#and how are you supposed to escape depression (and anxiety) when things keep getting worse and worse as a result?

[scarletcomet]

i found out that my dad has cancer today and im on the floor crying about my hw

#yall ever get the scariest text ever right before you board your plane? #and then you're crying on the plane and then your nose starts bleeding a lot right before takeoff #anyway im failing most of my classes #3 weeks without seeing my therapist and last time i saw her she told me she was 'very worried about me' #because i was (am?) self harming again a lot #i literally texted her every hour i was free and it took her like a week to respond wtf #im just gonna submit what i have of this assignment worth 10% of my grade (less than half the assignment) #my mental health is so bad rn and i don't know what to do #because i have so much work and other things to do but i can't because of my shitty mental health #i wish professors would give you A's or at least excuse assignments and exams you are unable to do due to mental illness #maybe i should start wearing shortsleeves and they'll be like 'oh shit she's fucked up i'll go easy on her' #but it's not like anyone cares anyway #how am i supposed to function and do everything when im always on the verge of a mental breakdown #and how are you supposed to escape depression (and anxiety) when things keep getting worse and worse as a result? #maybe there is no escape.......

[a-tale-of-legends]

With my timeline being exactly 1 year longer, it made me want to really look into each individual arc I want to do for the Legendverse. The problem is that my brain is ping ponging through so many things it's hard to sit down and write my thoughts down. But I was just thinking of Alexis during his 2 year "search" for N and I thought I'd write them down a bit? Soooo yeah.

I wanted to start off with how I started with Alexis' relationship with his prosthetic arm vs how I see that relationship now. Before, I thought it was a cool thing he had, something he was self conscious about and added onto his dwindling mental health. He would constantly use his prosthetic anywhere and anywhere. I haven't given any much deeper thought into it. He got his arm during his 2 year escape of Unova and that's that.

Now, it's slightly different. For one, he never got the arm outside of Unova. That plot point was honestly shoehorned in so Alexis can come back to Unova with an arm like Elliot came back with a leg. So now he just. Doesn't have one when he comes back to Unova. I still think Alexis is very self conscious about it though, and that's the thing I wanted to talk about! I never thought much of how Alexis was doing away from Unova- I just thought " yeah it wasn't great". But now, I'm kinda thinking of how it wasn't great. And I realized " oh. Alexis' anxiety and depression are through the roof ". Cause think about it. He prematurely left the hospital that was supposed to help him recover. He left his family and friends without telling them. He's still recovering from the trauma that team plasma had put him through ( remember, Alexis is a nuzlocke protagonist). He's only 14! Alexis is not okay when he leaves and won't be even when he comes back. I was literally just thinking like. How he constantly feels like people are looking at him when he walks. Looking at his arm, or lack of one. Always whispering and pointing, and suddenly the eyes are red- Alexis doesn't like going in public because of that. Which sucks because the kid needs a lot of essentials that require you know. Talking. His pokemon can go in and get stuff for him, but then he'd risk of them getting taken. He could go in himself but people will stare at his arm and if they're not staring at his arm, they're staring at his cloak cause who wears a cloak in modern day. <- All of this is his anxiety talking. And he doesn't know how to deal with his anxiety without any of his usual support systems so it kinda just manifests into something worse.

And another thing- he's always moving. Even if people let him stay somewhere, he doesn't stay for long, leaving the next day. He doesn't know why he has to go. Maybe it's because he feels like a burden? Or maybe it's something knawing at him to keep going, to keep running. Either way, he just goes. It's an interesting contrast with Red, who literally stayed in one place for 3-4 years.

Elliot not being with him makes things so much harder too. This whole decision was made bc Elliot was leaving for her own recovery. He feels so much guilt over that- like wow dude, you just really care about your friends if you're so willing to leave them ( his depression talking ). Anyway, Elliot and Alexis have always been a pair. Even when they were apart for their journey, they always had each other. And now Alexis is all alone. Of course he has his pokemon, but I mean. Alone in the sense that he doesn't have one to talk to. Which is weird to say bc he's actively ignoring his phone device. It's pretty funny- the desire to be alone clashing with the desire to be around people you love. Every time the need to keep running away wins but the desire to see them again keeps popping up.

Going into his arm, I still think Alexis wants his arm to be "normal" again. I don't think he makes the choice to have an arm and cover that with a glove - that was a dumb choice from me lmao. Rather he gets one that looks like his old one. That should make him feel better, right? Well. Uh. It doesn't. Cause he knows it's not his old arm. He knows it's not flesh and blood and even if he doesn't feel as bad as he did before, the arm bothers him a bit. Eva's modifications do wonders ( making it a bit lighter, able to deal with his electricity), but ...I dunno, if I'm being honest, I don't think Alexis exactly. Likes having a prosthetic arm. Which is weird- to him - because his anxiety during his 2 year escape from Unova was from the fact that he didn't have an arm- and now he has one! So why does it bother him. Despite that, his new arm is his uncomfortable lifeline. He doesn't take it off much, if not ever unless Elliot or his parents pester him to take it off ( specifically when he's about to go to sleep). He has reached his normalcy, a time where he didn't fuck up and caused a rift between him, his family and friends, and he didn't want to let that go even if he knew things are different. Again an interesting contrast with Elliot: Elliot likes her new leg. She thinks it gives her the freedom to do what she wants. Her crutches and wheelchair she had to really get used to ( even in b2w2, she was hesitant about using them bc she thought it would hinder her movement. Over time she grew to like/ appreciate them more though), but she was still adapting. Her life has changed, and even when it kinda sucks, she's taking her own steps forward! Alexis.... isn't doing that. And that really hinders his relationship with his friends, and especially Elliot.

After swsh I think Alexis just doesn't wear his prosthetic often as he used to, only wearing it when his anxiety is particularly bad or he just feels like wearing it. Again, he feels kinda bad bc the arm costs money and he isn't using it often but at that point, he's on the road to recovery and is honestly happier for it. He's okay with his arm. Eva helped with it, so it doesn't feel so distant and uncomfortable as it did before. Truthfully, it's kind of process of learning to life with and without his arm in a healthier manner but he gets there.

Aaaaaand yeah. I think that's everything I wanted to say- oh! His service Pokemon. Kai- his samurott - has actively tried to support her trainer, but she isn't exactly equipped to help him in that way. During the 2 year gap, it became obvious to her that Alexis needed someone that can help with his specific needs- preferably someone that can learn psychic. Again, over the years, Alexis grows accustomed to doing things with and without a prosthetic arm, but the extra support in that + his anxiety and depression was much needed. Kai still supports him- she's his starter of course she does - but it's nice seeing him get the support he needs by a pokemon trainer to do so.

#r rambles #oc: alexis jones #legendverse

[12-99-30]

To George Mason,

My time at George Mason was the ultimate enemies-to-lovers trope. Four years have passed since I drove onto Campus Drive with a bitter and broken heart of attending a college I resented. While everybody around me was escaping into a college bubble, I felt trapped in my mind that life was unfair and lonely. I pushed George Mason away, refusing to accept my future here. I’d berate the university and its people and even attempted to run away to another school. 

Yet, the pill of rejection was the hardest thing to swallow, and I forcibly learned how to trust this is where I’m supposed be. 

At the start of every college year, I never failed to come across the same insecurity: 

I am valued less because I am not experiencing college to the fullest

Friday nights were meant to be walking with drunk friends, creating memories on Snapchat stories and attending sweaty house parties. Late-night pizza runs and dumplings was a right of passage. This is the place where life-long friends are made. Instead, it was wild nights with my mom, folding laundry together and watching poorly produced Netflix movies (they just keep getting worse).  The insecurity always creeped up when my days were silent and afforded me time to scroll through everybody’s Instagram to remind myself what I wasn’t able to have. At the time, the heartache of missing out on seemingly big, monumental experiences weighed deep in me. But the more I dove into these micro-moments, God revealed more about myself and my values than I ever had in the last 20 years of existence. What I was really seeking was validation and acceptance from the world. For it was Grace that allowed me to recognize such idolizations and tackle each insecurity with patience. 

I never knew what people meant when they said, “George Mason prepares you for the real world,” but in my final years, it’s the biggest lesson I’ve learned here. I’ve etched all the cliche life lessons into my heart, but the experience I’m most grateful for is the intersection of worlds I was forced to morph into one. I’ve learned how to be nursing student, a daughter, an employee, a long-distance girlfriend, a present friend, and even intentional granddaughter. One of the hardest things people adjust to during “post-grad life” is the balance of old and new identities that are no longer bounded by location or community. I couldn’t escape into a bubble to avoid different responsibilities each world held. Through trial and error, I’ve learned to love who I am because of what the school challenged me to be. 

-- 

On the day of graduation, my eyes welled with tears as I wave my (fake) diploma in my hand, cheering loudly along with my fellow graduates. I kept thinking back at who I was four years ago; the person who laid in bed depressed and asking God when it will get better. On graduation day, I was arm-in-arm with four nursing friends; eyes lit, smiles wide, and screaming louder to celebrate our completion of nursing school. As I walk outside to a sea of guests, I am immediately surrounded by all my beloved family and friends who shower me with flowers, gifts, and hugs. They chant my name as I look around me, appreciating every moment and person that has led me here. 

Though memories of college come in flashes, I can remember distinct moments and feelings I’ve had throughout the course of four years. I’ll often write them down in my journal just to remember details of life during this tumultuous time. 

Things I’ll Remember:

The bubbling anxiety when you enter Lot K, Lot A, or Rapphanock Parking Deck to see if you will be able to find a parking spot in one of the first rows or floors, while simultaneously 7 other cars are making circles in the parking lot to find one too. 

The triumph of snagging a parking spot when you notice someone is backing out, and it’s located in the one of the first rows (seldomly happened)

The feeling of walking from lecture hall to engineering building under transitional fall weather

The movie theater seats and musty smell of lecture hall; I felt most comfortable here because I could disappear into a crowd of people, yet feel like I could belong to a community

My thighs sticking to the plastic seats that are connected to a desk, waiting for N– to arrive to Philosophy class so we can online shop together

Sleeping in C–’s room that one time I was sick, and he kindly left cold medicine by my shoes when he left for class

Taking a hike to the Globe to scheme off C--’s meal plan, only to indulge in overly-sauced meat and dry rice

Crying in a Innovation Hall with L– and G– during an intimate small group session over a new heartbreak 

Studying in Innovation Hall for the first time with a group of people until 2am, wondering if this is what college is meant to be like (also a major upgrade from my dining room table)

The cold basement of KPCW, where we met every other week for ICF Exec meetings and finally feeling comfortable with my role with treasurer

Working out with H-- at the RAC, AFC, or (if we’re down bad) Skyline

I am thankful for a lot of people. Most importantly, thank you to my family who not only financially supported me through school, but defied cultural norms and accepted my career with unconditional pride. I knew nursing was not their ideal choice, but they never failed to remind me how proud they were. I am thankful for each handwritten note my mom left in my lecture notes, reminding me to have fun in life and continually work hard. I will remember every car ride with my dad, who never complained to drive the distance for each clinical shift. I thank my siblings for being the best roommates, especially during the COVID pandemic. Lockdown was a rare time of laughter and warmth. Thank you D-- for being one of the key figures in my growth through college. You taught me how to study, buy a desk, and push myself beyond my academic limit. Though distance broke our hearts, we found a way back that is stronger than we imagined. You taught me a lot about myself and forgiveness. Despite the heartache, the visits we had with each other constituted so many memories of college. I am glad you witnessed the end of my college career together. Thank you E-- for being the friend we both needed at the time, yet being a timeless friend now. Your desire to love God and ability to have honest conversations leave me inspired and secure. Thank you to those not spoken about that supported me from a distance, whether it be driving down to visit, reading this blog, or keeping in touch with me.

Obviously, thank you God. George Mason was just a small revealment of who You are and what You’ve done. You’ve shown faithfulness like no other. I’m in awe of your eternal perspective and benevolence. 

My heart is full. The work is finished. 

#posts

[tvseries-writings]

Hello!! I really love your work and I was wondering if you can write something -WandaNat- so reader is very stressed and barely have time to rest because it’s just been really messy lately but reader tried to get everything under control again but it never worked so one day reader just stops doing everything and just being unresponsive-because of the stress- I don’t know if this makes any sense but I’ve been stressed lately and your stories are the only thing that keeps me sane.. also this is my first request I really hope you get this.. thank you!!😌

Stress kills

TW: stress,depression(?), panic attack

Marvel Masterlist ~ buy me a coffee☕️

WandaNat x reader

You don't know when everything got worse, when exams got too many and too close, when the stress of always having to be one hundred percent at work and with the world has become unbearable and when those heavenly days spent with your girls have become almost zero given your respective commitments. You don't even know when you last ate or closed your eyes.

You, Natasha and Wanda meet, punctually, every night. They've been on missions a lot lately and you've never been together in the last three weeks.

Work, study, work, study, work, study ... you haven't done anything else in the last month and exams are upon us and you don't seem to know shit. Also, Jack, your middle-aged male-dominated boss asshole, doesn't mind reaching out and you can't stand it anymore but you need the money ... the university costs and so does the rent and you refuse to ask for anything. to Wanda and Nat. Not to mention the media attention; every time you leave the house there are at least two or three paparazzi asking you questions and the next day you find yourself on the cover, while your clothing, your hair, your body and even your words are criticized by half of America.

You're so tired and so stressed… you can't really take it anymore. With all those pressures you feel suffocated and you just want to turn everything off.

You lie down on the bed and look at the ceiling; Natasha and Wanda had insisted that we paint a black widow, surrounded by a red cloud. Your gaze lingers on the painting and a sigh escapes your lips. Your chest is still heavy and all the stress continues to send waves of anxiety and panic throughout your body.

You focus on the breath, inhaling and exhaling, focusing only on that. Your gaze continues to be fixed on the ceiling, the sun sets and the room becomes dark.

You don't bother to get up and stay like that, you don't even close your eyes, you don't sleep, you breathe since it is your natural need. You feel like estranged from your body, you don't even know if you would be able to move if you wanted to.

The sun rises again and the image on the ceiling is illuminated again. It hasn't changed, just like the weight on your chest.

You don't know how long it's been when your phone rings. You barely hear it and asks you if, perhaps, it also rang the night before and you didn't hear it.

You don't get up and let it ring; in fact, you don't even think you've blinked all this time.

But that's okay with you, the weight on your chest seems to be lighter and you don't think about anything. Your head is finally silent after who knows how long.

And then another three days go by and your phone rings and vibrates incessantly, until, when it is discharged, it switches off. And silence follows.

By now you have learned every little nuance of the painting and you have appreciated every single brushstroke. You didn't move from there, you didn't show up for the two exams you were supposed to take that week, and you didn't even go to work. You haven't gone to the bathroom and you actually think you've wet the bed but you don't care. Your stomach growled in hunger the first couple of days and then stopped, just a few cramps here and there, and you kept ignoring it.

You also think you have dozed off at some point but it's all so confusing that you can't say for sure.

Another day goes by before someone knocks on your apartment door. You don't hear it and you don't even hear four pairs of hurried footsteps enter and two voices you know very well calling your name.

"Printsessa, we're back, are you here?" Natasha's worried voice breaks the silence in the apartment. The Russian and the Sokovian give each other a worried look.

They haven't heard from you for a week and, being undercover, they couldn't get back before her and she killed them.

They had called everyone you knew and their concern grew even more when they all told them they never saw you again.

"Nat, she missed two exams, she didn't answer our calls or messages and-"

Wanda's voice trembles as Natasha hugs her.

"She's fine, okay? She must be fine. ”Natasha strengthens herself, trying not to make her voice tremble.

"Now let's take a look here. Maybe we find something "

It takes five minutes for your girls to walk into the bedroom.

"It seems like no one has been there for days and Wands, and ... this is her phone"

Natasha picks up the phone from the floor, tries to turn it on but she can't.

"She wouldn't have left him here ... she knows we call her every night when we go on a mission"

The weight of her words affects both girls. And they would already panic if their gaze did not land on your figure lying on the bed.

"Oh my God y / n, why didn't you answer ... you know how much-"

Wanda freezes, doesn't hear any kind of thought in the room other than her and Nat's.

"Y / n?" Natasha slowly approaches and sits up on the bed.

The weight of the bed changes but you don't feel it, you don't really feel anything. It's like I've entered some weird and absurd catatonic state, could the stress cause such a thing? Maybe not, but coupled with the form of depression you were diagnosed with years ago? Definitely yes.

Wanda and Natasha exchange a look. Nat takes your hand and kisses your knuckles; she is worried, she doesn't think she has ever experienced something as scary as what she is experiencing right now. And Wanda… Wanda is theorized, she is afraid that they are too late.

She approaches you and her hands fly to your temples as she uses her powers to bring you back to them. It takes her about ten minutes to make you blink and turn your head towards the two of them.

They're smiling at you, a shy, small, sad, worried smile, but it's the coolest thing you've seen in those last few days. You open your mouth to speak but nothing comes out and you frown.

"It's okay" Natasha caresses your face gently, leaving you a kiss on the sunken cheeks: "you have entered a catatonic state and Wanda had to use her powers"

You vaguely remember putting yourself on the bed and then you don't remember anything. Not even how much time has passed but since they are both in front of you, certainly a lot of time has passed.

"It's been almost a week"

Wanda replies, almost as if she has read your thoughts about her, and then she sits down next to Nat and her hand grips yours free, intertwining your fingers.

"Oh"

A sigh escapes your lips and you close your eyes for a few seconds. But then, that weight on your chest that seemed to have lightened comes back all at once, forcing you to gasp.

You fight Nat and Wanda to get up but the two girls won't let you and you can only sit up.

"I-I have to go, I missed the exams and the job, I-I didn't call Jack and if-"

Wanda takes your face in her hands, making you focus on her as Nat of her steps behind you, letting you lean your back against her chest to calm you down with her heartbeat.

"We're here, we're not leaving again, okay?" We're not going anywhere this time. Now follow my breath. ”Wanda whispers softly to you, taking your hand and bringing it over her heart.

"But I don't ..."

“We've thought of everything, now you just have to focus on your detka breath. Well done, keep it up"

Wanda breathes noisily so she can follow her breath.

"You're doing great moya lyubov '"

Natasha leaves you a kiss on her back as she holds you tight.

When your breathing returns to normal, the wetness on her sheets almost makes you have another panic attack.

“It's okay, I'll clean it up. How about if you go to the kitchen and eat something? " Natasha offers herself and Wanda nods.

“You shouldn't be doing this, it's my fault. I'll clean it up "

You stand up just swing, immediately stopped by Wanda's steady hands on your hips.

"It's not your fault, it's not something you chose and I'm seriously afraid of seeing you collapse in front of us if you don't put something in your stomach, so, please, go eat something honey."

Natasha leaves you a kiss on the lips and gives you a small smile before you are dragged into the kitchen by the Sokoviana. She sits you down on the sofa and covers you with a blanket, leaving you a kiss and a smile, before heading to the stove.

"Do you want to eat something in particular?"

"Anything will be fine, thanks"

You play with the edge of the blanket, tracing the seam with your thumb over and over as you think about all you need to make up for, having to call your boss and beg him not to quit and go out of his way to give you a chance. from the university to get you to catch up those exams that-

You have been so absorbed in your thoughts that you have not noticed Wanda and Natasha, both in front of you, talking to you.

“Sorry, I didn't hear what you said; could you repeat? "

You murmur and they glance at each other before hugging you.

When you break away, Wanda hands you a plate of pasta. Spaghetti al pomodoro, nothing too sophisticated for any other person but you particularly love them. A small smile purses your lips and you thank her as you swallow the first forkful.

They let you finish eating before they speak.

"Before ... you were in a bad state"

The Sokovian's voice trembles and you hasten to take her hand.

"I've read your thoughts and I've felt all the stress you've felt in these weeks and, .. and I don't understand why you haven't told us anything"

"We are there, always, y / n and if you don't want to talk to us ... we can call the best therapists but you can't take you to the point where we found you today" Natasha's voice breaks as she says the last words: " you stayed in that state for six days and we couldn't do anything because we were on a mission and your body almost gave out. It can't happen again, you have to talk about it with someone love "

Natasha strokes her thigh while Wanda draws circles on her palm.

«I don't want to talk to someone else… I love you, I want to talk to you. But it was all so stressful, between the exams, the rent expiring soon, the constant pressure from the media I don't- "

You shake your head, letting the tears flow as your body is shaken by sobs.

Your girls surround you with their arms as you let it all out.

"It's okay, love, throw it all out"

"We are here detka, we will not leave you"

And so stay on the sofa, wrapped in each other's warmth for the whole evening.

After a week, all three of you are at the compound. Tony gave you an entire wing, all for the three of you, and your girls convinced you to quit your job so you could focus solely on studying. Plus, they had paid any news and gossip outlets in and around New York to remain silent about anything related to you or your relationship. The university hadn't made a fuss, maybe Nat's killer gaze and Wanda's red eyes had helped, and you had been given the chance to catch up on those two exams.

Nat and Wanda had also taken a full month off to focus solely on you. Now you are all three in your bed, you are between the two of them and you are looking at Pitch Perfect for the umpteenth time.

"Beca and Chloe are clearly a couple"

"Stacie and Aubrey too"

"Why not all of them together?" Natasha hugs you a little closer and you and Wanda chuckle.

"Polyamory improves life"

You three burst out laughing and keep focusing on the movie until it's over.

Nat turns off the TV, Wanda is already sound asleep in your arms and you smile as you leave a kiss on her forehead. You'll probably wake up in the morning with your right arm asleep but it's worth it.

"We love you, do you know that?"

Natasha whispers on your lips as she kisses you.

She gladly returned it with a small smile.

"I know Nat, I love you too"

"Anything we go through together, anything," Natasha says and strokes your face softly.

"Any"

You nod and lean on her touch.

“Mm… yeah, anything.” Wanda yawns and settles on your chest before closing her eyes again as you and Natasha burst out laughing.

Oh yes, they're definitely your soulmates.

Thanks for reading! I hope this has satisfied your request and, I recommend folks, send requests because I love to write them (it may take a while but shh). Leave a comment if you like and have a great day!

P.s: thanks for the compliments

@xvzelenya

#marvel #mcufam #natasha romanoff #wanda maximoff #black widow #wandanat #avengers #natasha x reader #wanda x reader #fanfiction #mcu fic #wanda x natasha x reader #fanfic #captain america #tony stark #bruce banner #steve rogers #iron man #mcu #pi #pitch perfect #bechloe #wlw

[therenlover]

In Fleeting Touches & Airy Sighs Chapter One (A Three Chapter Helmut Zemo/Reader Fanfic)

(Thank you to the wonderful anon who requested angst and smut between Zemo and the reader because Zemo had to be away from her on the run!)

Synopsis: A year after working together with Zemo in the events of Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Sam and Bucky seek him out once again in need of shelter from John Walker. Meanwhile, Zemo’s wife resents his absence and prepares for guests.

Tags: Flashbacks, Depression, Alcoholism, Separation Anxiety, Arguing, Struggling Marriage, Reunions

Rating: T (E in future chapters)

Warnings: Guns, Swearings, Reader shows signs of alcoholism/alcohol abuse, Reader uses a hot shower as a mild form of self harm

Word Count: 5000~

This fic has been crossposted under the same title to my AO3!

----------

Helmut Zemo was not often a man backed into a corner.

He was smart, resourceful, and had nothing left to lose. If it came down to the line, he would do whatever had to be done within his morals to achieve his goals, even if that goal was simply staying alive. The Baron bowed to no man, and made his enemies, no matter their size, fall to their knees with sheer wit instead of brute strength. That’s why, when he stood backed into an alley with the barrel of James Barnes’ gun to his forehead as the Falcon watched on, it was strange that he didn’t try to weasel his way out.

“We need answers,” Sam said, hands in the pockets of his dark hoodie. Bucky wore a similar one, only he wore a baseball cap instead of keeping his hood up. “How the hell did you break out of prison for a second time?”

Usually, Zemo would have replied with a clever quip. He had never been one to back down from a fight. This time, though, he looked almost frightened as he raised his arms in defeat. “I got in contact with friends on the outside during our short adventure together. They decided to help me out once I was re-incarcerated, willingly I might add. I had no part in the plan, but who would look a gift horse in the mouth?”

“And I guess I’m just supposed to assume you had no part in getting my pardon revoked?” Bucky spat.

“If you hadn’t noticed, James, I’ve left you alone,” A hint of his usual mockery slipped into Helmut’s tone, but he quickly pulled it back, “Believe what you want about me, but I’ve had some time since last year to… re-evaluate my feelings on the world. You had no choice but to do the things you did as the Winter Soldier, and as long as you pose no threat to society now I have no qualms with you,”

Despite the strangeness of Zemo’s response Bucky remained unphased. Sam, on the other hand, was less stoic.

“Man, I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but the government is looking for Bucky and I harder than they’re looking for you, and it’s kind of all your fault, so excuse me for not giving a shit about your supposed sudden change of heart!”

“Can we get to the point? I’m afraid my flight leaves in an hour and I would hate to be late,”

“Cut the bullshit!” There Bucky went, pushing the cold metal closer to Zemo’s furrowed forehead.

“Bucky...” Sam warned.

“No, Sam, I can do this. Did you or did you not actively attempt to get my pardon revoked when you took us to Madripoor? Because thanks to you, a worse symbol than Sam is now standing unchecked with the title of Captain America AND he has access to the last of the new super soldier serum AND he’s trying to get us killed so we can’t tell the world about the awful shit he does,”

“I-” Zemo went to speak and, for the first time since he had met him, Sam believed he was being genuine. There was a tremble that made its way through him, all the way to his raised hands and even his voice. It was enough that Bucky even lowered the gun minutely. “I understood that by following my lead, the both of you were risking a lot. I didn’t intend any specific malice with my actions though, no. If I may… the two of you have attracted a lot of attention here in the past few days. I assume Walker is very close to finding you?”

Sam and Bucky shared a look before Sam responded. “Maybe, why?”

“I have a safe house,” he continued, “I don’t stay there often so the location isn’t compromised, but it’s my next stop. Might I suggest we take this conversation on the road? I would hate to host your reunion with Mr. Walker in an alley over my corpse,”

There was a moment of complete stillness. Zemo remained, face dark with that strange deer-in-headlights look, a perfect statue, as the barrel of Bucky’s gun remained pointed firmly in his direction and Sam shared what seemed to be a completely silent conversation with Bucky. It was true that they had been burned before. Zemo was a man with his own agenda who did what it took to fulfill it. That being said, he had returned willingly with them back to prison before he was broken out, and without his help, the band of freshly minted super soldiers would still be running around Europe causing chaos. In the end, Bucky lowered his gun slowly before tucking it away into his boot holster.

Zemo grinned.

“Don’t think this means we trust you,” Sam groaned, pointing a finger at the man.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. Now, gentlemen, I believe we have a plane to catch,”

As the trio began to make their way out of the alley Bucky and Sam fell to the flank of the group. “Do you really think this is a good idea?” Bucky asked, eyes darting between his two companions. Sam shrugged.

“At this point, I’m doing whatever it takes to get home to my family in one piece. If that means I have to ride in Zemo’s stupid private jet again and lay low for a while, then that’s what I’m gonna do, because Sarah and those kids don’t deserve to lose me all over again,”

“But don’t you think he’s acting a little… weird?”

“Don’t worry, I have my eye on him. If he tries anything we can just throw him out front when Walker tries to shoot us,”

“You’re doing a very poor job of concealing your conversation,” Zemo shouted.

Bucky stormed ahead as Sam laughed.

“Oh, shut up!”

Surprisingly, the drive to the airstrip was mostly uneventful, as was the relatively short flight from Zurich to Avignon. There was, of course, the usual cutthroat banter and tension so thick you could feel it like a fog hanging over the group, but in an unusual twist of fate, the baron did very little to initiate. Of course, he wasn’t fully innocent though. He never was. That being said, even as his chauffeur carefully navigated the stone roads to the dropoff point he was strangely quiet. He had texted someone earlier to have the house prepared for their arrival but he kept looking down at the phone as if a response would come. It didn’t.

Sam appreciated the break from the noise. To him, it was a moment of peace after a few months of constant opposition. For the duration of the trip, he had chosen to shoot a few choice quips Bucky’s way before taking a long nap. Bucky, on the other hand, was only growing more suspicious of Zemo by the minute.

After his time with Hydra, Bucky had become intimately acquainted with the type of man that Zemo was. He was ruthless, driven by ideals that couldn’t be changed by any amount of debate or theory read inside a prison cell, and willing to do whatever it took to fulfill those ideals no matter the cost. There was remorse but no regret. A man like that doesn’t just stop believing in the thing that led him to kill dozens if not hundreds of people, because once the impetus is gone so is the only thing upholding their sense of self.

In basic terms, he was hiding something. Bucky was intent on finding out what that thing was, a thing important enough to make Zemo of all people shut the hell up and tell his enemies exactly where his safe house was, and he wasn’t going to rest until he did. The answer came easily enough in the end, but not before Sam and Bucky were forced face to face with the strangest thing they had ever seen, even when including aliens and wizards. That thing was Zemo buying flowers.

The trio had gotten out of the car somewhere around the center of the city and continued towards the safe house on foot. A few minutes after they started, though, Zemo had spoken.

“I apologize, but I’ll have to stop for a moment,” He said, holding up a hand to alert the two men trailing him to the fact that he was about to stop. Sam quirked up an eyebrow.

“At a flower shop?”

There, to the right of them, was a small fleuriste. The window was a burst of bright color. Pinks, reds, whites, purples; a certain bunch of spring blooms had caught Zemo’s eye. He shrugged. “It’s rude to arrive at someone’s house asking for a favor without a gift, Mr. Wilson. Excuse me,”

With a comfort that said he had been into the shop many times, Zemo walked through the door and began conversing with the shop owner in perfect French, even referring to her as tu instead of vous as he made his purchase.

“Did he just say someone’s house ?” Sam asked Bucky, eyes widening.

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Yeah, I think he did,”

“So, we’re just showing up at someone’s door,”

“Yup. Not to mention they’re someone who aligns themself with him,”

A groan escaped from Sam as he ran his hand down his face in disbelief. “I didn’t expect much from Zemo, but damn,”

“It’s your fault for expecting anything from Zemo in the first place,”

“For once, you’re right,”

They dawdled for a moment. As their conversation stilled, Zemo returned, now burdened by a sizable bouquet from the window. Around them, the city was starting to get off of work. Families walked together as businesses had their 5 o’clock shift change. Somehow as the world around them came to life it didn’t look at Sam and Bucky with anything more than a passing glance. They were tourists, nothing more. For a moment Sam understood why Zemo would go to a place like this for safety and anonymity.

Without ceremony, the trio began walking towards their destination once again.

“I apologize for the delay,” Zemo said, keeping his pace brisk and remaining about a foot ahead of his companions, “I suppose it’s become a bit of a habit that I buy Y/N flowers whenever I come back. We shouldn’t be long now, though, the house is just a few more blocks away, maybe 3 minutes by foot,”

“Y/N?” Bucky asked. The name felt heavy on his tongue, familiar. That had to be a coincidence though. Zemo would never align himself with anyone who had worked for Hydra, and there was no other place he could have heard that name and had it hold any significance. Right?

Zemo chuckled. “Y/N is our host. I’d appreciate it if you tried to maintain some semblance of respect when we arrive, she tends to have quite the temper and it would reflect badly on me if she believed I was asking her to indefinitely house two people who would happily send her to prison,”

“About that,” Sam chimed in, “Who the hell are we about to be staying with? It’s not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t, and by extension, I also don’t tend to trust people who trust you,”

“I assure you, Sam, Y/N is more trustworthy to you than I will ever be,”

“That doesn’t answer my question, nor does it make me feel any better,”

“She’s American, and like you, she is seeking shelter from the government. Isn’t that enough for you?”

“Man, at this point I feel like you’re not telling us because she’s actually some sort of crazy Sokovian sleeper agent who’s gonna stab us in the back while we sleep. Am I crazy, Buck, or am I right?”

Bucky, who had been trying his best to stay out of the conversation, replied. “You are being unnecessarily evasive, Zemo, though that’s nothing new…”

“Right? Like, I’m really grateful that you’re lending us a hand, but I’ve gotta be honest, if I think for a second things are going south-”

Sam never got to finish his sentence.

Suddenly, Zemo stopped short, turning around and looking Bucky in the eye with a madness neither he nor Sam had ever seen before. His whole body was stiff, rigid. The hand that wasn’t cradling the flowers delicately was gripped in a fist at his side. He looked angry, but underneath the anger, he really just looked scared. “You will not touch her. Do you hear me? Do what you’d like with me, I have made choices worthy of punishment, but you will not touch Y/N. If you so much as think of it, all bets are off. Do you understand me?”

Bucky nodded, sharp. This was certainly interesting. Sam just smirked.

“Is there something else you want to tell us?”

Zemo walked up a small set of stairs towards a home to their right. “No, Mr. Wilson, I don’t believe so,”

The building was a nice one, all tan stone with dark wrought-iron fixtures on its many windows. It looked, for all intents and purposes, like a normal midtown manor-house for some upper-class member of the community. The normalcy of it all hid its true purpose in plain sight. It was genius, really. Over a dividing wall made of the same yellowing stone, Sam could see a small sliver of vibrant green garden space and a pool at the side of the building.

With a steadying breath, Zemo knocked on the door.

“You have to knock on the door of your own safe house?” There was a hint of incredulity in Bucky’s voice as he crossed his arms. This was going to be a disaster. Why had they agreed to this again?

“A little etiquette goes a long way, James, especially when you’re already in the doghouse,” Then, the door opened.

Bucky froze. There, standing in the doorway with a pistol in her hand and a fire in her eyes, was a woman he thought long dead: you. This couldn’t be right! He had killed you back in ‘02 with the rest of the AAHR...

You quirked up an eyebrow at Zemo.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,”

They were so fucked.

________________

The day, on your end of the world, had gone by much slower.

It started off like any other, with the alarm on your bedside table blaring as you opened your eyes and your arms reached out into the emptiness in the sheets beside you. Sometimes, when Helmut’s flight got in late enough, you would wake up and reach to the side only to find that he had appeared beside you in the night. Those were the best kind of reunions. They were free of pretense, no bitterness or resentment clouded your sleep-heavy brain when you opened your eyes to his peaceful resting face, and you could simply fall into the comforting rhythm of husband and wife. If you reunited with a clear head things tended not to go as well.

You groaned. It wasn’t as if there was even a guarantee he would come back, especially not after the way you’d left things last time. The philosophy of attendre et espérer, waiting and hoping like an Edmond Dantés type, wouldn’t do you any good, at least not anymore.

Maybe it was time to start moving on…

Tomorrow. You could start thinking about the next steps tomorrow. For today you’d enjoy what you had.

Getting out of bed was difficult but you managed. The sun streamed through the curtains that billowed gently in the breeze near your balconette, brilliant gold beams illuminating the dust that danced in the air. The first thing you did was shuffle along to the corner and pour yourself two fingers of brandy from Helmut’s private collection. It was like a morning ritual these days, a numbing agent against the loneliness. Once the drink was downed you moved on to the closet to get dressed.

Dressing yourself wasn’t of much importance these days. You couldn’t exactly leave the house, and nobody was visiting, so more often than not, it was easier to just wear the same pajamas for a few days until you knew Oeznik would be around to drop off groceries. Today, though, you felt… filthy. Not dirty in a physical way, just sticky and filthy and unclean under your skin and in your very heart. Maybe a shower would help.

You looked around the closet with a clinical eye. It was difficult to be in there, surrounded by lavish dresses and expensive suits that you and your husband had worn arm in arm while plotting the downfall of the Avengers before your unsteady alliance had turned into so much more. Everything still smelled like his cologne. In the small, often-closed, walk-in closet, the scent had only intensified, covering every article of clothing with a fog of cedarwood and sage. It made you sick, choked the air from your lungs and left you gasping for even a single breath that didn’t sit heavy on your tongue with the bitter taste of that familiar musk.

The alcohol had helped. It always did. The remnants of its burn in your mouth formed a sort of guard against the scent of the closet as you searched through a pile of shirts for something soft and easy to wear. Your hands suddenly stilled.

“Zemo, I’m gonna be honest, this is the ugliest sweater I’ve ever seen in my entire life,”

“I’m hurt! That’s one of my favorites,”

“Where did you even get it, a 90-year-old grandpa’s closet? Jesus Christ, it looks like something out of a shitty 70’s flick about family values,”

“I’ll have you know that I thrifted that sweater. It’s very eco-conscious you know,”

Your heart hurt. Well, no, your whole body hurt, but your heart ached a little more prominently as you carefully picked up the sweater and held it to your chest. It was terribly ugly, 4 sizes too big even on Helmut and covered in an olive and forest green argyle. Somehow he was always able to pull off the oversized thing no matter how ridiculous you had always insisted you found it. When was the last time he’d worn it again?

The memory evaded you.

Still, it was a happy relic, happier than most of the monuments to a failing marriage that lined the shelves of your beautiful personal prison. It wouldn’t hurt to hope that by wearing it, you might rub just a little bit of that lost happiness off onto your present-day, right? With one last forlorn glance around the closet, you gathered up the sweater and a pair of jeans before getting out as fast as you could. With the scent of cologne clinging to you, the shower wasn’t just a good idea now, it was necessary.

So, you showered. You took the stupid foot-long exfoliating brush Helmut loved so much and scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed yourself under the near-boiling stream of water until your skin was pink and raw. Disappointingly, even the new skin felt filthy. It was better, though, less intense. With some lotion and a little bit of Neosporin on the fresh patches of blotchy red, you were able to feel okay. Not good. Not clean. Just… okay. At least you didn’t smell like him anymore. The clock read 12:14 when you finally made it out of the bathroom in search of some real food.

Lunch, if you could call it that, was a silent affair. The fridge was almost empty and the pantry was only a little less bare, so you threw together a cheese sandwich, not even bothering to waste butter and grill it. You ate it plain with another glass of brandy out on the pool deck. It was gone sooner than you hoped it would be.

Oh well.

You finished your brandy with a sigh. Only seven or eight more hours until you could finish your day with a few more drinks and pass out in bed until nine or ten once again. Ah, dreamless sleep. That sounded divine. Now if only you could fathom any non-depressing way to spend the time between sleeping and waking. Swimming was out, the chemicals would burn your freshly eviscerated skin. Playing solitaire for the fourth day in a row sounded like absolute hell on earth. Even watercolors, a usual calming respite from the torturous and neverending monotony of life trapped alone in a house you had no help in stocking, were off the table ever since you’d run out of paper.

Somewhere inside the house, your phone dinged.

The second the sound hit your ears you jumped, dropping your glass and letting it shatter into a thousand tiny shards on the stone of the patio.

Phones were a difficult thing to own for someone who was trying to stay out of the eyes of the government. They were too easy to track and could tip off enemies to your location with very little error needed on your part. Even searching the internet for innocent things was too risky. If your search history was too similar to that of the alias you had used before Helmut went to prison, it would have been easy for them to find a connection and send someone to track you down. Still, you kept a cell phone charged and ready on the kitchen counter despite the risk for one reason and one reason only: Emergency contact with your husband.

He never texted from the same number on more than one occasion, always switching from burner phone to burner phone as he flew across the country doing god knows what, but if he was ever in a situation where emergency contact with you was needed, he was able to reach you at your number immediately. It had only happened a couple of times, and each time he had been in a considerable amount of danger. So, when you suddenly heard the sound you dreaded more than anything else in the world, you were quick to rush inside, even ignoring the shattered glass at your feet as you shoved through the doors and found the phone.

The small, LED display was lit up with the notification. It made your heart both soar and sink.

Flying home with two guests. Prepare the two rooms for their stay. We will be there by 5 at the latest - B

You read over the message several times before letting the phone fall from your hand and back onto the counter with a dull thud.

That absolute asshole.

Three months. Three months you had spent sitting alone. Three months without a call, or a text, or a letter, or even a word of when he was coming back by way of Oeznik. Three months! And after three months of loneliness and sleepless nights and empty bottles on the drink cart he reaches out through an emergency line of contact that almost certainly means he might be dying only to tell you he’s bringing two strangers into your safe house, the place even he refuses to stay in too long in order to not give its location away. The scar on your spine was starting to burn as you leaned up against the counter and cried.

It was ridiculous to think you had ever believed him capable of more tact than that.

Really, it was your fault. From the beginning, you’d had too much faith in a man incapable of being trustworthy, even to those closest to him. You knew that, and yet you had married him. Maybe the soft touches and sweet lies he had spoon-fed you had made you weak. Maybe you always had been.

“I’m not a child, Helmut, I know what I’m doing!”

“I don’t think you do,” he shouted. He was a few drinks in now, you both were. The nights before his departures never tended to end well when you both drank. “Because no matter what I do to protect you, you have the need to disobey me! Have you considered that I do the things I do for your own good!”

“Oh! Oh yes, the things YOU do!” You slammed your glass down on the table as you stormed over to Helmut, “I sit here all day like a fucking dog in a cage while you fly to fucking Ibiza and flirt with supermodels, but YOUR story is just so fucking tragic! I’m your wife, Helmut! I’m not an animal or your property, I’m your goddamn wife! You can’t just order me to sit and stay like a dog,”

He glared down at you, eyes hawkish and glinting in the low lamplight. For the first time in years, he looked threatening, “You may not be a dog, or a child, or my property, but you are a weapon! It’s my job to keep you here, away from the-”

“Excuse me?” You interrupted. The two of you stood, inches away and yet miles apart. Slowly, the drive in Helmut’s eyes faltered. “Say that again. I dare you,”

“Schatz, I-”

“No, Helmut, you meant it so say it again. Call me that again. I fucking dare you,” Tears were streaming down your face now. He took a step towards you, hand extended to wipe them away, but you were quick to take a step back out of his reach.

“You misunderstood me,”

“I don’t think there was anything to misunderstand,”

You swept the shards of your glass tumbler into a dustpan, hands still shaking even ten minutes after you’d read Helmut’s message to you. As you worked, your last conversation before he’d left echoed in your mind.

How had it all devolved into that? It wasn’t hard to remember Helmut before prison, jaded and broken and lonely. He had been so much like you and yet so different. Each of you seemed to be the perfect balm for the others' wounds. In the end, despite all of his flaws, you had found yourself in love. Now that he was a different man, was that love gone? You couldn’t say. All you knew for sure was that you weren’t nearly drunk enough to be facing the confusing feelings in your brain. With the last of your energy, you emptied the dustpan of glass into the trash can and returned to the house, sweater itchy against your irritated skin, to ready the guest rooms.

The job wasn’t a long one. You had never used the guest rooms in all the time you’d spent at the Avignon property, so the sheets were already clean. There was just a thin layer of dust on the furniture that needed to be swept away as you checked to make sure the dressers were bare and the bathrooms were stocked with amenities. Then, when that was done, you were left to your thoughts as the hours ticked by.

Most of the time you spent sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing. It sounded terrible, and in all honesty it was, but what else could you do? The house was already spotless so cleaning wasn’t an option, and you didn’t quite feel like doing much of anything as you stared at the clock and tried to remember a time when your life was less of a disaster. As it got closer to five, though, you started to get antsy.

You had tried your best to not think about the obvious issue of the guests. Zemo was not the type to threaten his home, even if he wasn’t happy with you, so usually having anyone who wasn’t Oeznik or another paid lackey aware of the location of your safe house would be a big no in his book, but then you started thinking of the implications of him bringing people into your home. Your home, not his. Was he on his way to kill you? It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility. Or maybe he was bringing your replacement.

Now that thought made anger bubble up in your throat. You were no stranger to the idea that when your husband was away, he could be doing anything. There was no guarantee when he slept in lavish hotels or drank the night away in elite lounges that he kept his wedding ring on. The fact that there were two guests meant it was unlikely he was bringing two mistresses, but never impossible. Nothing was impossible when it came to Helmut.

No, it was more likely he had finally decided it was time to end your suffering. The shouts and boisterous laughter that started to sound directly outside of the front room window only confirmed the for you. Slowly, you crept towards the door and grabbed a small pistol from its place in the umbrella stand. If he wanted you dead you weren’t going to go without a fight.

Through the curtains on the front door, you could just barely make out the trio. When you saw them your blood ran cold. It was one thing if he needed help to take you down, but getting the Winter Soldier on board? Your rage only grew by the minute.

Helmut said something, probably planning the best course of action to catch you off guard, and you sneered. Two could play at that game. When he knocked on the door you opened it calmly and held the gun with your finger just barely ghosting over the trigger.

Everyone froze.

“Give me one reason I should let you in and not shoot you on the spot,” you said, rage coursing through every nerve in your body. You may have been in retirement for quite a few years, but you still knew how to handle a gun. Everyone there, except maybe the Falcon, knew that. As Zemo went to open his mouth, you prepared for a firefight.

“Because I brought you flowers,”

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

a/n: Sorry that only one chapter is out! The fic is just getting very long and complicated and I wanted to make sure you got as much as possible before the next episode drops lol. I’ll be working pretty much nonstop from now until then, though, so the next parts should be out soon!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater​ , @elaineygrace​, @multiyfandomgirl40​ ,  @lovelymischief​ , @rami-malek-trash​ , @dazzlingseb​, @avgravy​ , @sarahsilver , @wh0re-4-techno​ , @forcebros​ , @sugarsweetkiss​ , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff​ , @killsandthrills​ , @novasstudy​ , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp​ , @inmate-marmalade​, @alanathedeer​ , @mossybank​ , @simsiddy​ , @xxspqcebunsxx​ 

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[jackie5656]

The Fight

With; Newt (TMR)

A/N: Kind of a long one guys. Thank you again for all the love. I appreciate every like, reblog, and comment. Enjoy!

Warnings: mention of suicidal thoughts/attempt, anxiety, minor panic attack, Minho being an ass (I promise it’s not all depressing and sappy there is a good amount of angst/fluff ofc)

“Bugger off Newt, I want to be left alone.” The boy trails behind as you stomp over to the forest, figuring collecting fertilizer would be better than having to tolerate the pestering blonde any longer.

“Don’t you want someone to keep you company?”

“Am I still speaking English? Leave me be.” It’s been a long day, and a part of you is still getting used to the harsh, mundane work days of the glade since you’re arrival a few months ago. It’s been a lot of pressure, but surprisingly you’ve managed to hold it together. It’s impressive too, you’ve managed to adapt better to your new life better than any other glader had. Perhaps that was why the boy was so drawn to you.

It’s not like he had wanted to be. In fact, Newt would have been more than happy treating you like any other glader. But it just so happened the one and only girl in the glade just had to be a natural track-hoe, so there was no avoiding her. Not her smooth skin, glistening eyes, or her infectious laugh-

“Hello? Would you quit it, shank? It’s like you want to get me jacked.”

“Maybe I just like seeing you all riled up.” You can feel the smirk playing on his stupidly Cherry-red lips as he teases you, quickening his pace so he can grab the straggling branches of the thick forest out of your way. Your stomach flips at his words, but it’s quickly filled with hot anger as the nervousness fades. He won’t quit flirting, and despite your quit wit you’re finding it harder to snap back at him when he says things like that. He doesn’t even mean it

“You’re infuriating!”

“And you’re gorgeous.” The words slip past his tongue before he can catch him, and your footsteps stutter over a stray twig amongst the brush on the ground. You almost trip, but the glader behind you is quick to catch your forearm. It’s silent, and you’re darting your head around just fast enough to catch the stunned look on his face, informing you he hadn’t meant to voice the compliment aloud. Your eyes narrow, trying your best to ignore the longing temptation within you begging to kiss away the stupid blush in his cheeks.

“You know, instead of searching the forest for fertilizer, I should just pick up all the klunk that comes out of your mouth.” The harsh words come without much thought, but you don’t completely regret saying them. If he was actually interested, he wouldn’t be so keen on making you annoyed every minute of every day.

His eyebrows narrow, but if your snarky comment provoked any thought he doesn’t voice it.

“Shuck, sorry then newbie. I’ll slim it.”

“Listen, I was a newbie four greenies ago! So you can stop calling me that.” You spin on your heel to face him, standing your ground when he stops short in order to not run you over. When you meet eyes, he gives a kind smile, studying your features intently. Almost as if you were in a daze, you do the same. Relishing in the sounds of the nature around you and the warm sun beaming through the tree tops, perfectly illuminating the lightest streaks in the taller boy’s hair. You hadn’t notice before, but there are small puddles of gold in his deep brown eyes, speckled about in his irises and disappearing when he tilts his head to the side in feigned curiosity. He licks his lips before letting his accented voice break the silence.

“What’s up with you?”

“What? Nothing.”

“You’ve got that look about you.”

“What look?”

“That look.”

“I don’t have a look.”

“Well, I’m looking at you right now, and you have a look.”

“What look?!” He grins at your suddenly aggravated persistence, holding back a laugh when you let out a dramatic groan and start to tread deeper into the woods. 

Later that night, you’re making conversation with Frypan as you help with the dishes. He’s good company, and most times mundane chores like cleaning up after other gladers seem to fly by when he’s around. You let out a sigh when a familiar hand reaches out to help you take out one of the heavier pots from the drying rack. 

“Didn’t know you were a cook, greenie.”

“Maybe I;’m just trying to avoid you.”

“Impossible, you’d miss me too much.” 

“What do you want, shank.”

“What, I can’t help out too?”

Just then, you’re pulled away by the forearm with a strong yank. Releasing yourself from Mihno’s grip and rubbing the excess suds off of your hands quickly.

“What the hell?”

“Listen, you want him to quit being a shank towards you right?”

“Of course I do Minho, but-“

“Then flirt with me.”

“Wh-what?”

“Flirt with me, squeeze my arm and laugh like I just said something really funny.”

“You’re already saying something funny. You must be jacked.” You attempt to blow your friend off and walk away, but he pulls you toward him again.

“Just humor me for a minute, yeah? Let’s see how riled up this shank gets.”

“Minho, he’s not going to get mad. He lives to annoy me, he’ll be happy to see you’re joining in on the fun!”

“Y/n, you’re not seriously this dense? The poor shank likes you, he’s just got no idea how to show it. The playful banter you two have, although it’s cute, is starting to get old. So, because I’m an amazing friend and wing-man, I’ll help you shanks out. Now squeeze my arm and laugh.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Don’t believe me?” His challenging smirk is enough for you to give in, determined to prove the raven haired boy wrong. Setting aside your irritated mood, you adjust your hunched stance before giving Minho your most charming smile. Muttering idly and pressing his bicep with a dramatic laugh. He shoots you a glare when you pinch with a little too much passion, but a smirk stays on his face nonetheless. He moves just a bit closer to you, eyes darting across the glade and smile widening.

“See she-bean? He’s practically fuming.” The boy does all he can to contain his laughter, pulling himself together when you offer a subtle glance to the blonde across the glade. He’s leaning against the now empty sink with his arms crossed. Looking too angry to even begin to make his death glare towards Minho any less obvious. Admittedly, you don’t think you’ve seen Newt ever look so flustered. When you lock eyes, his lips remain tightly pressed together. Not long after does he turn back around to continue attending to the dishes. All whilst muttering something under his breath and shaking his head.

“Don’t get so cocky, you’re blushing too you shank.” You swat Mihno’s hand pinching your cheek, genuinely laughing when he nudges you out of the homestead hut.

“I’ll probably be banished by sundown for that.”

“You think he’s really that upset about it? I mean, I know we’re good friends and all but I never expected Newt to see me like that.”

“It’s a good thing I’m one of the only shanks around here with a brain.”

“Y/n, mind if I talk to you for a bit?” Alby approached the pair of you with a soft expression, his gentle nature filling you with a bit of concern. You nod hesitantly, feeling as though every damn glader needed to pull you from one conversation to the next tonight. You follow Alby closely as he leads you back into the homestead, sitting on one of the hammocks and motioning for you to do the same. There’s a contemplative silence before the head glader speaks, only taking him a few moments to gather his thoughts before meeting your eyes.

“I gotta be honest greenie, I’m a bit worried about you.”

“Why me?” Your eyebrows narrow in confusion, and the older boy’s worried tone makes your heart sink.

“Most of the newbies are jacked the first couple weeks. You know, lashing out one minute and crying like a baby the next. But you’ve been quite, collected. That leaves a lot of room for me to be concerned.”

“Alby, you’re upset that I’m not...Upset?”

“I’m upset that you remind me of myself. I was a lot like you, I kept everything in when I first got here. I was reserved, and I kept everything bottled up inside. And I’m no therapist, but that quickly tore me apart. I understand being a girl might...Complicate things, seeing as some of these shanks expect you to be weaker. You don’t have to prove yourself greenie, at least not in that way.” You take a minute to consider his words, chewing on the inside of your cheek in thought. He studies you for a moment, seemingly thinking about his next words with caution. “I don’t mean to jack you up, just think about it.” He finishes carefully, nudging your shoulder with his own before exiting the hut. Giving you a tight lipped smile and curt nod before disappearing from view. Was that supposed to be a pep talk?

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

The past weeks had been confusing, terrifying, and downright unbelievable. That was clear, but didn’t you have no other choice than to accept what was going on? You still had millions of questions, and a certain ache in your heart that felt like it was pulling at you. But there wasn’t time to break down, not yet anyway. Is there even a right time? The conversation with Alby seemed to have made you worse off than before. You shuffle for the hundredth time in your hammock, letting out an exasperated sigh at the restless situation.

Despite your efforts, sleep never comes. For the past week, you’ve been exhausted just about everyday. Today had been no different, except when you try to relax, anxiety crawls in the air around you. Suddenly, the warm night air is absolutely suffocating. It’s too much pressure, too much unknown for you to handle it any longer. When your pounding heartbeat begins to drown out the cicadas and other sounds of the glade, you can only think of one thing. Alby was right

Stumbling out of your hammock, you start making your way out of the hut. It doesn’t matter where, you just need to escape. Even when you’re outside, there’s still not enough room. The four walls that once felt like a barrier between you and the horrors of the ominous maze, now feel like a cage. Trapping you inside and shrinking impossibly smaller until they eventually crush you.

Without thinking, you begin to sprint over to the west wall, pounding at the menacing stone and letting out a chocked sob. All at once, every emotion you’d suppressed since your first day in the glade releases from you. It’s nauseating, and you grip your stomach in an attempt to latch onto some sense of stability.

Who put you here? Why was everyone so indifferent to their lives here, and why had you eventually become the same way?

There’s been this ache, some rotting substance in your core that’s been emanating within you since you first woke up in the box. A horrible, indescribable hollowness that is the result of the loss of what must have been your life before the maze. Suddenly, you miss your mom. Or maybe a woman who resembled one. It’s mortifying, to know you must have parents somewhere out there. But you can’t remember them, can only feel the ugliest parts of you that aren’t whole without them. Your vision blurs, and there’s an awful white noise that drowns out any and all sounds of reality surrounding you. Completely immersed in your own thoughts, even the ground beneath you feels as though it’s been meticulously sculpted by whatever monsters put you here. It’s impossible to breath, feeling as though every beat of your heart, every blink of an eye is in the control of the creators. So caught up in your own panic, you don’t sense the boy calling your name behind you.

You attempt to squirm out of his strong grip, his stature never showing how strong he truly is from his long hours in the gardens. It’s no use to keep pulling away when his back hits the stone wall of the glade, using his strong grip to hold your hands against your chest as he slides you both to the floor. Weaker leg giving out from the sheer strength needed to restrain you. Newt’s not sure if he’s helping or making your panicked state even worse, but he’s reassured when you begin to calm. Erratic cries faltering into small whimpers as your head uncontrollably jerks at each sharp intake of air your body forces you to take. You can feel his heart beat rapidly against your back, informing you just how scared he is despite his stoic nature on the outside. You try to release from his grip once again, instincts telling you there’s too much to worry about to calm down. The blonde pulls you closer to him once more, hushing your cries and leaning his chin atop of your head. The world feels authentic again, and you silently think out a plethora of thank you’s to the boy for immersing you back into reality. Doing your best to cease your cries and gain control of your breathing, you grip onto the fabric of his long sleeve sleeping shirt with a terror-induced strength. It’s all too much

“Just breathe y/n, breathe with me.” He mutters softly, chest filling with pride when you mimic his dramatic intakes of air.

The ringing subsides, and the white clouding your vision finally clears when your heart begins to slow. Eventually, Newt releases your arms. And in an instant, you clutch onto his hand in fear the crippling panic will return. Rip you away from everything you’ve come to know in only seconds.

“You’re alright now love, just breathe.” He soothes again, not even flinching at your harsh grip on him. The minute you had left your hammock, something within him beckoned him to follow. You’d been off the past couple of days, and somehow the boy knew you couldn’t be alone. His eyes well with tears, you having reminded him so much of himself his first year in the glade. He wonders what you would have done if he hadn’t caught you in time, and what lengths you would have gone to if the pain never stopped and the maze walls opened. He wills away the thought with a shake of his head, reminding himself that you’re still here, and in dire need of a friend.

“I miss my mom.” You stutter out eventually, soft lips trembling and pulled into a pitiful pout. “I don’t remember her of course, but it’s like I can feel her. I feel everything and nothing at the same time, you know? There’s so much death here, it’s been hard to find something to live for. How am I supposed to do this, how are we supposed to survive this? I mean...This has gotta be some sort of sick joke, nobody could be this shucking cruel right?” You let out a pathetic scoff, still shaking uncontrollably in his arms.

“Listen to me y/n, I’ve been where you are. We all have, and I can promise you there is so much more than that feeling. You have to believe me.” You shake your head, refusing to accept his empty promises. He sighs before continuing, trying to gather his thoughts in preparation to confess what he’s kept secret from almost all other gladers until now. “A couple weeks into my first year here, I couldn’t shake the same feeling you’re describing. That dark, ominous part that sits inside of all of us here. The unknown, the memories begging to re-enter your mind. I hated it, I hated this place, and I hated myself.” You lift your head from his shoulder at that, wanting to study his contemplative expression as he carries on. “Eventually, I couldn’t take it. So I ran out into the maze....And I did what I assume you’ve been thinking about the past couple of days. And I can assure you, nothing you do to yourself with get rid of that pain. That’s why we survive, we persevere, we fight. It might have taken a shattered leg and permanent limp for me to realize, but I know now the only way to beat that feeling is to escape this shucking place. What comes next doesn’t matter, we have to show whatever slintheads put us here that they won’t ever win. Do you understand?” His expression becomes stern, willing each word to bore into your mind as a permanent oath. Stunning brown eyes boring into yours as if they’ll cement each syllable into your mind. You nod, unsure of how to respond.

“You have to promise me.” He mutters softly, eyes welling with tears at your empty expression. “Please love, promise me you’ll fight.” He’s holding your head in his hands now, silently willing the overwhelming demons your facing to escape that beautiful mind.

“P-promise. I promise.” You reassure weakly, overcome with love for the boy under you. Instantly, you encase him in a tight embrace. Heart swelling even more when he plants a soft kiss to your temple.

“Good that.” He breathes gently, pulling you impossibly closer to his heart. Just to hold you for a little while longer. You have to fight, and you’ll do it together.

Tagging: @8avery8 @jenny33996

#imagines #fanfic #fiction #death cure #minho x reader #newt maze runner #newt x reader #scorch trials #the maze runner imagine #thomas maze runner #tmr teresa #tmr fanart #newtmas #the maze runner #dylan obrien #thomas brodie sangster #tmr gally #tmr newt #frypan maze runner #james dashner #benny watts #thomas sangster #minho maze runner

[spxllcxstxr]

Bridge Over Troubled Water • R.L

(Gif not mine)

Requests: can you do a blurb with Remus where the reader is nervous and anxious, maybe has a tough week and he gives her a massage and helps her relax? — anon and Hi! can you write an imagine where the reader is dating Remus and is disappointed in her school grades / results and is overall doubting herself and is disappointed with herself? — @emmaev

Summary: Things are getting really tough. Remus is here for you.

Warnings: mention of food, not eating/skipping a meal, hunger, depression, anxiety, a bit of a panic attack, homework, school, self deprecating thoughts, kinda take how we’re feeling in this pandemic and that’s kinda what this fic is, Snape being an ass for like two sentences, crying

Word Count: 1.7k

A.N: I hope it’s alright that I combined your two requests. But, I decided to make it longer with a lot more comfort. I really hope it’s ok with you guys ❤️ Kinda a vent fic? So that’s why it’s lowkey all over the place and the ending is sorta..abrupt? I hope you like it, though. I wanna say that I’m always here for you guys. This whole thing has been kicking my ass and school has been extremely tough for me, so know that you’re not alone. Know that you’ve got this. I believe wholeheartedly in you. Love you all. ❤️

Title: Simon and Garfunkel - Bridge Over Troubled Water

****

You trudge up the stone steps to the boys dorms, your bag dragging heavily behind you. With your robes slipping from your shoulders and your tie dangling loosely around your neck, you almost consider letting your bag go. Watching the heavy sack of books tumble recklessly down the spiral staircase seems like a great idea to you. However, you make it to the sixth year dorms before you’re able to loosen your grip.

The oak door was closed but not locked. What use was a lock when the door was charmed to singe off the eyebrows of any unwelcome visitor? Thankfully, the boys granted you complete access to their room in third year, so the door couldn’t harm you.

Turning the brass doorknob and stepping through the threshold, you’re greeted by somewhat organized chaos.

Sirius and Peter’s side of the room was a complete disaster while James and Remus’ side was at least nicer to look at. Sure a few books were scattered on the floor and James’ red and yellow underwear was hanging from his bedpost visible to anyone who walked in, but that’s nothing compared to whatever the other two have going on. You don’t even want to look at it, knowing full well that just one tiny glance would make your already terrible day worse.

The room is empty and completely quiet, the boys, just like every other person in the castle, were down in the Great Hall for dinner. At the thought of dinner just downstairs, your stomach grumbles before quickly churning in agony.

Quickly, you dump your bag next to the door and go through Remus’ drawers, searching for that one specific jumper.

It’s the deep blue cable knit one that always smells like him. The jumper is soft and warm and the perfect piece of clothing to cuddle into when you needed a good cry. And Godric, you needed a good, long, ugly cry.

After finding it and throwing it on, you barely lift up your feet walking to your boyfriend’s bed to get swallowed up by his blankets.

The weight of the day hits you full force the moment your head collides with his pillow, and your lips wobbles, the day replaying in your mind.

Your morning started with a Transfiguration exam that definitely was not on what you studied all night for.

Then, your potion bubbled out of your cauldron and started disintegrating the stone flooring, making Slughorn shoot you very disappointed look that made you want to disappear into the Forbidden Forest forever.

Defense Against the Dark Arts turned into a complete disaster as well when Professor Bluebell handed back your essays on inferi, and yours ended up with a spikey red D scrawled angrily on the top. D, which stands for Dreadful, as Snape snidely reminded you from over your shoulder. He flashed you smug little smirk along with the delicate O that adorned his own essay.

And to top it all off, you had to meet up with Flitwick right after classes to go over the vinegar to wine charm that for some reason wouldn’t work for you no matter how hard you tried. And you still weren’t successful.

This was becoming a common occurrence.

You always knew that your N.E.W.T. year was going to be tough, but Merlin, you never expected it to be this awful.

Classes were longer and harder and your professors were relentless and unforgiving with the amount of homework and exams they started handing out.

Sure you had more free periods, but those were filled with research and essays and studying, you had no free time at all—it was all a lie.

You couldn’t escape it. Sleep was just more time to be plagued by anxiety to the point you barely even slept at all. Most of the time you stared blankly up at the ceiling thinking about all the assignments you could be doing instead.

It’s this torturous and vicious cycle that you just can’t get out of.

And your motivation was quickly disappearing.

It was getting tougher and tougher each time to even do your homework. Lifting up your quill and taking out a stack of parchment was just difficult. It took too much energy out of you.

Smothering your face in Remus’ pillow, you groan out your frustration, balling your fists around the frayed sleeves of the jumper.

You’re so wrapped up in your despair and panic that you don’t hear the door creak open and four sets of footfalls and laughter bounce around the room.

“Damn, what’s up with you?” Sirius chuckles. You hear him flop onto his own bed.

You bury your nose in the fabric of the jumper, inhaling the sweet and comforting scent of chocolate and old parchment that always accompanies Remus Lupin.

“Don’t be a git, Pads.” Remus scoffs, making his way towards you.

He crouches down by your head, placing a delicate thumb on your cheekbone.

“Darling, what’s wrong?” His tone turns soft, drenched with concern.

You squeeze your eyes shut tight, tears trickling down the bridge of your nose and dripping down to the white sheets.

“Alright, darling, hold on.” Remus whispers, placing a dainty kiss on your forehead.

He straightens up, knees creaking the way no sixteen year old’s should.

“Alright, lads, clear out.” Remus declares to his friends.

“You can’t kick me out of my room, Moony. No way.” You hear James whine.

“Yes, I can, Prongs, c’mon. Go play chess with Peter or something.”

“But he always beats me.”

“C’mon, Prongsie, we can scam the first years by making them place bets on you winning.” Sirius suggests. His boots click against the floorboards, trailing towards the door.

Peter’s light footsteps follow after them.

“Fine.” James huffs dramatically. “But I’m not sleeping on the couch again, so no funny business.”

The door slams shut and once again you’re met with silence, though you do hear Remus changing out of his uniform and into more comfortable attire.

The bed dips underneath Remus’ weight and his hand gently starts to stroke through your hair.

“Tell me what’s wrong, my love.” Remus mumbles just loud enough for you to hear.

You try to swallow down the lump in the back of your throat.

“Just a very shitty day, Rem.” You manage to croak out, the words choppy and wavering.

Tears begin to flow freely, warm salty streaks making their way down your face in rapid succession.

“Oh darling.” Remus coos, practically pulling you into his arms and between his legs. You bury your face into his neck, tears dampening his scarred flesh. “It’s alright, let it out.” He continues to run your hair between his fingers. “Let it all out...”

“I-I’m just so stupid!” You sob, choking on spit. “Everything’s just getting too much and I can’t fucking take it anymore!”

He squeezes you closer to his chest, opting to stay silent so you can vent everything off of your chest. His cheek is pressed to the top of your head and you’re vaguely aware that you’re being rocked gently back and forth.

“It’s so hard!” You continue to wail, lungs constricting rapidly. It’s a struggle to keep breathing and your words barely come out fully, instead broken fragments are the only things spewing out.

“I’m a failure!” You spit out, face wet with tears.

“You’re not a failure, my love. I promise.” Remus tried to soothe, his voice adopting a small but noticeable waver. His hand rubs your back.

“I am! I’m a disappointment!” You sniff, taking in deep gulps of air.

“Shh...” Remus pulls you back a bit so he can see your entire face.

You already know you look disgusting. Eyes blotchy and red, tears streaming down your face. Snotty, spitty, wobbling, and watery features taking up his entire vision.

“What’s goin’ on in that pretty head of yours, hm? Let me help.” He consoles you softly.

You gaze into his warm honey brown eyes, glistening with his own tears.

You sniff, rubbing the sleeves of Remus’ stolen jumper across your face in an attempt to dry yourself off.

“Everything’s slipping, Rem. My grades, my mental health, everything. And I’m so lost I don’t know what to do anymore.” You confess. “What am I supposed to do?” You bring your hands up to you hair, tugging at your scalp enough for you to feel sparks of pain.

Quickly, his own trembling hands take yours. He stops you from tugging, instead bringing them to rest on his jumper clad chest.

You swallow harshly.

“I’m going to help you, (Y/n)—“

“You can’t help me, Remus! I’m beyond help—“

“No, you’re not.” He retorts lightly. “I’ll help you with homework and help you ask for a few extensions...we can get you back on track.”

“Remus...” Your voice trembles at his kindness.

“I’m sorry.” He rasps out, a tear or two slipping from his waterline. “I’m so so sorry that I didn’t see you suffering like this. Merlin, (Y/n).”

Shaking his head at himself, he brings his forehead down to your own.

“I’ll be better. I’ll be better, I swear.” Remus keeps repeating in a pained mutter.

“It’s not your fault, Rem. I got good at acting like everything was fine.” Your voice cracks.

“Still! I should’ve realized!” He mutters angrily.

“I love you, Remus. I love you so much, please don’t beat yourself up over this.” You plead.

He bites his lip, deciding to drop it, instead focusing on you.

“Why don’t we try to relax, hm? Just take a nice night off?” Remus suggests, pulling away to brush strands of hair away from your sticky face.

“But what about homework—?”

“Tomorrow, love. I think we deserve a break, don’t you?”

You shlyly nod, and he presses his lips to your forehead.

“You’re beautiful, darling.” Remus whispers.

“I just bawled my eyes out, Rem, I’m sure I look like a swamp hag.” You snort.

He brings his hands to your shoulders, rubbing deep circles into your back muscles. The knots start to dissipate.

“Never seen a swamp hag as angelic as you.” Remus flirts. But his voice is so sincere and honest, you have no choice but to somewhat believe him.

“Thank you, Remus.” You smile. “It means so much to me.”

“Anything for the love of my life.” He confesses, trailing his pink lips down your neck. “Now let me hold you close.”

He lays down, resting his head on his pillow, your head resting on his chest.

Things are going to get better.

Probably not tomorrow.

Probably not this week.

But things will.

•

All Character Taglist: @aspiringsloth20

#Remus Lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin angst #remus lupin fluff #the marauders x reader #the marauders

[ms-demeanor]

While I appreciate that you want a person to live, have you considered that you are just another person who has refused them help? Sometimes it doesn’t get better. For how many years, and from how many people, is a person supposed to be ok with being dehumanized before it is ok for them to throw the towel in?

Telling someone what caliber of gun is most likely to kill them so they can start a savings fund for it isn’t helping; refusing to respond to that with anything other than mental health resources isn’t refusing to help.

But okay we’re going to have the It Gets Better talk.

I am almost thirty four years old. I’ve been getting treated for depression for literally more than half of my life. I have spent even MORE of my life than that kind of wishing that I was dead and occasionally REALLY wishing I was dead and sort of getting off my ass to do something about it. I have the standard CSA/multiple rape survivor Oh No The Trauma backstory and spent the last *nine* years living with an emotionally abusive relative who had recently taken to tracking my activity by filming me in my home.

I kind of hate “it gets better” narratives because you know what, sometimes life is shit and it doesn’t really get all that much better. Sometimes things are bad and the only thing that gets you out of the abuser’s house is the fact that your partner nearly died. Sometimes everything sucks and it sucks for a long time and there’s no end of the suck in sight.

I have friends who are chronically, degeneratively ill. I know “It Gets Better” doesn’t really help them because they aren’t going to get better. They’re going to stay sick, they’re going to keep hurting, and in a lot of cases things are going to get worse.

So “It Gets Better” kind of rubs me the wrong way. I’d like to reframe it.

You get better at dealing with the bullshit.

Sometimes your situation doesn’t improve but how you approach it does. You may be stuck in the same shit but dedicating less mental space to caretaking an abuser’s emotions. You may still be dealing with daily pain but you’ve gotten to know what triggers it and what to avoid. You may be stuck in a miserable, terrifying situation and have a rich and thriving community of fanfic authors you talk to when shit gets to be too heavy.

The people who “it gets better” narratives tend to be really helpful for are young people who don’t have any autonomy who are close to being old enough that they’ll finally get to make some choices about their lives.

It’s harder dealing with feeling trapped as an adult because you can’t generally escape the things that are trapping you by living in a college dorm or getting an apartment with a bunch of roommates or coming out because you may have already done those things OR you may be in a place where those things aren’t possible for you.

So what do you do?

Well, for starters instead of saving up money for the best kind of gun to kill yourself with save up money for something stupid and funny that you like. Save up money for a tattoo, save up money for an arcade-size DDR cabinet and pads, save up money to buy a camera to make a youtube channel of you doing bad cover songs. (And if you don’t have money to save up then take up a free hobby; if you’ve got access to the internet to send me anons about how to kill yourself you’ve got access to the internet to use AO3 and I strongly recommend you start writing self-insert fic where you get to hang out with the cool fictional characters you like because it’s sort of like maladaptive daydreaming but people will stop by and say nice things about it and you feel validated when the numbers go up)

If you *can’t* fix your situation (because you live in a country that doesn’t recognize your gender, because you’re poor and have to live with people who hurt you, because you’ve got such deep and overwhelming anxiety that making the change seems impossible, because you don’t want to abandon someone more vulnerable than you to the bad situation) then do something, ANYTHING, that you and you alone are in charge of. You’re in charge of your bad cover songs youtube channel. You’re in charge of the smiley face tattooed on your ass. You’re in charge of what happens in your totally self-indulgent, fluffy, found family fic.

Find one thing, ONE THING, that allows you to assert your autonomy and everything gets a lot easier from there because A) you’ve got proof you can do something for yourself and B) you’ve now got something to fall back on when you ask yourself “why do I keep going?”

You keep going because you like your gender affirming roleplay group online. You keep going because you want a horrible butterfly tattooed on the other ass cheek. You keep going because you want to see how many kudos the next update gets.

And while you’re doing all of that you’re making a plan.

Let’s not kid ourselves here, suicidal people are GOOD at making plans. Not at keeping them all the time, but good at making them.

So you plan to get out.

You might not *keep* that plan but if you can sit and fantasize about eating a gun so that the pain will stop then you can sit and fantasize about buying a plane ticket or running away or looking for a different doctor so the pain will stop.

Do the little things that you can do. Write fic, go fishing, fold paper cranes, take long walks by yourself, pet a cat, get a tongue piercing, read a book. Do the little things that you can control, that you enjoy, that you do just for you.

And while you’re doing that think about the train you’re going to take to leave, how much nicer the nurses will be at the new doctor, how great it’s going to feel to dress in a way that feels right.

And even if it doesn’t work and you’re stuck living with a shitty abusive harpy who screams you awake and makes you have panic attacks whenever you hear her moving around the house you’ll get better at dealing with the bullshit. You’ll build up a space for you in your head where the bullshit isn’t there.

And then maybe someday the outside matches the inside. Maybe your friend needs a roommate, maybe you get a job that pays better, maybe a new medication is released. You don’t know for sure that it’s going to happen, there’s no guarantee it’ll happen, but at least if it doesn’t happen you’ve carved out a little space for yourself where you can survive.

ALSO

I know that a huge number of suicidal people are suicidal because they feel helpless.

One way to IMMEDIATELY make yourself feel less helpless is to help someone else. Here’s an app where you can give visual assistance to blind and low-vision people: https://www.bemyeyes.com/

The world is shitty and everything sucks and sometimes you can’t make your own situation better, but you can write video and image transcriptions on tumblr and maybe that’ll cheer someone else up.

Anyway, it’s not up to me to say when anybody else has had enough, but I figure you shouldn’t try to kill yourself until you’ve gotten a stegosaurus in an admiral’s hat tattooed on your thigh or something because who knows, that could be the thing that makes you feel better enough to keep going and if you’ve put up with the pain and bullshit this long what do you have to lose by putting up with it a little longer?

[nicknellie]

For months I’ve been saying I’d write a fic where Alex starts counselling because this fandom is in desperate need of good therapy representation, and I’ve finally got around to it! This follows Alex deciding he wants to get therapy, having his first assessment, and having his first session. Most of it is pulled from my experiences so far, but bare in mind that not all therapists/organisations will function the way this one does. Also I’m very tired and I didn’t proofread so I’m sorry for any errors, I’ll fix them at another point.

TW: anxiety, therapy, mentions of depression, mentions of homophobia, mentions of OCD

The Right Decision

It was another one of those days where Alex felt exhausted from the moment he woke up. Not exhausted in that he needed to sleep longer (although admittedly that was probably a part of it), just exhausted because here was another day he had to get through, another challenge he had to overcome, another stressful sixteen hours of endless worries and things to do. Sometimes Alex felt like there was no escape, no rest, no pause in his life. He had to keep going no matter how drained he felt.

It was exhausting.

Everything felt like too much nowadays. Between going to school and sitting exams, playing with the band, and keeping up with his friends, Alex felt as if he had no time to breathe. He couldn’t slow down for longer than a moment or two before along came the next thing and the next barrage of anxieties that accompanied it. He couldn’t catch his breath, he couldn’t keep up, and it was dragging him down.

What he couldn’t understand was how nobody else seemed to feel quite as worried as him. He had always been more anxious than his friends, that was nothing new – but when everyone he knew had mostly the same stresses as him, it struck him as impossible that none of them seemed too overwhelmed. Perhaps every now and then Luke would complain about an exam at school or Reggie would mention that he was having trouble sleeping, but none of Alex’s friends ever mentioned weak legs, trouble breathing, clouded thoughts, needless panic that stemmed from nowhere, the feeling that nothing they did was really worth much at all.

Recently, Alex’s days had been muddled, his mind occupied with each new worry that he thought up. He was finding it hard to focus on much at all. He’d find his leg bouncing whenever he sat down or his fingers scratching at his knees, little repetitive movements that he wouldn’t notice until somebody pointed them out. He struggled sleeping at night, his mind racing at the speed of light, every nonsensical thought keeping him awake like the world’s most pessimistic firework display. When he was around his friends, his mind snagged on what they thought about him – he began acting the way he thought they wanted him to rather than the way he normally would have.

It felt like he was constantly pretending to be coping better than he was. If he carried on the way he was, he knew sooner or later he would break.

“I’ve been thinking,” he said that morning, sat on the opposite side of the sofa to Willie. He had stayed the night at Willie’s place, vastly preferring it to his own – his strained relationship with his parents wasn’t exactly doing him a world of good either.

“About what?” Willie asked, kicking their feet up onto the sofa and resting them in Alex’s lap.

The question was strangely hard to answer. Where was he even supposed to begin answering it?

“About me,” he ventured slowly. It seemed like a good start, he just wasn’t sure how to carry on.

“I think about you a lot too,” Willie said, beaming. “It’s one of my favourite pastimes.”

Normally, Alex might have blushed, but he was so caught up in his own head that the flirtatious nature of Willie’s comment flew right over his head.

Willie sat up, looking concerned. He took Alex’s hand in his own, dragging Alex down from his addled thoughts. “What’s going on, hotdog? What have you been thinking?”

“I’ve not been finding things easy recently,” Alex began. He hadn’t expected tears to fill his eyes so soon, and yet there they were. His voice wavered, his words interspersed with sniffles. Frustrated, he sighed and wiped roughly at his eyes with his sleeve, annoyed that this was all getting to him so easily. “I… I can’t explain it.”

Willie reached up and gently pulled Alex’s tight fists away from his eyes and instead wiped Alex’s tears away softly with his thumb. “Take your time,” they said. “It’s alright. I’m listening.”

“I just… I feel so nervous. All the time. About every little thing. And it feels like it’s getting worse. I don’t feel like myself anymore.”

One of the things Alex loved most about Willie was that he was never pushy. He always let Alex talk as and when he needed to, getting everything off his chest the way he wanted, even if it took hours. They did it now, just holding Alex’s hand, their eyes fixed on him attentively. From someone else, the unbroken eye contact might have just unnerved Alex even more, but from Willie it felt reassuring. He knew he was being listened to and heard – he knew he was safe.

“I want to get help,” he breathed. “I don’t want to carry on the way I am. It scares me.”

“If you want to get help, then that’s exactly what we’ll do,” Willie told him, threading their fingers together. “And Alex – it might not feel like it, but you’re so brave for telling me that. It can’t have been easy, but I’m proud of you for telling me instead of just struggling through by yourself.”

“Do you think it’s a good idea?” Alex asked apprehensively. Willie was always supportive of him, but it was such a drastic change from the way his parents treated him that sometimes he couldn’t help but check it was all real.

Willie smiled gently and cupped Alex’s cheek with his hand. His eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into the touch, so he couldn’t see Willie when they replied but he could hear the honestly in his voice. “I think it’ll be really helpful for you. And if it’s what you think you need then it’s worth trying no matter what.”

“Thank you,” Alex whispered, barely audible, throat clogged with suppressed sobs.

“Anything, Alex.”

The two of them spent hours researching different therapists and counsellors. Willie carried out extensive background checks on every one of them – at first Alex thought that maybe it was a bit much, but Willie was adamant that only the best would do, that he didn’t want anyone with a chequered past or a dodgy record.

Eventually they came across a charity that offered free counselling. The sessions would take place at the same time on the same day each week and they could go on for as long as Alex needed. He would be assigned the counsellor deemed most fit to treat him after completing an assessment, and the organisation appeared to have very good reviews and success rates.

“We don’t have to sign you up today,” Willie explained, “not if you think it’ll be too much too soon. But it’s worth keeping in mind that this place is probably a good one to go for.”

Alex thought for a moment before making his mind up. He knew himself – if he kept putting it off because he was nervous about it then he would never get around to doing it at all.

“Let’s do it now,” he said resolutely, trying to sound confident in the hopes that maybe he’d believe he wasn’t so nervous himself. “Get it out of the way. It’s now or never, right?”

Willie just kissed the top of his head and clicked the application button at the bottom of the webpage.

*

A week or so later, Alex received an email informing him of when his assessment would take place. It seemed like a very informal thing – someone from the charity would phone him, they’d have a casual chat where they would ask him about himself, and they’d offer him either a space on their waiting list or suggest somewhere else that might be able to help him better.

Despite how friendly and casual it all sounded, Alex couldn’t help but feel nervous. For one thing, he hated talking to strangers. He’d never been good at it and the whole idea made him feel sick with worry. Though, he supposed, that was why he was going through with this whole thing, to make that worry stop.

But the other issue was that it was a phone appointment. Inexplicably, one of the things guaranteed to cause Alex anxiety was phone calls. The thought of picking up the phone when somebody rang was enough to make his head spin and eyes water. Just the notion of it made him want to lock himself away in a lonely dark room and not come out until he felt he could breathe again. It was painfully ironic – he had to do the things that made him most anxious in order to get help with his anxiety.

When the time of the appointment came, Alex was sat on Willie’s bed by himself, staring at his phone, waiting for it to ring. Willie had kindly offered to be in the room with him, but Alex had declined. Even though Willie was the most supportive person in his life, having them in the room while he had his assessment would have made it a thousand times more difficult.

The phone rang and for a moment Alex considered just not picking up. Was it worth making himself even more worried over this? Maybe he could learn to cope with his anxiety alone instead of getting all worked up over receiving help. He’d managed just fine in the past.

But you’re not managing just fine right now, Alex, he reminded himself. Pick up the phone.

“Hello?” he said, forcing himself to keep his voice level.

“Hi,” came a voice on the other end. It was an airy, soft-spoken lady, and though Alex couldn’t see her he could imagine her sat in her office, surrounded by motivational posters and dreamcatchers, wearing far too many scarves. “My name is Elizabeth. I’m calling for your mental health assessment. I just need to confirm who I’m speaking to.”

“Alex Mercer,” he said, glad he could answer that first question right at the very least. And sure, maybe the other questions he would be asked didn’t have specific right or wrong answers, but he still felt as if he had something to prove with them. Here at least he knew what he was doing.

“And your age and date of birth please, Alex,” Elizabeth asked. He could hear the faint scratching of a pen on paper.

“I’m eighteen and my birthday is the first of August.”

A tiny voice in the back of his mind questioned him, but he pushed it away. He wasn’t going to overthink so quickly. He knew what his own birthday was.

“Great, thank you, Alex,” Elizabeth said. “So I’m just going to talk you through how this will work quickly, okay? I’ll try not to take too long with the whole assessment, I know sometimes talking on the phone or talking to strangers can be tricky. All that’s really going to happen is that we’ll have a little chat, I’ll ask you about your life and your mental health. Everything we say will be confidential, the only other person who’ll find out is the person we assign as your counsellor. All I need you to do is be as honest as possible when you answer the questions. Is that all okay?”

“Yeah,” Alex said. His throat felt tight with worry but he did his best to ignore it. Elizabeth sounded like a lovely lady and the whole point of this was that he would stop being anxious, or at least learn to manage it better. Maybe this bit was hard, but it would only get easier as time went on. “That’s alright.”

“Fantastic,” she said. “Okay, Alex, we’ll start with the most obvious question: why do you want to come to us for counselling?”

He told her what he had told Willie, just with fewer tears. He could feel them stinging the backs of his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. His voice stayed level but only because he forced it too.

From then on, it seemed like fairly quickfire questions. Elizabeth didn’t linger on any one aspect of Alex’s life so long that it made Alex uncomfortable, as if she was just sizing him up rather than trying to properly inspect him.

“Who do you live with, Alex?”

“My parents and my little sister, but I don’t spend a lot of time at home.”

“Do you not get on with them?” she asked. Her tone made her sound curious rather than concerned and somehow that was a lot easier for Alex to respond to. She just wanted to know – she wasn’t worried about it.

“My little sister’s fine, but not my parents.”

“Where do you stay instead?”

“My boyfriend’s apartment.”

Pen scratching on paper again.

“How’s your relationship with your boyfriend?” Elizabeth asked.

It was one of the only questions Alex felt confident answering. “My relationship with Willie is the best thing in my life.”

He thought he could hear Elizabeth’s smile as she said, “I’m very glad to hear that, Alex.”

She asked him about his friendships and he told her that they were strong. When she asked who his best friend was he momentarily panicked because he didn’t know which of his friends to choose – they all meant the world to him in different ways – but settled on Carrie. He explained that he was in a band with most of his other friends and that it was one of the only things that made him feel relaxed.

Elizabeth asked about school and Alex told her about his exams, how the stress of them definitely wasn’t doing his mind any good. She asked about his grades and he told her that they were high but he worried about keeping them that way. She asked him if he was part of any clubs or teams and he said he was on the cross-country team but didn’t find much enjoyment in it anymore.

It was odd, he thought absently. As he spoke to Elizabeth, he not only found himself being open and honest with her but also with himself. Half the things he told her were things he hadn’t thought about until she brought them up, and realising that he worried about grades more than he’d thought and that he didn’t want to be on the running team was more of a surprise to him that it should have been. He noticed more and more things about himself as he went on, things he probably never would have realised otherwise, and it sparked a little flame of hope inside him that maybe this counselling was already being beneficial to him.

The assessment was over much more quickly than Alex had thought it would take. Elizabeth told him that she was happy to put him on the waiting list and that she would be in touch when a counsellor became available. After a friendly goodbye, Alex put the phone down and took a few minutes to collect himself before heading out into the living room of Willie’s apartment to tell him how well it had gone.

*

It was a month or two before Alex heard from the charity again. He got another email, this one telling him the time and location of his first appointment. He showed up on the day, Willie by his side, feeling the worst he’d felt in weeks.

“Hey,” Willie said gently as Alex just stared at the door, his stomach flipping at the thought of even pressing the intercom. “Just remember you’re doing this to help yourself. I believe in you, hotdog. You’ve got this.”

Alex pulled Willie into a brief hug, but disentangled himself quickly and pressed the intercom before his adrenaline disappeared and he had another chance to dwell on it.

“Hello,” came the voice of the receptionist inside. “How can I help?”

“My name is Alex Mercer, I’m here for my counselling session,” he said. He wasn’t sure how much of his sentence actually sounded like words, the entire thing having been rushed out on one breath, but the receptionist seemed to get it. The lock on the door clicked open.

“Come on in, you can sit in the waiting room and your counsellor will come and get you soon.”

Alex took a deep breath and pushed the door open, Willie following close behind him as the two of them walked into the building. The waiting room was on the left as soon as they walked in so they took their seats beside each other. There was hardly anyone else in there – the receptionist was sat behind the desk in the corner, there was a lady flicking through a magazine on the other side of the waiting room, and a young man was sat with a toddler, trying to keep the little boy still when clearly all he wanted to do was run around. The walls were covered in posters, most of them either with motivation quotes on them or symptoms of different mental health issues. Alex had to tear his eyes away from the anxiety one, his hands rubbing together in his lap restlessly.

They weren’t sat there for very long when a kind-looking man poked his head into the waiting room and scanned it. When his eyes landed on Alex and Willie, a small smile grew on his face.

“Alex Mercer?” he asked.

Alex stood up and wiped his sweaty hands down on his trousers. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Nice to meet you, Alex,” the man said. “I’m Graham, I’ll be your counsellor. Is this your boyfriend?”

“Yeah, this is Willie,” Alex said, gesturing vaguely in his direction.

“Hi,” they said, “great to meet you.”

“You too,” Graham said. “Alex, Willie can come in with you for a little bit if you think that would make you more comfortable, or he could stay here in the waiting room and it’ll just be you and I in there. Whatever you prefer.”

Alex cast a glance at Willie who just gave him a reassuring smile. Your call, their expression said, I’m here for you no matter what.

“I’d rather go in alone,” Alex decided.

Graham nodded, smiling genially. “That’s alright. If you’d like to follow me then.”

Sending one last look to Willie (who gave Alex a thumbs up and mouthed ‘you got this’), Alex followed Graham out of the waiting room, up a flight of stairs, and into a smaller room on the second floor. There was hardly anything in there but a desk with a laptop on it and two chairs positioned opposite each other, a coffee table between them with a lamp and a box of tissues on it. Graham sat down in one chair and gestured for Alex to sit in the other.

“Alright, Alex,” Graham said, donning his glasses and picking up a pen and paper. “How are you feeling about being here today?”

“I’m a little nervous,” Alex told him. “But you know… it’s something I’ve got to do, right?”

Graham nodded. “Looking at your assessment, I think you made the right decision in coming to us. I just want to briefly explain what will be happening in these sessions – I’m going to be doing CBT. Do you know what that is?”

Alex shook his head.

“CBT stands for Cognitive Behavioural Therapy,” Graham explained. “As people, we have thoughts. Those thoughts influence our mood, which then influences our behaviour, which influences our thoughts. It’s a cycle. When our thoughts or our behaviours turn negative, it can lead to mental health problems like yours. What CBT aims to do is change the thought processes and behaviours that lead to things like your anxiety. With me so far?”

Alex nodded.

“We aren’t going to start that today,” Graham said. Alex breathed a sigh of relief and Graham chuckled at it, but not in a way that made Alex feel like he was being made fun of. “Today we’re just going to get to know each other a bit, we’ll go over the information I’ve got from your assessment in a little more detail, and then I’ve got a questionnaire for you to fill out. Sound good?”

“Good,” Alex said. Well, he supposed, getting one word out was better than none at all.

Graham pulled out a few sheets of paper and the two of them spent the next half hour or so going over the assessment Elizabeth had conducted. It was a lot more detailed, a lot more personal, and Alex needed to think about himself a lot more than he would have liked, but it was made easier by Graham’s easy-going personality and the fact that Alex’s knew it was all necessary. He wasn’t being judged for any of it, he was just helping Graham help him.

It just felt like a chat with a friend. When they talked about Alex’s parents and he explained they weren’t supporting of his sexuality, Graham said, “When I told my folks that I’m bisexual they had a similar reaction. I understand it – you’re not alone, Alex.”

And as he said that, Alex really felt it was true. He was understood here. He wasn’t alone.

They talked about Alex’s trouble sleeping, how he worried about the little things rather than anything really important, how he was a picky eater, and every detail that seemed insignificant but clearly meant something to Graham. It felt a little invasive, but the environment was comfortable, so Alex didn’t really mind sharing. It was ridiculously easy to say everything on his mind and so much more freeing than keeping his emotions bottled up like normal.

“Alright then,” Graham said eventually. “All I’ve got left is this questionnaire. It’ll take you through forty-seven questions and all of the answers give you a choice between always, often, sometimes, or never. Sometimes it’s quite obvious what the question is getting at – there’s one about repetitive routines that’s obviously about OCD – but I want you to answer as honestly as possible, don’t even think about what it might do to your results. Alright?”

“Yeah,” Alex said, “that’s fine.”

Graham led Alex through the questionnaire, selecting the answers on his laptop. Alex tried to answer quickly, not giving himself time to overthink it, but a few of the simplest ones stumped him. He’d never thought about how much he thought about death, he’d never paid any mind to his specific behaviours. But still, he answered as best he could and the questions were over relatively quickly.

“Looking at your results,” Graham said, pushing his glasses further up his nose and squinting at the laptop screen, “you answered most highly for general anxiety – you got twenty-nine for that. Then social anxiety, you got twenty. Depression and low mood, you got sixteen. For panic disorder you got fourteen, eleven for OCD, and five for separation anxiety. Does any of that surprise you?”

“Not in the slightest,” Alex told him, laughing at himself a little. It was exactly what he would have expected from himself – he wasn’t quite sure what the numbers really meant, but having general anxiety at the top wasn’t a shock to him.

“So what we’ll do each week from now on is fill out a smaller one of those, but it will be more focused on general anxiety, only eight or nine questions long. And we’ll start your CBT next week so these little questionnaires will be very helpful to track your progress. But that’s it for this week! You’re done, Alex, you made it!”

Alex felt himself smile. He’d done it. It hadn’t been nearly as difficult as he had thought it would be – it felt like there had been a weight lifted from his shoulders and he could breathe easily. His mind briefly wandered back to how anxious he’d been to even press the intercom outside; now he felt the lightest he’d been in as long as he could remember.

He and Graham said their goodbyes and Alex made his way back down to the waiting room to see get Willie. When he saw the bright smile Alex wore, Willie’s face lit up and he beamed.

“How was that?” they asked, immediately slipping his hand into Alex’s.

“Really good,” Alex told them. Willie’s face softened – there was a definite look of pride in their eyes and Alex knew it was for him. “I’m glad I’m doing this.”

Standing up on his tiptoes, Willie pressed a featherlight kiss to Alex’s cheek. “I’m glad. I’m proud of you, hotdog.”

“I’m proud of me too,” Alex said. For the first time in a very long while, he actually meant it.

*

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed just let me know): @ace-bookworm @williexmercer @boggie-brainrot @itstiger720 @the-reckless-and-the-brave @that-one-newsie @bluedarkness @lookingthroughmirrors @tmp-jatp @salty-star @julieandthequeers @lmaohuh @sunnysbright @sylphrenas @callmeontheleyline

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #jatp fic #alex mercer #willie jatp #willex #willie x alex #alex x willie #my writing #writing #therapy #tw anxiety #tw therapy #tw mentions of depression #tw mentions of ocd #fic #fanfiction #fanfic #emotional hurt/comfort

[skylights2000]

Moving On (Life Update)

Hey everybody,

I know it’s been a really long time since I’ve posted anything other than responses to people, and I’m here to offer an honest explanation and tell you some things I’ve been avoiding.

I don’t really want to go all the way back, but I think it’s needed for context, so bear with my rambling for a minute.

I’ve never been very good with people. That may seem shocking to some of you, but that’s because you haven’t met me. Online, I can think and put my thoughts into words, but in real life, I’m not good with words. I often say things wrong because I don’t know how to express it, and a lot of people get annoyed with that. I never really had friends because of that. The only friend I had through childhood was my sister, and that…It wasn’t a good relationship. I’m well aware that siblings fight. That’s normal. But, fights with my sister were far from normal, and they only got worse over time.

I was diagnosed with depression for the first time when I was 7 years old, though I didn’t really understand that at the time. I was put on antidepressants that my parents called ‘happy pills’. They didn’t want to tell me what they were actually called because I was a curious kid, and they knew I’d look it up or ask someone about it.

Over time, I learned to manage it, and they eventually took me off the medicine. For a while, everything was fine. Then, the bullying started. There’s never been a time in my life that I wasn’t bullied by someone. Some of them were outright violent while others were emotionally violent. My sister was the worst of them though. She was manipulative and mean. She talked her friends into hating me and quite frankly, made my life hell. I ate alone in the corner of the cafeteria to avoid people. I flinched every time someone walked too close to me. I would push my dresser in front of my bedroom door because it didn’t lock, and I was afraid of my sister. The saddest thing was that I thought it was normal. I thought it was normal for me to be treated that way because I had never experienced any different. My parents both worked hard to make ends meet, so they weren’t around often, so I really didn’t have a loving relationship with anyone. Even when I learned that I wasn’t supposed to be treated that way, I still didn’t fight back. Maybe it was just because she was the only real constant in my life.

Things kept getting worse though. My sister became physically and emotionally abusive. She treated me horribly, but the worst part was that she convinced me that I deserved it, that I had done something disastrous just by being born. She treated me like I was a disease that she couldn’t get rid of. So, I tried to do the job for her.

I started self harming when I was in 8th grade. I failed classes, lost my will to do anything, and slept through most of the day because nightmares kept me up at night. I wrote my first suicide note that year. I never used it, but I never got rid of it either.

Remember how I said I wasn’t good with words? Yeah, I meant that. I was so bad at them that I wrote my mom a note explaining that I needed help because I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t even say it to her face. Pathetic, huh?

Either way, I got help and was put back on antidepressants. Things didn’t get better though. The abuse escalated, the bullying got worse, and the self harm became more frequent. It was a vicious cycle that I dealt with until 11th grade. The worst year of my life.

That was the year they found my old suicide note. I was put in inpatient care at a hospital that dealt with trauma and mental disorders. That’s where I was diagnosed with Social Anxiety, Depression, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

I got out, and things were better for about two months before things went right back to the way they’d always been. 5 months after that, I tried to overdose on my sleeping pills. Obviously, that didn’t work out since I’m here writing this.

Things actually did start to get better after that. My parents finally realized just how far the damage went, and my sister finally saw just how much pain she’d caused.

Both of us started going to therapy, both, seperate and together. The bullying at school stopped after word got around about what happened. Some of them even apologized to me, and I eventually learned how to forgive them. It didn’t erase what they did, but holding onto all that anger and pain was only hurting me. It was still hard to let it go. I didn’t know what I would be after the pain was gone. I was afraid of finding out. But eventually, the pain of holding on became greater than the fear of letting go, so I’m sure you can imagine which one I chose.

I started writing when I was in 7th grade. I really got into it though shortly after I turned 17. It was my escape, a place where I could dream of anything and live a better life, even if it was only temporary. Writing and Music were my passions. They still are. I have more music than I do anything else, and I have hundreds of documents of things I’ve written on my phone.

I started this blog on a whim as a way of escape for me and anyone else that needed one. This blog grew far beyond anything I thought it would be, and I’ve met so many lovely people because of it. That’s why I’ve been pushing myself so hard to keep posting new content, but one day, I just stopped. I couldn’t think. Ideas were few and far between, and motivation, or lack thereof, became my biggest obstacle.

I felt useless when I wasn’t writing because so many people were using me as their escape. Things got shorter and more rushed because I was trying to cram every ounce of creativity I could into something before my motivation vanished again. It wasn’t good, and after a while, I started to see that my escape had become a chore, something I did just because I felt like I had to, and I hated that.

So, I just stopped posting. For a while, I stopped writing altogether. Then I got in this huge fight with my family, and my sister slapped me for the first time in almost a year. In a way, it was almost like I reverted back to my old self. I pushed the dresser in front of my bedroom door, brought out this old, bulky pair of noise canceling headphones, blared my music, and started writing. I made it through the entirety of my ‘Favorites’ playlist (which is 253 songs) before I took a break, and it felt good because I wasn’t writing for anyone else. I wasn’t writing to impress other people. I was just writing for me.

That’s what I want. I want to write without the worry and pressure. That’s why I’m putting this blog (and all my other writing blogs) on an official hiatus. I’m not saying I’ll be gone forever or that I’ll never write here again. I’ll still be around. You can still message me. I’m not disappearing. I’m just taking more time to let myself recharge so that the times I do come back here, I can come back with the full force of my imagination.

I’m not leaving you guys, so don’t go thinking you’ll never see me again. Whether you send a message, leave a meme, or just like something, I’ll always be there. I’ll always be here.

I love you guys,

Madison (◍•ᴗ•◍)❤

#i love you guys #this isn’t a goodbye #it’s just a see ya later

[powered-by-paranoia]

one more time | Rex

pairing: captain Rex x admiral!reader

summary: you give Rex a wrist-chrono. in reaction, although he seems fine at first, he now constantly avoids you. this somehow leads to the two of you kissing. find out how!

word count: 6241

warnings: none

a/n: I’ve been sitting on this story since December (you can see I had two special occasion attempts to post it), but here it is. finally. again, I tried to keep it gender-neutral, but let me know if I slipped up. Winter Fete is supposed to be something Christmassy or whatever, and Affection Day is... me being shit at coming up with holiday names.

this is kind of a series now I guess, but each fic can be read as a standalone fic (there’s also our fallen heroes and jaig eyes, if you’re thirsty for more. but there’s no smut. not yet. not yet.)

"He had the awkward tenderness of someone who has never been loved and is forced to improvise."

Isabel Allende

An icy shiver ran up your spine as you glanced out the viewport. You were sitting in your office aboard your ship, having just turned around to take your mind off your responsibilities for a few minutes and sip your caf in peace. But the image — that of the lush planet you were stationed above — triggered a flashback you had been trying to fend off these past days. Only it wasn’t a visual flashback, you realized. It was a sentiment that you remembered vividly from when you were a child and your parents had gifted you a trip to Coruscant for Winter Fete.

You remembered the excitement of seeing your home planet from outer space. Your first ever interstellar trip — and to Coruscant, of all places. The festivities, the Winter Fete spirit, they were perhaps still present on Coruscant and on your home planet, but not there. Not in the coolness of space and the warship you commanded. Not among the lifeless bodies you had to wander through only a few days earlier — the bodies recovered from the battle. The bodies someone would have to deliver to worried families.

That cheerfulness now only lived in your memory. You could hardly remember the last Winter Fete you had spent with your family. Or any such holiday, for that matter. But what was easy to recall was the warm feeling you experienced every time you gifted things. The search for the perfect match, the smile on people’s faces as they realize you know them better than they expected. It had always brought you joy to make presents.

But this chain of thoughts now brought back another memory, albeit an awkward one that you wouldn’t admit was slightly painful as well. A recent one. At the start of this campaign, you had gifted Rex a military-style, top-of-the-line wrist chrono, which he had been reluctant to accept at first. After a few jokes on how this could be considered a military offense, and quite some heavy amount of polite convincing, he had eventually taken it and you had even noticed him wearing it later. It warmed your heart. And for a short period of time, you had gotten the chance to relish in the sensation once again. But only for a short period of time.

Because half a day later he had started to avoid you like you’d just been exposed to the Brainworm Rot.

It wasn’t as obvious at first — turning corners the moment you sighted him, pretending to look the other way when you passed by — but soon you just had to admit it to yourself when you spotted him turning one-eighty degrees only to disappear when he must have realized he was walking towards you.

You stared at the darkness of space, lost in thought and bordering on the line of anxiety. There were no answers coming from the darkness, only questions. Had he found out you had re-gifted it? Your mother had originally bought it for you as a Winter Fete present, but you liked your older one better and considered motivation before a battle was a decent enough excuse to offer a present to your favorite Captain. He surely couldn’t blame you for it though, could he? You barely had time to finish your cups of caf most days; how could you possibly find the time to go gift-shopping?

Then again, perhaps he concluded by himself that the gesture was offensive. But back when you gave it to him, he hadn’t seemed the least upset about it. He had even smiled and blushed a little. And if someone had the guts to call you out on your bantha-shit, it was Rex. It was one of the things you valued most about your friendship. You always talked freely, and he would never beat around the bush or keep his opinions for himself, even if they went against yours. Besides that, he always delivered contradictions in such a polite manner that you recognized he had your best interest at heart.

Your thoughts spiraled, and you bore a heavy heart with guilt for putting him in such a delicate position. You had to apologize. But in order to do that, you needed to find him and… not let him escape this time. 

***

On their way to the mess hall, Rex had been called out at least three times by Fives and Echo for constantly scanning his surroundings. He had brushed it off by telling them he was preoccupied looking for General Skywalker in case he passed by, so they could have a talk about some mission he wouldn’t elaborate on. 

Fives decided to push on and jokingly asked, “You mean the mission in which you got that chrono?”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, Captain. That’s quite a fancy one. I didn’t know you had your eye on the latest tech,” Echo chimed in before he could react. 

Rex was now even tenser than before, but he played stupid. “Latest tech? This?” He brought it to his face to pretend to examine it better. “I had no idea.”

“So where did you get it from?” Fives insisted.

Million excuses ran through his mind, and he pretended to study the chrono for a few seconds more to get his thoughts in order. But he settled on the lamest one. “One of the locals gave it to me before the battle. As thanks for showing up, I suppose. I couldn’t really understand the language.”

“Just in time for Affection Day,” Echo teased, and it appeared as if he was twisting the knife. As if he knew.

The idea that you had offered him a gift had been enough to make Rex’s knees weak that day. But after you had left, and he could freely relish in the feeling, a troubling notion had snuck into his mind. He had nothing to give you back. And worse, after realizing that it had been an Affection Day gift, he had done some research to find out what the holiday really meant. That way, he found out it was similar to the Winter Fete season, but mainly practiced between lovers, sometimes really close friends — people exchanged gifts.

Exchanged.

At first, he had thought he would be able to come up with something. At least something symbolic. But he ended up dismissing every idea that popped up, only to end up now, in the last few days before returning to Coruscant, with nothing. He wouldn’t have let that affect him as much if it didn’t draw other, more depressing conclusions he didn’t want to think of at that moment.

Shortly after the three of them found a place to sit and eat in the mess hall, he inwardly cursed.

“I was planning to show you the new weapon upgrades we’re getting, boys. But I forgot my datapad in the room,” he muttered. “I’ll go get it. Hold on.”

***

Rex wouldn’t have the time to register what was happening. As the lights turned on in the barrack, the door shut behind him and there you were — standing next to his bed with his datapad in hand. He looked around. But you were alone. 

“I suppose this is what you’re looking for, hm?” you asked, handing him the datapad. He stared at it as if not fully believing it was his. “I shouldn’t be here. I’m sorry. I only want to talk.”

You did nothing to hide hurt in your voice. He took the datapad from your hand and placed it on the side table next to his bunk bed. “You can tell me anything,” he tried to say in a comforting voice, but the guilt slit through.

“Well, to be fair, I am here to listen. I want you to do the talking.”

He paused, but you had the feeling he knew exactly why you were there, and he was trying to waste time. “What about?”

“You’ve been avoiding me. Tell me it’s not just my imagination.”

He feigned confusion. “It is. I guess… we’ve both been quite busy, haven’t we?”

“Captain.” You held your gaze, although he looked away for a second. “You know you can speak freely with me. It’s about the gift, isn’t it? I’m sorry if it offended you or made you uncomfortable, I was only—”

“You didn’t,” he interrupted you, eager to deny it. You could see on his face that he had lowered his defenses. But he wouldn’t crack just yet.

“Then what is it about?”

He shrugged. “I told you. We’ve just been off-sync, I suppose.”

“Yesterday you started walking in the opposite direction as soon as you noticed me.”

“I’d forgotten something in the briefing room. I don’t even recall seeing you yesterday.”

“Like you forgot your datapad in one of the training rooms? You’re distracted. What’s it about then, if it’s not about the gift?”

“I appreciated your gift, Admiral. It’s just that…” he trailed off, but you decided to give him time to find his words. You’d sit there in awkward silence for an entire hour if you had to. “I have nothing to give back.”

You frowned and tilted your head. “Give back? What for?”

Rex brought his hands together, struggling to make the words leave his mouth. “For… Affection Day. Isn’t that the custom? Exchanging gifts?”

You froze, your mouth hanging as you rewinded the past couple of dates. You hadn’t thought of that holiday since you were in middle school and forced to exchange gifts with a random classmate. The timing of your gift had been so poor — no wonder he was avoiding you all through the ship. You panicked. 

“What day?” you said, your voice in a higher pitch than usual, then laughed nervously. “I gave it to you as a simple gift from one friend to another. I didn’t take you for someone to care when such a holiday was around.”

He shrugged. “Someone mentioned it a few days before, and I suppose it stuck with me. Still, you made time to get me a gift, while I can’t even think of something you could possibly want of what I can offer.”

You knew exactly what it was, but you also knew better than to throw it in the conversation like that. Instead, you threw in a little sincerity. “I re-gifted it.” His head perked up. “My mother gave it to me a few months ago during Winter Fete. I liked my old one better. I thought you would enjoy this one.”

“I did— I am! But…”

You went on, seeing he didn’t look so relaxed or even convinced, “I did not give it to you expecting something in return, or because of some special occasion. It was just a sympathetic gesture I thought I might as well do for a friend. I’m sorry for the confusion — I shouldn’t have put you into this situation.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Admiral,” he said, but his voice sounded a little more formal than before. As if he had switched back to his default military tone. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have handled it this way.”

“I’ll accept your apology if you accept mine,” you teased. 

He smiled. 

 ***

One day after the gift fiasco, you finally reached Coruscant, and it had been the last time you had seen each other. You both had a week of leave to look forward to, but as you bid your farewells prior to landing, neither mentioned it.

Your last day on Coruscant found you cooking yourself dinner. All alone — you watched as the water for the pasta started boiling and tried to remember the last time you had a home-cooked meal. You smiled to yourself as you poured too much pasta into the pot. You could never get it right. 

It was a pity you had no one to share it with. Your mind automatically drifted to Rex, as you knew he was probably out with his brothers at 79’s. It was their custom to spend as much time there as possible whenever they were allowed free time. But your smile faltered as you realized — of course they spent their time there. Where else? 

***

Back at 79’s, Rex was wondering whether Fives had always been this annoying, or if it was just a result of drinking too much. Didn’t he use to enjoy spending time with them, there? Why was he suddenly the subject of so many mean comments about ruining the mood for everyone? Why couldn’t he just get up from the barstool and have a good time? It was their last evening on Coruscant, and Force knew when they would return. If they would return.

Instead of talking, joking around, or dancing, Rex barely even sipped his drink. He stirred the liquid inside its glass — a half-empty glass of Corellian whiskey. 

“Alright Rex, there’s obviously something on your mind,” Fives interrupted his momentum of self-pity for the fifth time that evening. Rex didn’t even bother to roll his eyes or deny it at this point. Echo took a seat next to him on the other side, while Kix stood right behind him, encircling him. The only way he could escape them was by jumping over the bar. It didn’t seem like such a bad idea.

“You’ve barely even touched your drink,” Echo chimed in.

Kix reached further, drawing a conclusion. “Which means it’s not something depressing since you would drown yourself in alcohol, but it’s not something exciting either because… you’d celebrate. You’re not angry either, because you wouldn’t have come with us here if you were. You’re confused.”

Rex grunted. “Actually, I might start leaning towards angry soon enough.”

“Come on,” Fives said. “You either join the party or spill it out. And we’ll be able to tell if you’re faking it.”

Kix attempted a less aggressive approach. “We’re all brothers, Rex. We can tell each other anything. Good or bad, we’ll always have your back.”

 Rex looked between all three of them, and then at his drink. He downed it before they could say anything more and then sighed loudly. They were right. There was no point in hiding it. Though it was a stupid thing to stress on, perhaps they’d be able to provide a fresh perspective.

“Remember that chrono? The one I told you the locals of that planet gifted me?”

 They nodded in unison.

“Well, it wasn’t a gift from the locals. It was from…” he trailed off. Your name got caught in his throat. He felt as if he was about to expose you for acting inappropriately. 

“The Admiral!” Fives exclaimed, punching the bar top. “I knew it!”

Rex shushed him, while Echo rolled his eyes.

“So why are you so stressed about it? I’d be honoured!” he continued, now in a lower voice.

“I… I thought it was an Affection Day gift. She made it clear it wasn’t. To cite, she said it ‘was just a sympathetic gesture for a friend’. And that she hadn’t even realized the date matched.”

Fives’ face contorted into a grimace which only served to embarrass him further. “Ouch. Well, at least you made a friend.”

Rex shot him a glare, to which Fives responded by suddenly becoming fascinated with his glass.

“I mean, he’s right. In a way,” Echo said. “But I reckon it’s too much of a coincidence.”

“What is?” Rex asked.

Echo cleared his throat. “The date. I personally don’t believe the Admiral wasn’t aware of the date. And knowing that, why not choose another day for gifting it to avoid confusion? I guess it was on purpose, but since — you know — court-martials exist, the only solution was to brush it off as a friendly gesture.”

Rex wasn’t buying any of it; he had seen the surprise on your face when he had mentioned the date. Kix and Fives, however, were suddenly very intrigued by it.

“He’s right,” Fives said. “I mean, I’ve never seen a higher-up’s face light up that much when talking to some subordinate. Unless they’re delivering some fantastic news,” he added. Rex couldn’t believe they had all simply jumped to that conclusion in such a hurry.

“It’s called being nice. And very… expressive,” he said, dismissing the notion. “I think.”

“Well,” Kix concluded, after exchanging a malicious glance with Fives and Echo. “There’s only one way to find out, right?”

***

You flinched when you first heard the notification that someone was at your door. Not that you were particularly flimsy about visitors, but you were about to sit down and enjoy your own pasta by yourself, and it was rather late. It could mean there was an emergency. You were used to people announcing their visits.

So you brushed off your clothes and rushed to the door, only stopping once in front of the mirror for less than two seconds to make sure your hair looked decent and that you didn’t have any food on your face.

When the door slid to the side, you gaped at what you instantly recognized as Rex’s back. He was already turning to leave, but he heard the door and turned to face you. Flustered, he offered you a weak smile. 

You frowned, tilted your head a little and asked, “Did something happen?”

You could see the vigor leaving his body for a second, but he then proceeded to shake his head. “No, Admiral. Not really. I just…”

Eyebrows raised, you wordlessly prompted him to go on. He shook his head again, this time with more vivaciousness.

“Nevermind. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have disturbed you at this hour. I don’t know why I got the idea that—”

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” you blurted out, interrupting him. His features relaxed, but yours tensed up. What were you thinking? He was obviously there because something had happened that he believed you should know about. Perhaps he had heard unpleasant rumours at 79’s.

He hesitated, but you couldn’t even process an excuse to take back your words or undo the awkwardness. But then, he straightened himself and finally answered, “I’d be honored. Do you have any place in mind?”

You smiled faintly. “I meant here, now. I made some pasta.”

***

Rex blinked a few times, dumbfounded by the invitation. It had taken his brothers nearly one hour of convincing to get him to visit you. And he had given in — even with nothing to bring you but his words. Words that he had lost the moment he rung your doorbell, which was the reason he had swiftly decided it was time to leave before you opened the door.

Now, he stood there in full armour, while you were without your uniform — dressed instead in a long, dark, silk robe to contrast with his white duraplast, your hair a wild mess compared to when you were on duty, and your face all natural. And in his eyes, you had never looked more beautiful. Or terrifying.

And you had just invited him in for some homemade pasta. 

***

Once inside, you had insisted on him taking off his armour, and he had happily obliged. You figured he would not be comfortable around you in just his blacks, so you offered him a pair of pants he could change in to be more at ease. He walked in while you were arranging the table for two (which hadn’t even been arranged for one — you had been planning to eat while indulging in some holodrama on the sofa). 

You moved slowly, but your heart rate could have betrayed you at any moment. Even though he stood still by the doorway, you knew he was looking at you. You felt his eyes follow your movements, yet you were aware that he was most likely just waiting for you to invite him to take a seat. However, you couldn’t focus on anything else but making sure everything was perfect. That you grabbed everything with precision and just the right amount of force. You didn’t want to look clumsy. 

Why did you care so much how you looked setting the damn table?

Eventually, you took a step back from the table and gestured towards a seat. 

“Are you sure I can’t help with something first?” he asked. 

You smiled. “You’re my guest. Make yourself comfortable.”

He hesitatingly drew a chair and sat down, and as you turned around to get the food, you felt his eyes on you again. You feared you would suddenly need a crash course on how to walk. Before sitting down to eat, you pulled out the finest red wine you could find in your cabinet and poured two glasses of it. 

The awkwardness lingered on through the first couple of bites. While part of you felt sad that this must have been the first time someone invited him in for a home-cooked meal, there was also nervousness in the air. It was the first time — so it had to be perfect. You had to make it memorable. And you hadn’t exactly prepared the food with guests in mind.

“If you’d like more salt or anything…” you began, gesturing with your fork towards his plate. 

He looked up at you, wide-eyed, and then returned to reality. “Oh, no. It’s fine. It’s delicious, actually,” he added the last part as an after-thought, glancing away from you and back into his plate. You realised then that the silence wasn’t caused by him feeling any certain way. He was just too distracted enjoying the food.

You took another bite and decided to pull the band-aid. “So why did you come all this way?” You noticed him pause for a moment. “What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

He took a bite to avoid answering too early. He then took his sweet time chewing it. “It was stupid. I wanted to clarify something, but it was already clearing up as I got here. I had some drinks at 79’s and…”

“And…?”

“What you said about the gift. I kept turning it over in my head.”

Your appetite faltered — not that it managed to grow too much since he had gotten there. Not for the food, at least. But you raised your eyebrows and tilted your head. “What about it?”

“About it being a nice gesture… from a friend to another friend.”

“Well, I assumed it would be a nice gesture,” you explained, playing stupid and purposefully ignoring the last part.

He sighed. “It was, that’s not what I wanted to clarify. It’s…”

You watched him draw in a deep breath, and you realized he wouldn’t continue the explanation. Your shoulders dropping, you let go of the fork and placed both your elbows on the table. “It’s about us being friends. I know.”

Another long moment of silence, where your eyes only met for a split second before you looked away. 

“I know it’s not professional. I know I shouldn’t be giving you gifts or inviting you into my apartment to have dinner. If you feel uncomfortable, you can tell me. And I will stop. No hard feelings.”

Lies. You’d omitted that you didn’t really care what you should or should not be doing when it came to him.

“I’m not. In fact, I feel the most comfortable when I am around you, Admiral.”

“Then I see no way our friendship could conflict with our duties. Do you?”

You’d expected a solid ‘no’, or at least a vigorous shake of his head. Instead, he hesitated. Your eyebrows twitched.

“It does, in a way,” he half-heartedly admitted. You weren’t sure you liked where this was going. But he must have noticed your body tensing up, as he quickly added, “Although not in what I would consider a bad way.”

“How so, then?”

“Some days, when I read news of the war on other fronts, the first thing on my mind isn’t ‘How would I have handled this?’, or ‘What can I learn from this?’. The first thing on my mind is you, and how I can’t wait to discuss it with you.” He’d glance around as he spoke, switching from looking at you, to his plate of food, sometimes at yours or at the decor in your kitchen. “There are moments when I am in the middle of the firing zone, and I have to make the decision on whether I should ask for air support. And I find myself secretly wishing you are the one commanding those ships that drop into the atmosphere. Because it means I get to thank you later.”

Your grip tightened around the glass of wine as you brought it to your face and pressed your cheek against it. It was a useless attempt to keep you from blushing, but the coldness grounded you.

“I understand,” you muttered after a few moments of silence. He looked up at you, but you had to avoid it. “When I come up with strategies, I never consider them any good until I pass them through you. I always pay extra attention to what the 501st is up to in briefings. Kriff, my mother got me a chrono and all I could think of was how I was going to gift it to you instead.”

Had you accidentally slipped truth serum into the pasta? What was happening?

You both chuckled nervously at your last confession. 

“I have never had the opportunity to call someone a close friend,” you continued, trying to figure out ways to drive the awkwardness away from the conversation. “But I suppose this is what it feels like. I’d rather know I have a friend in you than to be permanently struggling to come up with ways to win the war by myself.”

“Of course you have a friend in me. You will always have.”

While he delivered the line with a smile on his face that you mirrored, a wave of sadness engulfed you. You continued eating, stopping now and then to either comment on rumours and news from the battlefield or on how coincidental it was that both of you had only one day of leave left. Knowing that, you felt as if the Galaxy was prodding you to do something about the craving of your heart, but your mind was quick to quiet that plan. He would have said it by now, wouldn’t he? You had given him all the signs — told him how your thoughts always seemed to lead to him. He would have done something about it, had he thought the same of you.

***

Rex wasn’t sure he could hold the food down for much longer. It wasn’t anything physical — and the taste had been exceptional — but he felt as though there was an ever-growing hole in his stomach that threatened to kick everything else out.

What was he doing? He had come all this way, encouraged by his brothers, to let you know how he felt about you. It was the right thing to do. From there, you would have the power to decide whether you should never speak again, or…

Or what?

What options did he really have, but sit awake at night and think of all the what-ifs? You were an Admiral in the Republic’s Navy, and he was a clone commander. Bred for war. Not for figurative earthquakes in his stomach.

Then you’d said it again, that wretched word. Friend. Close friend — the culmination of what was possible and realistic between the two of you. It was, at its core, bittersweet. He was honoured you considered him a close friend, but ashamed that he wanted more. He was sitting in your home, eating your food, drinking your wine, and he still wasn’t satisfied.

***

It wasn’t hard to revert to a normal dinner conversation after clarifying the matter, but a remnant of doubt still nagged you. Whether he felt the same, Rex didn’t show it. 

As you both finished your food, the uncomfortable atmosphere of having left things unsaid grew exponentially. He still had some wine left in his glass, yet you hadn’t touched yours, besides a courteous sip. You didn’t trust yourself that much. Even sober, you could barely hold your feelings in.

The time to clean up the table eventually came, and he had insisted that he could at least bring his own plate to the sink. You let him, but instructed him to leave the glass on the countertop next to it.

Instead of pouring the untouched wine into the sink, you stopped behind him and downed it. He said nothing about it, but looked at you curiously.

“I never said it back,” you commented while placing your empty glass of wine next to his, avoiding his gaze. The gesture brought the two of you even closer. 

“Said what back?”

“You told me I would always have a friend in you. I never said you would, too.” You looked up at him and met his confused grimace with a dead-serious gaze. “You have more than a friend in me.”

His grimace faltered, and his gaze matched yours. You’d said it, and this was it. The decision was his. You had both experienced enough awkward moments, one more could hardly make a difference.

But there was nothing awkward about it anymore. Your gaze moved between his lips and his eyes. His did the same. Instead of constantly replaying everything you had ever said to him, your mind was now completely blank, but at peace. You were living every second of that moment. Every heartbeat, every inhale, and every exhale. All you could see was him — his beautiful eyes and his lips that he parted.

You didn’t notice him raising his hand, but you felt it on the back of your neck. His thumb brushed against your ear, but then he broke eye contact for a couple of moments to arrange a strand of hair behind it. You released the breath you hadn’t even realized you had been holding in, and he met your eyes again.

He smiled down at you — sadly, in a way, but in his eyes a glint of hope that you were too familiar with. “Then you can have anything you want in me.”

You brought both your hands to his face, tracing your thumbs along his chin. You kept going until your hands were close to the back of his head, and you pulled him in. He closed his eyes, but you felt his grip on you become weaker. You both had the same voices in your heads, trying to convince you that your actions were wrong. But you wouldn’t let those voices win him over. Your own, you could handle. You had ignored them for so long; they had no effect on you.

As your lips crashed against his, you closed your eyes in reaction to the shivers running down your spine. He hummed softly, and something inside you went wild at the sound. You dug your nails into the back of his head and parted your lips to deepen the kiss.

First, you tasted the wine that lingered on his lips. And then, as he gave in and crashed against your lips, you tasted him. His passion, his fervor, and all the words he had wished to tell you until that moment. All the missed opportunities and all the doubts that now held no meaning anymore. No unspoken words or repressed cravings could bring you down from the high you were experiencing as he let go of his hesitation and leaned into you.

His grip on you grew tighter and his humming against your lips more frequent. You were finally his, fully his, body and soul alike.

When he pulled away, he did so as slowly as possible, as if afraid he would wake up from a dream. You kept your eyes closed until you felt him press his forehead against yours. 

Your hands that had, until that point, caressed his skin with desperation — proof of your own patience having been torn to shreds — fell limply at your sides. He ran his fingers through your hair, and you watched him revel in the moment.

Finally, he opened his eyes and whatever glimpse of sadness in them was gone. But in a split second, you could tell there was something on his mind.

“Before you tell me we shouldn’t be doing this,” you breathed, “let’s just do it one more time.”

He didn’t reply, but he moved his hand from the back of your neck to your front, running his thumb across your collarbone, and then back up to cup your cheek.

You had to stand on your toes to reach him and kiss him again. You felt electrified once again, but it lasted for a shorter while this time — he wasn’t reacting to it. Pulling away, you opened your eyes to see him staring down at you. There was a war raging inside him. But you weren’t so sure of your actions anymore, either. You didn’t want your selfishness to break him. It took every ounce of self-control left in you not to beg him to ignore all rules for one night. Your night.

He cupped your other cheek with his free hand and brought your face closer to his. 

“One more time,” he repeated, his voice somehow hoarse and soft at the same time. His lips caught yours in a hard kiss. Not as gentle and timid as he had been until then — he had won the battle against those voices. Your hands reached for the seams of his shirt and just as you slipped your fingers underneath them, before you could register what his skin felt like, an alarm pulled you out of it.

Both physically and mentally.

You retracted your hands, and he took a step back, breaking the kiss. You could hear your heart starting to crack.

The alarm was coming from the living room, where he had left his change of clothes. And his comlink.

He looked between you and the direction where it was coming from, as if waiting for your approval to leave. The corner of your mouth twitched into a smile and you gestured with your head in the direction of the living room. As he took the call, you picked a spot on the floor to stare at blankly. You couldn’t hear what he was saying, but you figured out easily what it was about.

A few moments and he appeared at the threshold, fully clad in his armor, his helmet under his arm and a conflicted expression on his face.  

“The 501st is being dispatched to Ryloth for an emergency rescue mission,” he explained, and you struggled to offer him a comforting smile. His voice wasn’t soft anymore. It was the tone of a clone commander speaking to his superior.

You made your way towards him and reached out to arrange the collar of his blacks. He had readied himself in such a hurry he hadn’t noticed it getting awkwardly stuck beneath his armor-plate. “Make sure you get some rest on the way there.”

Once you fixed him, you looked up and had to swallow your frustration. He was just as saddened by it as you were, judging by the look on his face. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, but you shook your head.

“You’ll be if you don’t come back in one piece. So make sure you’re well-rested,” you said, ignoring the voice in your head that was raging at whoever needed saving. You started dragging yourself towards the front door of your apartment to walk him out, and he followed.

“I don’t know when I’ll come back. I don’t know when we’re going to see each other again.”

Before pressing the button to open the door, you turned around and pursed your lips. “I understand. But it seems we have kept bumping into each other during this entire war. Perhaps it will stay that way. Perhaps this is where we are meant to be,” you said. “Two entities crossing each other’s paths until it becomes one.”

Your words seemed to bring some comfort to him, at least enough to get him to move again. But before he exited, just as he had walked by you, he stopped once again to look at you, in case it was the last chance he would get. You did the same.

“One more time,” you muttered as you took a wide step towards him. He extended his free arm to wrap it around your waist while yours curled around his neck. And your lips met once again, with the same passion they had the first time.

You didn’t want him to go. You didn’t want it to end. You wanted him to hold you for one minute longer, and then have that minute bleed into an hour, a night, a lifetime. But you had both agreed on it, less than an hour earlier. It wouldn’t affect your duties. Although it already did.

You both ended the kiss with a smile on your faces. He would find his way back to you. This couldn’t be the end of it. 

That night, you found the spare clothes you had given him neatly arranged on the sofa. You finished the bottle of wine by yourself and fell asleep dressed in his scent. You would go back to your ship the next day — hoping, as always, that your next campaign would somehow involve the 501st. But knowing now that he shared the same hope as you.

#captain rex x reader #rex x reader #captain rex x you #captain rex reader insert #commander rex x reader

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

You’re Not Alone

heartwitchhouse request: Hey uh.. can I get Logan introducing Thomas to neurodivergent communities online?

Sure you can, babe! Thanks for the prompt!

Read on Ao3  

Pairings: none

Warnings: also...none? there’s some discussion on having anxiety, depresion, and ADHD with some self-doubt but it’s not that bad

Word Count: 2899

It’s just a little off.

 It’s not like it’s some big obvious thing that his parents immediately took notice of. It’s not something his doctor noted on his sheet and made sure to talk about. It’s not even something one of his teachers gently pulled him aside for.

 It’s just…not quite right.

He knows that his classmates don’t struggle to stare at the board or their work for like…three minutes at a time, but he also knows one of his classmates who can’t do it for three seconds. He knows the others don’t lapse into gray hazes where doing literally anything feels like an insurmountable force, but he also knows the kids that can’t even come to school on certain days.

 He knows people who are better, but he also knows people who are worse.

 He has good days. Great days. Great weeks, even. It’s just…sometimes he’ll have a bad day and he can’t help but look at everybody else who’s having a worse day.

 And here’s the thing. He knows how to work through it.

 He can put his head down and just get things done. It doesn’t matter that he can’t focus for more than three minutes, he’ll do the work he can in those three minutes and then move onto something else. Maybe he’ll get to cycle back and pick it up again later. He can shake his head to clear it and squint at his work again, just to finish this one page through the haze. He can make it.

 But it’s just that; making it.

 He can’t deny the way the polite smile from his teachers settles heavily in the pit of his stomach saying that yeah, he did fine, but he could’ve done better. The way the list of things he needs to do gets checked off by just the bare minimum, something he’s going to have to redo in just a few days, makes his hands itch. The insecurities over all the things he could have done, could have done better, all the things he’s missed, pile up in his brain until he has to shove them all away just to breathe on bad days. But doesn’t everyone struggle with insecurity now and then? This is normal, right?

 Or is it just a little off?

 “Oh, I’m sure you’d feel better if you just exercised more! Get yourself a workout schedule, there’s no better free therapy!”

 Running makes his chest feel like it’s going to explode. His arms and legs ache after the first round of whatever ‘beginner’ program he decides to try once. The gray haze only flourishes, steady as ever on bad days.

 “Just focus on your studies, I’m sure once you’ve got more structure in your life it’ll help you feel better, sweetie.”

 Work pounds into his head and he gets it done. All the things he could’ve done better stay there too, bold and bright on the page next to red slashes of ink. He puts his head down and goes, goes, goes. That doesn’t help the bad days, it just pushes them off. Then they get worse.

 “Maybe you just need to go outside more often, sunlight can do wonders for you!”

 Listen. He and the sun have an agreement. The sun doesn’t like him. He doesn’t like the sun. It’s better if they just…stay out of each other’s way. He could do without the achy headaches the bright light gives him.

 “Are you sure you’re drinking enough water? Are you eating the right stuff?”

 His budget quickly becomes strained with the amount of ‘healthy food’ he’s supposed to buy. The piles of ‘proper ingredients’ sit in his cabinet, unused, taunting him with how difficult it’ll be to figure out how to eat them. The guilt over not using them worries at his throat as he’s forced to toss them out as they go bad. He gets raised eyebrows from everyone with how often he has to go to the bathroom. The ensuing doctor’s visit is one he’d rather not repeat any time soon, even though at that point it’s just…you know those days where you’re like ‘this might as well happen? Adult life is already so goddamn weird?’

 “At least you can get out of bed most days. You seemed fine yesterday!”

 …yesterday was yesterday. And just because he got out of bed doesn’t mean anything. It wasn’t really a conscious choice, he just…had to do it.

 “You’re not nearly as bad as—“

 You know, it doesn’t really matter who they put at the end of that. The point is he’s not as bad as other people. So he doesn’t get the support that they get.

 He doesn’t get the polite nods from professors when he needs an extension. He doesn’t get the medication prescribed to him for something that he shouldn’t need because he’s ‘healthy.’ When he finally tries therapy, the therapist compliments him on how easily he’s able to hold a conversation, maintain eye contact, and asks him if he’s tried keeping a diary.

 During the nights when he can’t sleep, when the blankets feel way too rough, like sleeping on sandpaper that rubs persistently at his skin, he tosses and turns and thinks…would it be better if…

 Would it be better if it were worse?

 If it were more obvious, if he actually had depression, anxiety, ADHD, something with a name that people could recognize, or even just the freedom to say he had something…would that be better?

 He doesn’t cry every day. He can still feel things most of the time. He eats. He drinks water. He sleeps. He goes outside. He doesn’t get high or drink or do anything to try and numb the pain or escape it. He doesn’t have suicidal thoughts.

 But it still feels like he’s not quite right.

 If he were worse…people would be more sympathetic. He wouldn’t be accused of milking anything for attention. He wouldn’t get scolded for making light of other people’s problems. He wouldn’t be faking it. Is he faking it? Is he blowing it up out of proportion?

 Is it really as bad as he thinks it is?

 He finds the perfect metaphor almost by accident. He’s over at a friend’s house one day and they’re in the kitchen, getting hot chocolate to drink before starting their movie night. He opens the cupboard and pulls out a mug with flowers all over it. As he turns to give it to his friend, he notices a chip in the rim.

 “Oh, oh gosh, I, um, I’m sorry—“

 “What? What’s wrong?” His friend takes the mug from his stuttering hands and squints at it. Her brow smooths out and she laughs. “Oh, are you worried about the chip?”

 “…yeah. I don’t—I don’t think I did it?”

 “You didn’t,” she says easily, filling it with hot milk, “it’s always been like that.”

 “Oh, okay.” The black fuzzy things buzzing about his head settle at that as he leans back against the counter, ready to accept the mug of hot chocolate. It’s warm, pleasantly so, sending a rush of contentment up his arms as he cups his palms around it. “Where’s yours?”

 “I’m almost done!”

 He looks back down at the hot chocolate, shimmering brown with the kitchen light’s reflection. Tilting his head, he examines the chip in the ceramic. It’s not that big, barely noticeable, but there’s a sharp edge on the inside. He’ll have to be careful he doesn’t drink from that side. Wouldn’t do to burn his tongue and accidentally cut his lip.

 “Alright! I’m ready, let’s—ah!”

 Her yelp startles him out of whatever hot-chocolate-drinking-planning haze he’d been in, only to see his friend staring at the floor with her hands over her mouth.

 “Hey, whoa, are you okay? What happened?”

 “I, um—“ oh, no, she sounds so upset, let’s help her!— “I dropped my mug.”

 Sure enough, as he hustles around the counter, he sees the broken mug, lying on the floor, hot chocolate spilling mockingly from the remains. He sets his mug—carefully!—on the counter, looking around for the paper towels.

 “Did you get hurt?”

 “What?” Her gaze doesn’t leave the floor. “No, no, it’s just…that was my favorite mug.”

 A horrible sadness settles in his chest as he looks at her and he gently knocks their elbows. “It looks like it’s still got some pretty big pieces, we could…maybe we could fix it?”

 “You came over here to watch movies, not to fix my mug.”

 “We can do both, can’t we?”

 So there they end up, with the lights on, newspaper spread on the floor, hot glue gun, superglue, carefully piecing together broken ceramic as Finding Nemo plays in the background. By the time the seagulls are all racing around the screen, frantically yelling ‘mine!’ they’ve set the now-fixed mug gingerly on the counter, out of harm’s way, and cleaned up all the spilled hot chocolate. As the night creeps on, their eyes growing heavier and heavier, they make it through Mulan, The Princess and the Frog, and The Nightmare Before Christmas. Just before they start The Black Cauldron, his friend gently taps the side of the mug.

 “…I think it’s fixed!”

 “Wait, really? That was fast!”

 “Dude, it was like…at least six hours ago.”

 “Is that how fast superglue sets?”

 “Have you never used superglue before?”

 “Hey!”

 The sight of his friend with her favorite mug cradled in her lap makes him smile as he turns his attention back to the screen. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees her talking softly to herself, saying how she promises to be more careful next time, how she’s so happy the mug is fixed, it’ll be better now, stronger this time. And yet she still cradles the cracked, seamed thing with the same tenderness she did when they first picked up the pieces.

 He looks back down at the chipped mug in his lap. The chip is so small. It’s barely noticeable. It doesn’t make the mug leak or anything. The mug still works as a mug.

 He runs his thumb over the rim, feeling just the slightest pressure when he runs over the chip. If he tried to drink from that side, it would hurt.

 She’s had this mug for…years?

 He looks back over at the mug in his friend’s lap.

 The broken mug gets fixed.

 The chipped mug stays chipped forever.

  “Thomas?”

 Thomas blinks, looking up from his lap to see Logan standing next to him. Logan adjusts his tie.

 “You took a moment to respond.”

 “Sorry. Did we, uh, are we late for something? Did I miss a deadline?”

 There’s a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it expression that flitters across Logan’s face. Then he adjusts his glasses and it’s gone. Thomas frowns.

 “…you okay, bud? What was that?”

 “What was what, Thomas?”

 “You, uh, you made a face.”

 “I have a face, Thomas, we all have faces.”

 “But you made an expression.”

 “…I believe I am…incapable of not making an expression.”

 “Logan,” Thomas sighs, “please tell me what’s wrong.”

 Well, he certainly takes him by surprise at any rate. Logan glances around—is he worried the others are going to show up?—and adjusts his glasses again.

 “I suppose I was…perturbed,” he settles on finally, “that your immediate assumption when I appeared was that I was going to…reprimand you in some way.”

 Oh. “Jeez, um, sorry, Logan, I didn’t mean it like that.”

 Logan waves him off. “It’s quite alright.”

 “But…no, it’s not.” Thomas shakes his head. “You…we gotta talk about this…more, but that’s not the only thing you’re important for. You know that, right?”

 …well, Logan’s certainly making a face now. It’s the same one he made after Remus first appeared, after Thomas called him ‘cool.’ After a moment of savoring Logan looking a little flustered, he prompts him gently.

 “Did you wanna talk about something?”

 “Right,” Logan says quickly, shaking himself, “do you remember our conversation about neurodivergent communities?”

 Right. They’d been talking about trying to find therapists during COVID and how it would be difficult since, y’know…going outside is more than kind of a no-no. Virgil had brought up how it’s almost impossible to get a good read on whether or not a therapist would be appropriate for them without a proper appointment, which…kind of led to everyone agreeing that maybe it would be better to try just the texting one first. Logan had mentioned trying to find a group of people to talk to, not just a single person, until Janus said something about not knowing how to navigate something like that.

 Not one of their more productive conversations.

 “Since your desire to try and see a therapist seems to have stagnated,” Logan says as Thomas nods, “I have found an alternative solution that I believe might be more suited to your current approach to your mental health problems.”

 “I don’t—Logan, I don’t have—“

 The look Logan levels at him is enough to get him to shush.

 “What’s the solution?”

 “One of the main obstacles for finding a therapist or seeking help in a group setting was an unawareness of how to properly navigate those dynamics, correct?” Thomas nods. “Then it seems that a solution would be to simply find a group where you do understand the dynamics, yes?”

 “…how do I do that?” Thomas scruffs a hand through his hair. “I—look, I…I get that I should talk to someone, we made that clear but it’s just—I don’t—“

 Logan waits patiently, his head tilted slightly, as Thomas struggles for words.

 “…it’s not that bad,” Thomas says lamely.

 “But we’ve established that—“

 “I know, I know,” Thomas groans, burying his head in his hands, “but it’s just like—I don’t think I belong there.”

 “Why not?”

 “Isn’t that for people who have it worse?”

 There must be some note of hysteria in that last word because Logan blinks and eases himself down onto the couch next to him, folding his hands in his lap and waiting patiently. When it’s clear Thomas isn’t going to be able to make words go for a while, he clears his throat.

 “You don’t want to join a space in which you are not welcome, correct?”

 Thomas nods miserably.

 “This idea that you will not be welcome stems from the idea that your problems are not…severe enough?”

 “Aren’t they?”

 “Why must they be more severe for you to seek help?”

 “I don’t know, I just—what if they think I’m faking?”

 “Are you?”

 That’s the kicker, isn’t it? When Thomas looks helplessly at Logan, uncertainty probably written plainly all over his face, Logan tilts his head.

 “If you have to ask whether or not you’re faking,” he says in a soft voice Thomas rarely hears, “it’s almost certain that you are not.”

 Thomas just nods dumbly.

 “Mental illnesses can manifest in a variety of ways,” Logan continues in that same soft voice—and anyone who says Logan doesn’t understand emotion can get out—“and you do not have to fulfill a certain standard of ‘bad’ in order to seek help.”

 “But then how do I find people to—who will—who are gonna—“

 “…understand?”

 “Yeah.”

 Logan’s mouth quirks up. “When was the last time you were on Tumblr?”

 Thomas blinks. “Excuse me? Also don’t you know that?”

 “I do.” Logan gestures to Thomas’s phone. “You wanted a space where you understand how to interact with people and where talking about these types of things will not be a drastic breach of boundaries, yes?”

 “…yeah?”

 “You would be surprised at the amount of neurodivergent communities online.”

 “So why’re you asking me about Tumblr?” The second it comes out of his mouth Thomas’s eyes widen. “Logan—“

 “I am not suggesting that be your only source of help, by any means,” Logan says quickly, “but it might serve as a good starting point. You know what is to be expected from Tumblr—relatively speaking,” he corrects when Thomas makes a face, “and it will help you see that, despite what you may think, you’re not alone.”

 Logan stands, giving Thomas one last look before he sinks out.

 “…and you don’t have to be grateful it isn’t worse, Thomas.”

 Thomas looks down at his phone. He opens the app and types something into the search bar.

 Logan was right. People…people talk about stuff on Tumblr. Admittedly, it’s Tumblr, so it’s an absolute hellsite, but there is something a little reassuring about being able to just…word vomit into a post and see other people doing the same.

  Friendly reminder that people’s symptoms are gonna manifest in different ways and you’re not allowed to judge someone who experiences something different than you

  REMINDED THAT YOU DO NOT HAVE TO GRATEFUL THAT THINGS AREN’T WORSE WE DO NOT PLAY THE PAIN OLYMPICS IN THIS HOUSE

  You’re not alone.

 He’s still gonna have to figure out how to find a therapist. He’s still gonna have to figure out how to talk about this kind of stuff.

But for now, he can sit here and scroll and realize that there are words he can use to describe these things and it finally might start feeling right.

General Taglist: @frxgprince @potereregina @reddstardust @gattonero17 @iamhereforthegayshit @thefingergunsgirl @awkwardandanxiousfander @marshmallow-fluffy @creative-lampd-liberties @djpurple3 @winterswrandomness @sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes @iminyourfandom @bullet-tothefeels @full-of-roman-angst-trash @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind @demoniccheese83 @pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious  @firefinch-ember @fandomssaremysoul @im-an-anxious-wreck @crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch @enby-ralsei @unicornssunflowersandstuff @wildhorsewolf @thefingergunsgirl @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @such-a-dumbass

If you want to be added/taken off the taglist let me know ^_^

#sanders sides #character thomas #logan sanders #dragonbabbles #fic

[constantlyunlightening]

Work, work, work

Day 15: Cockwarming

Warnings/Other Kinks: Anxiety/Depression implications and mentions (Doppo is just like thattt), Doppo kinda snaps at the end, office sex/sex at work, dubcon (there's not explicit consent in this so I'm going to put it just in case but the reader and doppo are in a relationship and I meant for this situation to be consensual, but Doppo's anxiety in this situation made it seem kind of sus)

I have nothing but Hypmic on the brain. I love feral screaming Doppo. Would highly recommend listening to him belly scream here. :D I really do want the best for this boy tho. I love him so muchhhh.

Disclaimer: 18+ years and older to read. All characters in this work are 20 years or older. This is a fictional depiction of a relationship and is not meant to be mimicked in real life. I do not condone cockwaming your partner in their place of work irl.

It was always work, work, work with him. Well, work and rapping but Doppo hardly ever talked about his Matenro. It was always about his balding asshole of a boss, his terrible coworkers and work, work, work.

You knew he was a workaholic. You knew that when you fell in love with the guy. But geez. Time for him to learn that self care was a priority.

You had stormed to his office after having spent two hours - past the time he was supposed to get off - waiting for him at home. This overtime was bullshit. The man worked himself to the bone. And he didn't know how to say no. You worried about him! It was the reason why you marched right over to the cubicle. The place was deserted, all except for poor Doppo, sitting at his desk pinching the bridge of his nose and surrounded by paperwork.

"What the hell is all this?" You asked as you came up behind him and you almost felt bad watching as the man let out a shout, jumping out of his seat and scrambling like a frightened rabbit. A few of the papers he had on his desk got caught up in his whirlwind and dusted around the room - a fact you assumed Doppo would be disgruntled about later, but he looked far too nervous right now as he took labored breaths and let wide eyes take in your form.

"Wh-what are you doing here?"

".... You're being worked too hard if the sound of your girlfriend's voice is enough to panic you," you quipped back, ignoring his question for now as you bent over to try to help organize some of the scattered documents that had fallen to the floor. Let him have the time to bring his breathing back to normal. You were mainly pissed at his job for overworking him - not so much him. Didn't need to go give him a heart attack. "You're here late again. I was checking in on you." A pile of paperwork stacked against your chest, you moved over closer to him to set it down on the desk and took your time eyeing the assortment of work he had lying around. This couldn't all be his. Some of them must be pawning off their work, and Doppo just so happened to be the biggest doormat around. A sigh heaved from your lips, and you didn't miss the way Doppo shuddered. How could you? The man tensed up like he was being shot by lightening. "Looks like it was a good thing I did too. This work would have kept you here all night if someone didn't come to stop you."

"I'm sorry!" You weren't surprised but the volume of his apology made you jump and as he started to spew off more and more apologies, you quickly grabbed him by the tie and yanked him in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. You weren't trying to invalidate his feelings by cutting him off, but there was no reason for him to be panicking like he was. And luckily, kisses from you always seemed to soothe him - at least as soothed as someone like Doppo could be.

"Baby," you purred gently, pulling your lips from his and watching the way his cheeks lit up with a dusting of pink. Always so stressed, this one. But the face he made after you kissed him made your heart flutter. Dumbfounded but he still managed to swoon in subtle ways - those aquamarine eyes zoomed in on you like you were treasure. The simple strokes you gave to his hair made him melt - the tension zapped out of his shoulders and he almost started to slump into you. "You don't have to say sorry. But it's time to go home now. No more work."

That cute daze in his expression only lasted a moment more before it was like all that anxious energy plowed right back into him. The word 'work' was enough to flip a switch with him. "That's not right! I have a whole ton of it!" His arm extended outward, waving at the stacks piled high. "I'm sorry but I have more work to do. I'll finish as soon as I can but - I gotta do this or my crazy boss will pile even more work on me! Or I'll lose my job or worse I-ll-"

"Doppo!" You cut him off and tried to calm him down. It worked to some extent but only enough to keep him from screaming or spiraling into one of his crazes. You didn't convince him to stop working though and eventually you had to settle for watching him drown himself in the work in front of him, trying to suppress your groans.

You loved the man. But really?

Playing the waiting game wasn't something you were interested in though. Which is why, after a bit of working, you somehow managed to not only weasel your way into his lap but you also got his cock out of his pants, stroking it just enough to get him riled up as you watched him try not to panic.

"You can't just do that-"

"I just did. Don't worry. The cameras can't see in here. It's fine," you coaxed, letting him stay nervous anyway as you pushed your panties to the side from underneath your skirt causing him to visibly gulp. But he wasn't pushing you off.

"I have to work," he declared, whispers on the verge of being shouts fell from his lips but cut off into a whimper as the head of his dick was suddenly being warmed up by the heat of your body as you slowly sank down onto him - taking him in inch by inch. 

It wasn't until you were fully seated to the hilt, listening to his breath hitch that you gave a tiny huff. "Then work." And your body stilled. No movement other than the flutter and clench of your walls against your hung lover, letting your eyes watch his flustered face. He clearly didn't know what to say and you watched as his gaze flickered around like a chicken with its head cut off - to your face, to his paperwork, to where your bodies were joined and then anywhere but you. Good. Get him riled up. He was panicking but you could feel him twitch inside of you, like he was anticipating for you to move - waiting for it. But you kept your hips locked in place as you leaned in and rested your head on his shoulder. "Work, Doppo. Just giving you some motivation for when you finally get done." Your voice was much to kindly for someone who just pulled somebody's dick out in the middle of a public office. But it managed to keep him from tipping over his brink just yet. Poor thing always got so worked up. Your physical actions may not be helping that necessarily, but your voice always seemed to soothe him over, even if it was only a little at a time. 

"H-how?" You listened to him practically squeak, shifting under you and instantly giving a whine at the slight push against your walls. How was he supposed to work when you were on him like this? How was he supposed to concentrate when you were constricting around him? When you were filling him with molten lava from the bottom up?

With feather light kisses, you trailed a line across his neck, trying to remain still on the cock that was stretching out your insides - forcing the urge to bounce on him like a pogo stick until you both lost even the capability to think of work. You would behave somewhat for now though. Doppo could get his work done. You could get some form of closeness in the meantime. Besides, maybe a good vise grip on him could speed up the process? Or make him say 'fuck it' altogether - hopefully, literally fuck it. "Just work, Doppo. Since it's so important. Ill wait," you cooed, almost as if you were being thoughtful. Too sweet for him to argue and you listened to him give a defeated groan of a sound before he tried to level out his breath and refocus. 

Oh, but that was easier said than done. Doppo had restarted on the paperwork, working around you as your warm body nuzzled into his chest. He usually felt like he was suffocating at work but right now, it felt like your body was trying to strangle the life out of him from somewhere other than the neck. How were you so tight? How come velvety walls were squeezing down on him over and over again without either of you even moving? You were starting to leak out around him, a sticky mess starting to spill out onto his lap slowly - torturous. Maybe you were actually trying to be sweet. Maybe you were actively trying to mess with him. But either way, it was kicking up a bad habit within him. He would reach for another stack, shifting in the chair and causing the tiniest of mewling to escape from your lips. It was a blissful sigh here, a hitched breath there, a tiny hum into his chest and it was going to break him. He was supposed to be focusing but at this rate, he was going to start making mistakes on his work.

You were causing him to silently work himself up. Each climb of his emotions resulted in a string of jitters, and in return had your body clenching even tighter on him. How could you even feel like that? He choked, tugging at his tie to try and gasp for air. You were messing with him. You had to be. You must be mad he wouldn't leave. This was his retribution. To be strangled by your wet cunt over and over without reprieve- without any motion for relief. Well, fuck that. He may love you. But he worked far to hard day in and day out. Pent up didn't even begin to describe it. If you were going to try to rile him up like that, then he would give you riled up because he couldn't take it. Not a second longer. Not with that familiar primal darkness beginning to flare inside him.

His body rocked and you instinctively lifted your head from his chest to peer up at him, the first actual movement he had made since you had sat on him. "Are you okay?"

"O-okay?" He was stuttering his words but unlike his panic from before, this time he sounded angry. It wasn't a tone he took entirely too often. But you knew Doppo. You knew if his buttons were pressed enough, he would snap. He was tea kettle, getting hotter- "how do you except me to be okay-" and hotter "- when your purposely trying to make me-" until he screamed "-loose my fucking mind!?"

You only had enough time to widen your eyes before he flew out of his chair, taking you with him and slamming you onto his desk. The noise he made was positively feral - teetering between a growl and a scream - and without a warning, he was wrecking you, bludgeoning into you with a speed you hadn't even been aware he was capable of. 

"D-D-Doppo!" You were trying to talk but the sudden thrusting was knocking out your capabilities to think. You had been stretched out and horny for a while now but at this pace you couldn't keep up. You were trying to grip at his shoulders for some type of stability. "H-hang on a sec-"

"Hang on?!" He sounded unhinged - a growl ringing in the back of his throat so different from his usual meek - if not panicked - composure. "I've been hanging on! I've been hanging on this whole time! You just had to be on me huh? When I'm at work!" Papers were tossing up into the air around you and you could hear the clatter of the cubicle as he knocked you into the desk over and over. Oh, you couldn't even keep your eyes opening with the way your senses seemed to overload. "All this work - all these damn excuses to pile it onto me - and then you still come in here and give me more work. Too needy? Need my to pound you senseless before I can finish my work? Then that's what I'll do. I'll take you over and over and over again until you're out for days!" He declared, his hands clamping down on your hips and you could already feel the bruises even as the head of his cock shifted up enough to find your sweet spot, leaving you wailing out. "Again and again and again!" He got louder and louder with his sounds, growls and grunts turning into wanton groans and gasps as he split you in two. 

This would teach you not to mess with him at work. Or maybe it would teach you to mess with him more.

#doppo kannonzaka #hypmic smut #doppo x reader #kinktober #mc doppo #idk what to say about this one #i was actually gonna make it sweeter #but then listened to Doppo screaming and lost my mindddd #so i wanted to tease him #and press his buttons #whoops #aftercare for this one would be sooo good tho

[nobodyfamousposts]

Miraculous Salt: Things You Do For/To Me

I’m back with another alternate take on a regularly used salt trope. In this case, we’ll be looking at the one/s where when persons in the class decide to openly refuse to be Marinette’s friends, they eventually find out that in doing so, they’ve given up all the things she would normally do for them. Free pastries, free dresses, free interviews with Ladybug, etc.

But what I’ve yet to see anyone consider is what the former friends have done for Marinette and the effect the sudden lack of this would have.

Particularly in regards to the Adrinette shipping and pressuring Marinette to confess before she’s ready. And the effect of the sudden LACK of that.

Namely, SHENANIGANS.

Hear me out:

Imagine if you would, that the girls in the class have enough of Marinette “bullying” Lila and thus openly drop all friendship with her, making it clear they want nothing to do with her. They know full well that this means the end of some of the nice things she’s done for them, but in their minds, they’ve done more for her so she’ll really be the one losing out.

Marinette is sad.

Adrien sees she is sad and comforts her.

This makes the girls realize that Marinette is still crushing on Adrien and given how much of a “bully” she is, she doesn’t deserve him. They instead decide that Liladrien is the way to go and that it is their duty as her best friends to help her.

Lila knows fully well that Adrien is aware she is a liar and is not happy with her. She is sure she can change his mind, but she needs time and proper planning to set things up for her to get on his “good side”.

Neither of which her new girlfriends allow her.

They take her hesitancy for lack of confidence and attempt to encourage her. They refuse to let her “give up” on her true love! They also go out of their way to try and force Lila and Adrien together at every opportunity.

At. Every. Opportunity.

Class needs to partner up for an assignment? Suddenly Lila is shoved in Adrien’s way.

Lunchtime? They start out together as a “group” and then suddenly all have urgent matters to attend to and now Adrien and Lila are sitting alone together.

Lila needs anything? They push Adrien to help her. Which he does, because he’s a cool guy who will help out when asked.

Every time anything is happening, Adrien is suddenly stuck with Lila.

Marinette is understandably hurt and upset.

And Adrien is confused. But annoyed.

Mostly annoyed.

He doesn’t know what the girls are doing, but manages to catch on that whenever they approach him, it’s going to have something to do with Lila. So Adrien starts taking to avoiding them.

Except Adrien is Adrien. Who is an anime nerd. And a dork.

So his ways of avoiding them are a bit...extreme.

Like the time he hides in a broom closet.

Or the time he dives into a bush.

Or the time he jumps out a two story window.

He starts abusing his Chat Noir identity to escape them.

“Chat Noir! Have you seen Adrien?”

Quick! Play dumb!

“What’s an Adrien?”

Not that dumb!

And in the midst of all this, Adrien finds one source of sanity.

That source just happens to be Marinette. The ONLY GIRL who won’t try to force him to be around Lila. And whom he can vent to about her antics.

Adrien starts taking to hiding out at the Dupain-Cheng Bakery, where none of the girls dare to enter. It becomes his only refuge. A safe place where he can eat pastries and play video games. And a friend is there with him!

Marinette, for her part, admittedly struggled with her friends gone. She was depressed for a good few days. Lonely and bored as well. In her boredom, she used the extra free time to make more clothes. And...found herself actually being more productive. Neat! Well, it sucks because she’s lonely, but it’s at least a nice distraction. And she manages to get more commissions done. Especially since the loss of her friendships means she doesn’t need to follow through on their previous requests or the gifts she was making for them.

It’s lonely, but it gives her time to reflect and focus on herself. And it turns out that while she misses them, not being around them as much has actually helped her stress and anxiety since there’s suddenly no outside pressure to confess to Adrien. No one pushing her into being with him when she’s not ready. And no one to judge her attempts or failures.

It’s actually kind of peaceful.

Which is when Adrien starts turning to her for support and sanity.

He comes into the locker room, begging her to hide him. Without a second thought, she puts him in her locker and tells the irritated girls questioning her that he went out the other door.

Alya comes into the class during break and asks if Adrien is around. Marinette shrugs, pointedly ignoring his presence under her desk and his anxious grip on her legs.

He needs a safe place to hide after school until his bodyguard can pick him up? He finds refuge at the Bakery. And snacks! And games! And a friend! A very good friend.

Somehow, without the interference from the girls, Marinette is calmer around Adrien. Still anxious, sure. But there’s now no one pressuring her to confess when she’s not ready like the outpouring of her feelings is supposed to be a race instead of a genuine moment. There’s also no one to enable her crazier antics. She’s still crushing on him, but it mellows out.

Adrien in turn starts to see more of the Ladybug in Marinette. Which he can’t help but think is cute. Which has him worried his heart is cheating on Ladybug.

Plagg’s advice of “seduce her” doesn’t help.

The girls meanwhile, only make the Liladrien attempts worse. Lila is getting frustrated because their plans are interfering with her plans. Not to mention that with them always hovering around her, she’s having a harder time coming up with new lies and keeping them all straight. Nor is she able to get an akuma and help Hawk Moth. And since the antics of the girls are doing more to keep her away from Adrien than get close to him, Gabriel is losing any inclination to keep her around.

And worse is that through all this, Adrien and Marinette are only getting closer. (The fact he has been making time to come hang out with her as Chat Noir isn’t helping with that...or his steadily growing crush on her)

It all comes to a head one day in class when the girls are plotting yet another Liladrien attempt...

And Adrien and Marinette enter the classroom holding hands.

#ml prompt #ml salt #adrinette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #lila sucks #miracuclass are idiots

[vintagedolan]

mixtape | track ten

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

Indiana’s mental health class was in her first semester in the pre-med program. Abnormal Psychology, PSY 249, in a stuffy room in a building on the far side of campus. She’d hated it. College was supposed to be challenging, her program was supposed to be the most rigorous, and yet the class was a breeze. They went through condition after condition - depression, PTSD, anxiety, schizophrenia. The inner workings of the brain, the chemical imbalances, the medications that would help people come back to themselves. She passed the class with a 101%, stowed the knowledge in a seperate folder in her brain for safe keeping, and moved on at the end of the course. But she kept one piece of paper out, one piece of knowledge that didn’t make sense.

Voluntary Emotional Detachment. It was a relatively new idea in the world of psychology, seeing that many of its characteristics could fall under depression. That wasn’t what confused Indy. No, that came when her professor lectured on the voluntary portion. 

“Emotional Detachment is a useful tool sometimes, when it’s used purposefully. For example, if you have a toxic family member in your life, you may voluntarily emotionally detach yourself from them. It’s a defense mechanism, especially during times of trauma. You’ll find yourself numb, unable to feel even if you wanted to. It happens with loss sometimes as well, where you can’t feel the gravity of what you’re losing. Your mind knows what it can withstand, and sometimes, it pulls back. It shields you from the cruel world we live in. It protects.”

Indy had scoffed in her seat, so loud that her professor looked at her and frowned, which was enough to have her blushing red and keeping her head down as she scribbled notes for the rest of the class.

It was the one time she’d ever been reprimanded by an academic authority. Professor Upton pulled her aside before she could escape out of the lecture hall doors. 

“Ms. Cross. You seem like a bright girl, but I don’t appreciate the disrespect.”

“I’m very sorry professor, it won’t happen again.” Indiana had practically stumbled over the words to get them out, her palms sweaty on her backpack strap as she held it on her shoulder.

Indy had a million explanations, but she knew that her professor didn’t care to hear them. And they were lies anyway. The true reason she’d scoffed was something she didn’t want to share.

It was because her professor had made it seem so easy, to just turn it off. Emotionally pull the plug, to sever your ties to someone.

She’d scoffed because if her brain had the capability, and it hadn’t moved to protect her when her mother died, shielded her from the aftermath of unimaginable pain that she’d endured, she wasn’t so sure that she was at all intelligent after all. 

But she understood why now. 

It was because her mother dying had made sense.

Not in the grand scheme of things. Not in a karma driven universe - there was no justifying losing a light as bright as Nicole Cross in a world that had checks and balances, a world that cared. 

But physically, it had made sense. 

Nicole’s cancer started in her pancreas. Stage III when they found it. 13.3% survival rate. And it spread like wildfire. Indiana threw herself into her books, looked for anything, some medical breakthrough that someone had missed. She looked into drug trials, she looked into synthetic pancreas research. All the while, her mother’s cancer took over cell by cell, multiplied and multiplied the way cells are built to. And when it reached her brain, it took over her brainstem. 

When it got to that point, Indiana heard the four words that she would never forget.

“She’s done. We’re done.”

They had echoed out, bouncing off the bleached linoleum, making a cold room even colder. Her father’s voice had never sounded so unfamiliar, and she was glad that her mother was sedated when she broke down. There was no detachment, only raw, searing pain unlike anything she had ever experienced. She sunk to the floor, ragged sobs finally breaking free when she realized what she’d known was coming was finally happening.

The fight was over. It was time to let go. 

Charlie hadn’t cried. No, Charlie stood still as stone in the corner of the room, eyes unblinking as she stared at the shell of her mother in her hospital bed and willed it to be a dream, a nightmare that she would finally wake up from. 

And then, she remembered where she was. She remembered who she was. And she picked her little sister up off the floor and held her in her arms, like she always had when Indiana was hurting.

 Without the vital cues from that little piece of Nicole’s brain telling them to, her heart stopped beating and her lungs stopped asking for air, and she died. 

And it made sense.

This didn’t make sense. His words made no sense.

There was no one to hold Indiana Cross now, and she had a new set of four words that would haunt her.

“I can’t do this.”

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

Six days. Grayson’s thoughts ate him alive for six whole days. He lived through the odd limbo that the world seemed to find itself in on the days between Christmas and New Years. A pause in the spin on the axis, a time to reflect on everything the year had brought, and what the next one had to offer.

Even in his daze, Grayson could only remember one other December he’d tried to hold onto so hard. 

His father’s face was at the forefront of his mind, but not the images that he wanted to see. All he saw was a look of disappointment in his eyes with each hour that Grayson’s lips stayed pressed together while Indiana rested, oblivious in his arms. He towed the selfish line of wanting to enjoy the last days he had with her while his guilt threatened to drown him with every breath he dared to take. He hid it well, as he always did when he really needed to. They had their date nights, with movies and postmates since he still didn’t want her out in public with him. They stayed in the tiny house again to enjoy nature, snuck into Jet’s a few times. He smiled when he was supposed to, went through the motions that were expected of him. It had worked for him before, for videos, for time with friends when all he wanted to do was sit in his room and speak to no one. The only person he could never fool was Ethan, who kept his distance, but stayed close enough to keep his eyes on him. He thought he had everyone but his twin fooled.

But Indiana noticed. Indiana always noticed. 

Nicole had called it the curse of intelligence when she was younger. 

“Sometimes,” she’d said. “When you know too much about how the world works, how people work, you see things you aren’t supposed to. You understand things you aren’t supposed to.”

Indiana was 12 at the time, sitting on the other side of the kitchen table. 

“What do you mean mom? How can you know too much?”

“You’ll know one day. You’ll see.”

The way she’d said it made Indy sit her fork down, her stomach suddenly tight. 

And now she’d seen.

On New Years Eve, Indiana Cross leaned in to kiss her boyfriend as the clock struck midnight, on her couch in her apartment, with her picture frames on the shelf over their heads and the sound of fireworks outside her window.

Grayson didn’t lean in. 

He leaned back, and he spoke.

“I can’t do this.” 

Indiana took a breath. In. Out. Filled her lungs and emptied them again.

She’d noticed. But she hadn’t let herself believe it. She’d pushed every little nuance she’d seen, every time that Grayson’s eyes didn’t catch the smile he tried to put on his face the last few days- she’d pushed it to the back of her mind and justified it. He was just worried about leaving, he was just stressed about Bekah like she was, he was just tired. She’d seen every sign and she’d justified it. 

She swallowed air, her throat painfully dry.

“What?”

“I can’t do this, I’m sorry.”

Indiana did what she always did, what she’d always done her entire life when anything didn’t make sense, when anything went slightly off track. 

She tried to understand why. 

She racked her brain for everything that she’d done, every syllable she’d spoken, and every movement she’d made since that first day at Frazier outside, with him in his green pants on the bench, and her with two Jet’s coffee’s in her hands. 

Her fingers were cold as she pressed her hands together. There was a finality in his tone that had her chest tight, her ribs pressed together, muscles pushing on bones and squeezing everything until she felt like she was going to suffocate. She opened her mouth. 

“Oh.”

Grayson had his head in his hands, leaned over his knees on the couch. He shook in an unfamiliar way, like he was choking, and it took Indy a moment to realize that he was crying. 

She felt like she was in a dream, watching what was happening to her from the outside. It was like slow motion as she watched the girl on the couch curl in on herself, her walls reconstructing at ten times speed - he’d been so gentle with each brick that she didn’t even realize they’d been taken down. He spoke after a moment of heavy silence.

“I love you, but we can’t. I can’t do this to you.”

Her brain refused to process it, refused to even try to dissect it, and she spoke the only word she seemed to be able to find.

“Oh.”

“Indy I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I should have said something sooner, I wanted to, I’m an asshole for waiting this long.”

She swallowed and wrung her hands together.

“When is your flight?”

His tears streamed faster somehow as he blinked.

“Tomorrow afternoon. We have meetings on the 2nd.”

In. Out.

“What time?”

Grayson looked up. Indiana was sitting straight up, head up high. The only thing moving were her hands, which she kept squeezing together over and over. It scared him, to see his once bubbly girl so still while his tears continued to fall. He couldn’t read her. 

“I’m not sure, I’d have to check. Dee, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

She smiled her hospital smile, the one she used when she got bad news, and it was somehow worse than if she’d yelled at him.

“Indy.”

“It’s okay. C’mere, it’s okay.”

She opened up her arms for him, and she didn’t even seem to notice that they were shaking ever so slightly.

Grayson’s eyes were too blurry to see the quiver. He was fighting himself again, wagering whether sinking into her arms would only cause more damage in the long run. But he knew how it felt to be there, and he wagered that it would be worth whatever hellish guilt it was sure to bring later. So he leaned in, and just a single touch from her had him sobbing again. He pressed his face into her shoulder with so much force that she fell backwards a bit, and suddenly they were intertwined with him above her on the couch.

His pain was physical. She could feel it, in the way his body shook and paused when he tried to suck in a breath that his lungs desperately needed, the wet hot air soaking through her shirt with every exhale he choked out. His tears were warm, the salt already stiffening the fabric that soaked them up. Her hands found his back, and she lifted a finger to his skin before she paused. 

She didn’t know what to write anymore.

Instead, she moved her hand to his hair, scratching at his scalp, holding him steady. He was heavy against her and she closed her eyes, felt him there with her, took in the weight of him. 

“Shhhh. It’s okay.” We’re okay. “You’re okay.”

Her words only made Grayson cry harder when he realized what she was doing. He came back to himself for a moment when he realized that all the shaking wasn’t him. He could feel the way she held onto him and shook, so subtle that he could tell she was fighting it. His stomach churned at the thought of how bad her pain must be if it was causing a reaction in her body, and he moved to push himself up.

“Indy.”

She clung to him, panic breaking through the protective numbness that had taken hold so quickly. If it was the last time she was going to get to hold him, she’d hoped it would have lasted just a bit longer. 

But she took a deep breath and she let him go, forced her arms to release him.

It hurt worse to see his face again, see the pain in his puffy eyes. She reached back out for him, swiped her thumb across his cheek to catch a tear. Her fingers got distracted in the feeling of his scruff, and she scratched over it for a moment, indulging herself, willing herself to remember the way it felt on her fingertips.

“It’s okay.” It was a reflex to her, and she couldn’t stop herself from saying it.

“It’s not though. Indy, it’s not okay. I’m hurting you.”

She didn’t have a response to that. Her eyes fell to her lap, picking at her fingernails. 

“I’ll be okay.” It was a lie, but she would have said anything to bring some of the light back to his eyes. Her pain she could manage, but his was her breaking point.

“Please don’t do that. Please don’t pretend on this.” He brought in a shaky breath, blowing it out quickly.  

In. Out.

“What do you want me to do?” 

“I want you to scream. I want you to be pissed at me, I want you to be mad that I waited this long to tell you! You haven’t even asked why,” he cried. Indy wondered for a moment why it always hurt more to see boys cry. It seemed to be more painful for them somehow - heavier. 

“I think I know why.” 

He sat up a bit more at her words. Waiting.

“It was a chance thing, you being here. Us meeting. Your life is entirely different than mine, and you have your people in LA. There’s… I mean there’s plenty of girls there who don’t have the stuff I have. Class, work -” Her voice cracked at the end, Grayson’s outline blurring just a bit as she looked up.

“No. No no no, hey,” he stopped her, hands hovering over her for a moment before he gave in and rested them on her arms, holding her without fully pulling her in. “It’s not that. I promise you, it has nothing to do with anyone else. I want you, I don’t want anyone else. But I know you, and your dreams are here, and I’m not gonna take that away from you.”

Indiana’s confusion only grew. She’d only heard one thing he’d said.

“You want me?” Her voice sounded pitiful, even to own ears. 

“Of course I do.” He spoke it like it was the only possible truth, and a flicker of hope rose in her gut, fighting it’s way up. “Indy of course I do.” 

“Then… why?” 

“Remember when we went to LA?”

His words brought back a flood of memories. The two of them kissing in the ocean, the secret beach, sleeping in his bed with his green wall, piggyback rides around the house, the late night Cudi drives.

“Yeah.”

“You remember how much you hated it there? How bad you wanted to come back home? And what did I promise you?”

Indy couldn’t find her voice. Her brain was otherwise occupied, watching her memories being drug through dark ink, staining them. 

“I promised you I would never ask you to leave New York.” He finished it for her. “And I meant it. But I can’t stay here Indiana, no matter how bad I want to.”

“Your life is in LA.” She repeated her words from earlier, monotone and unattached. Her heart fought with her, begged her to tell him everything. Tell him that she was going to start working at Jets and start therapy so she could fly out to see him. Tell him that she was halfway through her UCLA application essay that she’d been working on on nights he fell asleep before her. Tell him that she’d drop everything and follow him anywhere. 

“You’re the most giving person I’ve ever met. You give so much to everyone but yourself. But I’m not letting you give up your life for anyone, especially not me.”

She wanted to be mad that he assumed that she would. But there was an understanding, a sadness in his eyes that reminded her that he knew her better than she had ever realized. 

“We could make it work.”

He looked like he wanted to believe her. 

“You deserve someone who is here for you.”

“You’re here for me.” Her mouth was starting to outrun her mind, a dangerous game that she usually couldn’t stop once it had begun.

“You deserve someone who is here to celebrate your accomplishments every day, not someone in a different time zone on the other side of the country.”

“We could make it work.” It was more of a plea that time, and she saw it register across his face, the pain it caused him. 

“Indy.” 

“People do long distance all the time, we could do it.”

“We aren’t long distance people,” he said, but Indy’s mind was already running.

“We could set up a facetime schedule, and you wouldn’t have to visit that much, I’ll be busy with school anyways. And if we hate it, then we can stop. We just have to try, we’re never gonna know unless we try it.” 

Grayson was silent for a minute, which was enough of an answer. He’d known this was coming. Ethan had warned him that it would happen, that Indiana would try to reason her way through it. He’d told his brother that he had to be confident in his choice or he’d get swayed off course.

Grayson wasn’t sure he’d even be confident in his choice to remove himself from the best person he’d ever known. But knowing that in the long run it would be better for her was the only thing that let him cling to the last bit of resolve he had. 

“Indy.”

Her lip quivered, and he felt his heart crack. 

“Please,” she said.

“C’mere. Just c’mere.”

It wasn’t a surrender, but an offering of comfort. Indy knew it would hurt her later, but she didn’t have the willpower to resist it. She crawled into his lap, and the last of the numbness that had started faded away. In his familiar arms, she lost her last semblance of control.

She crumpled into his shoulder, broken sobs shaking her frame as she clung to him, let him hold her as she wrapped herself around him, as if it would somehow make him stay. 

He rocked her as she sobbed, accidentally pressing a kiss to her shoulder before he realized what he was doing. It was torture in the rawest form, worse than he could have expected to be the cause of her pain. 

“I’m so sorry Indy, I’m so sorry,” he whispered to her over and over, hoping she believed him. She pressed her face against his neck to keep her eyes closed, pretending for a moment that everything was fine.

“I love you.” 

The tears returned to his eyes, and in a moment of weakness he turned and pressed a kiss to her hair, her temple. His lips had missed her. 

“I love you too Indiana Cross.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

Her finger traced against his back. F-O-R-E-V-E-R. She wished she could erase it somehow when his breath caught in his throat again. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and he shook his head.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” His voice was muffled by her skin, seeing that he was unwilling to lean back from her.

“I know this is hurting you too,” she said, and was met with the feeling of more of his tears on her shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“The only thing you did was make me love you too much. Don’t be sorry for that.”

The way her heart squeezed wasn’t natural, and though she knew the phenomenon wasn’t as everyone said, she was sure it skipped a beat in her chest. She squeezed him tighter to her, like she had so many times. She synced her breathing to his, laid her head on his shoulder, committed the sound of his heartbeat to memory. 

Their tears dried out over the next hour, the numbness of acceptance starting to blanket over them. Neither of them dared to move a muscle, Grayson especially. All he did was rub his hand over her back, up and down the same as he had been since she climbed into his lap. They both knew that moving would mean having to figure out what to do next. 

It could have been minutes, it could have been hours. Indy wasn’t sure, and she was scared to look at a clock, to see her fleeting time left with him wasting away.

“Did you pack your bag already?” Her voice was too loud even though it was barely above a whisper, pulling them back into the reality they wanted to avoid.

“Yeah. It’s at home.” 

Indy could see it in her head, his Jersey room, quiet and waiting for him with his orange duffle on the bed. But her stomach filled with a wave of nausea as she realized what it meant.

“So you have to go home.” 

Grayson’s hand paused on her back. She was holding her breath.

“I… I didn’t know if you would want me to stay.” It was the first time he could remember not knowing what to say to her. 

Her arms tightened around him, her breathing getting a little bit more ragged. He ran his hands over her back quickly, desperate to soothe her.

“Shh, shh hey, I’m staying. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yet.” She whispered, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he flinched. “Sorry, that was harsh.”

“Not undeserved,” he said, turning and resting his cheek against her shoulder. “I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have. So whatever you need, I’ll give it to you.”

Indy sat up. Her eyes had settled a bit, her tears washing the jellyfish blue into a shade of navy that Grayson didn’t recognize. It made his breath catch in his chest. 

“Whatever I need?”

“Whatever you need.” 

She looked at him, and her head tilted to the side just slightly. A small smile tried to make its way to her face, but her lips quivered. 

“Could you kiss me?” 

He paused, watching her fight off her tears with a deep breath. 

“Is that what you need?” 

“Just… just one. I didn’t know, you know. That the last one was gonna be the last one. And we’re here, and I just thought, that maybe - ” 

He kissed her. For the first time, he was hesitant. He kept his hands to his sides, not wanting to push anything too far, not wanting to make anything worse somehow. Indy barely reacted either, too nervous to do something wrong. 

They pulled back from each other, breathing shallow, nerves taking over as they tried to figure out what to do. 

“Thank you,” Indiana said. 

Grayson swallowed hard, watched her eyes as they flickered between his own. 

And then they were kissing. Really kissing, chasing the taste of each other like air at the end of a sprint. His hands went to her face, holding her to him as her hands went to his torso, bunched up his shirt and tried to pull him into her, closer somehow despite the fact that they were already touching everywhere that they could be. The desperation was palpable, in the way their hands roamed and fell back into their familiar patterns. Indy sucked in the first real breath she’d taken in since the clock had struck midnight, breathed him in as best she could, trying to lose herself in him like she always had. But her mind wouldn’t shut off, reminding her that it could really be the last time she had him like this. 

He felt her tears, first on his thumb that was holding her cheek, and then against his own skin. It took all his willpower to pull back from her lips. She let him, her breathing shaky as she tucked her face back down into his neck.

He picked her up effortlessly, standing up from the couch and moving them to her room. The Cudi vinyls seemed to mock him, especially when he laid down and stared up at them on their small shelves. Indy didn’t move an inch, staying wrapped around him, laying on top of him when he rested back against the pillows. 

Time moved quickly, and Indy still avoided the clocks, scared to see what had already passed. 

Grayson wanted to hear her voice. Wanted her to talk to him, wanted to commit every single thing she said to memory, but he wouldn’t ask. She had given him enough. 

He closed his eyes, focused on the feeling of her fingers over his shirt, tried to make out what shapes she was drawing like he always did. He felt her hands travel up higher, up his neck to his skin, scratching over his beard.

Her fingertips were gentle as they moved up, over his lips, around his cheek to his eyelids, down over his nose, then to the other side of his face. She traced the pattern a few times, and Grayson waited until she was on his nose to speak.

“What’re you drawing?”

“You,” she said. “Memorizing.”

He didn’t know how he still had more tears to make, but they started to fall anyways, down the side of his face over his temples. 

“I’m sorry,” was all he could say.

“I know. I wish you could stay just a little bit longer.” 

“Me too.”

He traced a heart on the back of her arm.

“I love you too.”

The truth of it was, she didn’t know how to not love him, and that was the scary part of it all. She couldn’t imagine a world where she didn’t love him with everything she had in her. 

She didn’t know who she was without it anymore.

“If you ever change your mind, I’ll be here you know,” she said. He took in a deep breath, pressing a kiss to her hair. 

“I’m not gonna do that.”

Her heart sank.

“That’s not fair,” he said. “I can’t ask you to do that, to wait for me. I’m not going to string you along, that’s cruel. Once I’m back in LA, I want you to move on.”

Indy shook her head against him, burying her face in his chest. 

“No.”

“Indy.”

“No.” Her brain refused to process it, to imagine a single scenario where she felt anything good without Grayson by her side. She knew it wasn’t healthy, and she vowed to never tell anyone but in that moment, she reserved herself to be miserable every minute that she wasn’t with him. 

“I know it’s not gonna be easy, but you deserve to be happy. And I’m sorry that I’m gonna make that harder, but you’ll find somebody who can love you better than I do.”

“Does that mean you’re going to just move on when you get back to LA? Just forget about me?” There was a spite in her voice that she didn’t like hearing in her own voice. But Grayson didn’t flinch. It was almost reliving to him. He was getting what he deserved, what he’d earned for breaking her heart. 

Her anger meant she cared.

“Indiana I’m never going to forget you. If you think I could, I was an even worse boyfriend than I thought.”

“No, don’t do that.” She pushed off his chest and sat up. “You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to make me think that the last three months were bad. That’s the last thing I have to hold onto. Those were the best months of my life, you don’t get to take that.” 

Grayson didn’t have an answer. 

“Okay.”

“You made this decision for the both of us, I don’t get a say in it. So I’ll hold onto it as long as I fucking want to. You don’t get to tell me I have to move on.”

“Okay.” 

“Okay then,” Indy said, reaching up to wipe a tear away. She sucked in a breath and pushed it out through shaky lips, trying to hold herself together.

“Sorry.”

Grayson shook his head. “Indiana you can be mad at me. You should be mad at me.”

“I am mad at you.” 

She knew it wasn’t in the way that he meant. Because she wasn’t mad that he’d broken up with her. Because deep down, under all the pain and all the love and all the worry, she knew he was doing it for her. He was doing what she would never have the guts to do, even if it was the right thing.

No, she was mad at him for infiltrating every single part of her. Every thought, every muscle, every cell of her body contained him. Every hope she had for her future was molded around him. He was there in everything. His curls were in the dreams she had about her future children. His smile in the back of her mind every time she closed her eyes. His eyes, bright and green, always there.

“Do you want me to leave?” There was no malice in his tone, only genuine concern. 

She pondered it for a moment. Thought about what it would look like, for him to actually walk out the door and never come back through it.

“No.” 

“Okay. Then I’ll stay.”

“I can drive you to the airport. So Ethan doesn’t have to come into the city.”

“Okay. I’ll tell him.”

“Okay.” 

They stared at each other for a moment, staying very still, waiting for one of them to make a decision. 

“We should probably sleep.” Grayson checked his watch. “It’s 4am.”

“Okay.”

Another pause. Another moment of uncertainty that they’d never had to navigate.

“Do you want me to take the couch?”

She shook her head, and with a sigh, she gave in. Grayson could finally breathe again when she settled against him, pushing her hand up under his shirt, running her fingers over his ribs. He wrapped her up in his arms tightly, focused on the feeling of the weight of her on him.

And he closed his eyes. 

His alarm went off at 9:45. As soon as it sounded, Indy turned her face into his chest, a new wave of tears coming forward as the realization hit her

It was time to let go.

He just held her and kissed her head for as long as he could. She didn’t know if she’d slept. If she had, it was only for a few moments. She’d kept waking up, reminding herself that he was still there. 

They barely spoke. No one ate breakfast. He hadn’t brought a change of clothes, and parts of his shirt were stiff from the saltwater of both their tears. It took all the strength he had to keep it together when he closed the apartment door behind him for the last time. 

She took his hand in the elevator, and his tears fell, making his cheeks even colder when they walked outside. It felt odd, for him to climb into the passenger seat with her in the driver’s as they continued down the road. His mind was flooded with memories, with doubts. He couldn’t stop picturing the smile that would spread across her face if he told her that he’d changed his mind, that they could try. 

He fought it, kept his mouth shut, reminded himself that this was his decision and he had to deal with the repercussion of it. 

Indy was quiet too, evidence of her earlier decision to not hurt him anymore than she already had. She didn’t want to make it any harder on either of them. No matter what, she still loved him, and she didn’t like to see him hurting. She kept herself superficially distracted, focused on the colors of the cars that passed, and the number of the exits on the highway. 

The airport had never come quicker.

Grayson’s chest tightened when they pulled off. He couldn’t ignore it anymore, couldn’t push it down and stay strong like his dad had always told him to. An image of him hugging her goodbye over her console came to his mind, and he panicked.

“Would you want to come in? Like park and come in? I know you hate airports, and you can say no. But… I’d like to give you one last good hug before I go.” 

She merged into the lane that led to the parking as her tears began to fall. He ran his thumb over her hand until they got out. They found each other again behind the car, Indy linking her arm around his and holding on as tight as she could as they walked. She was ten times more anxious than the last time she had walked into an airport, her usual pertifying fear of Grayson being on a plane the least painful part. 

It was hard to keep her sobs quiet but she bit them back as best she could. Grayson heard them, shifted so he had his arms wrapped around her as they walked. Her eyes were blurry with tears but she noticed the bright yellow and orange bags before she spotted Ethan. He gave her a sad smile that she did her best to return. From the look of pity in his eyes, it was even worse than she thought. 

Her vision was obscured by Grayson, who moved in front of her. She clung to the front of his jacket with both hands, unable to look him in the eyes. She didn’t know if she could handle it. 

“I don’t want you to go,” she whispered, tears so full that they dripped off her chin and onto her shirt. 

“I’m so sorry.” His own eyes burned as he watched her. But her next words caused the worst pain he’d felt in a long time.

“Can we have a redo?” As her voice shook, his last barrier fell, and he was sobbing - the kind you try to choke back and keep quiet as he crushed her against him, burying his face in her hair.

“Not this time baby. Not this time.” 

They weren’t sure how they could cry harder, but they did. He swayed as he held her, tight and warm. Ethan wiped his own tears away with his jacket sleeve as he checked the boarding time on the tickets. 

“I love you. So much,” she said. 

“I love you too. I’m so sorry. If you ever need me... “ he trailed off, unsure if his offer would only hurt them both more down the road. She understood what he meant, and she took a deep breath. In. Out. 

“Right now, I need you to turn around, and I need you to walk away, or I’m never going to be able to let you go.” 

“Okay.” 

He didn’t move. She finally looked up at him and held herself together, determined to look at his face in person for the last time without the distortion of tears. 

“Take care of yourself, okay? Be safe. Be happy. I’m always gonna love you.” Her voice was as steady as she could make it, and that somehow hurt him worse. 

“Forever,” he whispered, and then he was kissing her. He wrapped her up in his arms as tightly as he could, held her to him until he forced himself away, only keeping a hold of her hand. 

Ethan, always in tune with his brother, seemed to recognize his cue. 

Indy nodded and squeezed his hand one more time, and then she let him go, their fingers tracing over one anothers until they fell away, the distance too much.

A numbness spread over her body as soon as he let her go, and she watched from her spot as he disappeared down the hallway and into the security line.

She didn’t remember getting back to her car. But somehow, she managed to crawl inside and lock the doors before she crumpled forward onto her steering wheel.

#mixtape #this one is a doozy #love you guys #can't believe it's already track ten #wild wild wild #grayson dolan #grayson dolan fanfiction

[preciouspeterbparker]

the box

i reached 100 followers on saturday! WOW!! thank yall so much for listening to me whine about my love for these stupid boys and reading all my trash <3 

have this little ficlet that i wrote today inspired by my own coping mechanisms :)

- bloo 

word count: 1.3k

warnings: implied/referenced depression, A/B/O, babies & pregnancy mention, hurt & comfort (i think?), happy ending, fluff (maybe?), birth control mention, young!tony

****

“What’s taking so long? I thought you were just grabbing some sweatpants?” Peter walks into the bedroom and stops short at the sight of his boyfriend sitting on the bed with a medium-sized box placed next to him. The box itself is non-descript, simple cardboard with a generic logo on one side. Nothing special, nothing alarming. It’s what’s inside that makes Peter’s stomach fall out of his ass. His mouth goes dry and his heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. This was not supposed to happen. 

“Tony… I…” Though his brain is going a mile-a-minute, the words are coming out like molasses. The omega is sure his scent has gone rancid, the scent of stress and anxiety permeating through the room. “H-how did you… Where did y- Where did you find that?” Peter knows the answer, of course. The box lives in the back corner of his closet, hidden behind a rack of sweatshirts and sweaters. He had been so careful to never open the box in Tony’s presence, so sure that his alpha would never find it. He never intended for Tony to even know about it. He never intended for anyone to know about it.

Peter knows that it’s...weird. He knew the first time he brought home a little board book from the bookstore and felt the urge to hide it away under his bed where it wouldn’t be seen by anyone other than him. He really had no business buying any of the items in the box. The matching mommy & me sweatsuits, the small brightly colored hooded towel. The milestone blocks, the bear & blanket set… 

He’s a 22 year old unmated omega, Peter shouldn’t be buying baby items. He and Tony haven’t even been dating a year. What’s even worse, he bought some of the stuff before they even got together, when he was still single. 

The thing is… Peter has never wanted anything as badly as he wants to be a mother. He daydreams about the way his belly will swell with life, about the pitter patter of soft feet and bright peals of laughter. He pictures babies with his nose and smile, tiny fingers and toes, humming lullabies as he holds them in his arms. 

Tony’s hand clenches the soft fabric of a sunshine-yellow blanket in his fist, index finger rubbing back and forth against the material. “What- What is all this, Peter? Do you have something to… To, um, tell me?” His dark chocolate eyes are wide as they flicker down to glance pointedly at the younger’s belly. “Are you…?” Tony’s voice trails off, and he looks back up at Peter and he- Fuck, Tony looks scared or something and that’s exactly what Peter was afraid of. He’s scared Tony off, the one guy who’s somehow taken the rest of Peter’s idiosyncrasies in stride. 

The deer in the headlights expression on Peter’s face crumples and he wraps his arms around himself. He presses his mouth into a thin line in an attempt to keep inside the whines of distress that are attempting to escape him. His cheeks go a ruddy pink. Refusing to make eye contact with the alpha who is still staring at him imploringly, Peter softly shakes his head in response to the question. He wishes he was pregnant, that would make this a lot less embarrassing to explain. Breathing through his nose, the brunette can smell how Tony’s apprehension has morphed into concern and that just makes it worse. His alpha is so sweet, so good to him. He’d make such a good father, Peter already knows it and he wants it so badly. He’s always wanted to have a family, but a family with the smart, generous, kind-hearted man in front of him would be the epitome of Peter’s dreams. “I’m not pregnant,” the omega whispers, cutting his eyes to look at his boyfriend. Of course he’s not, he thinks, fingers moving reflexively to grab at the implant under the skin on the inside of his upper arm. 

“Then why-,” Tony starts, reaching into the box and gently pulling out a small white 0-3 months onesie with yellow bees scattered on the fabric, “do you have all of this?” He glances back up at Peter and his eyes immediately soften at the tears and wobbly lips that he sees. “Pete, c’mere baby, what’s wrong?” He places the blanket and the onesie back in the cardboard and stands, taking a few steps before pulling the shorter man into his arms. “Shhh,” he soothes when he hears Peter sniffling by his ear. “It’s okay, ‘mega.”

Peter whines, pressing his nose up against Tony’s gland at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “I’m sorry, Alpha. I know it’s...I know it’s weird.” He takes a shuddering breath. “I know it’s too early to even think about kids, much less talk about them. Or fucking...fucking start buying things,” he cries, squeezing his eyes shut. 

Fingers begin to comb through his hair soothingly and he whimpers a bit in surprise when he feels Tony’s chest rumble gently against his own before it begins to have the intended effect. His heart rate begins to slow, his scent starts to mellow out. “I’m not upset, Peter,” Tony says softly. “I just want to understand. Help me understand.” He cranes his head back a little to press a kiss to Peter’s auburn curls. 

The omega takes another shaky breath. “I just- I’ve always wanted a baby so bad,” he whispers into Tony’s neck. Peter opens and closes his left hand repeatedly and Tony sees the silent request for what it is, reaching to take it in his own larger hand. Their fingers intertwine. “You know that I struggle with, um, with depression.” He feels the way Tony’s chin moves as he nods. “I’ve been alone for so long, up until now and I… I just… It helps- To have a reminder that it’s all worth it. To see the light at the end of the tunnel, the reason I work so hard to get better, to be better. To remind myself that I can have that one day, that one day it won’t be just a dream,” Peter finishes with a wet gasp. 

“Hey, look at me. Look at me, ‘mega,” Tony says, and Peter can’t help but obey. He pulls away, taking a small step backwards so he can meet the alpha’s gaze. “You’re going to make an amazing mother.” His voice is soft yet passionate, like he has no doubt in the world that what he’s saying is true. “You are beautiful, and wonderful and so loving. Your heart's too big for your body so you’re always giving pieces of it to those you care about. Our babies will be lucky to have such a great mama,” he says, soulful eyes looking directly into his omega’s. “One who cares about them so much that he’s been planning for them long before they were ever born.”

Peter’s breath catches in his throat at the use of the pronoun. Did he hear that right? “Our babies,” he smiles shakily, hands coming up to cup Tony’s face. “O-our babies? You want- You want to have babies with me?” 

A bashful grin takes over Tony’s face. He bites his lip, pausing for a moment before the words leave his lips, ones that they haven’t said before. “Of course I do. I love you.” 

Peter chokes again at the soft confession, smile widening as more tears build up in his eyes. “I love you too, I do. I know it hasn’t been that long but I love you so much, Tony.” 

The alpha leans down and captures the younger man’s lips with his own. “I love you,” he whispers again when he pulls away. Leaning over a bit, he reaches back into the box and pulls the blanket out again and holds it in his hands. “And whenever...whenever we’re ready, once we’ve figured out what we’re doing and where we want to live… Once we’re mated?” He stops to press his forehead to Peter’s, both going a bit cross eyed as they gaze at one another. “I’m gonna make you a mama and you won’t have to dream about it any more.” 

Little did Tony know that he was already Peter’s dream come true.

#starker #peter parker x tony stark #peter x tony #bloo writes bad things (tm)