#maybe i’ll tune in. old times sake | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

grapejuicestyless · 4 months

Note

i have had this idea for so long, but i really think you could do this justice. sort of like the film the holiday!!! but not really set in Christmas and more so through the seasons. harry moves out of the city (doesn’t need to be a singer and could just be a CEO) into a small village in a lovely cottage where all of the furniture is mismatched and there’s sash windows which are always open. He’s there for a few months before he starts to feel lonely so decides to bring in a lodger! He hand makes posters and puts them on the village hall board and … he finally gets a taker! It’s a quirky girl who is totally all over the place and she moves in .. the seasons change and so does their relationship.. friends to lovers OR ACTUALLY maybe it could be so interesting for it to be enemies to lovers! That could be fun to write. But idk I’ve been thinking about it for so long !!! They could organise a dinner party for friends one night or maybe Harry goes away to the city for a meeting and that’s where y/n realises how much she misses him / likes him. Definitely has to be fluffy but also needs to have some drama. I haven’t figured that out yet 😭😭😭 I’m so sorry for this really long rambly post but I wanted to give u as much of my brain as possible lol. I would LOVE LOVE LOVE to see what you would do with this / if it’s something you’re even interested in. Have a gorgeous evening / day / morning xxx love you!!💖💖💖💖💖

Bad People

Harry Styles x fem!reader

Summery: Harry and Y/n met by pure luck. Sharing secrets and laughing like little kids, ribs and cheeks hurting. Y/n is sure Harry is destined to be in her life forever. She’s just not sure when that became a bad thing.

FLANGST/FRIENDS TO ENEMIES TO LOVERS

The pale blue sky looked gray from certain windows. The glass was cracked and the stove stained with boiled over soup broth and old sprinklings of spices.

The birds sang solemnly, humming the tune to what I believed sounded like something you’d hear at a funeral. Here, the pavement was cracked and the stars were consistently covered with clouds. Snow, more often than not, fell heavily. From October to April. The nearby ocean nearly always too cold to swim in. The backyard pool cold and clean, still with nobody to inhabit it.

All the beauty ripped from the earth, and replaced with another kind of it. I wouldn’t mind it half as much, if I had someone to enjoy the snow with. To enjoy the polar plunges, the visible breath and numb fingers.

Like old times sake, snowmen and snowball fights. Sledding or fort making. Rosy cheeks and icy hair a memory of the past. Cheeks hurting from smiles, not the winter chill.

The laughter of my mother was long gone, and my brother outgrew his desire for a sibling as soon as he turned sixteen. Few friends, not any at least, that would enjoy the activities the white powder offered.

So now, I look out the window, nursing a glass of wine propped up on the windowsill. I don’t see the snow day ahead or pray for a white Christmas. I pray that one day, I’ll find someone to enjoy it with me. To soothe the pain little eight year old me suffered with the absence of her father, her distant mother and her selfish brother.

“Looking at it won’t make it fall any faster, Y/n.” The puff of air coming from my nose fogs up to cool glass, and my fingers leave prints along the center.

He’s not looking at me, he rarely does when we aren’t fighting. It’s like I disgust him. I feel like a fool every god damn time.

“Have you always naturally been an asshole or did you grow into it?” I don’t look at him, but I feel his gaze settle on my reflection in the glass. His voice alone urges me to take a large drink from the wine glass. The ruby red staining my top lip. I spread it around and taste the bitterness of it on my tongue.

He begins to leave, almost succeeding without a passing glance, but biting his tongue is something Harry nor I have ever been able to do. So it’s natural how he goes for the last word.

“Theres only so much wine, Y/n.” He teases. I down the rest while he walks away. The sigh that leaves my mouth after I feel the ghost of him leaving me isn’t only for air, but because suddenly the room feels lighter.

It’s funny, how someone so special can leave such a disgusting taste in your mouth. Hatred doesn’t just happen. It creeps, seeps, saturates. It’s a pesky little thing that starts small until finally you can’t ignore how bothered you are. It’s vile and cruel. A poisonous little thing that no one is immune to. It’s a sad yet funny thing. To remember that it wasn’t always like this. I didn’t always hate my old friend, bounded to me through the home we share. I once enjoyed the company of Harry styles.

It was nearly a year since I’d moved in. A year since the slow turned to thick ice and roads became bare with people too afraid to try and navigate through the harsh winter.

Nearly a year since I first saw the house at the end of the road, with a neat front lawn and a tree with hanging branches ready to snap.

A red scarf and red mittens is what I wore. With a faded brown coat and worn blue jeans. A hat on top of my head and a journal tucked underneath my arm. He had the greenest eyes I had ever seen. The stars in the night sky didn’t quite shine as bright as his eyes, I swore it to myself.

He had an english accent, one that I wasn’t familiar with. Peach fuzz and dark chocolate curls a mess on his head. When I told him my job, he laughed, but something about his shocked expression after told me he didn’t mean it cruelly. Rather, that he was shocked, or just piecing the puzzle together.

“I’m my mother’s daughter.” I told him, “She always had a thing for poetry. The sappy ones with the tragic endings. I got it from her and I’m damn good at it.” I smiled at him then, and he smiled back bigger.

“It’s just funny. Moving somewhere so quiet for a job all about fantasy and adventure.” He explained, already guiding the two of us through the wide doorway. I set my boots in the old entryway which it seemed he had turned into a mud room. I admired the shade of green on the wall and nodded along. My cheeks hurt from smiling.

That night, while settling into my new space, I shared with him my life. My goals and dreams. With his toothy smile and boyish eyes, he made it so easy to trust him. I sat on my newly made bed and he sat in my spinning chair by my desk. Moving it back and forth, swaying slowly. A cigarette started dangling from his pocket, I still remember the way he took it between his thumb and his index finger. Rolling it around, debating whether or not to light it. It was like he didn’t know he had it.

“I didn’t take you for a smoker.” I laughed at him, he laughed back. Shy almost, only looking at me for a moment.

“M’not. A few here and there. Helps to wind down.” When he ran his hand through his hair, I remember seeing all his rings. A rose and two with his initials. One looked like a lion. That one was my favorite.

Other than his charming smile and infectious laughter, I knew nothing of him, I had come to realize. Here he was, knowing about my family and friends. My job and my hobbies. All I had asked him was his name.

When I asked him, he was just as talkative as I was. A sparkle in his eyes when he talked about his job. I remember specifically, how they lit up extra bright when he mentioned his mother, Anne, and his older sister, Gemma. I learned about his job too. Harry had everything he could ever truly want. The money, the power, the glory. His office at the top floor overlooking the bustling city that never sleeps. Families dancing around the square and traffic backed up into the city line.

The sad thing was, that even with all this pride he got to carry with his reputation, the city was no home to him. The summer held no comfort. Not the same now that he was long out of school. The heat was simply uncomfortable. His lavish suit sticking to his skin. Even the air conditioner couldn’t soothe the pounding of his head against the strong New York heat.

His nose stung in the summer. The warmer it got, the worse it smelled. Garbage littering the streets no longer covered by thick snow. Tourists and their children filling up all his favorite places of relaxation. Each carrying their own scent from home. The calming pine from the North or the tangy citrus of the west coast.

Harry felt no true love for his home anymore. No real attachment. There was no smell of home, and there certainly wasn’t any old faces with their gravelly voices and thick accents. If it weren’t for the business there, he would’ve fled somewhere else long ago. Somewhere quieter. Somewhere that felt like home. If he could, he would have tucked himself back into the small home his mother raised him and his sister in. He would’ve curled up happily in his twin bed and looked out the same crooked window each night and feel happy with only that.

He tells me that when he got in the car waiting for him at the airport, he was tempted to tell the driver to take him home, to see if it would make him smile. He’d seen the gag used in all the old rom-coms he and his mother used to watch. The short blonde running from the love of her life only to be led back into his arms. But Harry know’s better. He tells me so. So when the driver asks him where to, he tells him the address.

He told me about his work life. How there was a branch out in the UK. The one that started it all. And as his success grew, so did his aspirations and his needs. London no longer provided him with the luxury and opportunity that New York could. So he swapped out his office for a penthouse and acted like the smell of burning garbage and mysterious wet spots on the sidewalks didn’t bother him.

It’s a vicious cycle. To outgrow, to long for, to move, to hate all over again. Thats how he decided that London has just what he needed. His business within reach and smaller towns surrounding its borders.

“And what about now? Are you happy?” Harry crinkled his eyes then, smiling a nodding along. He didn’t even mind it then, when I would interrupt. In fact, he welcomed it. Claimed he loved hearing me talk.

I agreed with him when he said that the grass is greener down here. The stars are just that much brighter and theres not a single car honking their horn past nine. All things that left him feeling a whole lot calmer than the chaos of the city.

Here, Harry told me he didn’t mind not living in a lavish penthouse just a few blocks away from his work. Here, he was hours away from the city. He stays in a medium sized cape cod styled house, pre-decorated from the past owners who didn’t care to take their things when they left for something bigger. It sticks out from the rest of the homes nearby. He wonders how something so different ended up within the same area. And he smiled and sat on the floor when I laughed and told him he’d already lived quite the life for a nearly-thirty year old man.

When silence took over after over an hour long conversation, I bit at my nails and looked at the floor. Suddenly, it came to me.

“Harry?” I had asked. He hummed, looking at me. Even if I hadn’t looked back, I could still feel his eyes on mine. “What made you want a roommate?” When my eyes flickered up to his, I saw no hate, or disgust, or shame. Nothing that I am familiar with now in Harry’s eyes. I saw curiosity, warmth and happiness.

“I like the quiet. I like being able to sleep without someone yelling down the hallway. I like how green it is over here.” I nodded, waiting for him to continue. “But the quiet get’s lonely. And while I like the quiet, I hate being alone.” And it made me smile back then. Maybe it still does thinking about it know. He had been helping me in finding a home, some place warm to stay. Meanwhile, I had been able to give back. Give him what he wanted. At the time, my heart warmed.

For a long time after that, Harry made my heart beat fiercely. He brought me flowers and made us pancakes. Freshly picked blueberries from the local market. He cracked jokes and I repeated them back between our broken laughter, imitating his english accent.

He was a charming man, with an energy that invited and kept you drawn to him. Everyone wanted to be around Harry. The men and the women. Always wanting a piece of the pie. I felt rich in life, that while others had to work for a lifelong friendship with him, naturally, we fit together. We worked.

He entered my life by some kind of coincidence. I needed a place to stay and he was offering a room up.

When he brushed his thumb over my knuckles and kissed the skin, I believed we would be like this forever. Just the two of us.

When he whispered to me that he loved me that same night, I thought it was something he would never take back. Something that would never change. His warm breath and glistening eyes. He was red and shiny. A bottle of the cheap champagne sat on the table and an empty glass beside him. I let his lips trail around my hand and laugh at his antics.

“Harry.” I mumbled into the darkness, he doesn’t move. I silently giggle again after he puffs air out of his own nose onto my hand playfully. His shoulders shake with his own fits of laughter, “Harry.” I call out again, and my eyes are met with his dazzling emerald ones. I almost got lost, forgot how to talk looking at him.

My palms were sweaty with nervousness then. My heart beating out of my chest. I wanted more than anything to tell him everything. As a poet, it should have been easy to put my thoughts out in the open air. But they hadn’t sat within me for long enough to curate a straight forward answer.

How would I even manage to start on how beautiful I thought his brown hair was? Perfectly colored like milk chocolate treats that curled over his forehead. Or his toothy grin which pulled butterflies from the pit of my stomach and made me feel lighter? I couldn’t find just one thing to focus on. And the words that came out of my mouth tumbled out quickly.

“You’re my best friend.” I hoped that he would’ve been able to see how much love I held for him in my face. How even in the dim lighting of only the fireplace and the fading lamp in the corner, he could see how they sparkled just for him.

He pulled his hand away after that, clearing his throat and nodding. But he smiled so softly after that I didn’t see how his eyes welled up with tears. I only saw his perfectly pink lips and his rosy cheeks. For once, I wasn’t focused on his eyes, and I paid the price.

He never made pancakes for us after that night. Nor did he ever pick flowers from the fields or crack jokes until our stomachs hurt. My hand was never slotted between his and my head didn’t rest on top of his shoulders. His was colder, more distant. Quiet.

But the quiet grew old for us both. And the slipping away hurt more than anything I’d ever experienced. I was everyone else in his life. Fighting for a spot in the light so he would see me, smile at me, acknowledge me.

Part of me wondered why he never asked me to leave. To pack my bags and find another innocent man to love because he wouldn’t tolerate it anymore. But he never did. Harry hated being alone and I knew better than anyone else. I knew it because I was his best friend at some point. We shared the same breaths and drank from the same glasses. I wore his shirts and he used my hair clips. He kept me around not because he still wanted me, but because he still needed me. And the realization of it all hurts worse than the silence because it’s then I know that I’ve really lost him. It leaves me with the question, ‘What have I done to deserve this?’

I think back on that night when our world shifted on its axis and I go over every word that was said. I check for any signs of discomfort or anger and I find nothing. It plagues me with a new insecurity.

Maybe it wasn’t something I’d said, maybe it wasn’t something I’d done. Maybe the warmth from the champagne grew cold in his blood and the false euphoria from it all cleared from his peripheral vision and he realized that I was no longer enough. I was not what he wanted. The idea of his roommate becoming his only friend too pathetic for a man with such power.

Soon after, I stop putting up a fight. I stop fighting for a spot in his life and I stop trying to win back a man that was never mine. I figured at least if he could never be mine and I would never be his, at least I still got to see his pretty face everyday. And I could imagine that we never drifted.

I wake in the night, I pace like a ghost. The tears running down my cheeks are hot, burning my skin until my throat dully aches and my chest is red with flakes of nail polish and the dragging of my nails clawing at my chest.

I am sobbing, broken and tired. I dream of a life that is not as miserable. I dream of a life where I no longer doubt the things I love. Where I don’t have to question my friend’s loyalty.

He knocks on my door, leaning against it in only his flannel pants. He has tattoos that compliment his skin so well. He looks like a painting. I’m relieved to see him again. Even if it’s under these circumstances.

I wait for him to speak, even if it’s merely a mumble. Even if I cannot understand.

“Can you stop crying? I can’t sleep.” He requests. My lips part and I swear my lungs collapse within my chest. I can’t breathe and somehow I remain composed.

“Okay.” I say quietly, nodding along and trying to find his eyes. They look at the floor, and his face is contorted like it pained him to say that to me. Like it was against his will. But he doesn’t even look at me.

When he leaves, I collapse, shoulder shaking with rage, sadness, confusion instead of the contagious laughter that once rang out through the halls.

I decide then, July moon shining through the sash windows of my room that I couldn’t continue holding onto Harry. My heart still beats for him and my eyes still sparkled when his own lingered for just a moment longer on me, but I couldn’t like him.

Hatred doesn’t just happen. It creeps, seeps, saturates. It’s a pesky little thing that starts small until finally you can’t ignore how bothered you are. It’s vile and cruel. A poisonous little thing that no one is immune to. It’s a sad yet funny thing.

After that night, his selfish wishes turn to bitter comments which turn to vicious attacks at my confidence. And my resilience and devotion to silence, to ignore the cruelty of it all is worn thin. My bitten tongue is freed and I am betrayed by my own words. My own comments targeted at his deepest hurts. It’s a mutual hate between us, a mutual dislike.

We live within the same four walls, the same windows and creaky roof over our heads. We cook in the same kitchen and we sit on the same couch, but we cannot stand each other anymore. The house is no longer filled with love, and the warm heat turns to bitter cold. And yet, neither of us have the guts to leave.

We sit here, in a life thats so mean to us just because we are afraid of the loneliness that is surely to come with the other’s absence.

We are here, but we aren’t present. It makes me laugh, it makes me wonder.

Who could ever leave me? But who could stay?

The candles burned down to the floor, wax melting over the wood as the lights set a warm, homely mood for the night. The late December rush throughout the town turned to the few and far between searching for last minute supplies to ring in the new year. It’s peacefully still outside, and the dining room looks so nice I forget why the candles burn and our nicest plates are set out.

Harry insisted on having a small gathering with some of our friends to celebrate the new year before he went away for sometime for work. Being roommates, despite our lack of interest in establishing our own friendship, his friends become my friends and mine become his. It’s a fairly large group that was once two. But have now become so closely intertwined that it seems hard to differentiate who was friends with who first.

There was wine, pastas and breads. Hams and potatoes. Drinks and endless desserts. It felt nice, to have all those people we cared so deeply about chip in and help to create such a lovely meal for the few of us.

Hearing that first doorbell ring to see all of our friends stood proudly on our crooked doorstep made my heart flutter. Sarah, Mitch, Pauli, Elin, Charlotte, Nyoh. All holding various foods to add to the never ending supply on the multiple tables set in a row.

“Harry! Y/n!” The enthusiasm from our friends seemed to lighten the mood, letting the heavy feeling of heated arguments and constant anger slip down my back and into the farthest part of my brain.

It was times like these where I’d forget how to hate. How to spread anger and disgust to someone who clearly showed none of it in return in these times. Here, Harry was talkative. Always plastering on a fake smile and wave.

He was good at pretending. And while the walls of the house had seen a different story, those around us were innocent, forever unknowing of how Harry constantly belittled me, bothered me. Of how I was no better. How my tongue was sharp and my words shot to kill.

Nobody minded the difference in height of the dinning room table against the kitchen table. How one was round and the other a rectangle. Both covered by one long table cloth. Nobody minded the soft music in the background or how the light wasn’t the brightest. The soft flickers never mentioned.

We let the candles burn until they had nothing left to give, and we ate until it was bare and our stomachs hurt. Here, I never felt like I was trapped. Here, I remembered by I came to live with Harry in the first place. And I was thankful. It was times like these I couldn’t help smiling like an idiot. Cheeks sore and eyes crinkling. I would laugh at just about anything, trust anyone and agree with everything.

“When are you going to tell him?” An elbow to the ribs pulled my gaze from the end of the table, my smile dropping for only a moment at the sudden shock.

“Sorry?” I mumbled softly into Sarah’s ear. Her eyes glimmered with something mischievous, like she knew something that I didn’t. She licked her pink lips and looked briefly back to the end of the table. All the way over by the dining table, sat a few feet away and a couple inches higher, was Harry. Laughing and talking with Pauli and Elin about anything and everything. I couldn’t quite make it out over the soft chatter of Mitch and Charlotte and the clinking of forks on plates.

“Harry!” She called softly. When my eyebrows furrowed she rolled her eyes, sighing heavily.

“I don’t get it.” Forking another bite of vegetables into my mouth, I watched her fight for the right words to say. Her lips finally settling on the soft smile I knew very well.

“Don’t play dumb, Y/n. I know that look. Better than anyone. Thats how I look at Mitch.” She playfully nudged my shoulder. Did she believe that I held any romantic feelings for Harry? I couldn’t, it was impossible. Right?

His rude remarks and his mean demeanor. Sure, at one point my heart beat for the brunette with an infectious smile and shiny green eyes, but now it was a memory of the past. Another pretty face who had thrown away all of his charm and care and exchanged with unwavering cruelty.

“Oh, no. Sarah, I don’t think about him that way.” I tried to wave her off, trying to sound the least amount disgusted by her assumption. I couldn’t help but wonder why she thought that.

“I don’t believe you.” She sounded smug, crossing her hands on my thigh and giggling. “You don’t have to. I believe myself.” Brushing her off, I take another bite of any remaining scraps on my plate. Trying to avoid conversation.

“Come on, you seriously don’t see it?” She sounded exasperated now, even more so when I nodded carelessly. She was getting tired of my avoidance to the conversation, my disinterest in her false discovery. Still, the longer she pushed, the more I felt the heat rush to my face. The more my cheeks burned and my skin tingled.

“I’m serious, Sarah. I don’t look at him in anyway. He’s just my roommate. Nothing more, nothing less.” I lean back, volume brought down to a mere whisper with the dying laugher at the other end of the table.

“Well, he’s your friend at least, right?” The lump in my throat was unswallowable. With the growing tightness in my throat and the clamminess of my palms. I wanted nothing more than to slip away and pretend this never happened. So, I bite my tongue and nod, eyes flickering to Sarah while I do so. I pray that she doesn’t see the tears welling in the corners and how glossy they’ve gotten in such a short period of time.

“Yeah, he’s my best friend.” The lie stings, burning as it comes out. Partially because I hate lying to my dear Sarah, but mainly because at some point it was the truth.

Harry was my everything at one point in my life. He might as well have hung the damn moon and stars. I thought the world of him, wanted nothing more than to feel his arms wrapped around mine all the damn time. And it killed me that we’d gotten so far away from that idea that I had to lie about even being acquainted with him.

“Word of advice.” She started, eyeing Harry carefully. My eyes remained glued to the table, fork wobbling between my pointer finger and my thumb. “Best friends don’t look at each other that way.” And when she finished what she wanted to say, I swear my heart just about stopped. All color draining from my face and my eyes rapidly blinking away the tears by now.

Setting my fork down, I ignore her playful smile and the nudge of her shoulder into mine. I look for another face to converse with, to make me begin to forget everything I was trying so desperately to escape. When I search the table, it seems like each person has found themselves in deep conversation with the other. All but one.

And his green eyes capture mine in a way I haven’t known in so long. I’d forgotten what it was like to be the center of his gaze. How thrilling it was. With my eyes, glossed over and heart beating through my chest, it seemed impossible for me to ever consider looking away. His chocolate brown curls and sweet pink lips in a gentle smile. It was consuming and alluring. Irresistible even.

A face that once disgusted me, shattered my heart, angered me and knocked me down with no air left to breathe seemed not all that frightening anymore. And the warmth that spread in my chest scared me more than anything.

I begin to realize, maybe Sarah was right. Maybe that was why I hated him so much. I didn’t hate Harry Styles. And thats why it hurt just that much more. I didn’t hate him at all, in fact. No, rather my poor heart couldn’t handle the heartbreak and deflected in the most malicious way possible. I missed my best friend.

“Y/n.” Sarahs voice pulls me from my haze, and my eyes are flickering over to hers quickly. Lips still parted and eyes still wide.

“You’re crying.” I hadn’t felt the salty heat dripping down my cheeks until she announced it. My skin too numb from embarrassment to even understand what was happening.

My tongue is tied, and my throat is killing me. I feel like I might vomit if I stay here any longer. I can’t be here any longer, I can’t do it. Not when I’ve just realized what I did. I feel what I felt all those months ago when Harry told me to stop crying. When he shut me out for good and became bitter. I feel all air leave my lungs and my knees wobbling. I am going to collapse.

“I just need air.” I say all too loudly, pushing out the chair clumsily and stepping back. The loud scratch of the wooden legs of the wooden floors turns heads and my heavy breathing tells me to get the hell out.

I pardon myself after that, waving off any concern from Sarah, and making sure nobody else saw my escape. Everyone’s still deep into conversation when I turn the corner. All but Sarah and Harry. But neither of them make a move to reach me. I let myself collapse on my bed, mascara running down my white sheets and back aching from how stiff I became at that table. I silently pray that I’ll sleep through the rest of winter.

When the dinner got cold and we’d all run out of things to say, we all look around and silently agree to part ways. It was nice to have some company, I enjoyed being around these people so much. My heart should have been full, yet it felt heavy and empty all at the same time. Littered with a guilt I wasn’t even sure was mine.

I’d seen the way she looked at me. Really looked at me. Glossed over eyes and a quivering lip. She was red with the rush of adrenaline in her blood. Anyone could see how quickly she began to breathe. It was like she was stuck, consumed by something so strong that it left her powerless, weak, crumbling quickly under an undetermined pressure. She started to cry, biting back a sob by biting harshly into her bottom lip, eyes shaking while she searched my face. I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. Who had said what, and how I could help her.

I wanted to yell at whoever hurt her this bad. And the feeling of that in itself was unsettling. How my heart still longed to comfort, protect the heart of the girl who once shattered my own with her own words. More than that, I wanted to scream when nobody followed her when she ran. How nobody cared nearly enough about why she was so upset.

I couldn’t understand why I was so invested in her. Someone I was sworn to hate. Someone I had teased and fought for months and let hurt me constantly in retaliation.

But then again, we were no better than one another. We never were. Always saying too little and not opening up quite enough. Creating issues instead of solving problems. We were explosive, nobody could hurt me quite like she could and yet, I felt horrible that she was so upset.

Like the day I’d found her pacing restlessly across the floor. Skin blotchy and eyes puffy with tears. Throat sore with the violent sobs ripping through them. I’d wanted to hold her then too, but I was too bitter to do anything but tell her to quiet down. I felt the same guilt in my bones. And I make the same mistakes I made the first time. I watch her break down and sit with the uneasiness of it all.

Mitch lays a hand over my shoulder, his other arm wrapped around Sarah as he leads her through the door. His eyes look sad and tired. But his smile is genuine and filled with concern.

“Check on Y/n for us okay? Sarah thought it would be best to leave her be for now.” His hand left my shoulder and the door shut quickly after. Leaving me with the unbearable silence and loneliness I felt so frequently nowadays. It breaks down my walls and scares the shit out of me.

Maybe thats why I make my way to the kitchen, shuffling slowly along the floors and leaning slowly over the makeshift tables. A bottle of rouge in one hand, a pack of cigarettes in the other. I stuff them in my pocket and hold the bottle close to my side.

I’m slow, delaying the inevitable question. When I knock on the door, it’s quiet. Almost like I’m hoping that if it’s soft enough, she won’t hear and I can pretend she was ignoring me. But, she does hear me, and she calls out a raspy, muffled welcome, signaling for whoever was hidden behind the door to come through and take in her puffy eyes and wet cheeks.

My throat tightens when I smell her perfume. Something that I would have drowned in not so long ago. She has clothes thrown on a chair in the corner, the same one I sat in so many months ago. I’m tempted to push them off and just sit in the silence with her like we once enjoyed doing.

Her head is in her pillow and her arms are underneath her. She is unaware of who she has let in, but her silence and unmoving body tells me she’s lost all ability to care. I want to leave. I want to turn around and convince myself it was all a mistake. I’d checked on her and she was still alive and well. I’d done my part and I could go on guilt free and forget about how crushed she’d looked just hours before.

When I begin to turn on my heels and pray for this day to be over, I see something unforgettable. A small Polaroid from last year. Just weeks after she’d moved in and charmed me with her beauty and whit. She’s sat with her legs over my lap and my arms around her body. We couldn’t be any happier, and the memory makes my chest sting.

She still cared enough to keep up the old memories of us, even after all the fights and mean glares. Why did she have to keep the damn photo up?

Guilt consumes me once again, and I am faced with the sad woman in front of me, still in the same place as before and just as sad as before. My feet betray my mind, and soon I am stood beside her bedside table with a bottle of wine dangling between my pointer finger and my middle finger.

The glass knocks against her shoulder in a silent invitation. My eyes wordlessly asking her to follow. Her eyes are red, and her lips still shake. She looks completely torn apart, desperate and distraught. Disheveled even. But for some reason in my blurry head, all I can think about is how absolutely beautiful she is in the pale moonlight.

“Come on.” I ask her softly, offering her my hand. When she takes it, she’s nodding already. Trusting a man who deserves no second chances, no trust whatsoever for his cruelty and his inability to communicate. But she follows regardless.

I can’t help but realize how having her so close feels good.

He lights the cigarette for me and watches as I let it burn. My lips twitch as they wrap around the end, tasting the bitterness of its contents and the dry paper.

“How did we end up here?” I ask him, looking over the horizon. The waves are calming over here. They almost silence the ringing in my ears, despite the distance between where we sit, feet dangling over the empty pool edge and the large grass behind it.

He shrugs, snagging the cigarette from my hand delicately and taking a long drag from its end. We swap, my hands wrap around the neck of the wine bottle. It’s tinted green and nearly full.

“Unlucky people, I guess.” He looks at his feet. They dangle in the pool beside mine. You can see just how close we are in the turquoise tint. How the lights make us look less vibrant.

“I wouldn’t consider us unlucky.” I look at the sky, and I can feel his eyes on my face. It makes me swallow, how intense his gaze is. It almost makes it feel that much more real.

“Why’s that?” He asks, twisting the bud out on the cement. It stains the freshly cleaned grey stone an ashy black, but I bite my tongue.

“We had each other. Maybe we aren’t the best people, maybe we’re cruel, but I’d rather argue than live in solitude, right? Company can’t be bought. Even the most painful of it. That’s something real. Something without a price. And we’ve got it.” And it’s true. We fight and we throw shit. We stain the walls and rip the curtains. We start fires and try to blame the other. We make a mess and make amends. But a house isn’t a home without someone to share it with. And at least if we had to suffer to get there, we got it.

“Thats some of your poet shit.” He laughs sadly into the silence, looking at his feet. I laugh along, though I can tell he was only half joking. Then, I let the silence wash back over us. Forgetting how we almost had a full conversation.

“I’m not a bad person. I don’t know why I’m so mean.” He says sincerely. It’s sudden too. I can tell from the rawness in his voice. How his eyes tear up and his lips quiver. His voice cracks. Our feet hang off the edge of the backyard. It’s a quiet life. Even now. With our fights and all the fraud. But it’s never a lonely life, and we only have each other to thank for it.

I want to tell him I know, and I’m so sure of it. I’ve seen the real him, we might just not mesh together. But we once had, and that fact alone holds me back. He takes the lack of response and an opportunity to excuse himself. Pulling his body up by the arms and grunting through the sliding back door. I sit alone in the backyard for hours, body curling up into itself and layers of clothing becoming less than enough after some more time.

“I know.” I whisper into the silence. I know he’s not a bad person, I know it so well and I am so certain of it. I knew Harry once. He’s loyal and kind and the smartest man I’d ever met. And I miss knowing him like that so much.

I thought for a second tonight, I’d gotten part of him back. And maybe I had, but he left so soon I couldn’t really tell all that well. He’s left me back in the silence, wondering what happened to us, and what will happen to us. Why he came to get me, and why he even bothered to open up to me. But he never gives me the time to properly ask, even if I planned to.

I ring in the New Year alone.

The next morning he’s gone. Back to New York for his business in the big city and I am left to sit and think about what was said. A half empty bottle of wine stained with my red lipstick and glitter on the floor from old party poppers Charlotte and Elin had made sure to use before making their exit. I repeat his words.

He’s not a bad person, so why is he so mean? It’s best left unknown. Because if theres one thing I fear more than anything, it’s the realization of rejection.

Even from a man I hate so entirely, it consumes me. That I could not stand to be faced with the fact that Harry and I do not get along simply because we do not work and not because of some other underlying reason.

After all, we had it all. Gave each other everything the other had wanted. Food, shelter, company. There was really so explanation for the bitterness between us.

After all, all this time, despite his anger and hatred, he never left me to the wolves. And despite my heartbreak and sadness, I never left him with an empty home.

A wise man once said to never bite the hand that feeds it. Yet, here we are. Ripping skin from bone until we are left with nothing. We are the ungrateful, the selfish, the cruel. And we both believe that we are in the right.

I am so scared of rejection from this man who I claim to hate because he is the hand that feeds me and I am the hand to him.

We aren’t bad people, so why are we so mean? We recognize all we have to be grateful for, so why do we bite the hand that feeds us?

I guess the vulnerability of it all must have scared us. And while facing the storm, we did what all people do. We let fear consume us and we bite.

Somehow, through all of this. The realizations and the tears and wine and dusty ashes, I love him. Even with my teeth sinking into his skin and his own in mine, drawing blood, I love him. I love Harry Styles. He is my best friend and I am his. That is why I am scared and that is why it hurts so bad. Not because I simply missed him, but rather because my heart was devoted to a man who did not want it.

My fingers fumble over the pad on the phone. I type up his phone number by heart and let it ring. He answers quickly, still waiting for his plane at the airport.

“Y/n?” I can hear the bustling crowds around him and the loud engines taking off from other terminals. I imagine he is plugging one of his ears and mentally cursing the noise for making it so hard to hear.

“Come home.” My breathing is unstable, and my hands run through my hair so much I create new tangles by my neck.

“What? No, Y/n, I have to go. People are expecting me.” He starts to explain how important this is for his business. How it would be so much simpler to be there rather than over a computer screen.

“Fuck them, who cares! Harry, I need you, and I want you, please just listen to me for once. Don’t scoff, or…or roll your eyes or leave! Listen to me this once and if it’s not worth it to you, I promise you’ll never have to listen to me again. Please, it’s important.” I ramble, endless pleas met with silence. I can feel the rejection coming, I can hear the way he chokes on a breath, debating what I said.

“Okay.” The phone goes dead with his promise to come home. With the continuous beeps, I slowly come to terms with what I’d just done. But I do not feel panicked, or scared. I feel lighter with the fact that I am about to tell the moody boy something I wished I told him a long time ago.

The door opens with a creak, keys jingling in his large palms. I’d spent the morning pacing the kitchen. Leaving a trail of confetti behind in my wake. I hadn’t cared enough to clean with my endless thoughts and extreme amounts of adrenaline.

“Y/n?” His voice was unsure when it rang out. As if he didn’t know what to expect. The door shut behind him not long before I came rushing around the corner, fingernails bitten to the skin and hangnails bleeding profusely.

“God, Y/n what the hell…” Taking my hands into his, he examined the redness of my irritated skin stained further with dry blood.

“I know.” I looked at him, and he looked back at me like I was crazy.

“What?” His thumbs bent over the backs of my palms, holding me in front of him.

“I know.” I breathed out again, looking at him with such sincerity, praying for him to understand. “You’re not a bad person, and I know it because I know you. Because we fight and we tease and we scream and cry. But I know you because once we didn’t do all of that. And I needed you to know that because it wasn’t fair of me to make you believe that to be true after everything you’ve done for me.” My voice shook with how vulnerable I felt myself becoming. Harry’s hands only tightened the further I explained.

“But what about all I’ve done to you. Y/n, I’ve been awful to you and I never even told you why.” He tried to argue. I shook my head, biting my lips.

“I haven’t been much better.” I smiled sadly. He shook his head back.

“No.”

“Yes.” I blinked hard, pushing back the tears that formed watching his own gather by his waterline.

“No, Y/n, I’ve been horrible. I’ve been mean.” He tried to push away everything I was trying to ignore.

“And so have I.” I tried harder to make him understand.

“But you only did it because I had. And for what?” He finally spoke, voice raised with so much desperation behind it, I froze under his touch.

“Because I loved you so much it drove me fucking insane? Because I still love you and I’m afraid if I can’t get you to hate me I’ll never be able to stop.” He was crying now, pleading with me to make me see his side of things. All I could do was shake my head.

“Harry I could never hate you.”

“But you could never love me.” He argued.

“Thats not true, Harry tell me you know that it couldn’t be true.” I rip my hands from his grip to rest them on his cheeks. I try to wipe away his tears, but his hands cover my wrists and pull them back down.

“How could I? You said it yourself. All those months ago, I told you. I held you close and I told you I loved you. You told me I was your best friend. You couldn’t even pretend!” Neither of us could tell if he was angry or just sad. Maybe both, but no amount of denial would calm him down.

“I didn’t have to, I still don’t have to pretend! Harry, I only said that because I was so fucking scared. Scared of us, of me, of you. Of losing you if it didn’t work. And I lost you anyways, I would’ve just said it if I knew I’d lose you like this.” Our chests bumped and his fingers slipped between mine.

“Y/n.” He whispered into the silence, over our heavy breathing and salty tears.

“I love you, and I miss you.” He didn’t say anything. I could feel him slipping away as soon as his response never came. Not a single word left to say between us. Not a single amount of energy left to fight.

And then he was kissing me. Hard and sweet. Like I was everything he’d ever wanted and more. Like he was hungry, needing more and more of something he had always wanted but could never have. And at the same time, it was soft and tender. Like he never wanted it to end. My back arched within the grip of his wandering hands and my fingers tangling in his curls. I swore I would never let him go.

But it was a swear I couldn’t keep, because air dwindled quickly and spit strung between our lips. Something I would usually gag at, but didn’t mind at the moment. His forehead against mine and arms gripping the fabric by my hips so tight if I moved he could have ripped it.

“I’m sorry.” He apologized in between his heaving breaths.

“Me too.” Looking at him, I could see the red staining his lips from the makeup I’d slept in. It made me laugh, which in result made him smile.

“What? What!” He laughed along cluelessly, letting me back away for a moment.

“You have something-“ I pointed again his mouth and smiled.

“Oh do I? Do I?” He kissed my cheek, smearing the remnants of our kiss across my cheek. “Still there?” He asked with a sly grin. Like he knew he was winning.

So I kissed him hard again, smearing red around his skin and his pink lips with so much love, there was no denying my feelings anymore. There was no hate left to give.

“Yeah, you do.” It was yet another fight, but not one I minded.

After all, thats what we did for so long, it was what we were good at. The teasing and the fighting. Only now it wasn’t bitter, it was playful. And we didn’t coexist with the sole purpose of it.

Because now I was his and he was mine. And this knowledge answered all my questions, all my doubts I’d had before about our relationship and our shared insecurities that led us down this scaring path.

Harry was my best friend, and I was his. And there was no love greater than that.

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry x reader #fine line harry styles #harry styles #yn x harrystyles #yn x harry

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cowboyfromh3ll · 7 months

Note

Maybe a Javier (if you don't have any problem with him) and a reader who likes to sing/or something related but it's too shy to do it in front of anyone.

Tu Mi Adoración

(Javier Escuella x Fem!Reader Fluff)

OH MY GOD I'm so sorry it took me so long to do this.

I’m Mexican so I have absolutely no problem with Javier, I’ll take any representation I can get. And for convenience's sake, let's say the reader can speak spanish. Also for convenience’s sake, I’m gonna ignore reality for a bit and ignore when the actual song was made because it’s cute and I wanna use it. If you wanna know the actual song it's Tu Mi Adoración by Los Tres Ases, just run the lyrics through a translator if you need to.

Warnings: none

In Shady Belle, liquor flows like milk. The liquor is a golden brown; made of various plants and grains, made from tears, and concocted into a potent drink. It’s mildly pleasant sting thawed the soul and melted it like warm butter. It allowed those who knew too much to forget for a moment, gave them an opportunity to look the other way. It gave people a chance to enjoy themselves, and celebrate what was theirs. Those who got to drink alcohol were lucky, because for once, the balm of life burned their bellies instead of the horrors and dread of the outside world.

In Shady Belle, when there was something to celebrate, people came together. They sang until their voices got hoarse. If not singing, they would drink until they passed out, or dance with one another fondly. Some played card games, or told stories to one another. They’d surround the fireplace, and bask in the glow of the hearth and each other's presence. Javier would strum the strings of his guitar skillfully, leading the gang through a multitude of songs and singing his heart out. He held the neck carefully, resting his arm on the body, occasionally tapping and knocking along on the wood to whatever song he was playing. Without Javier’s playing and singing, celebrations would not be the same.

You naturally gravitated towards Javier, his music enthralling you. You’d settle in a spot directly besides him at the campfire, exchanging admiring smiles, and you’d often find yourself humming along to his music— but never singing. No, when everyone else was singing their hearts out to his playing, you preferred taking a quieter approach. It’s not that you were a bad singer, quite the contrary. Anyone lucky enough to hear you sing would be pleasantly surprised. But it was never loud or confident enough for anyone to hear. You’d hum a tune, whisper songs under your breath to yourself, and hid your talent behind an unsteady wall of bashfulness.

When the group singing was done, and they had migrated to different parts of camp to continue their festivities elsewhere, you and Javier would sit alone together (save for the few bodies there passed out from over drinking) and you’d have to withstand the same old question of “Why didn’t you sing along today?”.

And you’d always give the same response of “Maybe next time”. You did not know how much longer you could keep using this excuse, and you didn’t think he believed you when you said it over and over. But he always asked, on the off chance, that maybe, you might agree to sing out loud one day, perhaps even to him. He was fascinated with the thought of one day getting the opportunity to be blessed by your singing, only having heard tiny snippets of song from you while you were doing chores in the distance (and in his attempts to hear more, he’d end up revealing himself, much to his dismay).

You found his constant lingering around you to be quite coy, and his obvious attempts at flirting with you were often successful: his kittenish attempts at striking conversation with you instead of working around camp, offering to play for you randomly (also attempts at getting you to sing), insisting he help you on and off your horse, commenting on your lovely appearance, and kissing your knuckles amorously. You were both aware that you were sweet on each other, but the chase was fun, and you enjoyed receiving his undivided attention.

But this time, the night of Jack’s return, Javier did not accept your usual answer.

“C’mon, (Name), no one else is around here to hear…” The two of you looked briefly around the campfire to see Uncle and Reverend passed out and laughed quietly before looking back at each other.

“I uh, I don’t know Javier…” You rubbed your arm bashfully, allowing him to take your hand into his own. He squeezed your hand reassuringly and looked you in your eyes. He looked about ready to beg.

“I’m not that good!” You exclaimed.

“Yes, you are. From the few times I’ve heard you, you were amazing.” Javier rubbed his thumb over your knuckles soothingly, and you blushed brightly. You had to contain your own shaking from how many butterflies there were in your stomach. The camp fire cast an orange glow on your face that made your blush all the more apparent, and the combination of both made you sweat uncomfortably. Javier let go of your hand and picked up his guitar from where it rested on his lap, strumming it experimentally.

“How about I sing with you? To make you more comfortable.” He raised his brows and looked at you excitedly. You shifted where you sat, not saying anything and considering his offer. He watched you move your sitting position directly next to him, so close your thighs were pressed against each other. In your moment of silent consideration, the two of you listened to the fire crackle, the distant laughter and chatter of the gang, each other's breathing.

Finally, you smiled and nodded softly.

Javier became extremely giddy from your answer, but he did not want to scare you off with his excitement. He cleared his throat, beginning to play a gentle melody. You swayed slightly to the music, your mood uplifting, at once recognizing the song he was about to sing. You kept your hands in your lap, not knowing what else to do with them in your fidgety state. And then he began.

“Adoración, mi cielo. Tu sabes que te quiero.” His words were sweet, smooth, and they made your blush increase. You couldn’t contain your girlish giggle, feeling your heart rate pick up. Oh, how you adored him at that moment.

“Estás bien convencida, que eres tesoro, mi consentida” He continued, practically purring the words now. In your shyness, you began to fidget with your skirt and avert your eyes, trying to find the courage to begin joining him in a duet.

As the next verse started, you began whispering the words along with him, keeping your eyes on your lap.

“Nunca podré olvidarte. Jamás podré dejarte.” You whispered the words, gradually building up the courage to look up at him. When you did, you were taken aback by how intensely, yet lovingly, he was staring at you. He again, looked into your eyes, and you did not want to look away. You did not want to appear as though you were rejecting any advances he was making right now.

“Porque ya es imposible, que de mi mente pueda borrarte.” You sang louder, now harmonizing with him. You kept your tone low, but still loud enough for him to hear clearly the range and emotion in your voice. You thanked god no one was nearing or intruding in on this very special moment, also because you didn’t want anyone else to hear you.

As the song progressed, you moved your hand onto his thigh, not breaking eye contact once. His eyes flickered to your hand, a small stutter in his voice when he sang. For once, your flirtations got you the upper hand on him. You felt your heart swell with every word, and you were sure to squeal to Karen, Tilly, and Mary-Beth about it while kicking your legs.

As the song began coming to an end, your tone began to quiet again, and you allowed Javier’s voice to take over the song once again, just like he had when he first started.

“Ahora soy dichoso. Todo lo veo hermoso.” He stopped his playing, even though the song had not finished, and took your hands into his own. He looked at you tenderly, pure adoration in his eyes. You looked back at him, on the verge of tears from how loved you felt right now.

“Estoy ilusionado. Y locamente enamorado”

I was geekin tf out when I wrote this kicking my legs n shit TEEHEE

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption community #van der linde gang x reader #writing #red dead fanfiction #javier escuella x reader #javier escuella #javier Escuella fluff #fluff #red dead redemption x reader

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oldestenemy · 5 months

Text

A Shadow comes to tear Land and Sky asunder.

The wizard does not like prophecy.

They have not liked it from the start, but being involved with more and more of them, even on the sidelines, has just deepened the distaste.

The Auroracle’s words continue to rattle around their skull as Polaris unfolds around them. Corruption and imprisonment running deeper than just Walruskburg. Through mines and camps and into the very depths of the world. Every time returning back to the witch’s house.

“You will accompany me to the Arcanum, wizard.”

The wizard is a little apprehensive of this, though Baba Yaga is—hypothetically—on their side, they get the feeling she isn’t telling them something. There’s something missing from her story. But then, considering Cyrus had been the one to direct them to her, of course she had her own secrets.

“I’ll be back soon,” They tell Mellori in the hopes that it will stay some of her frustration at being left behind. They don’t actually know if they’ll be back soon, but they will be back, they aren’t done here. “once we’re done here maybe I can show you the academy I was telling you about—”

“—wizard!” They give Mellori a last little smile, and then hurry to where Baba Yaga is waiting on them to return to Walrusk—New Penguinonia.

The Arcanum opens up around them as they step through the door—and they are struck by the realization that it is not a world as they had first assumed. It’s… some kind of—are they in the void between? Or just in the sky?

Their thoughts stutter to a halt when they turn back towards Baba Yaga and catch sight of an Aztecasaur standing by one of the many doors.

“That’s Komeka Roundhorns—they’re our potioneer—for goodness sake why do you look so distressed, we are in a hurry—”

The wizard swallows hard as Baba Yaga’s voice tunes in and out of their ears.

“Peace you old hag,” Komeka says with a slight smile, “I know of this one.”

That makes them feel even worse.

“I—”

“You don’t need to speak,” Komeka assures them, “there is no time at present—but come back to me another time, perhaps we can talk then.”

They want to speak.

They want to respond.

Want to scream.

But they are herded along deeper into what they are just landing on calling a ship by Baba Yaga. Past a librarian and straight towards an office decorated in Storm iconography. It seems the whole way through as though their travelling companion has been avoiding coming back here. Everyone is somewhat angry or bare minimum frustrated by the fact that she is only appearing now.

They tune in and out of the conversation until Ione Virga’s focus is solely on them.

Initiate.

Another title.

Another responsibility.

Another declaration of loyalty.

So here they are again.

Surrounded by people who think they are dangerous because of something they had no choice in.

And now they are wasting time even further.

Proving themself to people who will not listen to words.

But there is never any time for convincing. Push on.

Avalon is as bright and lively as ever, and it isn’t hard to spot the odd one out. Velma Von Venkman is draped in clothing the wizard would find more fitting in Marleybone’s moonlit streets than in the sunshine of Caliburn.

Still, she is less apprehensive than Ione, and that is welcome.

At least at the start.

“Have you ever heard of a sorceress named Morganthe?”

The wizard just stares at Venkman, as though she is joking. There is no trace of humor in the words or her expression. It’s an honest question, but not one they can even begin to fathom being asked. Heard of. Heard of?

But then, there is something…nice. They suppose.

About not being known.

So they do not answer.

They follow her through to the hideout in Caer Lyon. Cut their way through the runoffs from Khrysalis—who do recognize them—they are familiar with the spark of instinctual fear they can see in Ofiera’s eyes. Their appearance and spellwork traveled quickly among the ranks of the Umbra Legion towards the end. It’s not a surprise.

“Why ask us when the one who released Grandfather Spider from his prison stands at your side?”

Wayward Spider and his kin.

Child marked by the Raven and the Spider.

When Venkman drags them outside they know there is no avoiding it.

“You are the wizard who defeated the Shadow Queen?!”

They wince, “Killed,” they correct “yes, I killed Morganthe, I led the war on Khrysalis, I—”

“—Color me impressed,” Velma says, planting a hand on her hip “and here I thought I would be the dark and mysterious one coming from Darkmoor.”

What?

Who are these people?

“You’re from Darkmoor?”

“Mmm, yes and we had some terrifying bedtime stories about Grandfather Spider. I used to think all the stories about him and Raven were myths—but well, you’d know all about Myth being more real than anyone ever assumes wouldn’t you.”

That, out of everything, they can agree with.

~*~

If it’s true you defeated Morganthe.

If it’s true.

They are doing their best not to let the words of the Storm Scholar—and in fact everyone they have met here—turn them into a mess. But it is slowing them down if nothing else. They are fighting not to shake as they return to Baba Yaga.

But when she offers the same surprise as everyone else, it finally breaks.

“What am I supposed to say!” They demand, almost immediately cut over.

“Don’t bother answering—”

“—No, no, I am the one doing all of the heavy lifting here, I’m done until you let me speak.” The wizard says, “Am I supposed to walk around announcing every second that I ended the war on Khrysalis? That I let out Old Cob? That I’m part of the Council of Light?” They resist the urge to roll their eyes, “What good would it do anyone? I’m here. I’m helping. Just let me.”

It’s a relief to let some of it out. The pressure always building in their chest seems to ebb a little. They feel it as some warmth comes back to their fingers and are reminded that—especially around these people—they will need to keep a better handle on their emotions. No need to concern them with Shadow leaping out.

Baba Yaga huffs, staring down at them with a look that might be irritation but might—if they squint—also be pride? “You really are one of Cyrus’s students aren’t you, he always did end up with the most troublesome and stubborn of any bunch.”

Yes they are.

Stubborn and always ten steps away from trouble.

“There’s no time for all of this—we need to find out which one of Spider’s children is interfering in Polaris. And I’m stuck here now that everyone knows I’m back, so the footwork will have to be left to you—if you’re up to the task.”

Always.

Send them running.

Prophecy at their heels.

Read the rest of the series here <3

#wizard101 #wizard101 fic #wizzy fandom #wiz101 #wizard101 fandom #wizard101 fanfic #wizard101 fanfiction #w101 #i have a writeblr for this but shh #lark is still playing funky wizard game from their childhood #welcome to the arcanum #yes you're getting two today #do y'all know how much backlog i have #and how little patience?

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mediocre-eternity · 10 months

Note

You have something autistic going on with you (lovingly) <3

I’ve seen this theory about myself roll around this website for some time now. I would be lying if I said I haven’t thought on this… though again— I think the books my coven has published have only served to bring you closer to us and not us closer to you.

I’ll explain.

To you, I am a character in a novel. And I do this, too— relate to characters in novels all of the time. I see myself in many, many people on the TV screen or movie screen. I think “they must get it.” But they are fictional characters. What you need to understand about myself and my cousins in the Blood is that you are first and foremost our prey. And though we may flirt and dance and talk with you, maybe even call you friend, your amazement by who we are is second to our natures as killers. I would not hesitate to rip the throat out of any mortal I see fit. So, I cannot be categorized in a way humans are. Whatever horrific atrocities live in my memories, whatever quirks I may have as a result cannot be conceptualized in a way a human could ever understand.

For example, I have such a mastery of the Mind Gift most humans don’t understand they are dead until I’ve done sucking from them. And even then, most die peacefully in a bed of roses, thinking perhaps they might just take a nap. Then they are gone, without any knowledge of who I was or what I was. And though I may use my real name on this website, you, reader, have no idea who I am and wouldn’t recognize me even if we were standing face to face. Do not look upon me as a human because simply, I am not.

Now, that being said. I do have self awareness. I am not a benign creature lost in their own era because I am hundreds of years old. I can understand things. I see that when other’s dissect my carefully curated novel persona, they tend to write me as a person who has many difficulties grasping what they might be going through in their own minds.

I know I’m not normal. I know I don’t share commonalities with others like me. I don’t see or experience the world they do, even though we are all damned immortals. I understand entirely that I do not speak as much as I think and as much as I’d rather just convey my thoughts to others outright. I am better at lying than most, too…

Oh and I fall into these horrible pits of non-existence where I can tune out rather large swaths of time for myself (which is what I’m trying not to go through now, for Daniel’s sake). If allowed and in good company, it can be extremely hard for me to stop talking (another reason why I’d prefer if I can just exist mind-to-mind). If something catches my imagination, I ruminate and write about it for days, months, sometimes years. I read obsessively…the same book over and over and with music too, until I remember the timing of the notes out of habit. There are episodes of shows on the television that I can recite back to front. And movies. Dune, most recently.

I have a reputation as a hyper-sexual and though I enjoy sex, sex as a tool is something I’ve perfected and there are periods of time where I can completely remove any emotion from the act and use my raw talent at seduction to get what I want. I am such a master at sex, it’s merely a routine characteristic of mine.

Those closest to me become frustrated because it’s so extremely hard for me to understand simple directions. The “packet on the glass” meme has been quoted to me many, many times. I am so well aware of the joke in this. Daniel uses it as a way to torment me when he’s trying to explain how to work something out. I would rather just explore the internet for hours…or ponder a new genre of music than understand the minutiae of tit and tat.

I’ve had to make considerable effort to drone out the horrible, torturous nuisance of modern New York City police cars. No longer is it a deafening alarm, but now a horrific rumble that makes my heart and stomach feel like they’re going to explode. It’s taken years to live comfortably with them and they’ve driven me to intense violence in the past.

“Attenzione! Pickpocket! Attenzione! Borseggiatrici!” Has been on repeat in my head for seven solid nights.

Furthermore, I am friends with many a vampire made within the last few decades. Most notably Benji, who I share many, many commonalities with including our young age in which we came into the Blood. Benji always remarks “oh I have ADHD, I’m ADHD, it’s my ADHD” and he was, truly, given a diagnosis for this before many children were, according to him. He believes this is because he was “in the foster care system” and a refugee so they wanted to give him a label as soon as they could. Whoever they are. (Again, me and Benji even share our beginnings as boys in a family of other boys. Though he had no softness from any Master to aide him).

The most interesting conversations have come from us comparing our lives to each other’s. Benji can get locked into one task or one hobby for hours on end as time passes and passes. We both need to be completely alone on our own terms…

I suppose what I mean to convey is that I’m well aware of these little labels that humans might call each other, or some medical diagnosis that might explain why my humor is off or why others are so terrified by my silence… Why it takes me several attempts to convey a mundane idea verbally or even why I clasp my hands a certain way! If a reader finds a kindred spirit in whatever idea of me that they have, then I’m overjoyed that my novelization has shown some camaraderie to you. And, learning of other’s perceptions and experiences has indeed helped myself, too.

My above warning to you, though, mysterious friend, is to not make a habit of finding commonalities with monsters. My kind feasts upon your kind nightly. In great quantities. And any malady or neurodivergence will not, and cannot, protect you from a very unlucky night.

Autism, ADHD, boarder-line, bipolar… What wonderful new ways science has advanced to help the human race.

But all I care about is your Blood.

#the vampire armand #the vampire chronicles #tvc #interview with the vampire #iwtv #queen of the damned #daniel molloy #devil’s minion #asks #anon #armand #tva #Anne rice #autism creature #I’m autistic #I hope this gives some perspective on my own experiences with being neurodivergent #I love armand so much #he’s so dear to me you have no idea #edited because some things were a little OOC IMO

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mpsansy · 8 months

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Sansy’s Own UTAU News!

Hey there. My name's Sansy or Bumble. If you don’t know me for my Undertale AUs, that’s alright. I’ll give you some insight into what most of them are all about since I rarely bring them up on here or Tiktok.

But first things first! These are my creative ideas for these AUs, and I’m more keen to keep them on the down low because some people are… totally not cool. They sure can be real freaks and certainly not in a good way. >:( But I do wish to share about them just cause, well, I love them a whole bunch!

Apologies for the ramble, now let me go down my rabbit hole in 3 of the Undertale AUs I have.

Lost Soul.

Basically, this story is about a human losing their body after removing their soul just to stop the pain they have experienced while in the underground. To have temporary relief if you will. However, this action proves to be a massive mistake when the body and soul scatter. With some pleas of help soon after, only one monster was around to hear the child's call. A tall skeleton who was initially excited to capture a human to get into the royal guard, but now begins to have a change in tune. And once Toriel hears word of this by the man behind the door? She soon joins Papyrus in helping the human get their soul back into their body that has been walking around aimlessly. Searching for their other half all within the underground alone.

Meanwhile, on a different end, once other monsters hear of a human soul floating around within the underground? The royal guards are now sent on a mission to get that last soul. Once this soul is retrieved, the monsters will at last will be able to go to the surface and wage war on the humans who imprisoned them.

But no one should want this. So the human MUST get their soul back into their body. And soon! However, with the help of a kind natured skeleton and the previous queen of the underground, they can surely achieve this goal. And maybe change a few fellow monster souls to help them along the way and set a new peaceful path.

Newfound Family.

In this case, it's more to tell the tale of Frisk's life as a teen. And in all their life thus far, they have been cared & raised by two loving skeleton brothers, a skeleton father, goat monsters, and... Oh my... This child has a big family that loves them dearly, actually!

But what seems to go array in their teens is when a boy named Vance begins to harass and push them. And when Frisk pushed back, let's just say Vance was not happy with this response and vowed to put Frisk down. Dedicated to ruining whatever made Frisk happy.

He's a very awful person and one Frisk wished they never encountered.

I actually have a more in-depth doc [here], which is one AU I have sorted out. More or less :p I hope that I will continue to do a document like this with “Lost Soul” and “TerrorTale”.

See No Evil (aka: TerrorTale).

Essentially, with this one, it all goes back to the war between humans and monsters. And the battleground that served as all sides graves. However, with the battle being bitter and horrid on all fronts, the soil of this land could be best described as tainted & cursed.

What made this bad is that the dark murky magic that was used in those times began to seep down to the underground. Bringing to life a new threat that was far more than just lethal. Coming from above, these kinds of beasts made of old blood and soil would appear and feast on all kinds of souls. Monsters and humans, if they were present.

And unfortunately for the human, who just left the previous safety of The Ruins? They, along with the whole underground, will be under attack. Experiencing the terror and price of what the past has done for all living beings. It's a really bad bag, but there is hope! The beasts fear and die by fire magic. So, for the underground sake, it's best to repel the beasts with flames and stay indoors. Store food and keep the light burning bright and strong around you!

Most importantly, protect all friends, family, and neighbors. Because at this time, this sense of love and community really matters at this time. But believe me when I tell you that the human who is being cared for in Snowdin now has a desire to free monsters. How they intend to do it is a bit up in the air. And it may prove difficult as they have suffered many injuries.

Rest assured, the taste of freedom is in every monsters mind. And one way or another, they all will get that chance. It just takes some hope and determination to pull this off.

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

Well, with this all said and done I can say that this is what I have. I’ve been working on what I wanted out of these AUs and I know there’s a ton to discuss and draw ofc. But in all honesty, I just really want to make it so people can actually get to know the basics of what’s happening in each world. And just to nail the point across:

Newfound Family centers around Frisk and teens their age in this new chapter of their life

Lost Soul centers around Frisk “the human”, Papyrus, and Toriel

And TerrorTale centers around the monsters who protect the human

In all, there’s always going to be mention of most of the characters. Not just necessarily a singular character. But yeah, that’s my big thing I’ve been trying to write out

#sansy speaking here #undertale #undertale au #undertale alternate universe #utnewfoundfamily #terror tale #ut lost soul #I just realized I have to make tags for these other AUs too #gosh darn it!#>:[#hopefully I’ll remember to use the #*them

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cryptid-manor · 8 months

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FAQ, Q&A, Resources

Hi, I’m new in town and you lot have been very kind to follow me.

Here’s a little blog post that I update occasionally.

Do you have any technique or app recommendations?

If I’m on-the-go, on my tablet or phone, I use a lot of different applications. Procreate w/ an Apple Pen, Midjourney, Dalle, Glitché, Filmm, GlitchCam, Groovo, Canva, PicsArt, VSCO. I’m getting into Lightroom, Photoshop and Adobe Express editions. Save and edit and save and edit and save and edit and save and edit.

If I’m at my desk, I use GIMP a lot. I use or add a few old school glitch art techniques that can only be done on my Mac or on my PC. Versions tend to jump from phone to laptop to phone to laptop.

Here are two tutorials if you’d like to learn some, ever more seemingly, old school techniques for yourself. I’d be utterly pleased if this was your first entrance to “glitch art” —

youtube

Do you sell prints or shirts or any fine, fine merchandise anywhere?

Not of anything I make with MidJourney. Well, technically, no merchandise of anything right now. If you see it sold online, it’s a fake. If you see anything of mine go viral somewhere other than this Tumblr account, it’s fake.

Maybe I’ll make postcards, some day, out of sheer novelty. But, honestly, right now, a lot of this blog is going to turn into behind the scenes, drafting, etc.

…

i.e…. “~•*•THE PROCESS•*•~”

…

At 800 followers, I feel like I’ve cultivated a scene that I can trust with feedback on my other passion projects.

Wait, other projects?

Oh yeas. Have you ever read House Of Leaves? That’s what the inside of my brain looks like if I don’t Make Things.

Ok cool.

Yeah, for sure, of course.

Can you recommend any fandoms or other accounts that you like?

I like stuff. Stuff is good. Have you seen some of the stuff out there? It’s everywhere. Stuff is all over the place, and I love it. And I love that for me. And I love that for you.

Stuff for everyone, stuff for all, I say, at times when I’m going from here to there.

Here’s some of the stuff I like. Do you have any stuff you like?

— Degenesis (TTRPG)

— Trevor Henderson (@slimyswampghost on IG)

— Plastiboo (Artist)

— @louceph (seriously, a truly amazing artist)

— @hannahorca (wow wow wow)

— LIMINAL_ (TTRPG)

— MORK BÖRG (TTRPG)

— Mayfair Watchers Society (Podcast)

— Quiet Part Loud (Podcast)

— Welcome To Scarfolk (Book)

— Uzumaki & Gyo (Manga)

— Elden Ring (Video Game)

— Lovecraft Country (Series)

— Blasphemous (Video Game)

— Berserk (Manga)

— Oats Studio (Series, Netflix)

— District 9 (Movie)

— Love Death + Robots (Series)

Any more?

Sure but they might be “off-brand” for the aesthetic.

— Hollow Knight (Game)

— The Long Dark (Game)

— Frostpunk (Game)

— Nausicaä (Movie)

— Princess Mononoke (Movie)

— Scavenger’s Reign (Series)

— Raised By Wolves (Series)

— This War Of Mine (Game)

— Midnight Gospel (Series)

— The Beginners Guide (Game)

Okay, so hey I’ve fallen in love with one of the Monsters on here. Can I adopt it and name it and feed it and call it mine?

Listen your head-canon is your head-canon but for god’s sake remember that I have to read the fic and you have to write the fic. A curse on both our houses if ever used for PvP combat.

Do you sell NFTs?

No.

Okay…have I thought about it? Yes. Sure. Whatever. But I don’t sell NFTs. No “legitimate” NFTs of my work exists. If you see it, it’s fake.

I’ve told myself there’s only one way I’d use an NFT or Ethereum — if someone would like to “legally” adopt one of my OC critters. I would literally draw up the novelty adoption papers. That sounds like so much fun.

Conclusion

Thanks for hanging out and reading my words. This kind of came to an abrupt end, didn’t it? Yeah, pacing isn’t something I’m good at yet. But am I not deserving of love, simply as one voice amongst the many spiritual echoes singing the tune of our grand eternal choir of life? Am I not worthy of perhaps a little treat?

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actuallyastingray · 1 year

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Time Travel Batman Part 1

Follow up to my “what if” prompt about Batman traveling back to his early vigilante years. Link to the original post Here. Gonna split this one into a few parts for sanity’s sake

So let’s say Bruce ends up in his early years as Batman, probably only a few weeks into this whole vigilante biz. What happens?

Well for starters, you gotta consider that Batman is the most paranoid person in the DC universe. He’s gonna automatically assume that Spellbinder or Ra’s al ’Ghul got the drop on him and he’s reliving some twisted memory

That said, the longer this whole “act” goes on, the more his rational side; the side that’s had to deal with magic, alternate realities, and yes, time travel, starts to tell him this isn’t a trick.

Basically he just starts out jumping at shadows/Alfred, pretending he’s not crazy

The stress of reliving the past starts to get to him in a lot of ways

Alfred, obviously, who isn’t dead anymore

Waking up to a hot meal instead of having to microwave everything/wait for Terry to show up and help

Not being 90 years old and dealing with arthritis and failing organs has to merit for somethings, like being able to walk up and down stairs without assistance

Brooding in front of the Batcomputer and trying to reread old files only to realize said files don't exist yet

Grabbing a toolbox and going to tune up the Batmobile or the Batwing, except “surprise” he hasn't built those yet.

Can’t brood in front of the suit display case either cause, what do you know, don’t have any sidekicks yet either

Speaking of whom, he gets little moments where he really, REALLY misses his kids

Reading in the library and unconsciously picks up an author Jason used to swear by

Walking the hedge gardens which are miraculously clean and intact without Damian using them for sword practice

He just stops and stares at the foyer chandelier and wondering how exactly they got it to look good as new after Dick broke it, only to realize it hasn’t been broken yet

Staying up till 3:00am just brooding (cause he doesn’t have too many cases yet) until Alfred convinces him to go to bed. Bruce catches himself telling Tim to go to bed too.

Stays up all night just wishing someone would come speeding into the cave on a motorbike or on the Batwing just to make things “normal”

The tipping point is honestly Ace/Titus (take your pick which one). Bruce comes home after just walking the streets all day and remembering how bad Gotham used to be before Batman. He’s not in a good place when he gets back so when he walks in the door and whistles for his dog, no one comes. Yeah, Bruce Wayne has a breakdown over wanting his dog back.

I guess it’s worth mentioning at this point that Alfred, being the only person who can keep Batman alive in between cases, knows stuff is not right with Bruce, but seeing as his charge has gone jumpy, paranoid, distant, and on a hunger strike, he hasn’t been able to get a word in edgewise

That said, when Bruce wakes back up, he gets the telling off of his life, the kind that only a concerned Dadler would be able to do. Seeing as an angry Alfred is the one of the only things able to put fear into Bruce, he sobers up to reality really fast

I’ll leave this as the tipping point for Bruce realizing he’s got a second chance to undo all the mistakes of his previous life. Not just with his kids, but seeing as he knows how everything is gonna go down, he’s going to aim high and succeed. And if you don’t think he won’t; he’s the freaking Batman, AKA the guy with enough plot armor to let him fight Superman one on one.

Okay so maybe things will go differently. Next up, the Rogues Gallery and how Bats handles them this time around.

#batman #time travel fix it #story prompt #fanfic prompt #batfam #alfred pennyworth

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still-a-morosexual-help · 1 year

Note

Hello! I recently ran into your blog and have just been browsing through your obey me content. And I gotta say you’re very well versed in this fandom I rly dig it! Having said that I was curious about your opinion on a small conundrum of mine. Ya see I’ve been a fan of obey me for a while, like back when the og game was still like rolling out chapters. The unfortunate thing was though eventually life sorta happened and I kind just kept falling off. It seemed like the more content they added the more it just felt like getting through the story was just a chore. And the game play and grinding did not help whatsoever, it just got so boring and I didn’t rly have an incentive to go back. Which sucked cause I love the story and I’ve always wanted to go back to it, but I’ll boot up the app and just remember why I keep stopping aside from the plot itself the rest of app just wasn’t fun for me. But with nightbringer out now I rly wish I was able to finish the og game for myself in its entirety first so I could witness everything first hand ya know. Like literally if they took the Ruri Tunes and just put it in the first game that would’ve helped me out a bunch. But my poor little brain just does not have the attention span for the old gameplay, like I understand mobile games like this usually don’t want you to get through everything too fast but that’s why you have stamina to either wait or pay for. Everything else should be for entertainments sake, and not so much a grind wait the battle out and repeat sorta thing. But that may just be me, I am cautious to hop into Nightbringer though because I was never able to finish the og game. Do you think I should just go for it, maybe start fresh especially when I’ll have more time on my hands soon enough? That’s it though, I’m super sorry I kinda ranted on a bit. If you do make it through all this I can’t thank you enough for just that honestly. I love your content and hope you have an amazing day/evening/night. Keep up the great work!!!!

In my opinion, it's best to finish s1-s4 before playing Nightbringer because technically it starts off after s4

BUT so far Nightbringer has only referenced S1-2 so if you want a fresh start and to jump back into it then you should be good!

+ nightbringer has a rhythm game which in my opinion is more fun than the dance battle

Honestly do whatever makes you happier and most importantly what you'll have fun with because at the end of the day this is a game and that's the whole point of it!!

Also aaaahhh thank you!!😖

#asks #obey me nightbringer #obey me

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steddieworks · 1 year

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finally safe for me to fall - chapter 2

hi! back again with chapter 2! stay tuned for another update next Sunday!

read on ao3

Summary: Eddie finally meets the Harrington children. He's definitely got his work cut out for him...

Warnings for this chapter: swearing

Words: 4.4k

“And you’ve got everything packed up?” Wayne’s anxious voice follows Eddie from his bedroom to the living room, and Eddie rolls his eyes, since his uncle can’t see him anyway.

“Yes, Wayne. I’ve got all six of my shirts and all two pairs of my jeans. I’ve even got my cassettes shoved somewhere in there. I’m pretty sure I’m set,” Eddie says lightly, going to look through the cabinets for a snack. He’s got a little bit before he has to leave, so he figures he might as well kill the time a little.

“You know you don’t have to leave, Eddie,” Wayne says.

Eddie sighs. They’ve had this conversation several times since he came back home with the good news on Thursday. He turns to offer Wayne a smile. “I do, though. You can’t support both of us forever, Wayne, and it’s not fair for me to expect that. I’m twenty-six, man. I need to do this.”

Wayne looks near-devastated. “I hate to see you go. I’m sorry I can’t…” He trails off, and Eddie feels awful. He knows his uncle has tried his best to be a parent to Eddie over the years, taking care of him to the best of his ability, but he knows, deep down, that it really will be a relief for him to have Eddie gone. He won’t have to work such late hours anymore, and maybe one day he can really retire.

“It’s alright, Wayne,” Eddie says gently. “This is the way it’s supposed to be, right? Gotta leave the nest at some point,” he jokes, nudging Wayne’s arm with his elbow.

Apparently that’s the wrong thing to say, Wayne’s eyes going wide like he just realized something. “Your nest! What are you going to do about heats, Ed? This strange man could take advantage of you! You don’t-”

Eddie cuts him off, feeling his face heat in embarrassment. He definitely hasn’t thought about Steve in association with his heat. Nope. Not at all. And he isn’t about to start now, either. “It’s fine. I’m on suppressants, remember? And if I were to have one, then… Well, I’ll have days off, and I’m sure he’ll give me medical leave for that, so I can check into an omega facility.”

Wayne looks disbelieving, but nods. “Fine. What’s this guy’s name, again? I need to write it down so I can have Hopper look into him,” Wayne says, glancing around for something to write with.

Eddie rolls his eyes, but humors him. “Steve Harrington. I seriously doubt Hop’s gonna find anything. He’s some big-wig in Indianapolis, he’d have to have a clean record to do what he does.”

The look Wayne gives him makes him feel sort of stupid. “That’s naivety, Edward. You never know someone until you do. And being a big-wig is exactly the excuse he’d need to do shady shit. I wouldn’t be surprised if-”

“Right,” Eddie interrupts, resisting the urge to roll his eyes a third time. “Well, I’m sure I’ll get to know him soon. Living with someone does that for you, believe it or not.”

Wayne gives him a look. “Just… be careful, okay, Eddie? He might be a good guy, and I hope for your sake he is. But don’t just assume that to be the truth, okay?”

Eddie nods. He knows Wayne’s just concerned, the closest to a worried father that Eddie has really ever had. Still, he wants to assuage that uncertainty a little bit. “I will. And I’ll check in every week, let you know if anything weird happens. I promise.” He claps Wayne on the back, then glances at the time. “I should get going,” he says, his voice tinted with an apology.

“Right,” Wayne nods. “Let me help you carry your things out.”

Eddie’s only got the one duffel bag, but he doesn’t bother correcting Wayne. It’s the least he could do, let his old man have this little send-off.

They walk out to the van, and Eddie sighs a little as he opens the passenger door, jerking the handle hard when it sticks. He lets Wayne toss his bag into the seat, then steps back, an awkward air filling the silence around them. The Munsons really aren’t much for feelings, but Wayne looks like he might cry.

Eddie pulls him into a hug. “I’ll be alright, Wayne,” he says quietly, patting his back. “I can take care of myself. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Wayne pulls away, and Eddie pretends he doesn’t notice how he wipes at his eye. “I know you can. I just can’t help thinking… that you’re running away.”

That startles Eddie a little bit. He knows Wayne knows more than he typically lets on, but that epiphany, coming from him, sends Eddie’s head for a spin. “I… I’m not running away. I don’t… there’s just nothing here for me anymore. Without the band, I’m just… I’m just in the way.”

For once, Wayne doesn’t argue his self-deprecation. Instead, he says, “I just think you ought to be running to something, son. Not away.”

Eddie gives him a half-hearted smile, and shrugs, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Maybe I am. Maybe this will be my year.”

Wayne nods, but Eddie can’t help but think that he doesn’t look convinced. “Be safe, Eddie. Keep in touch.”

And then Eddie’s climbing behind the wheel, waving goodbye to the only home, the only family he’s ever known, turning his decrepit van toward the city.

He takes a deep breath. This is going to be good for him. He’s sure of it.

~~~

The address Robin had given him, and her precisely-written directions to said address, lead Eddie to a tall, brown-brick building full of lots of windows. It’s the kind of building he would probably never pay much attention to otherwise, the aura of expensive reeking from the spotless windows and evenly-laid bricks. Definitely not the kind of place he would have ever imagined being called his home.

He parks the van on the street across from the building, a little embarrassed to even be that close, considering all the cars he’d seen so far had been luxury ones. He tries not to look as out of place as he feels as he grabs his duffel bag from the passenger seat, crossing the road with his head ducked, leaving his van unlocked. If someone around here wants it, they can have it, as far as he’s concerned.

The gleaming double doors open to a tastefully-decorated, opulent lobby. There’s a large, expensive looking rug that he takes great care not to step on, and some vaguely boring-sounding instrumental music is coming from somewhere above his head. The ceilings are tall, taller than he thinks really makes sense, and his boots echo over the wood floor as he makes his way to the receptionist desk.

A young girl is sat behind a computer screen, clicking away at something with a bored look on her face. When Eddie clears his throat, she looks up, her expression flickering from a customer-service smile to something like suspicion.

“Hi, can I help you?” She asks, her voice generic enough to make Eddie feel on edge. He curses himself mentally, wishing he’d worn something a little more professional-looking than his leather jacket thrown over a black t-shirt. He wasn’t expecting all this, though.

“Yeah, hi. Um, I’m looking for Steve Harrington’s apartment, if you could just point me in the right direction?” Eddie says, his voice a little more meek than he’d like it to be. God, get it together, dude. If you’re going to be living here, you’ve gotta get used to the weird looks.

At the name, she perks up, but her eyes narrow suspiciously. “You’re looking for Mr. Harrington’s apartment?” She asks, as if she hadn’t heard him the first time.

Eddie grits his teeth and nods. “Yes,” he says, trying for politeness.

The girl looks down at her desk, shuffling some papers around before picking up a sticky note. “Are you a Mr. Munson, by chance?”

Eddie relaxes. Okay, he’s definitely in the right place, and Steve had even left word with the front desk that he was coming. He feels a lot less like a criminal, or imposter, now. “Yes, that’s me.”

The girl looks him up and down, and Eddie tries not to flush. God, is he seriously going to have to invest in a nicer wardrobe just to live here? “Do you have your ID?” she asks, sounding bored once again.

Eddie wants to be offended by that, but then he remembers himself. He nods, taking out his license and handing it out to her. She glances at the name, then up at him, a brief flickering of the gaze, then hands the little plastic rectangle back. Her smile seems slightly more genuine now. “Welcome, Mr. Munson. Mr. Harrington asked me to make sure we help you with any luggage you have, and get you your keys right away.”

She stands, going behind a partition Eddie hadn’t noticed before, and he hears some rattling before she returns, a set of keys in her hand, a card dangling from the same keyring. “Oh, um…” Eddie starts, a little confused.

The girl doesn’t even let him fumble through a question. “This is the gate key for the parking garage in the basement. This is the key to the mailbox, and this is the key to the apartment itself,” she explains, holding each one up as she goes through them. She hands them over, and remains standing, glancing down at Eddie’s appearance once more. “I can help with your bags, if you have anything else to bring in?” She offers.

Eddie feels his face flush, but tries to hide it. “Oh, this is all,” he says, holding up the duffel bag lamely. She nods, but looks a bit confused, so he adds, “I’m a light traveler,” as if that’ll make it any better.

“Right,” she says, giving him what he assumes is a pity-smile. “You’ll just go down this hallway, the elevator is on the right. Mr. Harrington is on the eleventh floor, unit 11D.”

“Oh… okay,” Eddie says, trying to get all of that straight in his head. “Thank you…” He tries to remember her name, then realizes she never told him.

She seems to take pity on him. “I’m Alice. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to reach out to the front desk, and someone will be happy to assist you.”

“Alright. Thank you, again.”

Alice nods, sending him right on his way.

The elevator doors open almost immediately, and Eddie feels even more out of place stepping into it, the walls made up of sparkling mirrors that seem to mock his appearance. He very purposefully does not make eye contact with himself in the mirrored doors, but swipes at his loose curls nervously. He deliberates, and when the elevator hits the eighth floor, he caves, dropping his duffel bag for a moment to pull his hair into a low bun, securing it with the loose hair tie on his wrist. There. Much better.

When the doors slide open on the eleventh floor, Eddie feels like he might pass out. It doesn’t even benefit him to still be nervous, he thinks vaguely as he starts off down the hall. He’s already gotten the job, and it’s not like Steve is scary.

Well. Okay, maybe scary isn’t the right word, but he’s definitely something.

He stops in front of the door to 11D, the dark wood beckoning him forward. He takes a deep breath, lifts his shaky fist, and knocks.

It’s probably just because he’s listening so carefully, but the sound of stampeding feet makes him jump, and he rushes to compose himself as the door flies open. He holds his hand out to shake Steve’s, only to find-

“Hi!” An excited voice calls.

Eddie drops his gaze. Two little girls stand before him, each of them with wild blonde curls and big, curious, brown eyes. They’re adorable. It takes everything in Eddie not to melt as he looks at them. He crouches down, holding his hand out.

“Hello there,” he says, grinning. “I’m Eddie, the new nanny. And you two must be Ivy and Jasmine, right?” There’s a spark of recognition on both their faces when Eddie says his name, and he relaxes a little, reassured that they’ve obviously already been informed of his arrival.

The one on the right is wearing a pink overall dress over a white t-shirt, her blonde curls piled into some sort of messy bun on top of her head. She takes his hand first, shaking it with big movements, giggling the whole time. “I’m Ivy,” she says. “I like your hair,” she adds, pointing at her own head, then his.

Eddie’s heart melts. “Thank you,” he says politely. “I like yours too. You guys have beautiful curls,” he says, glancing at the other one, offering his hand to her next.

She seems a bit shyer, taking his hand with a looser grip, shaking it in a much more normal fashion. “Thanks,” she says quietly. She lets go of his hand, both of hers going behind her back as she studies him. They’re not wearing the same outfit, he notices, which surprises him for twins. Instead of a dress to match her sister’s, Jasmine is wearing light wash jeans and a yellow sweatshirt. They both look adorable.

He glances between the two of them a couple times, trying to pick out any noticeable differences. Ivy smiles with her teeth, while Jasmine has a closed-lip, neutral sort of look on her face. Jasmine’s face is a bit longer, and her eyebrows are a bit darker. Ivy’s mouth and eyes have a bit of a different shape, but Eddie can’t quite put his finger on the specific difference. Within a couple of minutes, though, he thinks he’s got it.

“Alright,” he says, smiling. “I think I can tell you apart, but don’t hold me to that, okay?” They both nod, and he grins, leaning in and dropping his voice to a whisper. “You promise you’ll forgive me if I mess up a few times? I’m sorta new at this.”

Ivy laughs. “Daddy gets us confused all the time!” She announces, her voice proud. “Sometimes we trick him though. I tell him I’m Jasmine sometimes,” she admits, a sheepish grin pulling at her mouth.

Eddie grins. Kids with a fun sense of humor - now that he can get on board with. “Oh, that’s funny. But you guys won’t trick me right away, will you?”

Jasmine smiles, shakes her head no. “No, we won’t.”

Eddie isn’t entirely sure he can take their word, since he only just met them, but he grins nonetheless. He’s about to ask another question when the door opens wider, an exasperated voice coming from much further up.

“Girls, what have I told you about opening the door when you don’t know- oh, Eddie. Hi.” Steve’s rambling comes to a stop when he spots Eddie, and he runs a hand through his hair like he’s - what, nervous? No, it can’t be that.

Eddie stands up, his thighs screaming at him from the minor stretch, and he smiles sheepishly at Steve. “Er, sorry. They opened the door, and we got to chatting. How are you?”

Steve glances down at his daughters suspiciously, his eyes darting back up to Eddie’s quickly. “What did they tell you?” he asks, crossing his arms as he peers down at the girls. “Were we being kind, or telling stories?”

Ivy smiles up at him sweetly. “We were good, Daddy. We just told Eddie that we like to play pranks on you, sometimes. And we promised him we wouldn’t pull any pranks on him yet.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, pranks,” he says, sarcastic. He offers Eddie a tired smile. “There won’t be any pranks, I assure you. They’ll be on their very best behavior, right?” he glances between the two of them, but Eddie doesn’t miss the way his eyes linger on Ivy. Ah, she must be the troublemaker, then. Who would’ve thought?

“Eh, best behavior is overrated, I think,” Eddie says, winking when the twins look up at him. He glances back up at Steve. “But, whatever you say, Mr. Harrington.”

“You can call me Steve,” he says with a shake of his head. “Come in, come in. Girls, give him some room, he’s not gonna be living out in the hallway, you know.”

The twins obey immediately, skittering out of the way but stopping to gesture Eddie forward. “Can we give him the tour, Daddy? Please?”

Steve shakes his head. “No, I need you two to go clean up your room. It better be spotless when I get in there, capiche?”

Jasmine nods, but her lips are twitching. Eddie is smiling from behind Steve, giving the twins a little overexaggerated finger-wag. He grins when the twins giggle. “Okay, Daddy,” Jasmine says, reaching for her sister’s hand. “We’ll capiche.”

“It’s not a verb, it’s -” Steve stops himself, shaking his head. “Nevermind. Room, spotless, okay?”

Ivy waves at him, following her sister down the hall and repeating their fun new vocabulary word in various accents. Eddie can’t imagine them being any cuter.

When Steve turns to look at him, Eddie tries to force his smile into something more neutral. “They’re sweet,” he offers, gesturing off after them. “And funny, too.”

Steve shakes his head, but Eddie can tell he’s proud. “Thanks. They definitely keep me on my toes.” He glances down at the singular bag in Eddie’s hand. “Oh, did Alice not offer to bring your other things up?” He asks, his eyebrows furrowing adorably.

Eddie frowns, feeling awkward. “Oh, um… Yeah, she did. This is, uh… This is all I’ve got.”

Steve stares at him, bewildered. “Oh…” He says, glancing down at the bag with another perplexed look. “Alright, then.” He seems a little bothered, but Eddie can’t imagine why. Isn’t it easier like this? The less baggage the better, surely. “Well, um. Follow me, I’ll show you where everything is.”

Nodding, Eddie follows behind him, listening as Steve points things out to him. They pass a short corridor on the right, and Steve explains that Eddie’s room is down that way, but they’ll end the tour there. Instead, he leads him through to the kitchen first. It’s nice and spacious, leading to an open-plan lounge, huge floor-to-ceiling windows on the far side of the room. It makes the whole space feel nice and homey, and more welcoming than most places Eddie’s had the displeasure of living in.

“So, this is the kitchen,” Steve continues, gesturing around the space. “I wish it was a bit bigger, but the island takes up most of the space. On the plus side, though, it works as our kitchen table too, so that’s a bonus, I guess.” Steve shrugs, then gestures to the cabinets. “The pantry’s always stocked, and we put in an order for groceries to be delivered every Saturday, so anything you need, just add it to the list.” As he says that, he gestures to the massive blackboard hanging on the wall next to the refrigerator.

“It’s beautiful,” Eddie manages, feeling small and dirty in a room this extravagant.

Steve smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks. So, as far as cooking goes, you can do whatever you want, the girls aren’t very picky. I’ve got a recipe box of their favorite things, and that’ll probably be a task that you and I split.”

Eddie’s quick to jump in to correct him. “Oh, no, sir, I can do that. I’ve been cooking for myself and my uncle since I was probably fourteen.”

Steve actually looks impressed by that, but Eddie can’t imagine why. Is it impressive to have to do things for yourself because you know no one else will? “Oh, well, I like to cook so I promise I don’t mind. And I assure you, there will be plenty for you to do without having to stress over that every single night, too.”

Eddie nods. Something about the fact that he will be busy with work settles his nerves a little bit. There’s no better distraction than work, especially housework. “Alright,” he says, nodding.

He follows Steve as he continues through to the lounge. A sofa is positioned in front of the big windows, an armchair to one side and a tv on the opposite wall of that. A sleek, low coffee table sits in the middle of it, and it’s impeccably decorated. Of course. “The girls know this, but I’ll go ahead and say it in case they try to pull one over on you,” Steve starts, gesturing to the living room. “They can bring any of their soft toys in here, anything that doesn’t make a mess really, but they have to put them up by themselves if they do. That applies to any part of the house. Their toys can be strewn in their room, and there might be days where you need to assist them in cleaning that, but if their toys come out of their bedroom, they are responsible for putting them back.”

Eddie nods. That sounds quite sensible, to him. “Alright.” He glances at the television. “What about screen hours? Rules?”

Steve rubs his hand over the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “I try to enforce a no-television-after-nine rule, but sometimes that’s sort of hard. I like a good movie myself, and I feel like such a hypocrite for sending them off to bed so I can sit here and watch it by myself.”

Eddie can’t help but laugh at that. “I know what you mean. So, no tv after nine, except for the exceptions?”

That makes Steve grin. “Yeah, exactly.” He gestures for Eddie to follow him, and goes to open the door just off of the living room. “This is my bedroom,” he says, gesturing. “I’ll take care of this space, of course, but I’ll be honest… you’re technically sharing a bathroom with the twins, but if you ever want to have a shower without having to move about a hundred bath toys, you can just come and use mine.”

It’s an innocent enough offer, but it still makes Eddie tingle a little bit. It’s quite an intimate space for an unmated alpha and omega to share, so he’s already certain that he will not be taking him up on that offer. “Alright,” Eddie still says, to be polite. He pretends he’s not studying the pristine room, with its soft-looking heather-gray bedding and natural light.

Steve clears his throat, gesturing for Eddie to follow him out of the room. He’s glad when Steve turns his back, and he can try to wipe away the blush in semi-private. “The girls have to be at school no later than seven-fifteen, so I usually get them up at about six or so to get them bathed and fed and dressed and everything.”

Eddie nods, filing that away. He’s definitely going to have to write it down somewhere. “Okay, that’s not a problem,” he agrees.

“I’ll help, of course, since I have to be up early anyway for work, but it’ll definitely be easier with the two of us,” Steve says, smiling over his shoulder.

That makes Eddie smile. “Yeah, of course,” he says. “Do they catch a bus, walk… how do they get to school?”

Steve leads them back through the kitchen, turning down the hall they’d passed by earlier. “You can walk them there, it’s not far. I usually drive them, since I’m on my way to work anyway, but I’d like it if they could walk, get the early morning air and exercise.”

Eddie personally thinks that sounds like a nightmare, but they’re not his kids. “Alright,” he says.

Steve gestures to the first door on the left. “This is the washer and dryer. Spare closet,” he says, gesturing across the hall to the first door on the right. He pushes open the second door on the right, letting Eddie peek his head around and peer into it. “Bathroom. Like I said, bath toys galore,” he says, clearly exasperated.

Eddie giggles. “Right,” he says.

“That’s the twins’ room, and this is yours,” Steve continues, opening the last door on the left, right next to the door that stands at the very end of the hallway that he indicated belonging to the girls. He steps back, gesturing for Eddie to go into his room and take a look around.

It’s just as nice as the rest of the house. The bed frame looks similar, or maybe identical, to the one in Steve’s room, but it has black bedding on it. Eddie smiles, wondering if Steve picked that out after meeting him the other day. A dresser is situated across from the foot of the bed, a small television set on top of it. There’s a bedside table on either side of the bed, identical lamps sitting on each one. The windows are just as big in this room as they’d been in all of the others, and Eddie is relieved to spot those fancy automatic-blinds tucked up close to the top.

“Is it okay?” Steve asks from behind him, sounding nervous.

Eddie’s quick to reassure him. “It’s perfect,” he says, nodding quickly. “I… Really, thank you.”

Steve smiles, a little shy, in return. “You’ve got a nice closet, too,” he says, gesturing. “I put some empty hangers in there already for you.” He glances down at Eddie’s sad little bag again. “Are you… are you sure you don’t have anything else?”

The question makes Eddie squirm, embarrassed, but he shrugs, as if he’s completely unbothered. “Yeah, I’m sure. I don’t really need much,” he says. And it’s probably true. He’s made it this long with the bare minimum. Having a fancy new place to live and work doesn’t change that much.

“Alright,” Steve finally says. He still has that look on his face, like something is bothering him, but Eddie turns away, pretends he doesn’t notice. “Well, take a little bit, get settled, and come find me when you’re ready, okay?”

Eddie nods, and listens to the soft sound of Steve’s footsteps retreating, and then the door clicks shut softly behind him. Eddie drops his bag, and himself, onto the end of the bed, gazing out the window.

He made it. Now for the hard part.

#steddie #steve harrington and eddie munson #steve harrington #eddie munson #alpha steve harrington #omega eddie munson #omegaverse #abo dynamics #single dad steve harrington #babysitter eddie munson #chapter 2 #finally safe for me to fall #fsfmtf

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wiw3 · 1 year

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A Cactus of Wisdom: Why the Fuck Not?

Hi, everyone! I got a cactus! This is the most boring post in the world, what the fuck is wrong with me? This thing is so low-maintenance, it’s driving me insane. I think that there is so much... maintenance, that goes into the world. It goes into people, into the machines, and even then, we’re taught that we should keep plunging our noses where they don’t belong.

We’re taught that we should keep planting cacti on new soil, for the sake of humanity. As a person who regularly loses my faith in humanity, I want to believe, but I don’t, really. I’m too cynical to think that humanity won’t just fuck it up for itself, and by thinking that, I’m sure I’ll guarantee it. The world’s worst self-fulfilling prophecy: The inevitable heat-death of the universe.

I only want to become a better writer, or a more engaging storyteller. I don’t want there to be a single person I come across that is inconvenienced by me. I’d like to be so in-tune and so effectively sharp to what others need, that I’m quiet and peaceful to the outside world.

It makes my needs to unnoticed, shoving them down for others like that. It makes you wonder when I’m going to give up the charades that are these deeply-ingrained mental health issues. I don’t blame anyone for how they got there, anymore, it’s a waste of energy to focus on. I’d rather focus on the cactus.

The cactus itself is a nice, mini cactus that’s been bred to be blue, and sits as a gift from an old manager that didn’t want it.

It was going to die in the office if I hadn’t grabbed it after the manager quit, so I guess I do have compassion for things. Maybe I don’t and I’m lying to myself about why I’m taking care of this thing. I shouldn’t be having a crisis like this over a cactus.

I guess it’s because I’m lurchedly stuck on “What does it all mean?” if we’re truly Godless; here with no purpose, and all of this is either a game, test, or random coincidence, then all I have are my stories. If I can’t control this world, let me create worlds that I can control. If you want to read about them, I’ll tell you about them, let me tell stories where things work out, where people are copacetic to one another, rather than full of friction.

Let me try my hardest to create a world where other people aren’t high-maintenance, if a need is had, it’s met, where my ability to be a humanitarian isn’t limited by my wallet. I’m insecure about my inability to help. I’m insecure about my lack of a desire to be uncomfortable. I’m insecure about my inability to get any project off the ground. I’m not insecure about my cactus.

I need to learn from it, this plant. I need to learn to be as low-maintenance as a cactus but I’m hopeless, because they require water every 9-10 days, at least this one does. I’m not making a punch-card for it. How do I know when it’s been ten days? Time has felt so transient these past six months. I have no scale of it anymore. Time is either excruciatingly-slow in the moment, or else vertigo-inducingly fast, and maybe it’s true that that’s what relativity is.

The answer isn’t to blow everything up and start over, as much as I’d like to think it is. Humanity would swallow itself if things were even slightly worse than they are now. If the United States became even a second-class country, a lot more gunshots would be heard on streets than already are.

I think the answer, (or at-least my own subjective push-answer) is genuinely doing your best, and only your best, giving when it’s within your ability and comfort to, and tending your own garden. It’s the best answer I’ve found so far, that has allowed me to keep moving forward. I tend my own garden, I focus on what I want, and I act in my own self-interest.

I’ve got to learn a thing or two from this cactus.

I am a human. Hear me elate.

#writing #blog post #cactus #why not #I'm not feeling anything today #haven't felt anything in a long time #written word #blue cactus #cacti #life #depression #anxiety #living life

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darkvindr · 2 years

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He brought his index finger to his cheek.

… Yes. This was definitely not going to work.

He planned a nice evening for that night. Maybe this time he would let you lick the cream right off his cock, and end up fucking you against one of the kitchen counters. Any option would occur after a nice dinner that was prepared by the old lady's instructions, taking care of even the smallest fucking detail to be able to surprise you. He knows you've been working hard, as you always have been commanded to, so he figured a little compensation wouldn't hurt.

If not for the wave of mercenaries behind his back, he would have made it in time.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” An exhausted sigh leaves him, his head thrown back. “You know you're ruining my fucking chances of getting laid tonight with my really hot girlfriend, don't you?” His swords rest in his dark-gloved palms, his face tilted a fraction, the red and black suit framing every part of his build as he dodges each blow. “Ah, of course. Forgive me. It's not like you guys have love prospects. My mistake.”

Bullets explode in the alley, his boots clicking on the floor as he climbs the stairs. He slides down the railing and a smile flashes from under his mask the instant he hangs from it, falling on top of one of the big guys who was trying to shoot at him, his thighs pressing against the sides of his face. “Easy, big guy. Watch my balls, huh? Treat them with love.”

“Hmpft! Who the hell do you think—?”

He pressed so hard bones cracked, swords now at his back, pistols in both palms. “Sh, sh. The more quiet you are, the prettier you look. Didn’t your mommy teach you that? You sure are noisy. It does surprise me. I would’ve shut you up with a pacifier the instant you were born.” He laughed, then looked to his side, pointing his guns. “As for the rest of you… Say hello to daddy Jesus for me, yeah? Though, wait! I doubt you'll get there.” He pretended to think about it for a second. “Hm, hm. Well, Hitler would do. Tell him I say hi, and that he's a son of a motherfucking bitch.”

Two well-seated bullets to heads, his body jumping off the now unconscious man. The barrel of his gun was directed at his forehead. “Oh, my dear friend. How many memories we had together… Sweet dreams, my one and only. You were a good temporary seat.”

The sound of the bullet and the presence of small drops of blood on his shoes was an indication of a job well done, the light of the night bathing his complexion now that he sees corpses everywhere. He lifted the sleeve of his suit slightly, glancing at the Hello Kitty's watch that marked five minutes to seven.

Maybe he'd have some time to piece something together before you arrive, after all.

“Shit. My shoes! They were freshly polished…” He pouted, kicking the unconscious man's head close to his sole. “You dirty cock-sucker. Do you have no respect for civilians!?”

He stowed his guns on his belt, and his gaze drifted to a restaurant that had 24/7 written on it in colorful lights.

“... On the other hand,” He pondered, crouching a bit while he slipped his hands in the pockets of the dead body. “I’ll forgive this incident if you invite me to dinner. You know, my girlfriend would have adored meeting you. Such a nice little guy!” He found the wallet, smacking the guy across the head. “What? For me, you say? You shouldn’t have bothered! I’ll pray for you. Promise. You’ll get to heaven.”

Free dinner deserves grace and thankfulness.

[...]

The smell of food was perceptible throughout the apartment, his figure still covered by the suit, a pink apron on his body while the radio played a tune of classical music. His swords had been deposited in a safe place next to the arsenal of weapons that he carried with him, and the only thing that could remain as proof of his possible involvement in a quick job was the blood on his boots.

He had disposed of any trace evidence of his purchase, the bags and containers lying in a dumpster outside. He did what any romantic man would do: deposit all the contents in different saucepans to make it look like it was his own handiwork.

When he heard the click of the keys, the creak of the door and your exhausted sigh, he had to stop himself from dragging his complexion to you, staying flat on the ground for an instant. Come on, Gojo, you can do this. Keep it sexy. Let her come to you. Play cat and mouse. You've been doing this for months.

He slid his complexion through the frame, now too late, seductively looking at you (or apparently - his mask wasn't very accurate with the detail.)

“Well, would you look at that?” A whistle. “Welcome home, my pumpkin pie.”

His deep voice broke into the environment, watching intently as you got rid of your belongings, depositing everything in its respective place. To be honest, Gojo never imagined this kind of domesticity. When he remembers the time he saved you from a couple of bandits trying to rob you, he comes to the conclusion that it wasn’t intentional - he wasn't any kind of hero, much less had the ambitions to be.

But his body acted on its own, and here you were, long arms reaching out to wrap around your waist. “You know? You have been neglecting me a lot lately.” He feigned a pout, gloved hands moving up the shirt you were wearing. He rubs his fingertips on your skin, sniffing your scent. He could get drunk on it, without the need for alcohol. “I should spank you. You don't do that to your devoted boyfriend, who's been up all afternoon making you dinner. Without moving from my place. And causing trouble. And killing people in an alley of questionable provenance.” His hands descended to your butt, smacking it with a little force. “Fuck. I love your ass. Have I told you before?”

He raised the mask with one of his hands, revealing his face.

Angelic constructions turned toward you, white lashes kissing snowy cheeks. His blue gems sparkle at the sight of you, and a wicked smile lights up every nook and cranny of the place. “I would have left the mask on because I know how hot it turns you to fuck when I have it on, but I want a kiss.” Another pout, both hands now going to your cheekbones, pulling you closer to him as he leans in close to you. “Kiss me, or I'll have to steal it from you, and I don't think the first thing you want after coming home from work is to have my tongue lasciviously buried down your throat…”

An ideal boyfriend, clearly.

If his nocturnal activities, work, and interpersonal relationships were ignored.

Gojo Satoru.

A deep sigh escapes her lips, dropping her shoulder with resignation and tiredness. She just wanted to get home, nothing more.

It had been a pretty hectic and stressful day at the hospital, too many kids screaming and crying in the hallways, infatuated with the slightest thing and screaming every time a needle came near them, grumpy old people without a shred of education and the typical not-it-all trying to tell her how to do her own job, can you believe it? It had been exhausting.

Maybe he should have been a stripper.

Her feet drag on the worn carpet of the building's hallways as she carved her eyes tiredly. There's a slight headache that makes every step hurt, and already at this point her backpack is dragging on the same floor as she passes by the open door of the old lady next door, waving her hand at her with a soft smile on her lips, but all she gets in return is a serious look on her face and a pair of eyes that are not visible through the dark sunglasses she is wearing. Why is was always like this? Whenever Satoru said hi to her she replied, even though it was a frown in her face, she did. But when the girl waved her hand happily every morning, nothing happened. Maybe she wasn't fond with her at all.

She feels like she might cry as she crosses the threshold of the door, leaving her things on the floor, but all frustration melts away as she is greeted with joy by your figure. Feeling her heart pounding and heat rising to her cheeks as your strong arms wrap around her drawing her into your body tightly. "Hey, my honey butter biscuit.", she laughs at herself because one day she's being rescued by a dreaded mercenary with a Hello Kitty watch and black and red suit —which he wears because according to him, and I quote; «Red makes blood camouflage better.»— and the next that same mercenary is waiting for her with dinner ready and wearing a Barbie apron around his waist.

The twists and turns of life I guess.

"So you didn't move from here, huh?" She squeezes your cheeks. "Then why are you wearing your suit at home and why are there footprints of dried blood on the floor?", her gaze shifts from you, to the floor and then to you again. "Also you're trending on Twitter, again. There's a video of you climbing the emergency ladder trying to get into the apartment and then falling, you fell like two times, Satoru. If it weren't because you kill bad guys we would be arrested, both of us. Also your ass looks amazing from that angle, babygirl. I saved the video." she grins at the nickname, teasingly waiting for a reaction, as your hands descend her ass abruptly, strong thick fingers squeezing the flesh feeling her own breath tremble. "Yeah, you tell me that every single time, don't cream your pants."

Her palms come down to your pecs, feeling your calm heartbeat against them and the heat rises quickly to her face as intense blue eyes finally look up at her properly. "Fuck—It's so hot when you have the mask on while we fuck, plus you're too pretty it makes me nervous when I look at you, but... I guess I can give you a little kiss if that's what you want. Though I would like something else buried down my throat—", a bite on her lower lip makes its presence known as dove eyes look up to you; she smiles before closing the distance and curious fingers entangle themselves in the soft white strands.

Warm breaths mingling as her tongue instructs itself in your warm cavity. Exploring the insides of your mouth, swallowing a low growl as her nails lightly scratch the nape of your neck and her pearly teeth bite your lower lip before pulling away, a thin trickle of saliva being the only thing connecting both of you and one of her palms cups your defined jaw. "—like food, for example! Also I bought some mochi with cream.", her eyes closing as she smiles, feigning innocence behind her words as she pulls the small cardboard bag from her backpack with the store's logo on it and heads to the kitchen as if nothing happened. "Oh! You cooked chicken from KFC, I like it." looking at the plates adorning the table in the middle of the place. "Suguru told me you stopped there and bought food, he said you were running so fast you didn't see him, also that you fell, how many times?" a laugh escapes her as she peeks at your from the kitchen. "Are you coming or not?"

#deadpoolgojo.txt

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s-aoki · 2 years

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He brought his index finger to his cheek.

… Yes. This was definitely not going to work.

If not for the wave of mercenaries behind his back, he would have made it in time.

“Hmpft! Who the hell do you think—?”

Maybe he'd have some time to piece something together before you arrive, after all.

“Shit. My shoes! They were freshly polished…” He pouted, kicking the unconscious man's head close to his sole. “You dirty cock-sucker. Do you have no respect for civilians!?”

He stowed his guns on his belt, and his gaze drifted to a restaurant that had 24/7 written on it in colorful lights.

Free dinner deserves grace and thankfulness.

[...]

He slid his complexion through the frame, now too late, seductively looking at you (or apparently - his mask wasn't very accurate with the detail.)

“Well, would you look at that?” A whistle. “Welcome home, my pumpkin pie.”

He raised the mask with one of his hands, revealing his face.

An ideal boyfriend, clearly.

If his nocturnal activities, work, and interpersonal relationships were ignored.

Gojo Satoru.

A deep sigh escapes her lips, dropping her shoulder with resignation and tiredness. She just wanted to get home, nothing more.

Maybe he should have been a stripper.

The twists and turns of life I guess.

#deadpoolgojo.mssg #LOOK #LOIK TOu #LITTLE BITCHSIFNOWNXUWNDLWNJDMSLFNWOMDJSNDOW #YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAG YOU SID AND I HATE IT #I COULDN'T EVEN RESIST IT'S EMBARRASSING

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mike-wachowski · 3 years

Text

so what was the deal with that offscreen supercorp phone call, huh?

AKA: how i think the Lena/Kara call with Lena breaking the news to kara that she's going to Ireland went

Kara knows it’s Lena calling before she even picks up her phone.

She has a different ringer set for Lena, you know. It’s nothing special, really, just a softer, slower Apple-provided tune than the chirpy, high-pitched ones she uses for the rest of her family. She had changed it right after she and Lena had made up, the real time, right before she had been... taken, before everything that happened after.

She never wanted to miss another call or text from Lena.

She had hoped she’d get to hear it more before the Phantom Zone.

She had almost forgotten she’d changed it, and when the plucky ukulele chords fill the dreary silence in Kara’s apartment, she jumps if only for the fact that it’s been so long without noise in her studio and in her head that it startles her more than excites her.

But then Kara recognizes the tune, and that silly, familiar feeling of warmth floods her chest when she realizes it's Lena calling her, and she only lets the ringtone play out for three and half more seconds before she scrambles for her phone and slides the little green arrow over to take the call.

“Lena!” She greets her friend (her friend, her friend, her friend again, her brain echoes joyfully). “What’s up? Everything okay?”

“Hi Kara,” Lena responds, voice soft and level, and it makes Kara’s heart thump just once out of time at the knowledge that Lena is smiling when she talks, because Kara can hear the upturn in her lips as she speaks. “I’m doing alright, evidently. How are you?”

Kara looks around at her empty apartment, the dim lights, the noise-cancelling headphones tossed haphazardly on her couch. “I’m okay.”

There's a quiet, nasally sigh from the other end of the line, and Kara can practically hear Lena evaluating a response to Kara’s blatant lie.

Secretly, Kara wishes Lena would call her out on it. Say I know you aren’t okay, to force honesty from Kara in a way they had never breached before Lena knew everything, because the truth is, if anyone else were to ask, to call her out on the bullshit she knows she's giving everyone, she’d probably tense up, hide it, run away. She would lie again, because lying was what was comfortable for Kara these days.

But if Lena were to ask… maybe Kara could stand having her know. Maybe if anyone were to see Kara right now, for the wreck she saw herself as, Lena would understand.

Kara waits for the end of the pause. She waits for Lena to say what she’s secretly begging to hear.

But it doesn’t come.

Lena does speak again, but what she actually says is:

“That’s good to hear, Kara. Listen, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Um,” Kara sucks in a breath, a little ragged, and hopes Lena doesn’t hear it through her receiver.. “What did you want to talk about?”

“Kara, seeing you with your father… seeing you reconnect with him... It's made me consider some things.”

“Okay…” Kara nods along, not really following. Is Lena going to try and get in touch with Lillian again?

“I think I’m going to-” Lena halts for one, two, three seconds, and in the clear silence Kara wonders what she’s thinking. When she continues, Kara doesn’t have to wonder much longer.

“I think I’m going to go back to Ireland. I want to try and reconnect with my mother, with my old home, in any way I can.”

Kara’s whole body tenses. She squeezes her phone with a trembling hand so clenched she hears the quiet crack of her screen, and sucks in tight, panicked breath.

“I’m so sorry, Kara. I know you just returned, and I don’t want you to think I'm avoiding you- in fact, if you need me to stay, please tell me and I’ll turn around right now-”

At that, Kara refocuses. She would never let Lena abandon her dream for her. Hasn’t Kara held her back, hurt her enough already? Doesn’t Lena deserve to find her happiness, even if it means flying all the way across the world from her?

“No, Lena, no.” Kara steadies her voice, surprised herself at the clarity and force behind her hollow words. “If you need to go to Ireland, if you need to reconnect with your mom, I completely understand. I’ll always support you… you know that.”

Lena pauses again, like she’s weighing the truthfulness of Kara’s words against the heart she knows so well.

“But what about what you need, Kara?”

Kara sighs. I need you, Lena, I need you, she wants to scream. But that would be selfish. And Kara has been selfish enough in their time.

“I just need some potstickers and a good nap, I think.” She says in her cheeriest, most playful Kara Danvers tone she can muster, and pointedly ignores the tears beginning to slowly flow down her cheeks.

“Okay,” Lena mutters, and then louder, more reassuring: “Okay. Okay. I’ll keep in touch, Kara, I promise.”

“Right,” Kara nods, because it’s all she can do, really. “Um- how long- how long do you think you’ll be gone for?”

Lena sighs, and Kara already knows the answer to her question, and she hates it. “I’m not sure, Kara. I don’t really know what I’m looking for.”

“Okay- that’s okay! Take as much time as you need!” She presses one palm to her left eye, hoping to maybe stifle the tears or ground herself in the pressure of her touch. “Just, um. Don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” Lena quickly assures her, rushing her next words. “I’ll call, and I'll text you as much as I can, and the rest of the friends too, and if you ever need my help I can remotely operate parts of the tower from my laptop...” Lena trails off. Their paused silence hangs over the phone call, the awkward trepidation from both sides apparent when they both realize the end of the conversation is coming.

“I’ll miss you.” Lena finally breaches through, sounding slightly choked up herself, but Kara ignores it for the sake of her own heart and mind.

“I-” I love you. I love you. I love you. “I’ll miss you too.”

Another period of silence lapses, and Kara wipes the last of the tears she’s now managed to quell on her sweater sleeve.

“Well, I suppose I should let you go.” Lena whispers. Kara doesn’t want to let her go, because the panicked, irrational side of her is screaming that this could be the last time she hears from Lena, and she can’t even see her. But she remembers what selfishly holding onto Lena had done to their relationship before, and maybe this is why Lena’s leaving. Maybe Lena needs to know Kara can let her go.

So Kara does the worst thing. She makes the hard decision.

Kara says goodbye.

“Yeah,” She says, shaking out all the voices in her head screaming for Lena to stay. She wants to backtrack, to say what she really needs right now is for Lena to come over right now and hold her tight so she can dissolve and know she’s still safe. She remembers a similar position, once, but the roles had been reversed, then; Kara used to be the one holding Lena through her those moments she felt like she was slipping through. But even those moments are marred now, disfigured by the lens of all the lying Kara had been putting Lena through.. Lena must feel it too.

So Kara says goodbye, if not to ask anything more from Lena than her forgiveness.

“Bye, Lena,” Kara's eyes are clenched closed. “I’ll see you when you get back.”

“I’ll see you soon, Kara,” Lena says, sounding sincere enough for Kara to almost believe it. “Goodbye.”

And then the line goes silent.

Kara puts her phone screen down on her coffee table. She doesn’t have the energy right now to look for the cracks in her screen she heard earlier-doesn’t think her heart can stand seeing the physical manifestation of her loss.

So she coughs out a weak sob- lets herself break for just a minute- and then grabs her phone, eyes still closed, and calls up the one person who’s number she can always navigate to even with her eyes closed.

“Hey Alex?” Her sister picks up after one ring. “Can we have a sister night? I don't think I- I can be alone right now.”

And when Alex comes over half an hour later, wine and Chinese in tow, Kara tries not to think about how badly she wishes it were Lena holding her at the edge of the couch as she falls apart.

#supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #supergirl spoilers #supercorp fic #mike writes #okay but like why was the phone call with kara and lena offscreen. huh? HUH?

1K notes · View notes

cjsinkythoughts · 3 years

Text

In Need of a Breath

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 4007

Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, Zemo, Feelings, Another PTSD Flashback

A/N: So…Part 4 is going to have a couple parts to it. Maybe even three. I didn’t even make it half way through the episode on this one, mainly because I really wanted to fit in the Reader’s backstory and I wanted her and Sam to have a heart-to-heart again. I’m suuuuper tired, so I probably won’t be posting the next part for another few hours (it’s 5 am right now and I haven’t slept), BUT it’s my day off work and I won’t be doing anything I planned because my grandmother had a stroke a couple days ago so plans have changed and I’m staying in to help her, meaning I’ll mostly be writing all day.

This Part is kind of a mix between off-screen and shot-by-shots, but it’s mostly off screen/what’s going on inside Reader’s head.

I’m really excited about future parts and the characters that are being introduced! I will say that after these parts, I will be doing one shots of previous MCU movies with the Reader, due to the information that is being given about the Reader now. You kind of see more of how she was affected/how she affected the previous MCU movies and what she was doing during that time.

Like always, this hasn’t been beta’d, again it’s SUPER early in the morning, and I’m really tired, so please excuse any mistakes! I hope you guys enjoy this part! Stay tuned for more to come later today!

FATWS MASTERLIST

cjsinkythoughts MASTERLIST

!SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

“You know…I’m really starting to regret saying yes to this.” You huffed out, craning your neck and squinting your eyes against the sun as you stare at the facility in front of you, hating the skin-crawling feeling of being back.

“Would you relax? Whenever you’re nervous, I get nervous, and I don’t wanna be nervous about this.” Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Do either of you have a better plan?” Bucky grumbled, crossing his arms.

Gnawing on your lips, you finally take the lead and breathe out, “alright. Let’s go then.” You could feel the hesitance from your - what were they? Partners? Coworkers? Teammates? - the fellas before they started after you.

There was a sick twist in your gut as you entered the building, going through the lobby and security.

You had been there.

You had been there when Zemo impersonated Bucky. You had been there when Zemo unleashed the Winter Soldier at the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre Building in Berlin. You had been there during the battle at the airport. You had been there when Zemo turned Tony and Steve against each other in Siberia. You had been there when Zemo tore the Avengers from the inside out. Your family. The only family you’d ever known.

But you’d always been good about pushing your personal feelings aside for the sake of the mission. It’s what you’d been born to do. All you ever knew.

“Hey. Doll. You hear me?”

“Hmm. What?” You looked up from the ground to look into those enchanting blue oceans Bucky had for eyes, staring worriedly down at you, eyebrows pinched and forehead creased.

“I’m going in alone.” You frowned, opening your mouth to argue, but he shook his head. “Sam already agreed-”

“I didn’t necessarily agree-”

“You’re an Avenger, sweetheart.” Bucky tilted his head, speaking softly, those eyes of his worried. Worried for you. It made your stomach flip. “And you were there in Siberia, and that almost makes it worse. Especially considering you went after him. Just…just let me do this, okay?”

You cracked your knuckles nervously as you thought. It was a terrible idea. But it was an idea. And it was all they had. “Okay.” You finally relented, shrugging as your hands hit your thighs and slid up to your hips. “But don’t do anything stupid.”

“Steve took all that with him.”

Knowing about their little inside joke, you scoffed. “Sure he did. Go before I change my mind.”

You watched him walk down the hallway, hands fidgeting with excess nerves. “I think you’re the only one he actually seeks approval from.”

“Good thing I’m so lenient then, huh?” You joked, turning to Sam with a strained smile. Your smile slipped at the curious expression on Sam’s face, his eyes darting to each of your features. “What?”

“Are you doing okay?”

You groaned, throwing your head back. You thought you got out of talking about your feelings back in Baltimore. “Oh my God, Sam-”

“I’m serious. You…you just don’t seem like yourself.”

You shook your head, looking down the hall to where Bucky disappeared before turning back to him. It was weird to have a self that people recognized. Your whole life you’d been searching for it and when you finally found it…everything went to shit. “Honestly, Sammy, the only time I’ve ever felt like myself was with the team. Zemo took that away from me and now we’re here, practically begging him for help.”

Sam hummed, leaning against the wall. “Have you thought of taking a break?”

“What?”

“A break.” At your bewildered look, he rolled his eyes. “Cher, this time last year most of us were dead. This time a few months ago you found out about Wanda. This time last week you were out looking for her. Maybe you should just stop and take a breather.”

Shoving your hands in your pocket and looking at the floor, you couldn’t help but snort at his advice. “I haven’t taken a breather since I was eighteen.”

He clicked his tongue. “That’s my point. FBI academy as soon as you graduated. SHIELD recruit by 21, undercover operations leader by 24? Slow down. You’re in your thirties. Next thing you know, you’re gonna be ninety something, lying on your deathbed, wishing you had stopped to smell the roses.”

“If I live to be ninety, shoot me.” He chuckled in amusement. “I’m so fucking serious, Sam. I will not be put in an old folks home to play Bingo and be pushed around in a wheelchair. It ain’t happening.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” There was that infectious smile, which you unconsciously grinned back at. “Y/N…I’m serious. You’ve been in and out of missions since you were a teenager. What’s the shortest undercover operation you’ve done?”

“I dunno.”

He gave you an unimpressed look. “Yeah you do.”

Licking your lips, you turned away and shrugged. “A couple months. Seven weeks and three days, to be precise. September to October in 2012.”

“And the longest?”

“August 2007 to May 2009. Twenty one months.”

Letting out a puff of air through his nose, Sam pushed himself off the wall and caught your chin between his fingers to make you look at him. “That’s nearly two years under cover. And I’m sure you went right back under after-”

“I was sitting at a desk for four months doing paperwork on it.” You defended yourself.

He shook his head, brows knitting together, lips drawn down. “You say that as if four months is enough time.”

“It doesn��t matter anymore, Sammy. I’m out. I’ve been out since Ultron and Sokovia. I haven’t been under in almost a decade-”

“A decade half the world was dead for half of-”

“I wasn’t!”

“I never said you were.” Sam sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. You were always amazed at his ability to keep his emotions in check. To stay cool under pressure. Sometimes you forgot how experienced he was with dealing with other people’s trauma. It was no wonder why Steve thought he’d be good for Bucky. “Listen. All I’m saying is once this is done…don’t go diving back into searching for Wanda. Don’t go running to the kid every time he calls - and I know you’ve been doing that-”

“It’s just been homework and stuff-”

“Y/N.” You stopped, biting your lip at the stern look he gave you. “Go home. Order take out. Binge watch TV. Go for a jog through the park. Actually meet your neighbors. Go grocery shopping. Just…live. If only for a couple weeks. Don’t worry about anyone else. Don’t pick up the phone, don’t drop everything because someone needs you. You need you.”

“I-I…” You shook your head, looking at him, sincerely apologetic. “I can’t. I wish I could. But I can’t. I’ve never had one normal day in my life. I’ve never had someone to care for, never had someone to care for me. I can’t let people I’ve come to…I can’t let them think I don’t care. I don’t even know where I’d go.”

“Whaddya mean?”

You winced, not thrilled for his reaction to your next statement. “I, uh, I sold my apartment in D.C.”

He gaped at you in complete disbelief. “You got it in December!”

“I know, I know. I liked it. I really did, but…I dunno. Nomadic life has always suited me better. It’s what I grew up with.”

He took a breath, making you cringe again. You don’t think you’ve ever legitimately gotten on his nerves like this before. “Have you ever thought that, instead of going with the flow and jumping place to place, putting down roots might actually help?” He cut you off before you could say anything, holding up a finger to stop you from talking. “I can’t imagine going from foster home to foster home like you did. I can’t imagine not having a home for as long as you can remember. Louisiana’s my home. Always has, always will be. But I understand your life has been anything but stable. And maybe, just maybe, that’s why you need some stability.”

You clenched your jaw, crossing your arms. “The Avengers were my stability. Steve was my stability.”

“Because you loved him.”

“I’m not doing this with you again.” You turned to walk down to the lobby to wait for Bucky there, but Sam caught your arm.

“You were in love with him! It’s okay! You two were super close! No one would blame you! Why won’t you just admit it? I’m trying to understand! Why won’t you-”

You tugged your arm away, finally snapping at him. “Because he could never be mine, Wilson! Is that what you wanna hear?!” Sam took a step back at your exclamation. You closed your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat and pushing down the tears. “He could preach all he wanted about moving forwards, Sammy, but we all knew he was stuck in the past. He visited the museum every Thursday because her interview showed in his exhibit on Thursdays. He carried around that broken compass because her picture was in it.” You looked back up at him sadly, shrugging. “And I get it; it’s hard to move past your first love. I get it because…that’s what he was to me.”

There was a silence that blanketed the hallway, before he spoke up hesitantly. “What about Bucky?”

“I thought - I thought I was projecting my feelings for Steve onto him because I knew Steve couldn’t ever…”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “You thought? What do you think now?”

You cleared your throat. “I’m still figuring that one out.”

“If you ever need to talk, I’ll be here.”

You chuckled, nodding slightly towards him. “Back atcha. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you not being yourself lately, either.”

“It’s…a tough topic.”

You nodded in understanding. “Just know that I’ll support every decision you make as long as you think it’s the right one. Because I trust you. Steve trusted you. It’s all we can do to try to do what’s right. That’s what makes you a good man, Sammy. He gave you that shield for a reason, and if you think what you did was right…I’ll stand by it.”

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, calming down in each other’s presences and taking comfort knowing you’d be there for each other through thick and thin. “Thank you, cher.”

“Of course, Sammy. Now let’s go see what’s taking the old grump so long.”

He laughed at that, nodding in agreement, taking your offered hand and squeezing it as you made your way down the hall.

****************

“What?”

Bucky eyed you as you spluttered, coughing on the water you were drinking. “Please don’t choke, doll.”

“Break him out of jail?!” You repeated his words and blinked at him, absolutely baffled by his plan. “Oh my God.” You groaned as Bucky and Sam started arguing, moving your flashlight around the room. “Where the hell are we?” There was no response as they kept going back and forth.

“Zemo’s gonna mess with our minds! Especially yours! No offense.”

“Heelllloooo!” You tried again. “Where the hell are we?!”

Bucky turned on the lights, giving Sam a look. “Offense.” Glancing at you he quirked an eyebrow. “Stop worrying your pretty lil’ head, sweetheart. You trust me, dontcha?” Your breath hitched at his words. You quickly recovered, huffing and pouting - although you’d deny ever pouting - and crossing your arms. You stood between the guys like that, eyes darting to whoever was speaking, waiting for them to stop so you could actually think.

“Look. Let me just walk you through a hypothetical. Can I walk you through a hypothetical?”

You and Sam exchanged glances. “What did you do?”

“I…didn’t do…anything.” Bucky shrugged.

“How is it that you, one of the most deadliest assassins basically ever, are one of the worst liars I know.” You tilted your head at him, an eyebrow quirking up in confusion.

“Shush it you. Just, okay. The weakest point in any system isn’t the software, the hardware, it’s the meatware. The human element.”

The more you listened to Bucky’s “hypothetical”, the stronger the gut feeling telling you this was a terrible terrible idea got. You brought your hands up to your head, eyes wide as he spoke.

“I don’t like how casual you’re bein’ about this. This is unnatural.”

You couldn’t help but agree with Sam’s words, your head falling back and your eyes closing. “Sweet Jesus. Listen, God, I know we don’t talk much these days, but please, please don’t let this not be a hypothetical. I’m fucking begging you.”

A noise to your right made your head snap over. “Oh hell to the fucking no!” You shook your head as Zemo himself walked in, wearing a prison guards uniform. “Uh-uh! No way! Bucky, this was not part of the plan!”

“What did you do?!”

“We need him!”

“You’re going back to prison.”

“If I may-”

All three of you faced him, simultaneously shouting, “no!”

You held your face in your hands as your head dropped, shaking back and forth, your eyes squeezing shut, tuning them out for just a minute to think. Bucky had a point. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that, and the Avengers were technically disbanded, which was Zemo’s whole objective in the first place, but…God. You were good at compartmentalizing, but not that much. You were willing to put your feelings aside for the mission so Bucky could talk to him. Not for you to work with him. But he had connections, you knew he did, and he had information…

“Doll?” You looked up, Bucky anxiously licking his lips as he met your gaze. “I need you to say something.”

You looked to Sam, who shrugged, gesturing to Zemo. “What do you think?”

What did you think? What did you think?! You thought that it was the worst idea in the history of ideas and you should turn back and find another way! But…you knew this was the fastest, probably most reliable way to get information that you needed.

Dammit, since when were you the deciding factor?

You sucked in a breath, looking over Sam’s shoulder at Zemo, who lifted his hand in greeting. You raised your eyes to the ceiling, pointing your finger accusingly. “This is why we stopped talking.” Gaze dropping to the still waiting fellas, you gnawed on your lip, before hissing out, “ffffine…” Running a hand through your hair, you threw your hands up as you shrugged. “Fine. Okay. Fine.”

“Okay.” Sam nodded, taking charge again.

You couldn’t believe this was happening. Except, that was a lie. You could. You’d seen weirder. You’d experienced the impossible. Lived through the unbelievable. This…this was completely imaginable.

Which is why, with a lot of hesitation and very little confidence in this plan, you followed Zemo through the auto shop you were in until you reached a large room with a ton of different old cars.

Bucky’s hand found yours as Zemo explained what the plan was, rather vaguely, in your opinion, but at least he was explaining. Point for him. Not that it would make up for the level of distrust you held for him, but it was something.

You looked up at him, giving him a puzzling frown. He usually only grabbed your hand in front of other people when he was feeling anxious. Which, yeah, he had a right to be anxious right now, but it wasn’t the right kind. The type of anxiety caused by large crowds and loud noises, ones that startled him and threw him into a defensive mode.

But the look on his face made you squeeze his hand in reassurance. He was pouting, staring at you although he did something wrong - a puppy that tore up a pillow - and all you wanted to do was give him a hug.

“You’re mad at me.” He mumbled as the four of you headed out with Zemo in the lead.

“No I’m not.”

“Yeah you are.

“Bucky, I’m not mad.”

“Listen, if I had a better idea I wouldn’t-”

You brought your linked hands up to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his gloved knuckles. “I’m not mad.” You repeated more firmly. “It’s just…a lot for me, right now.”

“Why? What’s going on?”

“Nothing’s going on, Buck, I-I just…” You thought about your and Sam’s earlier conversation and suddenly understood what he meant. “I need to breathe for a second.”

His features twisted into ones of uncertainty, eyes squinting as you stepped outside. “Do you…do you wanna leave?”

You shook your head, tugging his arm to stop him and grabbing the sunglasses on his collar, slipping them over his eyes. “No. I just need some time to think. Hopefully the plane ride to wherever the hell we’re going will give me that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, James. I’m sure.”

He lowered the glasses on his nose to scan you over the frames, before nodding and sliding them back up. “Okay. You ready for this, then?”

“No.” You breathed, turning back to where Zemo and Sam were still walking. “Let’s do this.”

*****************

Climbing onto the private jet, you raised an eyebrow at Sam, who shrugged, giving you a bemused expression. A Baron…huh…who knew? You feel like you should’ve, yet there you were.

You sat besides Bucky, across from Zemo, crossing your legs and leaning back while staring at him through narrowed eyes.

His butler seemed nice, which made you even more suspicious. You obviously didn’t know as much about Zemo as you wanted to. It was a habit you picked up after years of undercover work; once the mission was complete, that was that. There was no looking back on it. No sitting on it. It was over and you moved onto the next one. It was a bad habit in cases like this.

The moment you spotted the notebook over Zemo’s book you knew something was going to happen, yet you still flinched when Bucky lunged at him, grabbing his throat. You leaned back in your seat again, steadying your now racing heartbeat. You decided you were too tense, trying to relax your muscles as Bucky sat back down in his seat.

“I’ve seen that book. It was Steve’s when he came out of the ice. I told him about Trouble Man. He wrote it in that book.” Sam seemed so proud of himself that something he recommended was written in Steve’s little book and it made you smile.

You remembered that; Steve and you were supposed to meet up for coffee after his run, but Fury called him in so you rescheduled it for when he got back. He asked you about Marvin Gaye. For your opinion. You told him to check it out and make his own.

You remembered asking him about that little notebook of his, and he just shrugged you off telling you about his list. He would read items off to you, but he never let you read the book yourself. You never found out why, and you supposed you never would now. The thought made an ache behind your ribs that you’d come to familiarize yourself with appear.

You smiled a little more as Zemo and Sam told Bucky how awesome Marvin Gaye was. “C’mon, baby. Back me up.”

Chuckling, you looked at Bucky. “They’re not wrong. But,” you quickly added before Bucky could whine at you, facing Sam again. “Neither is Buck. I mean, c’mon. You can’t find music like the 40’s anymore. Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Benny Goodman, Fred Astaire. Ol’ Blue Eyes himself.”

“Thank you.” Bucky grinned at Sam, who rolled his eyes.

“Okay, okay. But, I mean, c’mon! Everybody loves Marvin Gaye.”

“I like Marvin Gaye.”

“Steve adored Marvin Gaye.”

Your face fell as Zemo started talking about Steve and icons and Red Skull, your mind once again slipping away from reality.

“Kids love you.” You giggled as you finally made it out of his exhibit. You’d wanted to show it to him since he moved to D.C., and you’d finally got an opportunity after coming back from being undercover for ten weeks. “You’re their hero, you know.”

“Yeah, well, I’m just trying to do what’s right.”

You nudged him, scoffing at his answer. “You’re too humble. You’re a national icon, you know.”

Steve shrugged, looking around the museum at the planes surrounding them. “I never wanted to be.”

“Why not? Everyone loves you.”

“I’m sure not everyone loves me.” He rolled his eyes. “And…I just wanted to help. To fight. Protect my country and the people I cared about. I-I didn’t ask for…all that.” He waved behind his shoulder where his exhibit was getting smaller with each step they took away. “People were dying. Bullies were winning.”

You shook your head, spinning and walking backwards besides him to face him. “Sure, but you did that. And you became someone people could look up to in the process.”

He narrowed his eyes at you before asking, “why do you do what you do?”

“...because I’m good at it?”

“Honey.” He gave you a look. “Answer the question.”

You hummed in thought. “Because I couldn’t stand by, knowing there would be orphaned kids if I didn’t help any way I could.”

“Alright. Why do you do it in the dark?”

“Whaddya mean?”

He shrugged. “Why don’t you come out and take credit for all the lives you’ve saved?”

“Because that’s not why I do it. I don’t want that attention. I just want to know I’ve helped people. I’ve kept them safe.”

He gave you a soft smile. “I just wanted to beat the bully. I never wanted to be a dancing monkey, too.” You looked at him in a new light then, understanding where he was coming from. “Watch out, honey!” He grabbed you and pulled you aside before you could crash into a wall, arms wrapped firmly around your waist. He gave you that charming smile of his. “Wouldn’t want you hurting that pretty lil’ head of yours, now would we?”

“Y/N!”

You snapped back into the conversation, moving your eyes from the window to Bucky, who tilted his head, eyebrows pinched and eyes narrowed. “Sorry. So, Madripoor. That’s a fun place.”

You ignored the side eyed glances Bucky and Sam exchanged, Sam turning to you curiously. “You’ve been?”

“Once. Back in 2010 for a few months”

Zemo raised his eyebrows. “You’re lucky to have gotten out.”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Lucky, maybe. Skills were a part of it, too, though.”

“Good.” Zemo nodded. “Because we’re going undercover…and if we blow it. We’re dead.”

You breathed out, shaking your memory away and getting your head back into the game. Because like the man you were severely wary of in front of you said, if you blew this, you were dead. And, sure, you didn’t want to live until ninety, but you weren’t even half way there yet. So dammit if you were going to die soon.

“Hey.” You looked over at Bucky’s murmur, his head tilting as he grabbed your hand and pulled you from your seat closer to him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Are you okay? You know you’re going to have to be-”

“I know.” He nodded. You watched his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed thickly. “I’ll be fine. Just…tell me right now if you need to step out for this one.”

You gave him a smile that you knew he didn’t buy, just by the slight narrowing of his eye, his lips pressing together. “No. No, I’m good for this. If you think I’m gonna let you two idiots go into Madripoor with him - alone - oil that cyborg brain of yours, because there’s no way.”

He squeezed your hand, eyes still filled with uncertainty. “Are you sure?”

“If there’s even a slight possibility that I can protect you, then yeah. I’m sure, Buckaroo.”

2K notes · View notes

cherienymphe · 3 years

Text

Cruel Intentions (Steve Rogers x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, manipulation, mentions of abuse, therapist!Steve, silverfox!Steve, drugging

! DNI IF THIS OFFENDS YOU !

➥ Image by @angrybirdcr

➥ dividers by @firefly-graphics

This is for the “For the Fic” challenge whose winner for my fic was @darkficsyouneveraskedfor

The entire plot was her request and I hope that you like it!

summary: after escaping an abusive ex, you find solace in a therapist recommended to you by a friend.

“...I know I shouldn’t...but sometimes I blame myself. In Harry, I know that I was looking for what I never had in my family. I think it made me quick to rush into things...to ignore what I should have seen.”

Your eyes remained on the dark carpet, the man before you humming as the scribbling sound of his pen reached your ears. You fought hard not to fidget, a horrible habit you’d picked up in the last 3 years. You finally lifted your head again when the room was bathed in silence, eyes meeting familiar blue ones as he studied you.

You were used to these short moments of silence by now.

You’d been recommended to Dr. Steve Rogers by a friend, a friend who’d helped you escape your violent ex in the dead of night while he’d been away on business. She had grown worried when it became obvious that the effects of your tumultuous relationship would be lasting if you didn’t do something about it. Oddly enough, you’d been receptive. For 2 whole years, you’d wanted to tell someone, have anyone to turn to and talk to, but fear, a very valid fear, had stopped you.

Not only had you been worried for your life, something that was threatened on a constant basis, but you’d also been afraid of judgement. You worried what your friends would say, if they’d blame you for finding yourself in such a predicament, if they’d look down on you for no longer fighting back. It was only by a stroke of luck that Nakia had seen Harry slap you right across the face when he thought she’d left. You were grateful that she’d waited for him to leave before rushing towards your trembling frame, pulling you into her arms as she shushed you.

She had demanded to know how long this had been going on. She had been horrified and confused and angry. It didn’t take her long to come up with a plan, and within 2 weeks, after waiting for Harry to leave the city for 2 days, she’d gotten you out and into her place across town. You didn’t stay for long, maybe a few weeks, wanting nothing but to put it all behind you, and although she was sad to see you go, she understood.

It was how you found yourself in upstate New York, in a secluded tiny thing of a house. You hadn’t even realized that you’d become something of a recluse until Nakia had pointed it out during one of your weekly calls. It had never hit you that you went to work and to home and that was it. You barely ate anymore, so grocery shopping was never a frequent affair. That was when she’d told you about a well known therapist in the area, Steven G. Rogers. You had been shocked by how much you weren’t opposed to the idea as she went on listing all of his credentials.

It was only moments after she hung up that you found yourself researching him yourself. You remembered noting how handsome the man was, even more so in person. His bright blue eyes and silver tresses complimented his strong features nicely, pink lips pulled up into a polite smile. You didn’t find yourself put off by the stranger, thinking to yourself that talking to someone you didn’t know, an objective listener who was paid not to judge you, might be for the best.

You soon found out that was easier said than done.

The first visit had been rocky, barely mumbling a thing and constantly fidgeting. You had hardly been able to meet his eye, and the session had abruptly ended when you’d left early, stumbling over your words as you gave some half assed excuse for your sudden departure. He was far more understanding than you deserved during your second visit. Wracked with guilt and anxiety, you’d written some things down that you wanted to talk about, and thankfully, the man hadn’t laughed at you. In fact, you remembered how fondly he looked at you as you unfolded it.

As it turned out, you didn’t need the slip of paper at all. Notes forgotten, you had rambled on for an hour. It was like once you started, you just couldn’t stop, and Steve simply listened the entire time. The next time he spoke to you was only to tell you that your time was up, and both embarrassment and disappointment had flooded through you. It must have been obvious, plain as day on your features, because Steve reassured you that it was normal to ramble.

You had been reluctant to leave. After years of biting your tongue and living in fear of even making the wrong sound, you finally found someone to listen. Even if it was only a stranger getting paid for it, it was still something. There was someone to express your fears to, and although it had taken some time, terrified that you’d say the wrong thing and upset him, eventually, you started to express your anger too.

“...and then I get angry all over again,” you continued when he said nothing. “...because I’m smart, because red flags in others’ relationships have always been so obvious to me. I’ve always been the mom friend, the one who can spot trouble before it even starts. I’ve helped friends get out of situations before they even had the chance to turn sour…”

You shook your head.

“...and yet...it took a slap to the face to realize just how deep I was in? Not the jealousy, not the anger issues nor the way he’d isolated me from just about everyone in my life...but a slap? It should’ve never gotten to that.”

“You can’t blame yourself for the actions of others.”

It wasn’t the first time you’d heard that. Hell, it wasn’t even the first time he’d told you that, and yet here you were again.

“We can go in circles analyzing your own behavior and the things you did and the things you said, but the truth is that you could play it out in your head a million times. You could do every single thing differently, and it still wouldn’t change a thing.”

The corner of his lips lifted into a crooked smile, a familiar sight.

“Some people are simply cruel, and it has nothing at all to do with you.”

You sharply inhaled, unsure of why such a simple statement resonated with you so deeply. You stared at Steve, blinking a few times, opening your mouth to respond when he glanced at the clock. It was a tell tale sign, and your shoulders sagged. You would think that after seeing him for 7 months now, you’d be used to leaving after only an hour, but it never got easier.

“That’s all the time we have for today,” he said, standing. “You’re progressing nicely, Y/N.”

You rolled your eyes, and he chuckled, eyes crinkling.

“You are. Progress and healing isn’t linear. Sometimes you’re going to take 2 steps back before you can take 10 more forward. It’s all part of the process,” he assured you.

You sighed.

“Well… I guess that does make me feel a bit better,” you replied.

He sent you a small smile as he guided you towards the door.

“I’ll see you next week?”

You returned his smile with a nod and didn’t let your face fall until the door was shut behind you. The good thing about therapy was that you could recognize your own toxic behaviors now, and it was clear that you were becoming reliant on your sessions with Steve. You had never liked being alone, but you had come all the way out here to learn to do just that. For your sake, you needed to learn to love being alone. It was how you had gotten into this mess to begin with.

Your phone vibrated with a call from an unknown number, and figuring it was a scam call, you silenced it.

Your house was practically in the middle of nowhere, so when the tv wasn’t blasting or you didn’t have Spotify playing some light tune, the house could get scarily quiet. But that was what you wanted...right? Harry had always been so explosive. The smallest of things could set him off and then the sound of yelling and shattering glass would rain down on you. Silence and solitude was what you wanted, needed.

Your phone buzzed again as you settled into your car, and you huffed when you noticed it was the same number. Again, you weren’t unfamiliar with scam callers so you ignored it. You noted that you needed to go grocery shopping, but you weren’t on the precipice of starvation just yet, so it could hold off for another day. By the time you got inside, your phone had started to buzz again, and with a frown, you decided to answer it.

“Hello?”

You were met with silence as you unlocked your door, and you repeated yourself, but there was no response. With a sigh, you hung up the phone. You both loved and hated coming home. It was quiet and safe and everything you had craved for years now, but the unfamiliarity of it all unnerved you. Sometimes you were just waiting for Harry to come flying through the door, screaming and breaking things. You had to remind yourself that this silence, this security, is how it’s supposed to be.

You went about making a quick meal, hopping into the shower while leaving the stove on low. When you got out, in the process of moisturizing your arms, you noticed your phone buzzing with another call. From that same number. Unease filled you as you neared it, and you hesitantly reached for it before answering.

Again, you were met with silence, and frustrated and annoyed, you simply blocked the number. A quick look through your phone revealed that you’d missed several calls from the same number while in the bathroom. Blinking with a deepening frown, you set your phone down and made your way to your kitchen. Dinner, like always these days, was quiet. You curled up on the couch with your plate while you watched some old sitcom.

The rest of the night passed as blandly as it always did. Sleep was much easier to find these days, so you had no trouble as soon as your head hit the pillow. However, just as you were on the verge, your phone buzzed with another call. This number didn’t match the previous one, but it was unknown nonetheless. With a groan, you put your phone on silent and rolled over, sleep claiming you.

“I know it’s you,” you sneered into the phone.

Unsurprisingly, you were met with the faint sound of breathing, and you clenched your jaw. You slammed the car door behind you before stomping across the parking lot.

“I know it’s you,” you quietly repeated. “Stay away from me.”

You hung up before blocking the number, the 10th number you had blocked in the past week. Every few hours or so a day, like clockwork, you got calls from an unknown number. You’d always end up blocking the number after the first few calls, but they always called again from a different one. At first, they’d say nothing, and you’d listen to silence for a few seconds before hanging up. Now, they’d taken to breathing in your ear like a creep. It wasn’t even until you blocked the 3rd number did it finally hit you.

Harry.

Harry freaking Osborn.

You felt like such an idiot for not putting it together sooner. Of course, it was Harry. Was this not the same man who threatened to hunt you down and drag you back like some animal if you ever left him? You had always equated woman beaters to cowards so you never thought he’d have the nerve to actually do it. Putting the pieces together didn’t bring you any comfort. Your filthy rich abusive ex had managed to track you down. What comfort was there to find in that?

Since that day, you hadn’t had a proper night of sleep. Your mind was constantly at war with itself on what to do. Having been down this road before, you knew the police would be no help. You’d gone to them once before, at the very beginning after the first time he’d hit you. It was your first harsh lesson that money ruled over everything. If you thought hard enough, you could still recall his hands around your throat, eyes alight with anger at what you’d tried to pull.

Still, you considered at least trying to get a restraining order but at the end of the day, that was a mere piece of paper. If Harry came to your door, it wasn’t going to stop him from hurting you, and that’s even if the whole process went through. They don’t just give restraining orders out willy nilly. You tried not to dwell on that hypothetical situation, but if he’d found your number, it would only be a matter of time before he found your address.

“Oh!”

You’d only just entered the grocery store, barely stepping into an aisle when you bumped into someone. The chips and bread in his hands went flying to the floor, and apologies tumbled from your lips. It was only after you helped him pick up what you made him drop did you realize who you’d run into.

“Dr. Rogers...hi,” you breathed.

The corner of his lips pulled into a crooked smile, head tilting to the side as his gaze fell onto you.

“We’ve discussed this before, Y/N. You’re more than welcome to call me Steve,” he told you.

You gave a nervous chuckle, nodding.

“Yeah...uh… I normally do, it just...it just slipped my mind,” you replied.

He blinked at you, eyes narrowing just a bit as he studied you. His brows furrowed in that concerned way you were used to, a silver strand of hair kissing his forehead.

“Everything okay…?”

You folded your arms over your chest, nodding with a strained smile.

“Everything’s fine,” you lied. “It’s just… It’s been a weird week. Our next session cannot come fast enough.”

You forced a light laugh, and he joined you. He placed a hand on his hip, eyes boring into your own.

“There’s a coffee shop just over there,” he gestured. “Did you want to sit and have a chat?”

You frantically shook your head.

“Oh, no. I couldn’t,” you told him. “I-.”

“I know I’m your therapist, but I want you to think of me as a confidant outside of the office too. You’re more than welcome to talk to me anytime. In fact, I encourage it,” he interrupted.

You nervously eyed him with a frown.

“Are...are you sure?”

His smile was comforting.

“This may be my job, but it’s one I chose because it’s one I enjoy. I don’t want you to feel like you’re only allowed to talk to me during our sessions,” he quietly said.

You bit your lip, and Steve continued.

“I’d hate to think that you’re bottling things up for days on end, suffering in silence because you’re just waiting to talk to me,” he confessed.

Your shoulders sagged, and you hesitantly nodded.

“...okay. I just need to get a few things for the house.”

“Okay,” he said with a smile. “You know where to find me.”

You parted ways, and a sigh escaped you. You really didn’t want to become reliant on Steve. Wasn’t the whole point of therapy to learn how to process your feelings and cope with them better? Running to your therapist every time you have a problem just seemed counterproductive. And yet, once your car was loaded up with the few items you bought, you found yourself making your way to the coffee shop.

After ordering a small drink, you easily spotted Steve at a table in the back. You noted that even outside of your sessions, he still dressed nicely. The dark button down he wore contrasted with his light hair, dark slacks making him appear taller. You felt simultaneously nervous and comforted as you settled across from him. There was a brief silence, one in which you sipped on your drink while he eyed you before finally speaking.

“So what’s on your mind?”

What a loaded question. You struggled over whether or not to tell him the truth. Your abusive ex had found you somehow and was currently harassing you. That’s not something you could just casually drop into the conversation. Besides, Steve was your therapist, not your friend. You didn’t think it fair to rope him into the drama with your ex. That wasn’t part of his job description. Right?

“Just sleepless nights,” you said.

It wasn’t a complete lie. Steve eyed you like he was waiting for you to continue, blue eyes soft.

“I’m also worried that...my past might not remain in the past.”

Once again, this wasn’t a complete lie.

“How so?” Steve hummed.

“I can’t help but wonder about what will happen if Harry finds me. He always threatened that he would if I ever left, and while I never believed him before, I just keep wondering… What if he does?”

Steve tilted his head at you, and you leaned back in your seat with a sigh.

“I’ve moved all the way out here to get away from him. I’ve isolated myself because I thought it was for the best, but it would have the opposite effect if he ever found me. I’ve never been particularly close with my family as you well know, and I’ve left all of my friends. I’m all alone here, and it’s the worst thing to be if he ever did track me down.”

Like always, you had started to ramble, and you snapped your mouth closed, embarrassment flooding through you.

“What brought all of this on?”

Steve’s eyes were sincere as he ran them over you, handsome face twisted in concern, and you glanced away.

“Just thinking,” you lamely replied, eyes on your drink now. “It’s something I’ve always thought about, sure, but it’s been more pressing as of late.”

“Well...that’s what I’m here for. You shouldn’t have to deal with these thoughts alone,” he eventually said.

“I know,” you sighed, rubbing your temples. “...but I shouldn’t become so reliant on you. The whole point of therapy is to learn to deal with these things on my own, is it not?”

Steve exhaled, leaning back in his seat as he gazed at you.

“Not necessarily. Not always,” he answered. “...but even then, until you can get to that point, it’s best to lean into your support. After all, you’ve gotta crawl before you can walk, right?”

You nodded, taking in his words.

“...and even when you’re walking, you usually need someone there in the beginning to hold your hand in case you fall. I encourage you to talk to your friends more, maybe even branch out and find some friends here, but I’m here as well. Don’t halt any of your progress because you feel like you need to be dealing with this alone. Outside help does more for your progress than you’d think.”

“I guess that does make sense. I don’t know… I just- I’d feel so bad about showing up at your office throughout all hours of the day or calling your receptionist-.”

You cut yourself off when he took out a pen and a slip of paper.

“Here,” he said, scribbling a number on it before handing it to you. “This is my personal number.”

Your eyes widened.

“Oh, I can’t-.”

“It’s fine, trust me.”

You hesitantly returned his smile, taking the piece of paper.

“Don’t hesitate to call me anytime you want to,” he told you, standing.

You joined him, fingering the note before sliding it into your pocket.

“Thank you…Steve. I don’t know if I’ll ever actually call you, but just knowing that I have the option makes me feel so much better,” you whispered.

You heard his pager go off, and you watched as he glanced at it. He let out a sigh, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he sounded disappointed.

“I’ve got to go, but I hope you’ll use that number if you need to.”

Thanking him again, you said your goodbyes, and you watched as he exited the shop. The slip of paper felt heavy in your pocket, so you solved that by putting his number into your phone. Just as you were about to put it back into your purse, it buzzed with a call from an unknown number. Fear settled into your gut, and with a grimace, you silenced the call and blocked the number.

You were late. You were so late it was laughable to even show up at this point. Your shoes tapped against the tile as the numbers on the elevator lit up as it passed each floor. You slipped through the doors as soon as they parted, and with no mind to check in, the receptionist calling your name, you raced towards Steve’s office. You reached his door just as he opened it to step out, and the papers that he was holding scattered to the floor as you collided with him. You hadn’t even realized how fast you’d been running until you were knocked on your ass.

You could hear the heels of the receptionist as she ran over, apologizing to Steve for letting you slip past her, but he waved her off. She reluctantly returned to her desk, and you scrambled to sit up, reaching for everything that had fallen.

“I was beginning to think you’d never show,” Steve joked.

You gave a shaky laugh.

“I uh...I got caught up,” you replied through trembling lips, fingers shaking as you struggled to stack all of his paperwork.

You could feel Steve’s eyes on you, but you avoided his gaze.

“I know I’m late. Our hour is practically over, but I- I just… Um, crap.”

You had dropped the papers all over again, and you both reached for them at the same time. At least, that was what you thought. Steve’s hands covered yours, and you only just realized how badly they were shaking.

“Y/N.”

His voice was soft, exactly what you needed right now, but you couldn’t look him in the eye.

“Y/N, is everything alright?”

Your chest was tight, and you wanted to will your lips to form a yes. You wanted to tell him that everything was fine, but you couldn’t even get the words out. He called your name again, and you suddenly stood, taking the papers with you. You handed them to him as he followed your lead, still avoiding his eye.

“I’m sorry for being late, and I know that you probably have another session-.”

“I don’t,” he interrupted. “Come in.”

You glanced up from beneath your lashes as he opened the door, ushering you inside. You wrapped your arms around yourself as he shut the door behind you.

“Is everything okay?”

You turned your face away from him, unable to keep it from crumbling as you held in a sob.

“Y/N.”

The way he called your name had you freezing in place, a shiver running through you at his firm tone, authority in the one simple word. In a way, it reminded you of Harry, and you looked to him with wide eyes. Seeming to understand what he’d done, Steve sighed before sitting down, making himself appear smaller to show that he wasn’t a threat to you.

“I’m sorry,” he genuinely apologized. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. Please...sit.”

You hesitantly did so and reached out to take the tissue he offered you. You hadn’t even realized that you’d started crying.

“Now… I’m going to ask you again, and I’m begging you to please be honest with me. I’m here to help you in any way I can,” he whispered.

You wiped your face, sinking your teeth into your lip.

“It’s...Harry.”

Steve’s face was pinched with concern.

“What is it? Are you having nightmares again-?”

“No, you don’t understand. He’s calling me,” you confessed.

Steve froze, blinking a few times before his eyes widened, your words finally registering. You sniffed, fighting to hold in a sob.

“It started weeks ago, before we ran into each other that night…”

You didn’t miss the disappointment that flitted over his features, lips pressed together.

“...and I know I should’ve said something then-.”

“You should’ve called me.”

“I know! I know, but… I don’t know. I just wanted to handle this on my own,” you quietly said.

He didn’t respond, and you turned your eyes towards the window.

“Last time...I wasn’t able to get away on my own. I wanted it to be different this time. At first, I simply blocked him but he kept calling and calling from different numbers. Then I got a new phone...and eventually another, but it’s still the same. He keeps finding me,” you tearfully told him. “...and today…”

Your eyes met his, and you were comforted by the concern you saw there.

“Today I was at the police station. That’s why I was late.”

Steve straightened up at this.

“I thought that maybe I could get a restraining order or maybe they could trace the calls to show that it’s him, but the whole visit was useless. They boiled it down to petty relationship drama, and since there’s no record of his violent behavior because I never reported anything…”

You shrugged, scoffing.

“There’s basically nothing they can do. The whole visit was a waste,” you spat.

Steve heaved a sigh, and he slowly reached out towards you, leaning forward.

“I didn’t ask before, but… Is it alright if I hold your hand?”

You nodded. That was what you liked about Steve. He was always asking for your consent with just about everything, even the simplest of things, and it was such a nice contrast to Harry who used to feel like he was entitled to your body. Steve took your hand, throwing you a comforting smile as he eyed you, worried.

“I wish that you had called me,” he said.

You looked down, guilt filling you.

“I could have helped you before it ever got to this point. I have friends on the force, friends in high places who could lock this creep up if you wanted.”

“I feel like an idiot.”

Of course Steve, Dr. Steven Rogers, knew people who could help you. Of course he did! Your stubbornness had gotten you far deeper into this than necessary.

“What have I said about self deprecating language?”

“Sorry,” you murmured.

“You’re not an idiot. Don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re just a woman trying to find her strength again.”

You hesitantly nodded, and he brushed his thumb over the back of your hand.

“I want you to get rid of your phone,” he suggested.

You frowned, and he continued before you could question him.

“I’ll work on getting a new one for you. A secure one under my name.”

You frowned, not liking the idea of being so indebted to him.

“Steve, I don’t know-.”

“It’ll only be temporary. You can use it until I talk to some people and have him properly dealt with.”

Even though you weren’t keen on the idea, you reluctantly agreed.

“...and you have to promise me one thing…”

You eyed him, holding his gaze as you waited for him to continue.

“Promise me that you’ll call me the second he bothers you again,” he proposed.

Accepting the fact that your stubbornness was doing you more harm than good, you nodded. Steve seemed pleased with that, and with one last pat on your hand, he let you go. As he guided you out of your office, your phone in his hand, you felt more hopeful than you had in over a month. You felt so silly for not seeking out his help sooner, and you couldn’t deny the weight that had been lifted from your shoulders as you settled into your car.

True to his word, at your next session, Steve presented you with a new phone. It had all of your important contacts with Steve being at the top of the list. Embarrassment had flooded you as you thanked him with tears in your eyes. The week without your phone had been the most peace you’d had in a while, and you finally got some much needed rest.

“You haven’t heard anything from him, have you?” he’d asked you.

“No,” you answered, shaking your head. “Not a peep.”

He threw you that same smile that always brought you comfort.

“Good. Even if you never do, you’re always free to call me,” he’d reminded you.

Finally deciding to let your stubbornness go, you did. Talking to Steve outside of your sessions was easier than you thought it’d be. It was like talking to a friend. Sometimes you’d meet up at that same coffee shop not too far from his office, and other times you’d be putting a quick meal together while he was on the other line, listening to you ramble. You soon realized that it wasn’t just his profession that made him that way, but Steve truly was an unbiased listener. He never judged you for any steps back in your progress nor for any of your more self deprecating thoughts.

Best of all, you hadn’t heard anything more from Harry.

Not until he knocked on your door one night.

It was late when you’d heard the pounding on the wood, and having been watching tv in your room, you wondered if you imagined it. It was only moments later that you’d heard it again. Your eyes had widened, sitting up in alarm. No one knew you lived here. Not even your mailman. All of your mail collected at a Post Office box before you eventually went to pick it up. You stood, standing in your room, trembling in fear before a knock on your bedroom window had you screaming.

You didn’t hesitate to call the police, and it took longer than you liked for them to arrive. All the while, you dealt with knocking and pounding on your window and door. Back and forth, it alternated with minutes in between before stopping altogether when the sound of sirens could be heard. Unsurprisingly, and frustratingly, the police didn’t find anyone.

“Look, we’ll get this report down to the station,” the brunette had told you, not looking concerned in the least.

Frustration filled you, and you shuffled on your feet.

“Can’t you...idk, have someone stay here? Not even the whole night but just a few hours in case they come back?”

The tall man sighed, and you glanced at his badge. Officer Barnes, you noted.

“With all due respect mam, we can’t just have one of our officers sitting in your yard because someone knocked on your door-.”

“I told you-!”

“I know, I know. The windows too,” he said, sounding exasperated, and your frown deepened. “The best we can do is get this down to the station. You’re more than welcome to call us again should anyone come back.”

You crossed your arms over your chest as they left, finding no relief. You swallowed as you thought about Steve. You didn’t want to, but Harry had found you, tormenting you by knocking on your house in the dead of night. This was exactly the reason Steve had given you his number. Swallowing down your stubbornness, and with a deep breath, you called him.

He didn’t sound like he was asleep, and for that you were grateful. You would’ve kicked yourself if you had woken him up. Finally getting out why you’d called him was an awkward affair, stumbling over your words, and you felt even worse as he agreed to come over. There was no hesitation, and you couldn’t help but feel as if you were taking advantage of Steve’s generosity.

You mumbled out your address, surprised to realize how relieved you were. You couldn’t remember the last time you had trusted a man this much. Harry had made you so paranoid, but you supposed that was what therapy was for. This was why you had all those sessions with Steve. To learn to heal and to trust again.

You opened the door with a small smile when he finally pulled into your yard. He was dressed comfortably, and you felt much better about your own ratty t-shirt and leggings, but his casual attire made him no less striking.

“Thank you,” you breathed as he stepped inside.

“I was up going over paperwork when you called. I’m glad you did,” he told you.

You leaned against the door as you closed it, rubbing your arms.

“I didn’t know if I should. It’s just… He was here, Steve. Knocking on my door and window like something out of a horror movie, and the police treated it like it was nothing,” you complained.

Steve tilted his head at you with a sad smile.

“First thing in the morning, I’m going to make some more calls. Since he’s in town, it should be easy to have him put away. At the very least, a restraining order.”

Relief and hope filled you as you brushed past him.

“I really can’t thank you enough for coming over. I promise I won’t keep you long, just until I feel I can be ok being alone,” you said over your shoulder.

He followed you into the kitchen.

“Can I get you anything to drink? Eat? It’s the least I can do.”

“Some wine might be nice. You might want to pour yourself a glass too,” he suggested.

You chuckled, and he joined you, but you agreed with him nonetheless. You poured a glass for both of you, and you leaned against the counter with a sigh.

“I just don’t understand why he can’t leave me alone. Hasn’t he put me through enough?”

Steve hummed.

“From what you’ve told me, he strikes me as a narcissist. I’d bet that he doesn’t want you to move on,” he mused.

“Maybe,” you distractedly replied as you heard your phone ring. “I’ll be right back. Let me grab that super quick, it might be Nakia.”

Your phone was in your room, but by the time you reached it, it had stopped ringing. Sure enough, it was a missed call from your best friend, and you brought your phone with you to the kitchen, determined to call her back. Steve’s eyes were fond when you returned, and you shrugged.

“I need to call her back. I’ll only be a moment,” you said, swiping your glass.

“Take all the time you need.”

You made your way to the living room, taking your place on the couch as you called her back. She answered almost immediately.

“Hey, what’s up?”

She greeted you with a soft exhale.

“Uh… Harry’s...dead.”

You froze at her words, pulling the glass away from your lips. You blinked a few times, trying to come to terms with what she’d said.

“...what?”

“I just found out. I honestly didn’t know how you’d take the news, but I thought you should know.”

She was right. You yourself didn’t even know how you felt about this news. You had loved this man at one point...but he was also your abuser. This was good news...right?

“How?” you finally asked her.

She sighed.

“Apparently, he’d been missing for months-.”

“Months?”

“Yeah,” she quietly replied. “They found and identified his body today. I just saw it on the news.”

Your stomach twisted as the truth, and the meaning behind it, sank in. Just because Harry had been missing for months, it didn’t mean that he’d been dead for months. It very well could have been him harassing you like you believed. But...if they’d found and identified his body today, then there was no way it was him at your house tonight.

“Thank you,” you eventually said. “Um… I’m glad you told me.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay,” you honestly replied. “I’m just a little unsure of how I feel about all of this, but I’ll call you tomorrow when I’ve slept on it.”

“Alright. Be safe.”

You said your goodbyes and returned to the kitchen with an empty glass.

“Everything okay?” Steve questioned.

Your face must have been an open book.

“Harry’s dead,” you scoffed, blinking as you still fought to process this.

Steve didn’t respond, and just like one of your sessions, he seemed to be waiting for you to continue.

“Apparently he’d been missing for months and they just identified his body today. There’s no way it could have been him knocking on my door tonight, and now...now I’m even more scared than I was before,” you confessed. “God, I can’t even fully come to terms with my feelings on this because I’m realizing that Harry might not have been the only thing I should’ve been afraid of.”

“Hey,” Steve soothingly said, nearing you. “Are you sure it wasn’t someone who got lost? Maybe they had the wrong house?”

You thought about it before shaking your head.

“No, it definitely didn’t seem like that. Oh my God,” you cried, letting your head fall into your hands.

Steve pulled you into his arms, startling you, but you eventually relaxed, the wine settling into your system nicely.

“It’s going to be alright-.”

“What if it isn’t? Because I’m the idiot who thought that Harry was the only possible danger out there, I’ve attracted another without even realizing it.”

“Hey, hey,” he soothed. “Maybe it was nothing, and maybe it was more. Either way, I’m only a phone call away. Say the word, and I’ll have an officer living in your yard if need be.”

You chuckled at that, and nodded.

“Thank you,” you said, looking at him. “I-.”

You swallowed your words when his lips met yours, soft and demanding as they moved against your own. You were stunned, and it took you a moment to realize just what was happening before you pulled away. You stared at Steve with wide eyes, hesitantly reaching up to touch your lips as you took a step back.

“Steve…”

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he breathed.

Your lips parted, a soft gasp escaping you at both his words and the fire in his gaze. It was so sudden and great that it froze you.

“Steve, I think… I think you should go,” you whispered, almost in disbelief.

He frowned at you, tilting his head just a tad as he folded his arms over his chest.

“Go? Why would I do that when you’re not feeling well?”

You opened your mouth to repeat yourself, even demand to know what he meant, but a sudden wave of nausea hit you, head feeling fuzzy. Steve caught you just as you stumbled, and you frowned, fighting to get out of his arms.

“What…?”

“You seemed really tense. I thought you could use something to take the edge off…”

You stared at him in disbelief, attempting to blink away the stars in your vision. Your legs felt like they were made of Jell-O as Steve guided you towards the living room. He deposited you on the couch, and you could hardly do anything as he laid you down, sitting beside you. His blue eyes, normally so soft and comforting, were dark with a longing you had never seen before.

“You were like a wounded little lamb when you first came to me,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over your lip. “So lost...broken… It’s because of me that you’re even halfway back together again.”

His hands moved to slowly undress you, taking his time, and your hands might as well had been air as you tried to stop him. You shuddered as the cool air in the house hit you, nipples pebbling, even more so when Steve brushed his fingers over them.

“I wanted to wrap you in my arms during that first session. Drag you back as you tried to leave, show you how a woman should be touched by a man.”

You were in a state of shock, disbelief coursing through you as you watched Steve undress. Even at his age, the man was a wall of muscle, thick bands making you swallow in fear as you hopelessly tried to tell yourself that this was a dream.

“Steve,” you whispered.

“I had to be patient. I didn’t want to scare you off, push you into the arms of another dangerous man. I had to help you heal before showing the kind of man I can be for you,” he told you, fingers on your face as he neared you again.

Your whole body felt weighed down, and you couldn’t stop your tears even if you wanted to. Your touch was light as you pressed your hands to his chest, feeling like you were going to be sick as he settled over you.

“Harry is gone. He can’t hurt you anymore, and I’m going to make sure no one ever hurts you again.”

The irony was not lost on you, but the way he said that struck something in you, and your mind traveled to the unthinkable. You didn’t get the chance to think about it some more before Steve was forcing himself inside of you. A choking noise escaped you as he filled you to the hilt, your legs spread wide to accommodate his frame. Steve released a shuddering breath, breathing through his nose, body trembling as he delighted in the feel of you wrapped around him.

It was amazing that while all of your senses felt dulled, you could feel his pulsing member inside of you so well. He surrounded you, bulky frame caging you in, and you felt like you would pass out from suffocation. Steve sighed just before his lips met yours, and your stomach clenched as he moved within you. A broken moan slipped out against your will, and Steve groaned at the sound.

“I’ll show you pleasure that you’ve never known, touch you in ways you never felt. I know how to make you happy,” he purred, his pace languid as he thrust in and out of you.

You turned your head away, the furniture of your living room blurring together from whatever he’d slipped into your drink.

“I know your deepest desires and your deepest fears. I know you better than anyone else out there…”

You hated that in a way, Steve was right. You’d bared yourself to him under the guise of trust and healing. He really did know all there was to know about you, and you hated yourself for it. You hated him for hiding his intentions so well, for taking advantage of your vulnerability and trauma. He tutted as you started to squirm beneath him.

“After all I’ve done for you...in all the ways I’ve helped you, the least you could do is give yourself to me. I deserve to reap the benefits of my efforts-.”

You gasped beneath him, legs kicking around him, but he only pressed himself more firmly against you.

“...I’ve gone out of my way to make sure you were safe, to protect you so that no more threats remained to you nor our relationship.”

“You’re crazy-.”

You cut yourself off with a yelp as he nipped at your neck, jerking in his hold as he continued to snap his hips into yours. His hands were gentle on you, a contrast to how he fucked you, his pace increasing with every passing minute. Despite the fact that you could hardly move, he wrapped his arms around you, holding you in place as the sound of your coupling filled the room, your core now wet and slick from his ministrations.

Steve seemed intoxicated, blissfully immersed in the feel of you and how you clung to him. His low groans and moans filled your ear, and you could do nothing as he covered your lips again, tongue tasting you, moaning at the taste of wine that still remained.

“My touch will never cause you harm, bringing you nothing but pleasure for the rest of our lives.”

tags: @xoxabs88xox @harryspet @readermia @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @hyoyeoniie @sherrybaby14 @cocoamoonmalfoy @mandiiblanche @gotnofucks @oneoftheprettynerds @doozywoozy @sapphirescrolls @threeminutesoflife @searchforanotherway @mcudarklibrary @buckybarnesplumwhore @widowsmaximoff @nerdygirl8203 @supernaturalwintersoldier @charmed-asylum @harrysthiccthighss @patzammit

#dark steve rogers #dark steve x reader #Steve Rogers #steve rogers x reader

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