."

Eddie's gaze darted anxiously between Steve's eyes, like he desperately sought an of authenticity within his words. "You think so?"

"Yeah, I guess." Steve shrugged, nonchalantly desperately trying to downplay the weight of his response.

"Got home last week, think I've been pretty much asleep for most of it. Wayne kept coming into my room to make sure I wasn't dead." He chuckled, a touch of discomfort lingering in the air as he idly scuffed the toe of his shoe against the linoleum floor.

"Can't say I blame you. Must have been hard work." Steve acknowledged, voice devoid of any emotion. "Well - I uh - should probably pay for this." He added, words trailing off.

"Right, yeah." Eddie nodded. "Go - do that."

Steve stood there, heart heavy with unspoken words. But it was simply a facade he could not afford to drop with Eddie Munson.

Eddie Munson who toyed with fragile things like he couldn't quite help himself. Poking and prodding to see if it will break.

He was not about to get his heart torn from his chest again in the chilled aisle of all places.

"It was really good to see you, Eddie. You look - great. I'm glad everything's working out for you." Steve smiled, amused with his own superficial pleasantries.

"Thanks. Appreciate it." Eddie gave him a singular nod, holding his gaze to the floor.

"Take care of yourself." Steve finalised as he wheeled his cart away in the opposite direction.

It was Steve who had walked away this time.

Not to one up him in an unspoken contest, but to protect the little moments they could have. They could bump into each other in a grocery store and make idle chit chat, they could talk about the weather and ask how the other is. Each time it would become a little less gut wrenching.

They would pay for their respective groceries at different check outs, drive them home in different directions. Food would go untouched or rot or be eaten in different homes. They'll say things like 'it's been a while' and 'you look well'. Agree to catch up sometime and then never do. Until the lines that ran parallel will filter off until they're no longer touching.

Steve could be content with that being their future. Eddie, the stranger with the demeanour that could bring Steve to his knees. Never crossing lines in conversation to use their words as ammunition.

Steve could be okay with that.

Continue reading on ao3

[traumatizeddfox]

Hi there - I’ve followed your blog for a while now, as I’ve been through some horrific abuse in my life and I can relate to the things you post.

I’m having a really horrible night after a week of just straight up not having a good time. I don’t really have anyone I can reach out to so I hope it’s okay that I vent here. I am not asking you, Dear Stranger, to fix any of the things I’m struggling with- I simply want someone in this world to see the depths of the pain I am in. You don’t have to read this or respond if you don’t want to.

I am feeling incredibly overwhelmed and the distress I am in is absolutely intolerable. All of the non-harmful coping mechanisms I know aren’t working and I’m frightened. I want to off myself so bad. I want to turn back to SH. I want to find someone to beat me half to death because that’s all I deserve.

I hate myself so much. I’m two-years-free of the the abuse I experienced and now I have a beautiful home, a dog who is the goodest girl in the whole world, a partner who is kind and compassionate and gentle, and a community of people who care for me deeply. I’m sober, I’ve been in therapy basically all my life (I’ve been working with my current therapist for three years), I’ve found the right meds. I thought I was far enough into recovery that my ED isn’t an issue. I’m doing everything within my power to stay healthy and to care for myself and yet… I’m broken. My brain is a cruel, dark cage that I pace within, all anger and venom and grief.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me at this point. No matter what I do, my mental health isn’t getting better. I have all of these wonderful blessings in my life yet I’m suicidal. I don’t know how to continue like this. The pain is intolerable. I’m so fucking tired. I’m tired of trying everything and nothing working long-term. I’m only 25 years old, and I cannot imagine living like this for a full lifetime. I am in so much fucking pain and I just can’t do this anymore. I feel like a horrible person. I feel so much shame for being fucked up beyond repair.

I don’t know what to do. I’m not at a point where I am actually going to make a plan and follow through, so I’m not “bad” enough for inpatient. I went inpatient multiple times before after my many suicide attempts and I’m not in need of that level of care. Yet, the level of care my therapist and psychiatrist can offer isn’t enough. I feel like I’m stuck in this in-between place, where I desperately need help before i get worse (because I know where this leads and I’m going to get worse if this keeps going). It doesn’t seem like there’s help for people like me, people who are doing the therapeutic work, who are sober and on the right medication, and have been working towards recovery and mental-illness management since they were children, who have been lucky enough to be able to utilize every resource this fucked up American system can offer, yet are still suicidal. I don’t feel like there’s any hope for me at this point.

I know that when my parents die, I’m going to kill myself.. Because reasons, I can’t work enough to afford to live on my own (my parents help me financially) and when they die, I’m not going to be able to support myself. I also can’t qualify for anything like disability because I can keep a job (part-time, minimal hours but it’s not enough to support me long-term). I won’t be able to afford my medication or therapy without insurance. If I go off my meds, that’s it, I’m as good as dead. Literally, being on my medication right now is the one thing separating me from life or death. If I go off my meds, I will kill myself, full stop. I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do.

I don’t want to hurt my parents and my partner and leave my sweet dog all alone by killing myself, but I’m so fucking scared I’m going to get worse and I won’t be able to handle it anymore. I just can’t do this anymore. I don’t know what to do. I just want this fucking pain to end. I want this to be over. Please, why can’t this just be over? I’m doing everything I can and it’s not enough. I’m still suffering to an intolerable extreme, all because of my stupid fucked up BPD traumatized brain. I’m so fucking done.

i’m so sorry angel :( i wish i could help you feel better, i really do. It’s hard when we have good things happening but still feel like shit :( it happens and healing isn’t linear. there will be bad days and there will be good days and then there will just be days. i really wish i could say more :(

[womanhood2]

I realize it’s been almost a year since I made this blog, and one of the first posts I wrote and published myself was an in-depth recount of my first detransition, which I promised a follow up for that would describe my second detransition. That second post never came, but it’s been sitting in my drafts and in my head. While this isn’t the formal follow-up I planned, I figured it’d be a good enough consulation:

In September of 2022 I met a man in one of my classes who became romantically interested in me. He was 23 at the time, and I was 19. Having been ostracized and bullied at a small college for the past two years due to my at-the-time-undiagnosed autism I was afraid to turn this man away in fear of creating “more enemies”, as this individual was also the primary source of cannabis and alcohol in my small group of fellow undiagnosed autistic women under the age of 21 (this was in the USA). He used cannabis to control me, both by pressuring me to take edibles to get “more relaxed” and have “more fun” while he stealthily encroached first my physical and then sexual boundaries and also by asking me deeply critical questions about my identity and what I “believed” a woman was (ie “why do you dress so feminine if you don’t want to have sex?” “Do you really think cis women face misogyny because of their sex?” “Are you SURE you’re not trans anymore?” “Are you SURE you don’t have dysphoria anymore?” “Why don’t you want to be trans anymore? Are you sure it’s not internalized transphobia?” “Testosterone would make you want sex so much more. You should try it just to see how wonderful sex actually is. You can still be a woman if you’re on testosterone- just lie to the doctors.”) All of which he claimed were motivated by his “fascination” with femaleness as a “fellow genderqueer”.

He would use my half-mumbled rambling drunken/stoned answers against me when I was sober. Initially I would be able to argue against them, but then he began bringing them up while I was under the influence of dissociative drugs, and the relentless gaslighting eventually won. I became his plaything, his little t-boy sex toy. I hated myself. I started avoiding mirrors. He told me I’d feel better if I just took the hormones. I paid for everything out of pocket. I hid the testosterone bottles in my house somewhere that my homophobic stepfather who had threatened gay and trans people with guns before hopefully wouldn’t find them.

I hated every minute of it. My facial hair started coming in thicker and every day I woke up waiting for someone -a coworker at the Christian facility where I worked, my Baptist grandma, my violent stepfather, at one point I was even convinced my dogs could tell- to figure it out. I waited for everyone to realize the disgusting and embarrassing truth that I had let a man gaslight me into chemically mutilating myself. I begged therapists -who I was now seeing for the “unexplained” psychotic symptoms caused by his ritual drugging and raping of me- to tell me the truth, to tell me that I wasn’t trans and that I could let go of the gender facade now that I’d broken up with him. But even they continued his lie. Because God forbid a woman have discomfort with her body after being repeatedly drugged and raped for multiple months. No, she must be a man.

And then I moved to New Hampshire and started a radfem blog.

[demonslayedher]

Tanjiro's Empathy, Tempered By Resolve

Though he's not the only one out there, Tanjiro gets a repuation as an extremely compassionate shounen manga hero, and a lot of jokes about the series make it a point to show how we always get a villain sob story or compare Tanjiro to other heroes as though he's a therapist instead of a purveyor of justice. People can joke about how extreme it is even while deeply appreciating this part of Tanjiro's character and the impact it has on the emotional depth of the series. It's stressed over and over just what a good and generous soul he is, with a reputation among the townspeople so strong that people would go seeking the help of the charcoal farming boy with the good nose up in the mountains. While I do love this about Tanjiro and frequently call him "Empathy Incarnate" I also love that he doesn't take crap from anyone.

Let's never forget, from Chapter 1, he's willing to chuck an axe through a man's head.

Granted, it was an act of desperation to save Nezuko and Giyuu goaded him into it, and Tanjiro's still got a ways to go in building his resolve to harm others, as it's so against his nature to do so. He had somewhat recently witnessed his father kill a bear out of pure necessity and the tree-like spirit with which he did this, but even if Tanjiro had an intellectual understanding of what he witnessed, in his heart, it was not yet something he was capable of grasping. Urokodaki slaps the necessity of this into him right away, which Tanjiro accepts if it means this is how he saves Nezuko, but again, an intellectual understanding of the necessity to harm others as a means of being kind and unforgiving of evil is still different from having the resolve to use force without hesitation. The one who truly primed Tanjiro for Corp service was Sabito, who took six months of unrelenting goading to push Tanjiro into becoming someone who not only will toss an axe in desperation, but will charge at an opponent and force a blade down a boy's face.

A bit extreme of Sabito to make him do that, but we don’t seen Tanjiro hold back after that, no matter how much compassion he may have for demons. He sees them as people, after all, but when they do something evil, Tanjiro responds with anything from firmness to justified anger. Tanjiro prior to meeting Giyuu, Urokodaki, and especially Sabito wouldn't be capable of all the fights he's won through steadfast resolve.

But, like how Tanjiro can judge when a demon should be given compassion, either with kind words and a prayer for their redemption or by protecting them when they are but a victim, Tanjiro also can judge when a human needs some... shall we say, restorative violence?

Shinjuro talking smack about one son while making the other cry? Headbutt!

Emo kids the train getting in the way of his mission? Chop to the neck!

Zenitsu and Inosuke causing trouble? He punched and knocked out both of them on the very day he met them.

Sanemi? Now that's someone worth circling back to give an extra headbutt to even after the danger to Nezuko has passed!

I really like how his willingness not to hold back when a human needs a swift pounding is similar to how he doesn't hold back when a demon needs their head chopped off. He can show compassion to anyone as well as he can show firmness, the line between demons and humans doesn't change that.

But, there are times when someone who doesn't deserve pity doesn't get it. I love how Hantengu, who craves pity more than anyone, gets none of it, not even from the character most likely to grant it. Pity isn't compassion. Empathy isn't mercy. Hantengu's done nothing to deserve the pity he's always showered himself and I love that that there isn't even a thread of Tanjiro getting strung along. Get him, Tanjiro!

I've heard people say it was disappointing not to get more of a Muzan sob story (I personally am satisfied with the one we got; it shows how his own twisted values and choices caused more pain and suffering than his misfortune to have been born sickly), and suggestions that it would had been satisfying to see Tanjiro "save" Muzan in a way, but I think we already got the satisfaction of that with Muzan doing the unthinkable of looking to Tanjiro for a different sort of salvation, entrusting his eternal wish to him even with some odd level of affection. But, the fact that Tanjiro never looked back even when Muzan cried in desperation not to be left behind, shows that Tanjiro ultimately chooses a firm sort of kindness. No one can shake that resolve, no matter how deeply and honestly they may crave his true empathy.

[tenthgrove]

Apologies if this is a little in depth/perhaps a bit of a big scenario (or too angsty? I do intend it to be hurt/comfort though!): La Squadra [individual] with a civilian s/o that, through some way or another, ends up getting targeted due to their connection with their partner and is kidnapped and tortured for information regardless of the fact they know very little about their partner’s hitman career/is simply aware of their partner being in passione and not much else. Of course, whomever they’re dating manages to save them, but S/O is absolutely traumatized from the encounter to the point where they’re barely like their former self, are terrified to be left alone for too long, and need near constant reassurance that they’re going to be okay?

Recovery

La Squadra x Reader, Romantic, SFW

Content Warnings: PTSD, Depression, General Trauma Reactions

Formaggio- He was always so laid back about everything. He had you both convinced that nothing bad could ever come of your relationship, even if he was a hardened criminal and you weren't. Is it possible that, if he had urged you to protect yourself more, this never would have happened? Seeing you so traumatised completely breaks his heart. The way you no longer react to his corny humour wrecks him. He is sympathetic to your pleas not to be alone, and comes up with the solution to shrink you into his pocket for missions. But then again, taking you to situations that could potentially remind you of your trauma might not be helpful. He'll let you decide for yourself between that, and having him leave his phone in his pocket while it's on call to you, so you can hear his voice all the time as he's away on his work.

Illuso- You always did want him to spend more time with you. Now every moment you weren't together is a deep regret. If he was there, he could have saved you before they even harmed a hair on your head. At first, his main concern was your physical health, yelling and snapping at Melone to work faster as he tended to your wounds, but over the next few days it became clear your mental scars ran far deeper. Partially brought on by his own terror of you being hurt again, he asks permission to keep you in the mirror world as much as possible for the immediate future, when there's nobody who can be with you. Chances are, you'll want this anyway to feel safer, and it also helps you feel assured about him. You know that no matter what, if you're in the mirror world, Illuso is alive. When you leave the mirror world, it's always at his side.

Prosciutto- Of course he blames himself. As your lover it is wrong, no, reprehensible, for him to have failed to protect you from this danger, and the guilt destroys him for a long time. Prosciutto always felt himself good at motivating people but it's different when their joy has been completely torn from them from the inside. So he is largely quiet. If you were not already living together Prosciutto moves you into the room at the base so he can take care of you properly, and let those he trusts do it in his stead when he's not able to. He apologises to you profusely for what happened, and comforts you with touch when his words fail him. He tries to be rational in assuring you that this will not happen again- describing how secure the base is and how thoroughly they eliminated the group that took you in revenge for your pain. If it helps, he'll even get you a jar of your chief abuser's ashes, to remind you always that he is dead and gone.

Pesci- He cries a lot. You both do. No matter the circumstances of your kidnapping, he is convinced his failures are to blame. He despairs, convinced he doesn't deserve to have you after what he's done. He waits on you hand and foot 24 hours of the day, rushing to bring you whatever you wish and cuddling you tight for comfort. As much as Prosciutto despises Pesci slacking, he fully appreciates the sensitivities of the situation and lets him have the first few months attending to you fully, before gradually ushering him back to his training. Pesci is completely lost on what to do with you, but the one thing he knows is that you feel better when he's with you. So he'll stay with you, day in and day out, until your old self comes back. If there's anything else he can do to help, just ask.

Melone- He knows a fair bit about trauma. Psychology is an interest of his and he reads up on it often. Still, nothing could prepare him for actually seeing such a mental state play out on the person he loves. If anything, his knowledge only makes it worse for him- forced to watch as a textbook case of PTSD unfolds in the weeks after your rescue. He wishes he could take you to a therapist but that's not possible without endangering the team further, so he's forced to use whatever techniques he can scrounge together to try and help you through it himself. With your informed consent, he encourages you to gradually be more open about what happened so you can come to terms with it, all while exposing you to his bottomless affections in order to stimulate the love hormones that will help you recover.

Ghiaccio- This shouldn't have happened. He was the strongest, right? He should have been able to stop this from happening. Though he doesn't mean to, Ghiaccio somewhat shuts down himself in response to what happened to you, and it far from helps your deterioration. He alternates between the most vicious rants about how he should have saved you sooner and periods of terrifying quiet, the two of you just sitting there together, appreciating you're both still alive. The one thing he can do is reassure you this won't happen again. He might have been vigilant before, but now he's going to hold back nothing. He completes his missions at record time and races right back to be with you. He swears to god that he'll never let this happen again.

Risotto- He supposes it's no surprise they came after you when you're the partner of the squad's leader. He should have seen this coming, he should have done something. The first time he sees you after you're physically lucid, he drops to his knees to beg your forgiveness for failing you. The loss of your old self wounds Risotto deeply, and he'll do anything he can to bring it back. Taking you to old date spots and reliving activities that used to make you happy might just go a long way to helping you enjoy life again. The good news is that the bulk of Risotto's work is just planning for missions, so you're welcome to sit nearby if it helps you feel safer. The rest of the team all respect Risotto greatly, so they're happy to take his in-person missions for however long it takes for you to start to feel better, so he can be with you as much as possible.

Sorbet and Gelato- They've never felt their blood boil like it did when they learned of what had happened to you. They actually kept the guy who personally tortured you alive, for a while, tied up in their basement so they could make him suffer longer. But seeing them come out all bloodied frightened you too much, so they finished him off quickly. With you of course, they are nothing but soft, reminding you day in and day out everything will be alright. If it isn't, they'll fight god to make it. They swear their love for you every moment, kissing your scars and squeezing your hand in a silent gesture of reassurance. Every night, they lay you down between them and cling to you tight, their warmth reminding you that they are always there.

[penajavier]

though you are no god -  Frankie Morales x f!reader

This idea had been brewing for a while and hanging out in my drafts for a longer while, but I’ve finally found the inspiration to clean it up and share it! I am clearly a beginner at this and feedback/critique is always welcome. 

Title: though you are no god (credit)

Pairing: Francisco Morales x f!reader. One use of the word “girl”.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 3.3k

Content/warnings: brief mentions of nightmares and trauma recovery, angst, smut, still somehow the sappiest shit I’ve ever written. frankie likes to be praised. strictly 18+

ao3

••••••••

The first time you get to witness Francisco Morales fall to his knees in front of you, you almost don't remember it happening.  

His mouth presses hot and wet and urgent against your skin where he is bunching up your shirt to expose it. You are nearly as drunk as him, blindly pulling it off and throwing it somewhere behind him. The wall behind you is cool but does absolutely fuck-all to clear your head because oh god his hands are big and warm and his tongue is incessant and oh god this is Frankie, your goofy, kind, awkward, hot as fuck friend-of-a-friend. He pulls you forward a fraction just to tug on your pants and underwear, letting them gather around your feet without giving you the leg room to step out of them. He lifts your left leg over his shoulder with ease, and then his hands are bracing him against you and his tongue is working as if it has a mind of its own, circling your clit and sliding up your lips and you don't remember his fingers being that thick but somehow they are and you are close to going insane. 

Maybe tomorrow you'll wonder how you ended up here, in a hallway in his apartment where he barely bothered to turn the lights on before pressing himself into you, effectively shutting off any sane connection you might have still retained to the world after however-many drinks you two had got in you. The night was supposed to be about Santi, you vaguely recall, but right now you honest to god cannot even remember what promotion he got that you were supposed to be celebrating. You might have made a mental note to apologize to him for leaving his party early, but Frankie adds another finger to your wet cunt and moans like it's pleasuring him more than you, and it's a real effort not to kick him in the chest or collapse on him then and there.  

The fucker laughs as if he knows exactly what he's doing to you, and somehow increases his efforts to a degree you hadn't thought possible. It doesn't take much after that for you to feel that knot tightening in your belly, the electricity of it making your limbs shake. Only when he’s satisfied making you cum thoroughly on his tongue and his hand does he stand up, and for the first time since you got here, he speaks. "Hi," he says, the loopiest grin on his face, before leaning forward to kiss you without waiting for you to answer.  

Your last remaining brain cell thinks to itself, this is going to be one hell of a night. 

•••• 

The second time Frankie Morales falls to his knees in front of you, you can barely bring yourself to look at him. 

It's been weeks (months?) since he practically fell off the grid, following your childhood best friend and designated bad-idea-haver Santiago Garcia into the guts of South America. You had reached the point where a part of you was bracing itself for the worst kind of news, of never getting to see your boys again or hell, not even knowing what the fuck happened to them down there. The rest of you was still holding on to your anger in a misplaced effort to stay hopeful, refusing to let you feel anything other than the need to wring their necks as soon as one of them walked back in the door. And that was it, the majority of your days spent getting on edge every time your phone rang or you felt you saw a familiar set of messy curls pass you by on the street, until you walked home one day to find him standing outside your door, hand poised to knock but hesitant. 

"What the fuck?" the words escape you before you can help it, and he nearly jumps out of his skin. When he turns to look at you coming up behind him, you almost stop in shock at how absolutely shit he looks. "What the fuck?" you say again, seeming to have lost all your vocabulary at the sight of this stupid infuriating beautiful man finally standing in front of you in one piece, messy curls and all.  

An eternity passes with the two of you simply staring at each other, your grocery bags forgotten in your hands and his fingers twitching in an effort to keep them to himself. The smell of fresh bread wafting from your grocery bag does little to alleviate any tension, and the silence is almost painful. You want to do something, say something of all the rage and hurt you've nursed in you at being left alone. How dare you, you want to bark at him, want to hold him by the collar and smack him or kiss his face raw. 

You must take too long in your own head because he carefully extends a hand toward you, but you are so over-stimulated at the mere sight of him that you flinch.  

That's what breaks him, you realize later when the storms have passed and the proverbial rivers have calmed. Not the pain and loss and grief of the mission - things he'll whisper into your chest when you let him - and not the physical battering he must have taken through it all. What breaks him is you flinching away from him, as if you'd forgotten who he was. It’s only me, it's your Frankie, he wants to scream; wants to gather you in his arms and breathe into your ribs. But all he can do is fall to the ground and plead with his eyes.

I'm sorry, mi alma he seems to be saying, and the sight of this glorious man breaking down in front of your doorstep makes you ache in the depths of your bones. You rush forward, all your anger evaporating away from you in the instant it takes to wrap your arms around him and let him rest his head on your stomach. The position is awkward at best. His touch feels almost alien and his hair doesn't smell like you're used to, but you let him cry, let him ruin the clothes you hadn’t given much thought to anyway, and it doesn't occur to either of you that the shirt is one of his that he'd left at your place. 

You choke back the ocean rising in your throat, not knowing how to navigate everything you're feeling at the same time. Will we ever be okay? you wonder, your entire body feeling numb as he holds you just the tiniest bit more tightly.  

You don't know then if you'll ever forgive him, and he doesn't know if he'll ever be the same man again, but right there in that moment none of it matters. What matters is that he is here, and you are holding him like you'd wished and prayed for in all those lonely nights. Maybe you'll never be okay like you used to be, but you have him for now, and you're too exhausted to think beyond that. 

•••• 

The third time, it's fucking magical. 

You and your Frankie have finally settled into a somewhat stable routine. After he left you with the promise to get his shit together, he made good on his word. It seemed as if the mission that must not be named put things into perspective for him - and for you, for that matter - and the two of you decided to give up on the delicate dance you kept orchestrating around each other. You had realized that you needed him much more than you could ever resent him for leaving, and he had realized he never wanted to feel the paralysing fear of thinking he'd never make it back to you again. You two had decided to sit down like adults and talk about it, and Frankie’s regular visits to his therapist had certainly helped. 

Now, in the early morning light in your shared bedroom, he looks the very picture of calm. The birds chirp softly outside the window, blending in with the music of the traffic that you two have begrudgingly come to love. The nightmares haven't left him completely, but they're less frequent and far less incapacitating for him. You feel a rush of pride for how far he's come, how much effort he put into building himself back up piece by piece after being shattered to his bare bones. You’ve seen him curl into you out of fear and into himself during the moments of self loathing when he feels he doesn't deserve your kindness, but now he sleeps with his head tilted slightly upward, exposing the beautiful planes of his neck to you. He is beautiful, you've known it for as long as you've known him, but something about the soft sunlight turning his curls golden and the way you can tell he's truly at peace in this moment, brings tears to your eyes and makes your throat clench. 

You lean up on your elbow and touch his face. His skin is soft, and he smells faintly of your body wash. Thief, you think fondly, brushing his unruly hair away from his forehead. he had stopped cutting it as frequently as he used to because he noticed you liked running your hands through it, and you realize with a jolt that that had been years ago, long before you two had any conversation about the future, even before he had his world turned upside down in the depths of an unnamed jungle. That is when you realize that Francisco Morales told you he loved you long before you had the sense to understand it, and this time you do cry. 

He stirs in his sleep. You briefly worry that you woke him, but he simply turns his head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, breathing deeply at your shoulder before falling back asleep. The feeling of his soft breaths against your skin makes you smile, and you feel yourself falling more in love with every one of them. 

He wakes you up hours later with gentle kisses and the promise of pancakes, making you giggle with the way his moustache tickles your chin. When you find him in the kitchen later he seems more chipper than usual, smelling like a bakery and humming softly while setting the table for two. He greets you with a sweet kiss and pulls out your chair for you before sitting down in his own. 

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” you ask playfully, and he smiles wide behind his glasses that you’d finally convinced him he needed. Beautiful man, you can't help but think. 

"Just wanted to do something nice for my girl," he answers with his mouth full and you flick a berry at him, which he expertly catches. "Oh so that's how it's gonna be," he puts down his fork and you start to run away, but he is far too quick. He catches you by your waist and pulls you into his chest, licking your cheek obscenely.  

"Frankie, you dog!" you giggle, still fighting his grip.  

"Dogs are cute," he shrugs, seemingly unfazed against you using all your force. He is gentle as anything with you, but he sure likes to show off his strength every once in a while. He lifts you effortlessly off the floor and sets you on the counter. "You think I'm cute?" he wiggles his eyebrows. 

You almost playfully call him insufferable on autopilot, the way you've always bantered since you've known him. But you're aware now how he relies on verbal affirmations, and you've been making a conscious effort of supplying them whenever you can. So instead you hold his face in your palms and tell him that you think he's the most wonderful man in the world, and that you love him more than anything.  

"Baby," he drops his head to your shoulder and sighs. You do this to him, making his heart swell and threaten to burst out of his ribs. He doesn't have the words, doesn't know how to tell you he feels like the luckiest man in the world every morning when he wakes up next to you, every time he hears your voice or feels your palm in his. He doesn't know how to tell you you've been his anchor and his best friend, or how he can't believe he gets to have this kind of domestic bliss at all. "Baby," he repeats, "I love you." 

You try to deepen the kiss he initiates, but he pulls back and tells you he has plans for the day, telling you to get dressed for something outdoors. You feel a rush of happiness at the thought of him feeling more and more like himself with every day that passes, picking up old habits and finding joy in them. You kiss his cheek and run off to get dressed, beyond excited to see what he had planned. 

The ride to the field is longer than you expected. Frankie has turned the radio on and it plays softly in the background as you two talk occasionally. It’s a calm morning, with the perfect weather that's neither too cold nor too warm. He lifts your hand to his lips and kisses it softly once he's parked, and then he hops out and opens your door for you. 

"Such a gentleman," you tease. 

"Yeah," is all he says before he's kissing you breathless against the truck. It takes you by surprise, but it's far from unwelcome. 

Your hands come to rest on his shoulders, and you can tell it takes a special amount of effort for him to pull away from you, his hands still holding you close as he pulls on yours and leads you deeper into the field. The grass is high enough to tickle your ankles, and the whisper of it against your skin feels wonderful. He slows down, the pace leisurely enough for you to appreciate the wildflowers growing around you. He’s careful not to step on any, and you're struck once again by the multitudes that exist within this one man. The same man who has confessed to sins you could never have thought him capable of, now so careful with a thing as gentle as a dandelion. You think about his hand that is so gentle in yours, and the memory of it firmly wrapping around your throat as he does unspeakable things to you makes you blush, and you will yourself to come back to the present.  

Frankie has led you to a tree, and you notice a tree house resting on the sturdier branches. It’s new, you realize, and look at him quizzically. 

"Remember how I was supposed to pick up new hobbies?" he says sheepishly, gently leading you around to the other side where you see wooden footrests leading up. He urges you to climb up, and you are still so surprised that you can only obey. 

"I thought you'd like this," he's saying. "It can be our secret place, we come here whenever we want. Not that we don't already have a home and privacy but I thought this could be nice to have. Like a little getaway close to home." He's rambling now, as you notice all the fine details he has paid attention to in the construction of it. 

"Honey? Do you like it?" he asks when you've been too quiet. 

"Do I like it?" you ask incredulously. "Francisco Morales, this is amazing!" 

He immediately breaks into a wide grin, and you can see that he is proud of himself. He looks almost like an eager child, and you love the way his eyes shine in that moment. 

"There's one more thing," he leads you to a small opening in the wall that serves as a window. You can see the clear sky and the field stretching out under you, and the cool breeze feels like a gentle caress. It's a beautiful view, and you lose yourself in the sights and smells for a moment. 

"So am I looking at something specific?" you ask, wondering what it was he wanted to show you.  

He doesn't answer, though, and you turn around to repeat the question. The sight that meets you nearly knocks you off your feet, and you cover your gasp with your hand. 

Frankie is on one knee, hat resting by his feet and hand extended, holding the most gorgeous ring you have ever laid eyes on. You might be biased, but you couldn't care less. 

"Darling, I-" he starts, but you don't have the self control that he apparently does, and you throw your arms around him. 

He wraps tightly around you, only letting you have enough room to look up and kiss him. And god do you kiss him. You kiss him like he has never been kissed before, like you could pour every ounce of affection you have for him into that one moment, needing him as close to you as possible. 

You don't realise you're crying until he kisses the tears off your cheeks, and then he lifts your hand and slides the ring on. 

•••• 

The fourth time comes that night, after you've spent your day in the field, holding on to each other and bursting with mutual joy. 

He sits you down on the bed, and kneels in front of you, kissing your shoulders gently. "Hey, Mrs. Morales," he smiles as he says it, even as he's biting the soft skin at your clavicle. 

You laugh, telling him that’s not how engagement rings work. He only grins against your skin and bites harder. 

You scratch his head and he purrs, lifting his head briefly to give you a sweet kiss before he's pushing you to lie down. Let me take care of you, honey, he whispers. Then his hands are on your waist and his mouth is on your chest, making you writhe in place. He kisses and sucks and bites, making sure to give every part of you equal attention. So beautiful, he's talking almost to himself as he leaves a wet trail of kisses down to your tummy.  

His hands meanwhile touch and grab and smooth over any part they can reach, moving as if of their own volition. He knows your body so well that he can map it with his eyes closed, can recognize it with his last breaths. He reaches your cunt and pulls you closer, closer, inhaling deeply and groaning like he's hardly staying in control. 

With the same patience he had displayed earlier in the day he teases you mercilessly, kissing around where you need him most. You pull on his hair and he tuts and bites your thigh. What did I say, baby - a flick of his tongue against you - let me take care of you. You whine petulantly, and he tells you to be a good girl for him. He even says please, the asshole. 

The first lick against your clit comes at the same time as his finger pushes into you, and it takes everything you have not to lift off the bed. So wet for me, he moans against you, the vibration making your pleasure amplify. You fist the sheets around you, telling him how fucking good he's making you feel, how good he always makes you feel. The praise fuels him on and he pushes two more fingers into you at the same time. 

You are so full and so stimulated with his tongue incessant against your clit, and he has no plans of letting up. You feel your orgasm hit you quick and hard, and you can barely warn him before you're gushing, soaking his face and trying to pull away from the overstimulation. 

He looks up at you, grinning like the Cheshire cat. He licks you clean until you're begging him to stop, and then he patiently kisses his way back up your body. 

"That was... that was amazing," you're out of breath as you say it, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in to taste yourself. 

"Oh honey," he coos. "I've barely started." 

•••

fin.

Tagging some lovely mutuals whom I love and who are amazing writers: @disgruntledspacedad @pedropascaldice @frannyzooey. Please let me know if you don’t want to be tagged in the future (if there is a future) ❤️