#i talked to my therapist about it and her answer was vague as FUCK

[incorrect-pipravi]

Can you please please please do more headcanons? I’m obsessed

Hi! Sorry if you don’t like angst because this is going to be a dump of my angsty PipRavi headcanons!!!

Hope you enjoy it and sorry again for the pain I’m about to cause.

Angsty PipRavi headcanons

TW: depression, implied suicidal thoughts, use of drugs

Ravi cried himself to sleep each night after Pip and him broke up while Pip overworked herself so that she fell asleep the moment she hit the pillow from exhaustion.

On most days, Pip’s strategy doesn’t work and she stays up all night reliving everything that happened.

When Pip hugged Ravi after Stanley’s death, it was the first time Ravi’s presence failed to comfort her -definitely not the last too- and it scared Pip so much.

Ravi almost caved into the urge to fuck up their plan and call Pip many times, but he managed to control himself.

Though Pip had promised Ravi that she would stop taking any drugs/sleeping pills, she still takes some on her hardest times.

Pip often imagines the worst case scenario happening and thinks that if it happens then there’s no point in living anymore. Her life would technically end so why not actually end it.

The first few weeks of their breakup, Ravi could barely leave his room, eat or do anything. He lost so much weight and he looked physically older from how burdened and exhausted he had been.

Cara definitely had to hold and comfort a weeping Ravi countless of times. (And so did Connor and the rest of the squad, but it was mostly Cara.)

Pip and Ravi definitely looked at old pictures and videos of each other when they needed comfort the most.

Ravi never left Pip because she would talk to him every single day in her head. And yeah it wasn’t healthy or normal, but Pip knows she hasn’t been normal for a long long time.

Pip has many different nightmares, but the worst ones are the ones where DT kills her.

Sometimes she wished he had.

Ravi would definitely avoid Pip’s family (to make the plan more sensible) and each time he notices Josh looking at him when they encounter each other in town he turns around and it breaks him every single time.

Pip and Ravi had accidentally called someone else (could be a classmate or a coworker or anyone really) by each other’s name at least once.

Ravi’s parents, at first, always asked about Pip and Ravi would answer vaguely or shrug it off until one time he snapped at them and they stopped asking. (He apologized later of course, but Nisha and Mohan wanted to respect their son’s privacy.)

I have mentioned this before in a different post, but Pip would definitely buy the same perfume Ravi uses and wear it or use it to feel like he’s there with her.

Even after they get back together, Pip still struggles with morality and understanding the gray area which makes her feel unworthy of love and happiness, leading to many self-sabotage caused fights.

That night will always haunts Ravi, especially the fact that he had come so close to losing Pip forever.

Pip would silently watch Ravi’s and her friends’ social media updates and mourn all the time she lost and all the happiness she missed.

Even when she gets a therapist, Pip still at times feels like she’ll never be put back together.

“I will always be a shell of who I used to be, Ravi. Never the Pip you love. Just an illusion of who she is.”

“Then let me love this new Pip. The one you call a shell. Let me love her. You should’ve realized it by now, but I won’t let you go ever again.”

#agggtm spoilers #pipravi #agggtm #a good girls guide to murder #pipravi headcanons

[cloveroctobers]

terms & conditions — ANGEL REYES x OC/READER x CANE TEJADA

A/N; I'm actually glad that this sat in my drafts waiting to be written (thanks to the poll I put out!) just in time for the season premiere-which isn't being talked too much about as of yet-but I get it! So I gained some more inspo for this piece along with the sudden crush I’ve developed on Woody’s character from power book II—ghost (which I’m also currently watching!) + this song has also been on repeat since I first heard it. It’s fitting and inspired this so let’s get into it!

*GIF BELONGS TO THEIR RIGHTFUL OWNER!*

WARNINGS/DISCLAIMER: language + I am in no way shape or form a therapist! + Angel being a bit of a d!ck :)

┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌ ﹋﹋┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌ ﹋﹋┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌ ┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌ ﹋﹋┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌ ﹋

"Solay it's great to meet you, thank you for coming." The therapist greeted the mahogany haired woman at the door, lightly shaking her hand.

Solay smiled at the bob-wearing lady, shifting her tote bag, which looked expensive, down to her wrist as she fully entered the sunlit room. Her doe eyes briefly glanced at Angel who now sat with his arms crossed in a chair, a scowl written on his face as his eyes almost drank her in.

"Angel." Solay muttered, placing her bag to the side of her as she took the space in the middle of the empty red couch.

Angel ran his tongue over his front teeth, huffing but felt the therapist sending him a warning glance. Almost as if to say, 'We talked about this.'

He breathed, rolling his head back to face Solay who was now putting her phone on vibrate before tossing it back into her bag, "What's going on, Solay?"

"It's Wednesday so I’m pretty busy," she was vague with her words but attempting to be cordial as she added, "How's Mavy?"

"Growing everyday," Angel answered and couldn't help but to throw in, "How's your rebound doin'? Don't think I didn't see him drop you off in that flashy ass range rover, was my son with ‘em in the backseat?"

Solay's doe eyes immediately went into slits as she let out a breath of laughter. She was barely five minutes in the room with her ex-husband and here he was worrying about who she was involved with by attempting to fuck up her energy. He should be lucky that she even showed her face! She vowed at this first session that she would not allow Angel to continue disrespecting her like he loved to do. The only reason she was here was for their five year old son Xavier, to learn better co-parenting methods...and perhaps for a professional to see that she wasn't crazy for putting up boundaries after everything they've been through.

"Okay, let's reel it in." Dr. Michelle Othman rolled her hands, gaining the attention of the two adults in front of her.

The glare did not leave Angel's face as he dragged his eyes back to the short haired woman who sat at her desk.

"Let's discuss that tension," Dr. Michelle started, "As soon as you entered the room, Solay, you were very curt with your words on greeting Angel, why is that?”

Solay inhaled, "It's never hugs and kisses when we're in each other's space. Sure I would like for it be that way—it's like that with my parents who are divorced, they're friendly but I started off just fine until Angel had to go into attack mode."

Angel felt his pressure beginning to rise since Solay liked to commonly relate her parents to their situation…when clearly this was a very different relationship.

"I didn't attack you, I simply asked if you're leaving my son alone with some strange man." Angel stated, "And I have concerns about that, as a father, it's my right."

"Of course you do but you didn't seem to be too worried when you had our son around during your secret meet-ups with Adelita, hm?" Solay pointed out, strangely calm.

Yet it still felt tit for tat.

"We were seperated when Luisa and I started messing around."

As if that makes it alright!

"Not legally and still very much married. Just for you to sleep with her and a couple of days later we're back together like nothing even happened...like I wouldn't find out." Solay told.

Angel scratched at his brow at that, he knew how it sounded but couldn't say much to defend that. He wasn't sure if he could so he just looked away at Dr. Michelle, who was patient and watchful.

"Angel tells me you two were married for some time."

Solay uttered, “Seven years."

"What made you want to get married?"

"I thought I found my person. We were good together, fun together, friends even.” Solay seemed to be in a daze as she talked, “ I always belived that you have to have a friendship as a foundation before anything and although we were completely messy from the start, meaning intimate before we ever became friends—we were always backwards in everything we did—but I enjoyed being around him. I enjoyed being happy with him, laughing with him. Angel made my heart happy at that time and I always knew he wanted a family and I started picturing what that would be like and feel like with him. then i got the chance to realize…I was happier without him." Solay informed the therapist who hummed at this information.

Angel spoke up, "I wasn't sure i even wanted to be married and not because of Solay. She's a great woman no doubt but I always had doubts of not being good enough to be anybody's husband or father. I was scared shitless but Solay always had a way of uplifting me and making me believe we could do anything we wanted together. That also quickly turned into being blamed for the littlest things and I'm not talking about the cheating. I’ll take responsibility for that part.”

Solay nodded, "Yeah he's right. After the first time Angel cheated on me with some blonde bartender, I became iritated by everything he did and constanly being in his space knowing what he had done, wasn't good for me, i knew i had to leave so I could breathe again. I left to my own condo that I was still living in and considered not renewing the lease. Then I found out I was pregnant and that completely changed everything."

Dr. Michelle nodded at all of this, occasionally writing something down on her notepad. "There's so much to unpack here. Could it be that the both of you had these false ideas of what marriage was supposed to look like because of your upbringing? I'm already aware of the infidelity that was in Angel's parents’ marriage but what was your parents' marriage like Solay, if you don't mind me asking?"

Solay sighed, "They tried to never argue in front of my older sister and I but that didn't mean we couldn't hear it at night when they thought we went to bed. My dad was a borderline alcoholic and always stressed about finances but he did a good job at hiding his worries, yet that didn't mean he didn't take it out on my mom. He can get very loud and apparently verbally abusive when he drank towards my mom. What they showed from the beginning seemed like perserverance …when it was really settling. I knew they were happier when they were younger but they ended up getting a divorce when I was in my early twenties."

"Was it a difficult divorce?"

"Surprisingly no? They seemed thrilled to be doing it because they came to a clear understanding of what they needed from each other.”

"Is that what you want from Angel?"

"One hundred percent but I'm not sure when or if we're gonna get there. There's mountains of pain and anger between us both but I want to get somewhere for the sake of our son." Solay tells Angel's therapist.

The woman quirks up a smile, "that's what I'm here for, for guidance but I want you to also acknowledge that you have to want this for yourself as well and not just your son."

"I don't want to do what my parents did, although it almost seems inevitable when life is a cycle right? I don't want to hide the reality of why his parents aren't getting along and can't co-exist because I don't know what that's doing to him mentally. Sure he's only five but I want us to have a healthy and honest mindset so we can raise him as such."

"Angel do you hear what Solay is saying?"

"Yeah, she's not the only one who doesn't want to fuck up their kid." Angel rubbed at his beard in thought.

Dr. Michelle said, "Then we all need to work on the both of you first so you can both do your best in raising Xavier better. Are you two commited in doing so?"

Commitment was almost taboo for Angel Reyes so Solay wasn’t so sure, it was shocking for her to even be aware that Angel decided to seek out therapy in the first place! Yet they were both here, which is the first step, allegedly.

"You're Angel's therapist, so how long do you predict I need to be in his sessions?"

DR. Michelle analyzed Solay for a brief moment before saying, "Believe it or not, you left a big impact on Angel's life as a husband and father so I can not simply provide you with a timeline. This takes work."

"I receive that, I'm not afraid of doing the work." Solay affirms, "I just wanted an estimate on how long this will last until it doesn't matter anymore."

"What do you mean by that?" Angel asked, brows furrowing.

Solay clasped her hands into her lap, slightly raising them as she talked, "I don't know. It's like you're trying to show a new and improved side of you but I still know the bad parts."

"Because you like pointing the finger and always putting the blame on me! Like you can’t accept that I’m happy!”

"Angel," Dr. Michelle warned at the raised volume in his voice, "Solay, Angel tells me the both of you recently got into a disagreement a week ago. Could this be what you're referring to?"

"I guess so yeah," Solay raised her shoulders and stared down at her hands for a moment, "It's just funny or probably pick me of me to think I gave Angel what he dreamed of, having a family and a home but the moment another woman caught his eye...the minute he found out that Mavy was still alive and Adelita was back in town, his perspective completely changed. What made that family different from I gave?"

"What?" Angel exasperated leaning his elbows into his knees now, "there's no comparison between what I have with you and Xavier and Luisa and Maverick."

"You may not think so but that's how it feels."

"Why do you feel that way?" Dr. Michelle pushed.

Solay swallowed the thickness in her throat, "that argument that happened a week ago. I asked Angel if he can take Xavier for me while I underwent a procedure. My mom was in town and would be tending to me so I thought it would be best. Angel came to pick him up Thursday evening, I went to my procedure that Friday morning and Angel brought Xavier back that same night because he, Luisa, and Mavy were going to some carnival for the weekend.”

Solay was in and out of sleep the whole day in her bedroom and her mother tried her hardest to keep her out of it but she soon learned what Angel had done. To say she was livid would be a understatement but thankfully she had her mom there to calm her down and help out, who did the honors of giving Angel a piece of her mind before she slammed the door in his face.

“What was this procedure?”

“I honestly thought it was a boob-job,” Angel interrupts before Solay could say a thing, which made both women cut their eyes at him, “I mean I wouldn’t be mad at you for it.”

Solay shook her head in aggravation while the therapist kept her face stoic.

“Why are you so comfortable speaking on a body that isn’t yours?” Solay questioned.

‘It used to be,’ Angel thought but knew not to let that slip through his lips.

Angel raised his hands from his spot on the chair, “I’m not! I never said you needed that shit anyways, I loved your itty bitties—

“Angel, enough.” Dr. Michelle scolded, “Let Solay finish. I told you at the start of inviting Solay here is for us to see her perspective and get to know her a bit so that we can come to a common ground in your relationship. Now Solay, please continue.”

Angel tried not to roll his eyes. This was his therapist after all and sure he knew what this session was about since it took courage to ask Solay to be here and felt like forever for her to agree. It was all about listening and shit but he didn’t like the picture that was being painted.

Solay sighed with her eyes closed, “I went for a biopsy on my ovaries. So no it wasn’t a boob job or some spa day or walk in the park like you thought, Angel. It was serious and again, Xavy and I got pushed to the side: Second fiddle.”

Sometimes she wondered if it had to do with Xavier being hearing impaired. Did Angel not want to be bothered enough to include their child on his new family outings? She thought about bringing it up but she also knew it wasn’t right to think that when Angel did take up the time learning sign language (in his own way) to communicate with their child. Everyone on his side of the family did and although it was a little shaky for him more so than Solay, he did try… however it didn’t erase the fact that Xavier seemed to be excluded majority of the time.

So she kept it to herself.

Dr. Michelle allowed the weight of silence to be felt. She motioned for the tissues on the coffee table for Solay—if needed but the woman just hugged herself, making the therapist lightly scribble down some more notes at this.

Angel was full on frowning now, “Biopsy…ain’t that for diagnosing something?”

“Cancer, Angel. They were worried after finding a lump in my abdomen and some other symptoms I was experiencing. I just needed you to come through for me, just this once.” Solay exhaled, eyes on him.

Angel felt the color drain from his face. The rings on his fingers were pressed to his lips as he felt his knee start to bounce, “why didn’t you say something?”

“You mean to tell me you forgot in the next twenty-four hours that I was having something done?”

“I’m a dumbass sometimes! I seriously thought it was something minor and really didn’t think or even remember, honestly querida—Solay it fucken slipped my mind.”

“Do you believe his words, Solay?”

She shrugged her shoulders, “it’s possible. He forgot his own brother’s birthday.”

“Hey, we’re not talking about Ezekiel here.” Angel growled while Solay rolled her eyes, “…are you alright, soso?”

Hearing Angel use another nickname on her, made her skin crawl. Once upon a time, she thought it was cute and it actually gave her butterflies when Angel would say it, his rough callous hands cupping her face. Now? She just wanted him to shut up.

“Now you care?” Solay hissed, “all you had to do was include Xavy in on your quality time with his baby brother, that’s it. Do that one thing for me, for him. But nothing else matters and that’s why I’m so pissed.”

“Aye, don’t take this shit out on Mav.”

“I would never. I always engage with that sweet baby when he’s in my presence. That’s Xavy’s baby brother and I’m not that kind of woman. I would never take my frustrations with you out on your kid. Ever.” Solay’s heated doe eyes met Angel’s and he had to sit back in the chair, dejected.

Angel said, “I’m sorry. Forreal. I do wish you would of told me exactly what was going on with you though.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

“I’m sure it would, yeah.” Angel stared, which Solay held.

That felt definite.

Dr. Michelle looked up from her notes, “this is good you two. You’re both laying it out on the table, engaging and truly seeing what it is that you brought you two here. it’s leading us to the root of the problem.”

“Talk to us, doc. What do you think it is?” Angel dragged his eyes away from Solay, keeping his leg bouncing.

“From our conversations Angel, you hold a lot of insecurities and it stems from your own childhood trauma that you haven’t healed from. It’s bled into your marriage and you, Solay. Your defense mechanism is to shut down when situations are tough, putting your guard up instead of saying exactly what it is that’s troubling you.”

“Yes because I’m tired—so tired of reading the same pages of this story over and over with Angel.” Solay sniffed, “I’m not here to say he’s a bad person. I know he’s not. He’s just not a good partner for me. He’s got a strong heart and I know he loved me at some point in our relationship and he cares for our son sure, but I can’t help but to look at him sometimes and feel like I’m dealing with the damn devil.”

Angel furrowed his brows as he points at his own chest, “I’m the devil? I know you don’t believe that when you don’t even know what you’re getting yourself involved in with that dude who just dropped you off.”

“Oh, not this again.” Solay exhaled rubbing underneath her eyes, “I did not come here for you to worry about who I’m spending time with.”

“She acts like she’s so much better than me, when she’s dealing with someone just as shitty and she’s acting like fucking Stevie wonder with it.” Angel gritted.

“Are you also in a new relationship, Solay?”

“Yes. It just became serious.”

“Have Angel and this person met?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?”

“We’d probably kill each other.” Angel declared, feeling his fists lock together at the mere thought of Solay with somebody else.

Somebody better but he was positive Cane wasn’t.

Solay shrugged her shoulders, realizing this was true. Cane knew about Angel and the failure of their marriage and honestly he had words for Angel the day they ever came face to face. He got close but Solay always made sure to detour the man away from causing any chaos. It was amusing to Cane however because one day he was sure he was gonna say whatever came to mind when he set his eyes on Angel.

Solay just wanted a simple soft life, was that too much to ask for?

“Okay,” Dr. Michelle said, “So we have the both of you in relationships, Angel you with the same woman you had relations and child with. Solay’s also in a relationship that you don’t particularly like or trust, Angel. You both share a child together but your regressions towards each other make it hard to be within the same space. Is that correct?”

Solay blinked, “that about narrows it down.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Angel rolled his head around, trying to straighten up the tension in his body.

Dr. Michelle cleared her throat, “seems like we have quite the work cut out for us on resolving these issues between you two. We’re down to ten minutes left on the clock, so I want to give you some homework to take with you so that you’re prepared when I see you both next week.”

“Homework?” Angel exhaled, “I didn’t go off to college for this exact reason, Doc.”

“Well think of this as a introductory course,” Dr. Michelle declared, “you’re welcome.”

Solay snickered at the expression on Angel’s face who was reaching for a post it note on the edge of Dr. Michelle’s desk. The therapist was scribbling some last minute notes as Angel managed to grab the paper, ball it up and toss it in Solay’s direction.

Which resulted in double middle fingers from the woman who managed to dodge it just in time. Angel scoffed and stuck out his tongue until Dr. Michelle cleared her throat.

“Are you two quite finished?”

Solay flicked one of her ponytails behind her shoulder and sent a sweet smile at the woman who stared hard at the pair.

“It’s a simple exercise. Both of you are going to write seven things that impacted your relationship from beginning, middle, to end. You can also form it into a Venn diagram or a pros and cons list, then we’ll discuss it next week. Sound good?” Dr. Michelle asks.

Solay has her phone now, her fingers tapping away at her screen as she sets a reminder for herself to do this before next Wednesday. She suddenly looks up at Angel who has his arms resting on the arm rests, twiddling his thumbs.

“Do I have to text you a reminder?”

“Would you be so kind?” Angel was sarcastic, “I’ll remember. If I can show up to see Dr. Michelle’s beautiful atmosphere, I can remember to do some homework.”

Solay replied in a sing song tone, straight but lightly shaded eyebrows raising, “okay…”

“You don’t believe me?”

“If you do the work, I’ll do the work. Otherwise this’ll be for nothing.” Solay answers, meeting Angel’s much darker eyes before turning back to the therapist, “thank you for your time, Dr. Michelle.”

“Thank you for showing up Solay, that’s time.” Dr. Michelle stood from her desk, walking around to lead the two out.

Solay stood in the lobby, messing around with her phone while Angel shared a hushed conversation with Dr. Michelle—hoping to get some sort of reflection or opinion on his ex-wife. It was a little selfish for Angel to want Dr. Michelle to strictly be on his side but he’d be lying if said he didn’t wish for his therapist to provide him with that comfort.

However Dr. Michelle liked to be theoretical and shit so Angel knew he shouldn’t be surprised.

“We’ll get somewhere, Angel. Now that she’s here, we can get this chapter closed and then focus on the next stage, yes?” Dr. Michelle explained while Angel slowly nodded, taking her word for it.

Soon he bid his goodbyes to the British woman before he fished his pockets for a cigarette. Just to mess around with as he approached Solay, he promised that he would actually quit smoking this time around and so far he’s been on track.

“You waiting for your boyfriend, who probably can’t see over the curb to pick you up?” Angel spoke from behind Solay.

She huffed, glancing over her shoulder, “actually no, I’m waiting on my assistant to get me and bring me back to work—if it’s any of your business.”

“Course it is, you’re still the mother of my child.” Angel snorted, “tell her don’t bother, I’ll take you back.”

“On your death trap? I think not.”

“Traffic gets bad around this time out here…the bike it much faster than whatever your assistant is coming to get you in, so it’s up to you.” Angel tapped the cigarette on the glass window of the door.

Solay thought about it, staring hard at Angel who offered her a goofy smile before pushing the door open, walked through and held it open waiting for the woman to follow after. Sighing, she pressed her phone to her ear to let her employee know that she found her way and that she’ll see her soon.

“No funny shit, Angel. Take me straight to work.”

“What? You don’t wanna stop and have lunch first?”

“Not after that session and especially not with you.” Solay answered as Angel yanked up the helmet that rested on his bike.

Angel did the honors of slipping the helmet down on her head, surely messing up her ponytails as he secured it and knocked his knuckles against the top, “damn, that hurts.”

“Terms and conditions.” Solay pointed, making Angel shake his head as he climbed on the bike first.

Solay followed shortly after, resting her hands on Angel’s shoulders to steady herself. As he kicked the engine on, solay almost flinched, knowing that she had to wrap her hands around Angel’s waist instead.

“Does what’s his face have these terms and conditions that you speak of, too?”

“Yup, he has you to thank for that.”

Angel let out a exaggerated sigh, choosing not to say anything else on that as he peddled the bike backwards before steering into a turn, then he set off into the desert streets with Solay still having a hold on him.

What would have been a hour ride was turned into a thirty-five minute one as the tatted man was parked in front of Solay’s business while she let her hair run free now by using Angel’s side mirror, then handed the helmet back to said man.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Anytime, soso.” Angel glanced at the building seeing a few clients inside of the orange sickle colored building, “spot looks cool as fuck, I’m proud of you, you know?”

Solay had a bachelor’s degree in science, finding her field in dermatology and held her license as a esthetician. She also sold a successful skincare line that she launched on her own website just last year. And this year she purchased her first house all on her own. She was doing well for herself but remained humble about it all.

“Okay, Angel.” Solay sighed, holding her bag down in front of her as she stared out at the orange skies, “we don’t have to kiss each other asses.”

Anfel shrugged, “It’s better than chewing each other out though right? Especially after today and I mean it so what’s the harm in that?”

“…well I appreciate it.”

“See, I can play nice sometimes too huh?” Angel winked as he put his helmet on, “I’ll let you get too it then…remind me, am I picking Xavier up from school on Friday or?”

‘Are you having him for the weekend since it is technically your weekend thanks to me screwing it up last time.’ Angel thought to himself.

“Papa Felipe is so it’s easier for you to bring him to yours.”

Angel was thankful that Solay wants Xavier to actually spend Friday and Saturday night with him after what he pulled last weekend. However he probably knew his pops would give him a hard time and would probably want to keep the boy to himself for the weekend. Solay’s mom and Felipe often chatted; with Felipe telling Angel that his mother, Marisol, probably would have loved Solay’s mom.

“Cool,” Angel said, “I’ll see you on Sunday then.”

“Sunday it is.”

He dipped his head, starting the engine and she watched the man drive off into the sunset before making her way inside.

[Sometime Saturday night…]

Cane Tejada entered the one level stucco home, hands rubbing in excitement as he entered the front of the home. To his surprise, he didn’t find Solay in the kitchen whipping it up and went through the house in search of her.

He found her in the main bedroom with the attached bathroom, touching up her makeup as her hips swayed to a Ayra Starr song. Leaning against the door, he let out a low whistle as his eyes scanned over her curves in the lace corset midi-dress.

“Tonight is my lucky night after all,” Cane bit down on his bottom lip.

Solay stopped leaning over the counter, molding her lipstick covered lips together and blinked her eyes as she glanced over her shoulder at the brown-skinned man, “you’re not coming out with me.”

“Huh?”

Solay brushed by Cane, her light floral and hint of a hazelnut scent hitting his nostrils as she walked by. He followed the woman into her bedroom, eyeing her as she sat on the edge of the bed, one leg crossed over the other.

“Where you going, So?”

She smiled up at him as she slipped on a heel, her anklet bracelet glistening in the room, “Out. Without you.”

“Nah, I’m not feeling that. Not with the way that dress is fitting and the way that ass is—

Solay inserted, “not my problem.” She got to her feet in search of her clutch, “matter of fact, why don’t you reach out to what was her name? Effie. And see if she wants to entertain you for the night.”

She tapped his jaw before turning off the light, making Cane slightly curse to himself. He jogged after the long haired woman, reaching out to grip her waist to turn her to him.

Solay held mock sympathy on her face and Cane didn’t like it one bit, “you going through my shit?”

“You left your laptop here and it was going haywire…something about tuition. I didn’t care to read it all,” she lifted her shoulders careless, “so…you should consider looking for the next flight home to New York soon.”

“It ain’t even like that.” Cane started, “it was just business, nothing more.”

Solay shushed him, “I don’t wanna hear about it. I’m not even stressing it babe, it’s fine.”

Cane scrunched up his nose, “but it’s not because you’re dismissing my ass like I ain’t shit—like we ain’t build this together.”

“What even is this?”

Cane was confused, “a relationship? We been locked in for awhile now so why you trying to switch up on me?”

“You’re the one out here dropping stacks on some girl’s tuition.”

“I ain’t fuck her if that’s what you’re getting at.” Cane was blunt with it, “I’m here for and with you. I’m not some disloyal cheating ass bitch, like your ghost rider baby father. Let’s get that straight.”

Solay sighed, staring down at the new set on her hand.

Cane gripped Solay’s chin, making her eyes meet his, “I’m not him, So. I’m not gonna do you dirty, I’m only about you.”

And solay held his stare not entirely believing it. She’s been down this road before and it was wrong for her to enter relationships—serious relationships and always compare them to Angel. He hurt her bad time after time and she’ll be a cold hearted bitch if that meant she gets to protect her heart better.

She’ll get rid of anybody that plays with her, just like that.

Cane included.

“Words are just words, Cane. You have to show me.”

Cane gripped onto her waist, holding tighter but still kept some distance just in case she felt like she wanted to throw hands, “I gotchu. I’m yours.”

“You already violated one of the terms and conditions and you have maybe two more left, so think wisely next time.” Solay warned, resting one hand on Cane’s shoulder.

Cane was swift with pulling out his phone, “what? You want me to take that cash back?”

He’ll sign a NDA if she hit him with one, he didn’t want to lose what he had with Solay. She was the only woman that ever made him feel loved but it’s not like he wanted to get too deep about it. Emotions were a lot to feel you know?

Solay shook her head, “no. I know there’s more where that came from, just don’t treat me like I don’t ever know what’s going on.”

“Heard you.” Cane put his phone back as he stepped closer, glancing down at her lips before sliding his hands down to rest on her backside, “can I get to show you just how important you are to me?”

One hand came up to brush her bouncy curl over her shoulder, exposing the length of her neck which he licked his lips at before placing a peck there.

She shoved him back, “not uh, I have some place else to be.”

“Oh it’s like that, so?”

“Yup it’s like that,” she smirked over her shoulder swaying her way to the front door, “don’t wait up for me. Bye!”

Cane shook his head in disbelief and looked around the empty but quiet one-level home, “fuck am I supposed to do, meditate?”

That’s when he phone rang, right on time and he picked it up on the second ring, “Dru, what’s good?”

“Got that info you wanted on Reyes. Want me to send it your way?”

“Nah just tell it to me and meet me over there.”

Cane listened carefully to what Dru told him before hanging up. A smirk was on his lips as he also took his exit from the home.

he was ready for his own fun for the night.

Sorry so.

┊˚ ̥۪͙۪◌ ﹋﹋┊˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ ˚₊·

Continue along with my spring anthology writings here.

*Read part two here!

#Angel Reyes #angel reyes x black!reader #angel reyes x reader #Mayans mc #mayans fx #mayans mc fx #mayans mc x reader #mayans mc season 5 #Mayans mc s5 #power #power book 2 #power book ii: ghost #cane tejada #cane tejada x reader #woody mcclain #clayton cardenas #spring writing #queued

[cambria-writes]

I haven’t been writing for over two years and I’ve been spending the most of the past 72 hours working on this and like two other fics so like. Please be nice. Also I only proofread this like, maybe twice, so if there are still any mistakes or typos, please let me know! I’m almost done with the next chapter, so if we’re all lucky I’ll be able to post it next week. I figure that a weekly upload schedule should probably be feasible for me. Guess we’ll see! pairing: eddie munsonx reader rating: PG13 for now, each chapter rated individually warnings: there will be hella spoilers for S4, lots of swearing, guns, minor injury and blood, drugs (just weed my dudes), alcohol, reader deserves her own warning actually, use of canadian english is also its own warning word count: 3,323

Previous Next Masterlist

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕺𝖓𝖊: ℭ𝔥𝔞𝔯𝔞𝔠𝔱𝔢𝔯 ℭ𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫

March 20th, 1986

It’s annoying, having to wait like this.

Your leg is bouncing under the table and you can’t help but absently pick at the table’s flaking paint. You’d est up to meet after you were off work, which more or less coincided with when he got out of class. Which was apparently a bit earlier than you’d anticipated; you’ve been killing time at this stupid picnic table in the woods for almost half an hour now.

You’re about to cut your losses and prepare an apology call when something catches your eye, further off in the woods. It’s not like it’s eerily quiet; if you pay attention, you can hear squirrel scrambling up trees and birds flying around. But there’s something about that vague almost-shape you saw in the woods... You feel the hairs at the back of your neck rise. That’s probably a bad sign, right? You should probably leave. I should definitely leave.

“Sorry for keeping you wai–”

You shriek and clean fall off the bench with how fast you turn around.

“Fucking shit Ed! God damn warn a girl, holy shit!” You scream, catching your breath and brushing leaves off of you when you stand. “You scared the living hell out of me!”

Eddie raises his hands up in surrender and takes a few steps back. “Woah there, my bad. Didn’t mean to scare you. You alright?”

The genuine concern makes you groan and you drop yourself back onto the bench you’d fallen from. When asked, you were going to lie and say your shifts are work were just getting a bit aggravating, but it was a bit harder to justify being that jumpy.

“Dude, I don’t know. I’ve just been having these nightmares for a while and it’s been freaking me out,” you explain, putting your arms up on the table and resting your head on them. “I’ve been getting shit for sleep and it’s like I’m seeing things.”

“I’m pretty sure drugs are gonna make that worse, not better,” Eddie says slowly, leaning forward on the table after placing his box down. “You wanna, like... talk about it?”

You scoff and turn your head away. There was no way you were going to try and even begin to describe the fucked up shit that’s been playing in Technicolor in your brain the past few weeks. Nevermind the stuff you’re pretty sure was a dream but aren’t entirely convinced about.

Like that time you spotted Harrington and fucking Robin Buckley, of all people, in a movie theater together. Looking and acting absolutely blitzed out. That has to have been some kind of hallucination, because as soon as the movie was over you couldn’t see them anywhere.

Or that time a few years ago when Will Byers went missing and those kids–his friends, probably?–took to the streets like a band of thieves, looking for all the world like they were heading straight for the lab. No one else ever mentioned them or even gave any indication they’d seen a group of prepubescent boys taking up a whole street with their bikes and an ungodly time of night. So you just kind of assume you’d... dreamt it up, or something.

You’ve had weirder dreams.

“I appreciate the offer to be my impromptu therapist, Munson, but I think it’d just make me feel worse,” you eventually answer, sitting back up and running your hands down your face. “I just need whatever you’ve got that can knock me out. Shit you gave me last time barely got me to sleep like, an hour.”

Eddie audibly winces and crosses his arm.

“I hate to say it, but you might be better off with beer.”

You groan theatrically and let your head slam back down on the table. Slam it a few more times for good measure. Eddie hastily shoves his hand under your forehead.

“Hey there, woah, woah! Knock that out!”

“You’re shitting me right? I can’t do this anymore, Ed, I feel like I’ve actively gone insane,” you whine, bringing your hands up to the back of your neck. “You’re my best bet, no way I can see a doctor for this. I’ll get locked up or worse.”

There’s silence for a bit, before you hear the closure for Eddie’s box pop open. You sigh in relief and raise your head, pulling the hair out of your face. He’s not taking anything out, though; he’s putting something back in before closing the box again.

“Wait no, come on–” you start, but Eddie interrupts you with a hand help up.

“Ah, give me a second, I’m getting there,” he says, shoving his other hand in the inner pocket of his leather jacket. The small bag of weed he pulls out looks thoroughly and profoundly unremarkable.

“Dude I literally just said–”

“Have you always been this impatient, woman? Relax, this is from my,” Eddie pauses to clear his throat and leans forward with a grin. “Personal stash. Should be strong enough for you.”

“Are you saying you’ve been selling me baby’s first drugs until now?” You ask, crossing your arms. Eddie places a hand to his chest in mock offense and scoffs.

“I’m shocked and offended you would ever think so lowly of me. I thought we were cool!” You can’t help but at least chuckle at that and put your hands up in defeat.

“No, you’re totally right, my bad. I know you would only provide me with the finest wares. I had a moment of weakness, beg your forgiveness.”

Content with your playing along and the accompanying apology, Eddie pulls out a grinder from the box, rolling papers from a back pocket and gets to rolling. When he doesn’t immediately make a move to start a conversation, you decide to drown out the buzzing in your head yourself.

“How’s the Hellfire campaign going? Aren’t you having the party come up against a lich?” Eddie smirks and nods.

“Yeah, Vecna. They still have no idea though, they all still think he’s just a myth. I can’t wait to see their stupid faces when I tell ‘em he’s still alive when I tell them.”

“They’ll riot, I hope you know,” you laugh lightly, putting your chin in your hand on the table. You’d only sat in on one or two sessions, back when Eddie had been the youngest member of Hellfire. But if the theatrics and hysterics of those sessions were anything to go by, these guys got very emotionally attached to their games and characters.

“They can riot all they want, they’re gonna have to let the dice to the talking for them,” Eddie says, carefully rolling the ground bud into its paper. You open your mouth to say something, but stop yourself when you hear it.

The distant but unmistakable sound of a grandfather clock chiming.

“Ed,” you first say, apparently too quietly for him to hear. “Eddie. Hey, Munson,” you say, faster, tapping your hand on the table to catch his attention. Your eyes, meanwhile, are scanning the pathway you’d both come down for any movement. “Tell me you heard that.”

Eddie freezes and slowly brings his hands down to the table. When he doesn’t move or say anything, you turn back to him. His expression is... upsetting

“Dude no, don’t look at me like that,” you plead, leg bouncing under the table again.

“Depends what you heard,” he replies slowly, bringing the joint back up to his lips so he can seal it.

“I-I don’t know, like the chime of a grandfather clock? That thing they do every hour?”

Eddie shakes his head as he twists the end of the joint before putting it down on the table between you.

“I’m gonna be real with you, I don’t think this is gonna help you. You’re kind of starting to freak me out a bit, and that’s saying something.” Even the attempt at humour can’t really take the edge in his voice you refuse to acknowledge is a hint of fear.

“I’ll take my chances,” you mutter, reaching for the rolled joint with one hand and pulling a zippo lighter from your jacket pocket with the other. Thanks to Eddie’s rolling, it doesn’t take long to light up, and you can take your first actual drag almost right away. Your head already feels clearer by the time you take your second hit.

“Jesus slow down, you’re gonna suffocate,” Eddie cautions, reaching a hand out but not quite reaching you.

“If it knocks me out it knocks me out my guy,” you reply smoothly, blowing the smoke in his direction. You take a third, smaller hit before passing the joint over.

You can’t tell if it’s the weed that made it stop or if it stopped all on its own, but you’re relieved to find you can’t hear the stupid clock chiming anymore.

“...look,” you start, absently picking at the threads of a hole in your pants. “It’s not because I don’t trust you–”

“Hey, no, I get it,” Eddie says, cutting you off, passing you the joint back after a second hit. “No one wants to confide in the town freak, totally–”

It’s your turn to cut him off when you stand and reach over the table to slap him over the head.

“I told you to stop saying that shit, Munson!” You drop back down heavily onto the bench and take what’s maybe a bit too big of a hit from the joint before passing it back over. “I know I’m like, always the first person to say that if you think everyone else is the problem then you’re probably the problem but,” you take a second to cough lightly and clear your throat before continuing. “In this instance I think it’s perfectly justified to say that literally everyone’s an asshole to you for no damn reason.”

“It’s not for no reason,” Eddie replies lightly, and a bit too easily. “I run a cult, my dad’s in jail, I live in the bad part of town–”

“Yeah and none of that is your fault!” You frustratedly stomp at the ground under the table. “Come on! You don’t even actually run a cult. God forbid kids have fun doing shit, right? Jesus christ, don’t take that shit on for yourself!”

The joint burns between Eddie’s fingers and he just... sits there, staring at you like you’ve just confessed to murder.

“What. Why are you looking at me like that? You know I’m right!”

“Well, sure, I know that,” he replies, leaning back a little bit and taking another hit from the joint. “I’m just wondering what’s gotten into you that you’re this...” He gestures at you with both hands. “Whatever this is you are right now.”

“Whatever this is?“ you scoff, crossing your arms. ”Upset? Pissed off?“

“I was going for ‘slightly more unhinged than usual’ but that–yeah that works too.”

You twist your tongue against your teeth. You could probably talk... a little bit, right? You can probably spin it as just a weird run of the mill nightmare thing. Which just happens to involve people you happen to have seen around town when no one else did.

“It’s just...” you start, and when Eddie passes you the rest of the joint back, he leans his elbows on the table and rests his chin in his hands. “I’ve been having nightmares about people dying, man,” you whisper, taking the last hit from the joint before stubbing it out underneath the table.

“Like, people you know people? Or just random dream people?”

“People I know people,” you confirm, resting your head against the table gently, this time. “There’s–man, I really don’t know if I should be telling you this,” you groan, bringing your hands up over your head. “There’s like, your whole Hellfire club there dude. I saw Steve Harrington get like, half eaten alive once, that was fucking miserable.” You take a second to breathe. Thankfully, all Eddie does is fold his hands on the table and let his head rest on them.

“Are Harrington and that Henderson kid close at all?” The question is out of your mouth before you can think much about it. Eddie sits up straight and leave his palms face down on the table. When you look up, he’s got a brow raised at you.

“I guess? When I first picked him up, Henderson couldn’t shut up about him,” Eddie say, exhaling sharply like he’d found something funny. “Still doesn’t shut up about him actua... hey, are you good?”

No, you’re in fact very not good. There’s no way, right? There’s no way that what you saw was real, right? There’s no way there’s a weird blip in the spacetime continuum that let you see Dustin Henderson freaking out over a very bloodied and injured Steve Harrington?

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” You say weakly, turning around and away from the table to put your head between your legs.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Eddie mutters in a panic, and you can hear him trip over himself trying to get around the table do you. “You need a ride home? I can drop you off at the corner or something, you really don’t look too good.”

You wave him off to shut him up for a second, a hand over your mouth, desperately trying to control your breathing. Thinking about this kind of shit on an empty stomach and with a severe sleep deficiency wasn’t the greatest idea.

“I’ll be fine,” you eventually say, though a bit too quietly and not very convincingly. You try again. “I’m good. I just need to sleep.”

“Come on,” Eddie says, waving at you to get up. “I’ll take you home.”

You agree, with burning eyes and lungs that feel too small. You let Eddie help you into his van and close the door behind you. He does you the courtesy of keeping the volume low on whatever radio station he’d had one, and even if it’s not exactly warm out, lets you keep the passenger window down.

“You can drop me in front of my place,” you say, once you’re a few streets away. “My brother plays dungeons and dragons too, so they’re pretty acutely aware it’s not a satanic, baby-sacrificing cult.”

“You sure?” He asks, glancing over at you and gripping the steering wheel a bit tighter. Your attempt at humour clearly didn’t work. “I don’t want to–”

“Just shut up and take me home, damn.”

Eddie still stops three houses away. You notice that he doesn’t leave until you’ve unlocked the door and turned around to wave him off. You think you see him nod before he pulls a u-turn and drives off.

Blessedly, no one’s home yet; your parents are still both up in Canada for some business trip your father needed to do, and your brother likely skipped town to go see his girlfriend for the weekend. Which gives you free access to your dad’s beer stash, entirely obviously hidden in the mini fridge in the basement, behind the old couch your mom’s been promising to reupholster soon.

You still close and lock your bedroom door just in case, after making sure the back and front doors were both locked, chained and deadbolted.

You’re half asleep in bed, trying very hard not to think about the nightmares that have been showing up with undesirably increasing frequency, when you feel it happening. A weird kind of pull that makes you feel weightless for a second, makes your stomach feel like it just up in your throat.

When you open your eyes, everything is dark and thick vines are covering your bedroom window from the outside.

“Shit, no, no no no,” you mutter in a panic, jumping out of bed and running to the window. What you can see through the vines is exactly what you’ve come to expect from this place. Ash falling from the sky, ominous red lightning in the distance. And a damp, cloying cold that makes you feel like you’ll never feel warmth again.

Swearing under your breath, you run down the stairs, through the kitchen, down into the basement and in the far back of your dad’s workshop. Having turned eighteen over a month ago, you’re blessing your lucky stars your dad decided to give you the combination for the gun safe. Nervous fingers keep missing the right digits, but you manage to get the damn thing open after a few tries.

And there it is: the family’s prized Winchester model 23, with several boxes of ammo at the bottom of the safe. You’re clumsy when you loaded up and almost drop the entire open box of shells, but eventually you get the thing locked and loaded. You’re about to head upstairs with just that and the shotgun shells, but turn around and grab the handgun before bounding back up the stairs.

This isn’t entirely unusual by now; you’ve seen this place every time you’ve had nightmares. Being an active participant is new, though. You’ve never been able to move around or touch anything, always a passive observer of goings-on.

It doesn’t sit right with you.

You sit cross-legged in the corner of you room, wedged between a wall and the edge of your desk. You have a clear line of sight to your window–not that you think it matters much with how absolutely covered it is–and your bedroom door, which you’ve pushed your bookcase again. And you wait.

You’re counting your blessings with being able to check your watch for the time, having apparently fallen asleep with it. Ten minutes pass. Fifteen. Twenty. Thirty. You hear things outside, in the distance. Nothing close by. Somehow that puts you on edge even more. Check the time one more time: you’ve been holed up in your room for nearly fourty five minutes now with literally nothing happening.

You lean the shotgun against the wall next to you and get up to pace around your room. This isn’t normal. You screw your eyes shut as hard as you can and try to open them slowly, a trick that usually helps to wake you up. But it’s not good; you’re still in the twisted, decayed-looking version of your room.

Growling in frustration, you go back up to your window to see if you can spot anything out on the streets. But somehow, the vines have covered even more surface and you can barely make out the outside at all. You slam your fist against the window to–

Oh no. Did those vines just move?

Just as you wrap your hand about the Winchester, you feel something wrap around your ankle and pull. You’re winded as soon as you hit the floor, can feel your skull hit the hardwood. Whatever it is starts to drag you towards the door–and ultimately, you assume, down the stairs and out the door–you twist around to see what it is that has you.

And it’s a vine. A fucking vine.

You don’t really think too long or hard about it. Take a deep breath, bring the gun up, aim about two feet beyond the tip of your toes, and pull the trigger.

The gunfire makes your ears ring and feels like it blinds you for a second, but when you look down you can see you’ve successfully shot the vine off. What was around your ankle falls limp to the floor.

“Oh my fucking god, what the fucking hell,” you say to yourself, standing up and looking around. “Where are you? Show yourself!”

Stupid. God what a stupid thing to say.

You bring the shotgun back up and switch between aiming at the window and the door.

Strange, you hear, and it’s both like there’s a voice inside your head and like it’s resonating everywhere all at once. You don’t belong here.

“Fuck you, buddy!” you spit, spinning around wildly in your room. “I didn’t choose to be here!”

Then leave.

Text divider my natasharomanovf

#eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson #fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #fanfic #fix-it fic #dungeons and dragons #fuck the season finale we're retconning the fuck out of shit #mention of drugs #mention of alcohol #guns #vecna #no y/n #second person pov #hey if anyone wants to beta read for me hmu #ravenloft

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: a pool of light, ch. 3

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn & Wēn Qíng, Niè Huáisāng & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Granny Wēn, Fourth Uncle, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, Niè Huáisāng, Niè Míngjué

Additional Tags: Pre-Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn Reconciliation, Dissociation, Mental Health Issues, Anniversary, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Found Family, Emotional Constipation, Communication Failure, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín is Bad at Feelings, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín is Trying, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn Needs a Hug, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, POV Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, POV Third Person, Podfic Welcome, Food Sex, Friendship, Reconciliation, Psychological Trauma

Summary: A reconciliation, but not the one expected.

Notes: See end.

Part 1 | Part 2

Chapter: 1 | 2

AO3 link

——————

The next morning, Wei Ying’s phone, playing A-Li’s ringtone, wakes them—later than they usually rouse, but they had an emotional evening and a very late night. He hesitates only briefly before answering, not because he doubts her, but because the emotions of yesterday wash through him so powerfully he almost forgets the phone is ringing.

A-Zhan squeezes his hand, and he squeezes back as he answers.

She starts with small talk, clearly hesitant to discuss Jiang Cheng’s actions, but eventually she broaches the subject.

“I didn’t know what A-Cheng was planning, or I would have told him to do it on a different day. I hope it didn’t ruin your anniversary. A-Xuan is going to settle quickly, so Jin Enterprises won’t challenge the suit. You deserve restitution, A-Ying.”

The wording rubs him wrong, like she wouldn’t have told him even if she knew in advance, like she would have let him go through this some other day. He’s not sure if he’s reading too much into her words, if this is his trauma misinterpreting.

Wei Ying can feel himself slipping into a dissociative state, focusing vaguely on his husband’s morning wood against his leg and imagining the glorious sensation of taking it with the remnants of last night’s lube only barely dulling the pain of the stretch.

It takes a moment to drag his attention back to the conversation, and he does his best not to feel guilty about thinking of being fucked by his husband while talking to his sister on the phone.

“Wen Qing is going to reach out to him about Dafan Applications joining the suit on my behalf to make it more, ah… legitimate.”

He can’t help but wince at the word, since it makes it clear Jiang Cheng no longer has the standing alone as his brother to do this—his estrangement from the family had been so terribly ugly and public, after all, and in that time his brother had never reached out, not even when Uncle Jiang had his heart attack. For that matter, Jiang Fengmian has never reached out, either.

A bitter lump settles in his throat, hurt he still carries, and he knows he’ll need to make an appointment with his therapist to unpack this, and then he’ll be nonfunctional the rest of the day—and he’s so tired of having to unpack and process his damn trauma all the time.

A-Li’s pause speaks multitudes, perhaps about her own guilt, and Wei Ying steadfastly refuses to feel guilt about her own guilt, too many emotions bogging down his brain. He can barely manage his own right now, let alone anyone else’s, even Jiejie’s.

“That’s a fantastic idea,” she finally settles on, “and I’m sure A-Cheng will welcome it.”

After some awkwardness, the rest of the conversation turns to tales of little A-Ling and his toddler adventures, which Wei Ying answers with stories of A-Yuan and Turmeric. It ends on a promise to get together soon, “once this unpleasantness is settled,” in A-Li’s words.

When they hang up, he lets A-Zhan draw him close and hold him, settling his head against his chest to hear his heartbeat.

Once, his adoptive sister was someone he went to for comfort in difficult times, but she wasn’t there in the most difficult ones, and now Wei Ying feels like they’re circling around each other, trying to find the shape of a new relationship, but always out of step. Where once he craved her warmth and would bring up her number on his cell and wish he could call her, now it’s hard to look forward to her calls, harder to reach out himself.

He has trouble finding that trust he once had, reminded all too often that she capitulated to demands he be cut off, by her parents and Jiang Cheng, by her husband’s family. He doesn’t even know if she really believed in his innocence. It’s not like he can entirely blame her—they were raised in the same household, and each of them carries the scars of that upbringing.

Wei Ying isn’t sure there’s any going back, and sometimes it feels like she wants to return to what was instead of figuring out where they are now. Compu-Jiang’s motto may be “attempt the impossible,” but too often this seems beyond even that, and he wonders if he’ll always hold her at arm’s length, if this is just another part of his life destroyed forever.

Eventually A-Zhan rises, helps him into a much-needed shower, and tenderly bathes him, the kind of non-sexual intimacy he needs right now. Wei Ying returns the favor, happy to focus on dragging a soft sponge across flesh, on laving away the remnants of their night, massaging shampoo into his scalp and rinsing the suds away. They dry each other, too, and dress in comfortable pajamas.

A-Zhan makes congee and pulls out some of the leftovers from dinner to act as toppings, one of their favorite ways to repurpose leftovers into a hearty breakfast. They’ll probably use some of it for fried rice, and others will be reheated as side dishes for supper.

They have a few hours before Lan Xichen returns with A-Yuan, and neither of them have messages from anyone—which means their son is fine, that Wen Qing is handling the lawsuit issue and doesn’t need their input, and that neither of their numbers have leaked to the press—though they don’t tempt fate by looking at their emails, personal or work.

Which means they’re left with several hours to kill, and after spending the night having increasingly kinky followed by increasingly lazy sex, they’re quite sated and a bit too sore and tired to have another round.

Instead, they let Turmeric out of his hutch so he can hop around the living room while they watch a documentary about Chinese music traditions, one of A-Zhan’s major interests that will also allow Wei Ying to cuddle up and dissociate to music.

Wei Ying hasn’t been able to concentrate on watching anything longer than half an hour since the Jin were arrested and the media converged on them, while A-Zhan requires distraction from his anxiety, so this was the solution they alit on, a way for them to be secure and loved and close while also handling their mental health needs.

The credits (because A-Zhan of course reads those) have just finished rolling when A-Zhan’s phone alerts, the gentle guqin note indicating a text message.

“Xiongzhang would like to know if Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang can accompany him when he brings A-Yuan home,” he says.

The plan has always been that Lan Xichen would bring lunch when he came to drop off A-Yuan, so he’s really asking if he can bring them as guests to lunch. It’s nice of him to ask instead of just doing.

Wei Ying has a suspicion that Nie Huaisang is behind the request, that he wants to reconnect after the takedown of the Jins. He hasn’t seen his old friend since his public disowning and the subsequent blacklist years, but Nie Mingjue’s health had failed due to the stress of the targeted attack against Nie Innovations, and he’d changed phone numbers and email addresses multiple times due to harassment since, so it wasn’t terribly surprising.

A-Zhan is watching him quietly, putting no pressure on him for an answer either way, which means he has no objection either way. It used to be a problem, A-Zhan capitulating to what Wei Ying wanted, but their therapy has helped him voice his desires and made their relationship healthier.

He’s a bit surprised to realize he would like to reconnect with Nie Huaisang, though there’s a painful nostalgia associated. Along with Jiang Cheng, they’d been terrors as kids, pulling all sorts of ridiculous shenanigans, and those memories bubble up with the thought of reconnecting with his old friend, bittersweet now that those days are long behind them, those relationships lost.

“They can come,” he murmurs finally. “We’ll try it.”

And he truly means try—A-Zhan will happily alert his brother if either of them is distressed, and Lan Xichen has not let them down since he returned to their lives after the ugly meeting with Lan Qiren, and he won’t hesitate to usher the Nies out if needed. But if they’re lucky, this lunch will be a little like the dinner that had brought A-Zhan’s brother back into their lives, a chance to heal and find the shape of potentially a better relationship.

After A-Zhan texts his brother, they prepare the apartment for guests, including putting Turmeric back in his hutch, tossing their very used sheets in the wash and tidying up from breakfast; they keep a tidy apartment generally, thanks to his husband, so they’ve also changed out of their pajamas and have tea on by the time their guests buzzed to be let in.

A-Yuan insists on hugs immediately upon entering, which is a nice distraction from their guests, and then he runs past them to greet Turmeric in his hutch, leaving them to awkwardly greet the Nies and Lan Xichen. Nie Mingjue’s regained some of his health since Wei Ying last saw a picture of him, but still has a wasted look about him, and Wei Ying wonders if his and A-Zhan’s troubled years show on them to those they knew before. Nie Huaisang presses an intricately carved wooden box on them, and inside is the sort of teapot one might give at a wedding—Yixing clay, red with intertwined golden dragons, clearly customized and made for a couple.

“Thank you for having us,” is all his old friend says, but the gift is far more than a guest gift.

From the way A-Zhan is handling it and Nie Huaisang’s tastes generally, it’s clearly a very expensive piece. He’s sending a message—in part an apology for distance, for missing their wedding, not that they’d expected him given the sudden collapse of Nie Innovations at the time. Nie Mingjue’s faintly embarrassed expression solidifies that idea.

Just the memory is exhausting for Wei Ying, and his mind distracts him, wondering if at some point A-Zhan would like to renew their vows now that they’re in better times. They’ve certainly managed being there for each other in sickness, and it could be a statement looking forward to healthier times.

Lan Xichen’s comment, something about not talking shop today, brings him back to the present.

“Agreed,” A-Zhan says, his voice doing that thing that implies he will brook no argument.

He’s directing this to Nie Huaisang, who smiles sheepishly and nods, then hides his face behind a fan he unfurls dramatically.

Wei Ying remembers teasing him about his love of collectible fans, and he can almost hear Jiang Cheng asking how many fans one person can have, and Nie Huaisang arguing there is no limit.

“It’s not about how many I can use. If I get enjoyment out of them, even just looking at them, they’re worth having,” he said at the time.

He doesn’t understand the need to collect, even now, having learned young not to get attached to physical things that could be taken away thanks to a combination of foster care and Yu Ziyuan.

The one Nie Huaisang has with him now was one of his favorites back in high school, Wei Ying remembers, and he wonders if carrying it today means something, is some kind of message, then shakes himself out of that line of thinking, knowing that way lies madness. He knows from therapy that he all too often looks for hidden meanings and agendas when he feels on edge, something borne from so many years of trauma even before the corporate espionage accusation thanks to survival mechanisms developed because of Madam Yu, survival mechanisms that are no longer useful and instead lead him to seek patterns where none exist.

“It’s good to see you again,” he finally settles on, a safe thing to say, and effective if the way Nie Huaisang lights up is any indication.

“Ah, Wei-ge, you too—oh, wait, you’re both Wei-ge now, so maybe I should call you Ying-ge and Zhan-ge?”

His hands flutter as he speaks, and Wei Ying can’t help but smile at the frenetic energy he somehow forgot Nie Huaisang exudes in his speech when nervous, how it reminds him of high school and some of their silly shenanigans. He does his best to ignore the flip side of those memories—the punishments he received the times they were caught, and the fact that the last third of their trio is still absent, the weird attempt at apology notwithstanding.

Nie Huaisang just ghosted him, not that he didn’t do the same, afraid to reach out lest he be blamed for Nie Innovations’ woes as well, so this reunion was less fraught, to a certain extent. Jiang Cheng… well, that’s different, involved hurtful words, You are dead to me, he remembers among the worst of them.

“Those work fine,” A-Zhan answers for him, likely noticing he’s become lost in his thoughts, then asks after Nie Mingjue’s health.

The distraction is welcome, and Wei Ying focuses on pouring tea for their guests while their guests answer—recovered, mostly, but under doctors’ orders not to engage in stressful activities. While Nie Mingjue speaks, Lan Xichen spreads the takeout on their lazy Susan, and A-Yuan rejoins them and helps set the table, lured out away from Turmeric by the smell.

They’ve brought Indian from one of the better places in the city, and it smells heavenly—and Wei Ying isn’t ignorant of the fact that a particular container of rogan josh has been set by his seat, meaning it’s extra spicy, just the way he likes, along with several samosas that also must run on the spicy side. He’s not sure whether A-Zhan texted his brother his favorite or if this is somehow Nie Huaisang remembering from years ago his preferred order from takeout during college.

Other dishes on the lazy Susan include more samosas, palak paneer, and mushroom korma, likely made with a spice level the Lans can tolerate, goshtaba, chicken tikka masala, and dhaba goat, which he guesses is likely for Nie Mingjue, though they’ll all share (except him because no one else can handle his spice level). There are plates of paratha and naan, as well, with gajar ka halwa and gulab jamun for dessert. There’s even a plate of the typical raita, pappadum, chutney, and other sides that would be typically served in-restaurant alongside their meals.

As Nie Mingjue discusses his health, with occasional interjections by Nie Huaisang, they all fill their plates with their preferred foods—Wei Ying taking tastes of the mushroom korma, goshtaba, and dhaba goat, but otherwise sticking to his rogan josh.

His maladies are largely heart-related, brought on by extreme stress, which required some major lifestyle changes, they learn. He’s recovered a lot, but is still monitored by doctors and largely uninvolved in the recovery and running of the company, which falls to Nie Huaisang.

“A-Sang is doing a wonderful job running the company, and Xichen’s help is very welcome,” he finishes simply.

Nie Huaisang makes a token protest at being responsible for anything, which none of them buy, and they turn to the task of eating, thankfully saved from difficult conversation as A-Yuan talks between bites about his fun sleepover, taking them through each hour with occasional interjected additions from the Nies or questions by Wei Ying or A-Zhan.

They’ve chosen not to address, by mutual agreement, that Lan Xichen seems to have moved in more with the Nies than his own apartment, with A-Zhan wanting him to finally have space to make his own decisions and decide what to tell others. It’s the sort of independence they’ve started to give A-Yuan with smaller matters, and Wei Ying knows his husband is very aware of the fact that neither of them were ever given that by Lan Qiren, that A-Zhan himself wrested that in his decision to stand by him against his uncle’s wishes.

In many ways, they’re all having to heal from traumas, and Wei Ying thinks that may be why he doesn’t judge Lan Xichen for anything that happened—for someone so lacking in independence, his fight to keep him from being charged despite the will of the GusuLan Tech board and his uncle took incredible willpower. He wants to imagine that maybe Jiang Cheng and even Jiang Yanli are coming from similar places, but he’s too close to it to be able to analyze it in the same way.

Yeah, he can see there’s definitely going to be a very intense therapy session in his near-immediate future.

Lan Xichen cleared A-Yuan meeting the Nies with them in advance, and they okayed it—they weren’t strangers, and he and A-Zhan decided that the gap of time since seeing them last had not made them strangers, which was why he could handle them being here, in their home, instead of meeting them elsewhere as they did with other people trying to reenter their lives. Jiang Yanli still hasn’t been to their home, for instance, and after this morning…

Wei Ying takes a deep breath and mentally drags himself back to the conversation in time to hear A-Yuan talk about all of Nie Huaisang’s fans, which are apparently in some sort of special cabinet with drawers for each one, which he’s guessing he’s had custom-made. The last time he remembers visiting him they were all displayed, which probably means something about how vast his collection has grown.

“How many fans do you have now, anyway?”

Nie Huaisang blushes at the question, which he finds amusing, but Nie Mingjue answers for him with a number that has thousand in it, and he can’t help but laugh at the chagrined look that follows.

“How on earth do you display them all?” he can’t help but ask.

This proves to be a mistake, as they are run through a list of themes and fans until Nie Mingjue shoves a samosa in his mouth—unfortunately one of Wei Ying’s, which leads to the need to get something to quench the fire in his taste buds.

A-Zhan quickly gets a glass of orange juice, which he’s learned through accidents with A-Yuan taking a bite of A-Die’s food without thinking to keep close to the table, and disaster is averted. Wei Ying eats the rest of the samosa anyway, not one to waste good food, but the act feels more weighty than that since it’s something he did in the old days when it was common for them to share food like this, like something important has shifted into place. Somehow the atmosphere eases, and conversation becomes less stilted.

He’ll only really understand it later, when he has a chance to think and talk with A-Zhan, after the Nies and Lan Xichen leave. This winds up being much later in the evening, after Nie Huaisang pouts about the mishap and Nie Mingjue apologizes, laughing still at his brother’s face, red and tear-streaked after the spice. After they finish dinner, they have more tea and dessert, which eases poor Nie Huaisang’s taste buds a bit more. A-Yuan insists they introduce the newcomers to Turmeric, and ultimately they settle in the living room with Dora the Explorer on in the background for chatting and play, Turmeric snuggled on Nie Mingjue’s lap, Nie Huaisang joining Wei Ying and A-Yuan in building a block tower, even, until A-Yuan’s naptime.

Before they leave, Nie Huaisang asks them to come for dinner in the next few weeks, and Wei Ying feels safe enough to agree when A-Zhan glances at him.

Distractions continue in the form of chores to be done and dinner to be made. Despite being mostly leftovers, decisions about how to work Indian cuisine into Chinese cuisine keep their minds blessedly busy. They’re nothing if not pros at compartmentalizing.

It will be nearly bedtime before he and A-Zhan discuss the day and he realizes this is evidence that they don’t have to keep their entire old lives cut off; they can pick and choose who they decided to include in their lives going forward from this time, this opportunity for reconnection. They can decide what role the people they reconnect with will play, and in some ways that’s simultaneously an incredibly freeing but also intensely terrifying prospect.

But the overtures toward such reconnections don’t have to be stressful, like reaching out and actively attempting to bridge the chasm of so many years, or announcing a lawsuit like Jiang Cheng has chosen in an effort to somehow make amends. Their relatively simple decision to allow A-Yuan to come into contact with the Nies via Lan Xichen was likely the impetus that led them to ask if they could come for lunch, leading to this tentative revival of their relationships.

All they have to do is find a way to send out feelers to old friends they may want in their lives again. And that, he knows, is something he and A-Zhan can decide to do together.

Wei Ying still has no idea what to do about Jiang Cheng’s overture, but that can be handled as it comes.

—————

So A-Zhan and Wei Ying’s mental health difficulties manifest in different ways, based partly on my own and how they manifest in sometimes very different ways at different times, and those of friends and family. Wei Ying’s voice and his difficulty focusing because of the mental health is interesting and sometimes hard to write, because it involves a lot of reflection on my part as the writer. One thing to remember is that, because this is written very much in Wei Ying’s mind, as readers you may notice how a sort of paranoia exists around his very close relationships.

I read a Tumblr post not long ago that discussed bullying and trauma and I read it while I was high so that sent me down a weird spiral of thought. Trauma, like with bullying, impacts our sense of safety to the point of needing to hide our full selves because all people are potential threats who cannot know our vulnerabilities. Maybe some, but not all, which means we might show different aspects of our personalities depending on what we feel safe to show. The problem with that is the potential to lose one’s sense of self doing that, so a much smaller group of close relations is the way to counter that.

Basically, Wei Ying is seeing everything through trauma goggles, especially seeing possible betrayal or hints to hunker down again in the NC-zone. He knows this, but doesn’t always see it in his own reactions and what he feels the need to emphasize. Like with Jiang Yanli, where he focused on all the problematic phrases, recognizing at one point that he’s doing it, but ending with another he doesn’t recognize (her use of “unpleasantness” to describe the situation). So this isn’t necessarily her dismissing this event as nothing, or her not also being retraumatized by these events. It’s Wei Ying’s perspective and he can recognize how it impacts his interpretation, but not how it was meant by Jiang Yanli. He’s fucking terrified and it impacts his perception. It’s a bit of a miracle that he’s able to tolerate the Nies in his space for so long, and he should be proud he didn’t dissociate entirely.

That was a ramble but also I am a little high again. Thank goodness for legal states because my chronic pain is eased a bit, as is some of my anxiety.

So with the Yixing teapot… this is some of the highest quality clay used to make teapots in the world. Furthermore, the clay used is harvested from spots with particular minerals that change the composition and color depending, as well as the value. This teapot could be made of hongyi (red) clay, which is a top-quality color. But there’s also a much more expensive possibility, a particular kind called zhuni, which fires especially densely in a way that makes it nearly perfect as a teapot but means most of the pots crack in firing and are useless, leaving a precious few surviving. Which is why it is extremely expensive and requires expert verification on authenticity.

You decide which it is!

Now that I think about it, that very kind of teapot, the zhuni, could have been the one the Nies presented to Lan Qiren during the CQL lecture arc. I don’t know.

I could explain the different Indian dishes, but I figure that’s easy to look up if you’re curious. Basically there’s mild vegetarian dishes for the Lans. Rogan josh is a particular kind of curry that’s known to be very flavorful and spicy. Goshtaba is a yogurt-based curry with mutton meatballs. Ca halwa is a sort of carrot pudding (insert bunny joke). The rest of the dishes are fairly standard fare one might find easily in any Indian restaurant in the US. I used to sleep over at a friend’s house when I was in elementary school, and her grandma used to make what I called “Indian pancakes” for us, which I’m pretty sure was actually paratha. She didn’t speak English, so we couldn’t talk, but I adored her.

I hope you enjoyed this piece in the series. Jiang Cheng really is of the opinion that he’s sent out his overture, and is waiting to see if Wei Ying responds. He’s just as nervous and uncertain as Wei Ying, but shows it differently because he’s an angry grape. His idea of an overture is much different than theirs, of course. It’s more of a crescendo, but that’s kind of him.

I’m doing ok, largely unpacked, but mental health is very difficult and there were some very ugly hiccups that cost money, time, and spoons. Recovering enough that I’m cooking again, which is… I just haven’t had the energy for anything but simple and easy for a long time. Haven’t started a freelance gig yet. It’s hard. And it shouldn’t be, but it is and it sucks.

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #wei wuxian #lan zhan #wangxian #lan wangji #wei ying #nie huaisang #nie mingjue #lan xichen #a yuan #my fanfiction #cql fanfiction #cql fic #cql fanfic #cql #chen qing ling #mdzs #mdzs fanfiction #mdzs fanfic #mdzs fic #untamed fanfic #untamed fanfiction #untamed fic

[mygoodbuys]

I did the thing they say to do. I went to the ER.

You know what I’m talking about. I actually went. The therapist told me to. The Doctor told me to. My mom also had to get her “JUST GO” in as well.

Hello, having thoughts

Okay we will admit you and take all your belongings

I’m not sure….

Question question question

Vague answers from me. Because I know not to say anything definite.

Remove all clothes, only undies. Put on robe and grippy socks while being watched.

Pee in cup as well

I have severe anxiety and am scared of lots of things

They start to do ALL the things I’m scared of

Can u plz stop fishing for a vein and try again later.

Ok. Let’s immediately try other arm

No, I….

Fishing, poking, nauseating feeling jfc is it in yet?! (Not my actual words)

Having an iv port thing hurts, it’s inconvenient and modern medicine is an absolute fucking joke

I tell my bestie to go for a walk because he hates needles. It takes him a while to get back. No biggie. But I do start a tiny anxiety attack. The port is fucking ridiculous. I get out of bed, OH WAIT! LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT MY BED!

I was in the hallways right between the supply closet and a huge toxic waste receptacle. And to top it off there were giant doors right behind my HEAD! Porters came in and out frequently with all sorts of giant rolling bins full of… one can only imagine.

So back to getting out of bed, an alarm goes off. I don’t know that’s because of me. I needed to pee and I was severely anxious. I think I asked for something to calm down.

They used the port for 1mg of a relaxer of sorts. Starts with an A ends in a van.

Shiiiit wooorked! I was so relaxed, calm despite the raging circus of an ER.

No it did not. It barely scratched the surface of my anxiety. They said twice that I might get sleepy. All it did was replace the anxiety with annoyance.

Why are these people so shitty at their job? Why is that one male nurse obsessed with his package? Why the FUCK am I in a hallway?

Here’s the deal: you can go home now or OR “you can go to the hospital way up north or way down south and they gonna lock you up and drug you good”

As if I had to consider the options.

I’m home now after 5 hours. Fuck mental health care in this country!

?

#tw sui ideation #mental illness #mental health #to

[sheepskinnedgoat]

I guess it's greatly possible that I have a very... I don't know, skewed perspective about stuff like abuse and harm as a mentally ill person. People say stuff so broadly and I can't begin to describe how much seeing that stuff at my lowest points harmed me and made me worse. People are very good at framing things in ways that made me feel like they don't actually believe in people healing and doing better after making really huge mistakes. Because I made BIG ones and I regret them so fucking deeply. I am fighting with the concept of self-forgiveness because I've been taught that there's no retribution for shitty and abusive behavior.

I don't want to be so bold as to lay out what happened, but I guess I might as well. My wife is encouraging me and I've been wanting to talk about it, anyway.

Trigger warning for discussion of abuse, mental health, and suicide under cut.

Last year, when my mom started dying, I started declining very rapidly and severely. I don't think I've ever outright said this because of how I've been treated in the past for being open, but I have Bipolar I Disorder. I've seen doctors and therapists on an off over the last decade+ since my diagnosis. My struggle is a common one. I'm very typical of someone with extreme mood swings and psychosis. I most frequently experience dysphoric mania, which is where my psychosis typically rears its ugly head.

In these moments until last year, all of my shitty behavior mostly involved me expressing anger and frustration with wall hitting, throwing my things to break them, hurting myself, and degrading my wife. It was not always this way, but moving away from home and having an unforgiving job lead to me falling back off my medication. Over the last 3-4 years, I have become very terrible in my health and how I act when my brain overreacts to situations and stresses around me.

Then Mom got cancer.

I began having even more cycling, lots and lots of depression, increasing suicidal thoughts, and episodes. Bad episodes. One of the holidays I was meant to go see my mom, I had a serious meltdown because I was tired of going to see how much closer she was. It was hard seeing her dying. She was worse every time I made it out, and something minor had triggered another episode. I then locked myself in the bathroom and tried to kill myself.

My wife tried stopping me. I became physically violent and started saying really horrible things. This episode came to an end, and it seemed despite everything I had done very little physical damage to her by her own account. I do not remember much about what I actually did or said. It's like a faded dream I had once and only the outlines are left.

I had another episode I do not remember, triggered by seemingly nothing. She informed me later on I had hit her, and asked me why. I was unable to explain, because I didn't even know what she was referring to. I do now, but the overall details are gone.

Later on, not terribly long before she passed away, I tried to end things again. I recklessly drove to a graveyard on the back roads and began attempting to hurt myself. I started getting calls, my phone blowing up. I have some vague memories, but I am not sure if all of them are real. I do know I ignored my mom out of shame, but eventually answered my aunt. I think at the beginning I answered my wife and berated her before hanging up, but I'm not positive. I wanted to die more than anything else in the world. I was so angry. I don't even know why. My wife remembers how it unfolded, but ultimately none of it makes sense.

That was also the day my neighbor decided to pick a fight with me about my animals, which then snowballed in her repeatedly calling animal control, lol. Did not work out the way she wanted. She kept lying to them to get them out to see them, but they could never find the starving, tortured animals. What a fucking nightmare that was on top of everything.

My mom died, and I don't really remember how I felt or reacted or what I did during that time. It's difficult, and I think it's because I have been blocking it out as much as possible. Losing my mom was something I knew would be hard, but I deeply underestimated it.

Later on in the year, I did try killing myself again. Once again she tried stopping me, and even kicked in the door. It got more physically violent than the last time and I was more vicious and cruel.

Overall, I'm stuck with guilt and shame and self-hatred. Beyond these incidents, I lapsed repeatedly into despicable actions and behavior. I frequently feel out of control, but not everything I say to her is done in these extreme episodes where I'm trying to hurt myself. Rage is unfortunately a really major symptom for me, and it's activated by some of the dumbest shit. I feel like some things have become bad habits, and I'm constantly having to talk out things with my spouse because I cannot even imagine what it must be like to be on the receiving end of needless cruelty and vitriol.

I know what I have done is largely abusive and wrong. Things have been bad enough that I kept having long periods of not wanting help. All I have wanted is death, to not exist, to end what I'm feeling. Being angry is not fun. Being in pain sucks. Being sick is terrible. I am devastated by what I have done, but somehow my wife is holding strong and pushing me forward. Because of her, I managed to drag myself into getting therapy. I got lucky that someone in my local community is a therapist with the same disorder as me, and when she advertised openings I jumped on it, even though I didn't want to help myself.

Which is something key, that people bring up a lot online. People who don't want help are the worst, right? Irredeemable, it seems. I didn't want help. I wanted to kill myself. I wanted to die. I still want to die, but I've found a burst of driving force within myself and, as of today, I finally have an appointment with a psychiatrist to seek medication management. I cannot get any traction otherwise. Therapy has been helpful and my therapist is amazing, but there's no stability. I default to self-hate, guilt, and suicidality. I default to violence, though generally verbal excepting those instances of psychosis.

I can't grasp what I keep getting told by my wife and my therapist about being accountable but forgiving myself. It seems false. Impossible. It doesn't feel like I should, that doing that or pointing to my broken brain is appropriate. I'm always terrified what people will think of me if they know the truth of my struggles and how much I have hurt the person closest to me. My only support, because I keep distancing myself further and further from people.

In all of this, she gained friends that used me as a stop-gap for getting to know specifically her. It caused some rocky turmoil in our relationship. I blame myself for her mistakes there, because maybe if I hadn't been acting like a piece of shit, she wouldn't have felt so lonely. And they found out that things got bad, but not any of the details about it because they never asked or gave her a chance to explain when she wasn't distressed. I fear them and what they think of me. I fear them going out into shared queer spaces and telling all the queers I'm slowly trying to get to know that I'm a horrible abuser that beat my wife and controls her. Because they're not wrong. I don't feel like they're wrong, but they're also responsible parties in their own shitty behavior, but who would hear me after they find out I'm a terrible person?

It's... I suppose a bit self-centered, this paranoia. She tells me I don't deserve this, and that they don't matter. I'm trying to believe her, because if nothing else matters she does, and her opinions do. She has to live with me. She's married to me.

So I am untreated bipolar. It's a fucking nightmare. I fight with my abusive and toxic tendencies, that I fight to not participate in. But fighting back my unstable reactions to things is a chore and I become fatigued very often. I don't know why she endures for me, but she does. I love her, as much as I can. Sometimes I am numb, but she says she knows I love her and it makes me cry.

People are complicated. I have not always been very kind or empathetic. I only recently learned that having a hard time with empathy during mixed episodes is pretty normal for bipolar. It's not always. It's another thing that sees extreme differences depending on how I'm feeling, and I sure do feel too much too often.

I am healing myself as best as I can. I am working to do better and be better even while my brain persists on convincing me I don't want help; that I should just self-destruct. I am a human. I wish more people could see that part about me even when I'm not being a very good or nice person. I will be better someday, but it would be a lot easier if it ever felt like everyone else could give me the grace to fuck up while sick and still have room to take that accountability without feeling evil for my actions.

I have been a victim. I have been an abuser. Someday, I hope I can just be healed.

#this is long and was hard to write #of you arent going to be compassionate to the struggles my wife and i are facing i dont need the commentary #please grant me the grace of being able to post to my own blog about these experiences

[asrai-azurrcat]

tumblr lets you vent without anyone seeing so ig ill try?? but i dont rly have anything to vent just writing down.. things umm tw sh?? depression?? but not mine.

why is mental health in kids so bad- like as someone whos thirteen and has never had any issues other than the common insecurities, why are so many people my age suicidal for years?? like. i know a lot get bullied and then there's family problems, but then some people just have happy lives until the internet; and then place expectations on themselves and sh and then they start to have thoughts about dying- and they're only, what, ten? eleven? twelve? like, they're practically still children. not even teen. and as terrible as it sounds, i just cant understand, especially how theres a lot of other kids who think being depressed makes you cool and edgy and gets you attention so they start to pretend to be unhappy and then draw attention away from people who need it, and at this age you really can't tell those kind of people from the genuinely hurt ones. i made this mistake with my year 6 bsf, ill call her blossom. but like. she's basically perfect in every way: beautiful and one of the only people who don't pretend to be kind, they really are just. actually. so kind at heart. and especially now that she's moved away and then got her phone taken away, took a massive break from tiktok and her stupid fucking boyfriend and studied and now, shes even better. doing better. in year 6 especially id always find sh scars on her arm and she'd never stop, and she talked abt being depressed before but i never even believed her. i was such an asshole friend abt that. like trying to will her to 'stop pretending to be fucked up'- how can she even consider me a close friend to her now, still? i have a vivid memory of one of my friends puppy, looking at blossom closing the school scissors around her fingers and puppy saying, 'oh my god blossom, stop acting depressed', and then blossom just smiled and stopped and i as a really horrible friend internally agreed with puppy. like. im supposed to be there for her. im just so self-centred and pigheaded, and i was prancing abt the world with rose-tinted glasses, thinking. like. there's no way anyone my age can be depressed, thats bullshit! anyone doing it is doing it for attention. and i hate myself for failing blossom like that. and then when i found out her fresh scars and knew she was being real abt this, and i just tried to press her for answers, she wouldn't tell other than a vague answer that her parents always argued. and then id only find out a year later in high school after she moved away, from a fucking spotify playlist, that she didn't get along w her mom. meeting up w blossom again in this new year, and seeing her talk about a new boyfriend who isnt obese and chronically online like her ex, and studying and omitting swear words and reading classic books instead of manga. idk what i was feeling, but i just feel a bunch of regret that i didn't even help her at all when i was friends with her, closest with her, just focusing on myself and my social life and feeling sorry for myself. god i hate myself for not caring more about her.

and now in high school i meet a bunch of new people with puppy and eventually join a friend group i can stabilise on, have fun, make new friends, find shil. and shil is a mirror of blossom, like throughout the entire y7 i was just constantly thinking: oh wow, they both care a lot abt other people. they're both into genshin. they both need a therapist. they both have parents that are on the verge of divorcing. they both aren't straight (actually im not sure abt blossom's sexuality after coming out of her y6, is she still pan?) and i don't deserve either of them. shil is just. so, so friendly and nice, staying friends with me despite my terrible personality, but she has her own friends that she prefers more- two groups of them- and i dont have anyone now that cappu has left, so i always feel like im the one clinging onto her. and shil is also dealing with her stuff, like the shit that happened in her home country and then her parents aren't getting along, she's been bullied and manipulated as a child. i mean, at least she's confiding in me this time unlike blossom, so at least i know what she's going through. and she doesn't have sh scars on her arms but who knows?!! who fucking knows because arms arent the only place you can cut yourself and shil could just be hiding them. and the difference here is that blossom liked me as much as i liked her to the point we could say ily to each other (platonically, near the end of the year very few times but still it was there) and shil is.. more distant, because as much as she's opened up more to me than blossom has it's not even the tip of the mountain of things she's carrying around. and going to a top girl's school filled with smart people and asians, we're surrounded by people under pressure and as much as the teachers stress that the school counsellors are there barely anyone really goes there. but shil is, im glad she applied. she needs it. i don't want to be an asshole to her like a did to blossom. and i thought just occurred to me that, if i lose her, ill be alone in the school, so basically my thinking is just centred around me. self-pity. feeling sorry for myself. if i don't stop being this self-centred, it probably will happen.

and then again, im always judging everyone, which shouldn't be a problem until i go acting on my judgements, and then i make myself fall closer to the social rock bottom because those judgements are mistaken, and i just like to judge people by their outward appearance and personality. like what happened with blossom. i didn't even know bats was this depressed and sh'ed until i found her vent. i just assumed she liked s3x jokes, and they never bothered her. and J too. im confused about J, but J really is suicidal too, because i remember her sending a massive vent to cappu and cappu telling me abt it. and i sort of gave her a blind eye during the period last year when her social life was evidently down and mine was blooming, being an absolute fucking idiot stupid selfish asshole not talking to her enough until the end of the year when we went to the mall with patty everyday like a ritual, and she befriended lin, hitch and tee, and vali, and hy, but she still has no energy, and she looks really tired everyday and looks like she's not taking care of herself.

why are children getting depressed? why are twelve year olds and eleven year olds getting depressed? why are they unhappy with their lives, why are they getting anxiety and cutting themselves, why is the internet doing this to them? what's going to happen to our children's generation, will fucking toddlers commit suicide- i want to understand these people. i want to help them, i want to avoid being a bystander to their unhapiness when i could help and i want to never make the same mistake i did with blossom. i want to stay friends with shil. i want to make new friends, join a new friend group, other than the inner circle with puppy that talk about things i don't even know like taylor swift or boys they meet on snapchat. i want to stop being self-centred and selfish, because these days whenever i try to think about other people like this it always circles back to me

i hope no ones reading this lmao

[chemicalcarousel]

Hey fellow disordered people! We have a question:

💜We are talking neurodivergencies here since that's our only experience. But please add your thoughts on this for physical disorders too if you want to! /gen

We've struggled with figuring out what the balance is between using appropriate medical language about yourself and not seeing everything you do and experience as an illness or neurodivergency. Like what is the healthy amount of both? And when does either get unhealthy?

💜Below is a rambling about our experiences with the psychiatry + other mental health professionals and their varying views and what about it harmed us

I think me and my current therapist disagree on this subject. She is very against using psychiatric terms during therapy, where we've had other psychologists who are really into talking symptoms and using medical language. Our therapist is also a licensed psychiatrist, but still she refrains from talking disorders or symptoms to such a degree, that we actually found it harmful. We got severely confused about what she and the other people treating us at that clinic thought was up with our brain and she would always be super vague about it when we brought it up and would just brush it off. We were extremely scared since we were told we had quasi psychotic symptoms and it could develop into a psychotic disorder, which runs in our family. It turned out it was dissociation, but she didn't tell us for maybe 6 months (we are bad at understanding time). But feeling like you're getting possessed and not getting answers is so fucking scary. Our therapist finally said that it wasn't psychosis and just casually said "you have a fragmented personality with multiple distinct identities that I've observed here during therapy" and just... moved on. It was so fucking scary. Later when we pressured her to explain it to us, she managed to say "if I had to use some word for you, I'd say that you're traumatized". That was not that helpful. We knew that pretty well by now. That's why we were there in the first place

But also I think it's unhelpful to strictly stick to medical language, since it's never an accurate description of the specific individual. It can also make you feel like you're just a living manifestation of illness. That all and everything you are is a disorder. When your psychiatrist/therapist/psychologist/ect keep referring to you with psychiatric terms and putting you into a box that you now feel is you identity. I've felt that too and still do sometimes. That's also extremely damaging. It can really make you feel like you won't ever have a happy life since you keep being told/reminded about your disabilities

💜So again, what is the balance? I don't really know and I'm sure it varies from person to person. But I really believe it isn't an either this or that situation and I'd wish I knew the perfect balance so I could recover better and with less struggles

#actuallydisabled #actually disabled #actuallynd #actually nd #actually neurodivergent #actuallyneurodivergent #actually mentally ill #actuallymentallyill #long post sry! but wanted to add my lil anecdote #ours #yo its sof #actually disordered #actuallydisordered

[bisexualmaedhros]

i am constantly trying to figure out whether i am autistic or if my adhd and ocd just interact with each other in a very specific way that makes me relate to certain autistic things

#i am SO FRUSTRATED!!! #i talked to my therapist about it and her answer was vague as FUCK #but i hate bringing that stuff up bc i feel like the adults in my life just think i'm doing it for attention #i sent info to my parents and said i related a lot to many things (esp lesser talked about symptoms like hyperempathy) #but they were like ''idk it doesn't rlly sound like u to us but ofc u know urself best :-)'' #but like NO!!! I DON'T!!! I DON'T KNOW EHO I AM I CAN'T TRUST MY OWN BRAIN TO BE ACCURATE THERE'S SO MUCH ROOM FOR BIAS! #BUT ALSO I DON'T FUCKING TALK TO MY PARENTS ABOUT HOW I /ACTUALLY/ SEE THINGS BC I FORGET THEY DON'T KNOW. SO THEY END UP NOT KNOWING! #but then i have no external record of Me and i have a terrible memory esp wrt emotions #BC THERE'S NOTHING TO PROVE THEM! THERE'S NO. THERE'S NO HARD EVIDENCE! WHAT IF I'M MISREMEMBERING WHAT IF I'M WRONG! #and it's a huge hassle to set up a dr appointment and i bet the wait is even longer than usual rn AND i've heard ppl saying a professional #autism dx can be really expensive but idk how to check how much it would be for me and i don't want to waste my parents' money and AAARGH #all the autism tests i've taken online i've scored pretty high but again that could just be Other Shit and ik those tests aren't very #accurate anyway! i mean one of those is how i decided to seek out my adhd dx #and i DEFINITELY have adhd lmao #but i just. ghrrg i hate this so much i just want something i can LOOK AT and see for SURE that i am something or i'm not i just want #something solid can people please stop telling me i know myself best i don't know jack shit #anyways #finielspeaks #sorry folks hdgdv

[shurisneakers]

harmless (vii)

Summary: Bucky volunteers to go stop a small time villain, but nothing can prepare him for what exactly he has to deal with. (Bucky x villain!reader, drabble series)

Warnings: cursing, existential crisis, frustrated bucky, dramatic reader, lil bit of angst, clint barton being a lil shit

Word count: 3.4k

A/N: hey shoutout to @ugherik for suggesting a spin on the “A PLATYPUS!??!“ [perry puts his hat on] “PERRY THE PLATYPUS!???” thing. i used it in here, it’s a really small part and probably missable but i tried!! also i like the next chapter better than this one, i just wanted to put this here so it doesn’t seem abrupt <3333

here’s

my ko-fi

if you’d like to support my writing <333

Previous Part || Series Masterlist

Bucky can’t stop staring at the mirror.

He wishes it was for narcissistic purposes. He had enough reason for it to be. His age may be a hundred but he had the youthful exuberance of a very drained sixty year old.

But no, it wasn’t because of the steel cut jawline or thousand gigawatt smile.

After last week’s mini-spiral, he does what almost half the videos on TikTok warn him not to do.  

He got a haircut.

Everyone’s reaction stopped him from following it up with an ear piercing, but he can’t confidently say he didn’t at least consider it once. Maybe a neck tattoo. 

He pulls at a lock of hair. It’s not even longer than his finger.

What did he do-

“It’s just a haircut, man,” he says to no one in particular, almost like he’s trying to reassure himself.

He runs his hands through his hair. It takes lesser time than he was used to.

Steve had told him he looked good. But then again, Steve wore a fugly costume 90% of the time, what did he know?

Clint acknowledged it and didn’t outright call him ugly, which he supposed was a compliment. Wanda simply smiled at him.

“FRIDAY?” he reaches out.

“Yes, Sergeant Barnes?” comes the automated reply.

“How are you?” It took him some getting used to her, given that she was constantly listening to everything, and in general seemed to go against the universal idea of privacy. 

But his therapist told him he needed to form friendships. 

She didn’t mention it had to be human ones.

“As good as ever. Is there anything I can help you with?”

He wants to ask her what she thinks of his hair until he realises fashion advice from a faceless AI is a new low for him. Maybe ‘Do you think I should crawl into a pit and die?’ would be more appropriate. 

“Never mind,” he dismisses instead. “Any messages for today?”

“A reminder to buy a harder bed because you can’t keep sleeping on the floor.” Ah, that was on Sam’s recommendation three months ago, but he wasn’t going to stop any time soon. “And a text from a contact named Nuisance saying to meet them at the attached location in thirty minutes.”

“Where is the location?”

“The local sports centre.”

“Isn’t that closed today?” 

If he had to go out in public looking like this, maybe he could wear a cap and sunglasses and no one would recognise him. Unfortunately, as he was reminded several times before by anyone with an iota of common sense, it was a stupid disguise. 

Beanie it was, then. Bare minimum. 

“It is, yes.” Fewer citizens to worry about.

“Okay.” He hesitates in front of the mirror again, adjusting the hat on his head. “Thank you, FRIDAY.”

“You’re welcome, Sergeant.”

He stares at the little tuft of hair at the front that refused to stay down no matter how much he shoved it back.

“Come on, man,” he exhales in slight despair. “Whatever.”

____

The lock of the door leading to the pool is easy enough to pick. He can see how you got in without a hitch even though it was closed. 

The deck around the pool was absolutely drenched in water. No one was using it, there was no reason for water to splash out unless it was deliberately kept like this.

He catches sight of you easily, being that you’re the only two people there. You were standing at the end of the hall, head ducked as you scrolled through your phone.

The door closes behind him with a soft thud.

You don’t look up from your mobile when you start talking, “What do you think 6 year olds like?”

Because James Barnes, carbon dated to 1917 and therefore certified young person, would definitely know the answer to this question.

“I don’t know. Lego?”

“Just how much money do you think a teacher makes-”

You stopped mid-sentence, finally lifting your head to catch his eye. He stares back at you, steps faltering when you don’t move.

"Who are you?" you squinted.

What

"It's me," Bucky says, tugging off the dumb beanie and using it to gesture vaguely towards himself. Fuck, he shouldn’t have worn it, it was ridiculous anyway-

"You sound like him..." You narrow your eyes. “You don't look like him.”

Great

He rolls his eyes before putting on a mock scowl. Can't have Bucky Barnes without a sense of eternal disgruntlement.

"Oh hey, that is you." You grin. "You got a haircut."

“I did.” He suddenly feels the awkwardness increase. His fingers fidget with the beanie.

“Nice.” You nod in acknowledgement.

He wants to hit himself at the words that just spill out before he could think about it. “You hate it.”

“I never said that,” you snort. “And since when does my opinion matter?”

“It doesn’t.” But now he wants to know what you think since he didn’t trust anyone else to tell him honestly.

“Must cut down on time in the shower, huh?”

It did.

He shrugs. He shoves the beanie into his back pocket.

“Was it a crisis haircut?” How did you kno- “Are you going to get bangs next time?”

“Shut up,” he says lamely, a dull burn in his cheeks. 

“I know a place where you can get hair dye for cheap. Not technically FDA approved, but I think purple streaks are a good place to start-”

“What are we doing here?” he interrupts, sighing.

“Skinny dipping. Take off your shirt, Barnes.” 

“Funny,” he says dryly, eyeing your shoes when you straighten up.

Ice skates.

“Fine, pants then.” You don’t make any effort to move from your end so he does, walking closer to you. 

“What are those for?” He doesn’t hide the annoyance from his voice when he points at your feet.

“Oh, these?” You look down at them. “Yeah, I’m going to freeze the pool.”

That seems... mild compared to the shit show you wanted to do last time.

“For?” He halts where he is. 

“’M gonna take my friends ice skating.”

“Is that all?” He wants to make a comment about the fact that you have friends but bites it back.

“Today is just a trial run. Tomorrow I’m gonna go freeze the East River.” There it is.

“The East River is not your personal ice skating rink.”

“Not yet it isn’t.” You lift up a middle finger.

It was too early for you to flip him off, even by your standards.

He raises an eyebrow.

Your face scrunches in confusion. You follow his gaze to your finger. “Oh yeah, no, that’s a freeze ring.”

Only then he notices a ring around the finger. From where he was standing he could make out the blue stone that adorned it.

“Joy.” He rolls up the sleeves of his black bomber jacket. “Let’s get this done with, then.”

“No no, wait.” You hold up your hand and he complies, having nothing to lose anyway. You pull out your phone and press a few buttons before shoving it back into your bag and tossing it aside.

The soft sounds of a piano start playing from a boombox near the corner of the room. A child starts singing following a series of knocks.

His eyebrows furrow. “What the fuck is this?”

“The Frozen soundtrack.” You beam at him. “I thought it was fitting.”

He doesn’t know what that is and at this point, he’s too afraid to ask. He can vaguely make out the lyrics being about a snowman but he isn’t too concerned.

He takes one step forward. You immediately point your fist at the ground in front of him, forcing him to jump back when a blast hits right in front of his shoes. Suddenly he gets why the floor is covered in water.

It sounds like a series of cracks as the water starts freezing over, a layer of ice now separating him and you.  

"You ready?” The mischief was woven in your voice as the blasts continued throughout the deck, effectively turning the entire floor into ice.

Bucky takes a step tentatively forward. Not bad. He takes another. Okay.

The third one is when shit starts to hit the fan. His hands shoot out to hold onto his balance when his footing slips from beneath him.

His Nike sneakers aren’t used to snow. They’re used to well manicured lawns and pavement trips to Starbucks and marble floors of the compound. Not swimming pool decks covered in ice.

He can hear you singing in the distance and every time he looks up you’re a little further away, making sure every inch of space is frozen.

It takes him a while to get over the initial fear of breaking his skull and just move forward swiftly with short steps. A goddamn penguin is what he looked like.

“There you go, you’re getting it,” you chirp as you whiz past him. He reaches out to grab at you, only to miss by an inch. He staggers, arms flapping wildly to regain his stability.

He hears crackling beside him. He gets a second or two to watch ice crystals spread through the water before turning it completely solid. You step onto the now frozen pool, testing your weight with one leg before cautiously getting on.

A triumphant smile emerges on your face. “Awesome.”

He manages to press himself against the wall as a form of support. 

There is no point to this whole thing. He knows this. It’s been well over 6 weeks and there is genuinely no point to this.

He realises it again when he moves from side to side, body erupting into a waddle. 

Why is he doing this. He doesn’t get paid extra. He doesn’t get any kind of compensation. All he gets is more wisecracking geniuses, embarrassment and the mortifying ordeal of getting caught imitating a penguin.

The song changes to a woman singing about doing something for the first time, forcing him to pay attention to it. He hears something about ball room and balls and tunes right back out.

Bucky manages to find his way to the actual pool since that’s where you’re twirling around, opting to land on his mental arm in case things go wrong. He takes a sliding step forward, followed by another. Maybe he can do this. 

“If a 200 pound super soldier can stand on this, I suppose it’s strong enough,” you muse, watching him slip and slide as he tries to invent makeshift ice skating.

Unfortunately, his method doesn’t have any brakes, so while he’s too busy trying to move forward, there’s no way to actually stop. He finds this out very soon when he almost launches himself off the edge of the pool.

Something yanks him backwards and back onto the ice.  

“Honestly, this is utterly useless since you can’t really do anything but it’s the most fun I’ve had all week,” you admit when he goes sliding towards the middle, arms flailing.

“You had to pick fuckin’ ice of all things.” He thinks that maybe he’s getting a hang of this. He can definitely move faster than what he was doing like, 10 minutes ago. It’s not like you were going anywhere, anyway. 

“I like to keep things spicy.”

He stays where he is to glare at you. You mouth the words to the song, watching his every move whenever it interested you. 

Okay, change of plan; a temporary distraction till he figures out how to actually get the ring from you. He settles on skating towards the edge of the rink slowly, taking a step off, slipping almost immediately when his foot comes in contact with the deck. 

“Where are you going?” you yell over the music initially but immediately break into song when it ends in a crescendo.

He takes a knee, lifting his metal arm up before driving it into the ground. It shatters magnificently, leaving small shards of ice at his disposal. 

He picks up one of them, waiting for you to complete your dumb twirl. He takes aim, and-

“Ouch, what the fuck?” You stop your off key singing to rub your shoulder where the ice hit you.

He wordlessly picks up another piece to throw at you, hitting you squarely in the leg.

“Stop that!”

He may not be able to move as fast but he can definitely throw. 

“Give me the ring,” he commands, stretching his arm behind his back before releasing another piece to hit your forearm. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” There’s nowhere you can skate to avoid his stupidly good marksmanship. 

“You gotta do what you gotta do.” He shrugs, breaking another patch of ice to replenish his ammo. “Hand over the ring.”

“Over my dead body,” you shriek when a particularly big piece lands next to your feet. You knew he missed that shot on purpose.

“I feel like I’m finally acting my age,” he says casually, finding your darting about in order to avoid him more fun than he initially thought. “Can’t throw pebbles at meddling kids so this is the next best option. Thanks.” 

“If you acted your age you’d be in a casket, Barnes,” you hissed, finding that skating in zig zags helped your cause, but not by much. “I’d be- you bitch- I’d be more than happy to help you get there.”

You raise your arm, ready to send another blast to freeze the water that was starting to melt around him, hopefully, keep him where he was if it froze around him. 

He flinches. You notice immediately, hand dropping slightly when you realise what it looked like.

“I’m not gonna freeze you,” you say, softer than you intended. From what you knew, he had enough and more experience with that and you weren’t going to contribute to it. 

He swallows thickly, giving himself a little shake of his head as if to jolt him out of his train of thought. 

Another piece of ice hits you in the leg. You let out a string of curses at him.

“The more ice you make, the more I have to throw at you, Y/N.” He waits for you to regain your balance when you nearly take a stumble. 

“Shut up, you’re so immature.”

“Remind me whose plan this was again?” No point waiting for you to regain your balance when you fall over only a few seconds later. 

He gathers a few shards in his beanie, tucking it into his belt like a little makeshift rucksack just in case before venturing out on the main rink again. 

It’s more difficult for you to stand without railings to guide you, giving him enough and more time to make his way towards you, staggering and skidding. 

Both of you looked ridiculous. 

“Stay away, fiend.” 

“Ring first.” He holds his hand out in front of you. He even considered pulling you up if you just made things easier.

Next thing he knows he’s on his ass on the ice beside you. 

“I hate you,” he groans, watching as you inch away from him on your knees.

He doesn’t really have any other options so he shoves aside the humiliation and gets on his knees, using his arms to drag him along the ice.

“For the love of Christ, none of us are winning here. Just give me the ring.”

The bitch from the soundtrack sings about letting it go but he won’t. 

“Never,” you shout, sliding away from him as fast as possible. 

You make use of the fact that the top layer of ice is starting to melt, using the ring to freeze it again. His knees and fingers get stuck as the water freezes over but he has super strength. It barely takes him a second to free himself. 

“Great,” he huffs, just settling down on the ice, ignoring the sting of cold that was spreading through his limbs. Running after you wasn’t going to work; he needed a way to get the ring. 

“You won last time, I���m not letting you win again.”

“Are we seriously keeping score?” He watches as you scramble towards the edge.

“No one likes a loser, Bucky.” You use the pool stair railings to pull yourself up.

“Explain why you have friends then.” He can’t help himself this time. 

“Hardy har har.” You roll your eyes. 

He doesn’t make an effort to move. Instead, when you take a step back into the rink, he raises his arm and pummels it into the ice, just to annoy you. 

The ground damn near shakes, pushing you dangerously towards losing your balance again. 

“Are you crazy?” Your arm shoots out in front of you to keep you from falling headfirst. 

“No.” He does it again. This time there’s a crack in the ice. “I’m just very tired.”

“If the ice breaks we’re both gonna be underwater, you moron!”

“Fine by me.” He shrugs. “Freeze it again. I’ll just find different ways to ruin it for you.”

You glare at him. He raises his arm above his head again.

“Fine! Fine, stop.” You eye him as he lowers his arm. 

He reaches for his stash of ice pieces from earlier, throwing one at your shoulder again.

“Boy, I swear if you don’t stop doing that-” you duck when another one comes at you. You had no idea he could be this annoying. 

It suddenly hits him, like a lightbulb going off in his brain. He wipes his hands off on his jacket, getting on all fours before slowly managing to pick himself up again. 

He looks at you, tilting his head slightly like he was studying you.

“What?” you ask suspiciously, eyeing as he starts inching closer towards you. “What are you thinking?”

It’s like watching a newborn deer stumble its way through the world, albeit more gracefully, until he starts picking up speed. The motherfucker was going to mow you down.

The skates are useful but not so much when an extremely determined bumbling oaf is barrelling towards you, his speed beginning to match yours even without equipment. 

You don’t know why you’re running, you don’t know why he’s chasing after you but when you see the end of the pool you take a sharp left only to have him knock right into you, sending you both sprawling.

You land half on top of him, breaking your fall but it doesn’t stop the very loud groan that escapes your mouth. He’s already in the process of sitting up straight, giving you less time to analyse what just happened.

“What the fuck was that for?” you speak through gritted teeth. “Fuckin’ acting like the both of us have free healthcare.”

“You refused to give up.”

“So your plan was to tackle me like a quarterback?” You threw your hands up.  

“One part of it.” He drags himself to the edge, away from you. 

“There's more to your monkey brained plan?” He doesn’t look at you. The ice around the pool has more or less melted, letting him gain proper footing on the floor before he stands up. 

“Oh, yeah.” He turns to you. “The other’s a trick I stole from Stark.”

Bucky holds up the ring. Your jaw slightly drops, eyes searching your finger for the now missing piece of tech. 

“Suppose that’s two points for me?” 

You’re impressed. You also want to stab him. So you do the next best thing.

“When I imagined you holding a ring in front of me, the circumstances were very different,” you comment.

“Bye, Y/N.” He spins on his heel, not even giving you a second’s worth of reaction. You found it amusing.

He heads towards the door, clothes all wet. He empties out melted ice water from his beanie before stuffing it into his pocket. Just when he’s about to leave, you remember something. 

Do you mean it genuinely or just because it has an effect on him? 

“Just for the record, Barnes, about your hair-” you call out, earning his attention from over his shoulder. “I think you look really good either way.”

The world may never know. 

You swear you can see the corners of his lips quirk upwards before he turns around again. 

He slips on a block of ice, cursing and clenching on to the door to keep him upright, quickly yanking it open and leaving before he has a chance to embarrass himself further.

Smooth.

Next part

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #mcu fic #bucky fic #bucky barnes fic #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fluff #bucky angst #bucky barnes angst #harmless fic #winter soldier x reader #Winter Soldier #bucky barnes #bucky

[maybege]

... Stays In Quantico - FBI Part 2

Summary: Back in Quantico, you are reminded just how difficult your situation is. (Part 2 of the FBI Series)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Wordcount: 3.1k | Rating: T

Warnings: descriptions of an anxiety attack

Here we are! I am so excited to finally start sharing this story with you. Having binged through all 15 seasons, I just want to say now that (1) this story will be canon-divergent and (2) it will be a slow burn. It is my first longer story about Hotch and I hope I will do his character justice. As always, you can find the posting schedule linked in my masterlist.

Have fun reading and let me know what you think.

masterlist | crossposted on AO3

“I don’t know what to think.”

“This is not the kind of job where you don’t know what to think.”

“I know.”

“Hard to believe from someone who just told me she doesn’t know what to think.”

You shifted in your seat. The office you were in was colder than the bullpen of the BAU and you wished you had remembered to bring your cardigan with you. Now all you were wearing was your short-sleeved dress and heels.

To be fair, you had presumed this would just be a standard meeting with the in-house therapist. After the incident in Kansas City, it seemed like standard procedure and you were glad to have been offered this opportunity.

Now though, sitting in the way too soft armchair with the brunette older woman looking at you over her glasses, this felt more like an evaluation than anything else. And you absolutely hated it.

You looked at the still-life of a fruit bowl on the right wall, right next to a bookshelf full of framed certificates. A woman who was proud of her accomplishments.

The first and last time you had had an evaluation was when you had first started working at the FBI and back then you had been sure that you had failed it. You had been sure you had failed all of it.

Your grandmother always used to say that if you looked for flaws long enough you would find them.

Dr Johnson looked like she spent her life looking for flaws.

“Tell me again why you chose to work for the FBI – and the BAU specifically.”

You would not make it anyway. Fuck it.

“There is so much hurt in the world,” you started, watching her eyebrows rise over the frames of her glasses, “I would feel better knowing I am trying to do something against it. And as for the BAU,” you shrugged, “Chief Sector Strauss approached me about it and I thought I would be stupid not to take the opportunity.”

She hummed, looking down at her file. “You don’t have any official FBI training.”

“No.”

“Any formal police training?”

“No.”

“Gun training?”

You hid your smile at the thought of the recent debacle for the gun qualification.

“I took down an UnSub in Kansas City last week,” you reminded her, “That is why I am here.”

She did not react to it. “In fact,” she leafed through the papers in her hand, “You only recently finished college. How did that go for you?”

“Good,” you nodded, trying to keep your knee from bouncing, “It was good.”

“What did you major in?”

“English,” you replied and when you saw her raised eyebrow, tried to elaborate, “Um, English literature to be exact and I have a minor in law as well.”

“Why only a minor?”

“Pardon me?”

“Why did you only minor in law? Were you not good enough?”

To cover the unease from her question, you crossed your legs. “I had no interest in law,” you answered truthfully, “My passion was and is with literature.”

The full truth was, you simply did not like law students. That and the pressure they were under was, you were convinced, what brought many lawyers to an early grave. But she did not need to know that about you.

Ironic that you had ended up in the BAU after all this.

Totally not stressful.

She said your name, then, slowly, and leant forward. You tensed, knowing that look too well. Was this the moment she would tell you that you had failed the valuation? The moment Hotch would come into the office and hand you your resignation with that disappointed look in his eyes.

Maybe the way Kansas City had ended was just a way to disguise the true going-ons of your work here in Quantico?

“You have been here, what, seven months now, Agent?”

“Yes, eight months, coming February,” you replied, meeting her gaze and swallowing the dryness of your throat.

“Would you say you have adjusted to your life here in Virginia?”

You frowned, “What do you mean?”

Dr Johnson made a vague gesture as if encompassing everything and anything, “Do you have friends here? Family? How do you get on with your colleagues?”

Well, you certainly had not been expecting this kind of question.

“I live together with a friend,” you answered slowly, “My family lives in Idaho.”

“Idaho,” Johnson smiled, “A long way from home, no?”

“Yes.”

“Look, Agent, I am not going to lie,” she sighed, putting her pen down on the notepad, “I am not sure if you are the right fit for the FBI.”

You’re not the only one, you thought with a grimace.

“I am sure you are a good person, that your motivations for working here are true,” she elaborated, “But your lack of training? Your lack of … experience,” she gave you a pitiful look, “I am simply not convinced you are cut out for the work we need here.”

You had always thought it but hearing someone else say it to your face hit deeper than you ever could have thought. Your fingers started to tremble and you clasped your hands together, squeezing them to somehow force yourself to remain with as much dignity as you could.

“Okay,” you nodded, taking a deep breath in the hopes that it would keep your tears at bay, “What – what does that mean?”

“As there are no reasons for a suspension based on your mental health, the next step would be that I get in contact with your supervisor,” she threw a look on her paper, “SSA Aaron Hotchner, is that correct?” you nodded and she continued, “A written evaluation of your role at the BAU will be requested and then we will go from there. Best case scenario is you won’t leave at all, worst case scenario …”, she trailed off.

Of course, she did not need to finish the sentence for you to know what she was saying.

Worst case scenario: You would leave the FBI.

Realization washed over you and you smiled tightly at her. “Thank you, Dr Johnson,” you stood up, reaching a polite hand out to her which she took, “If you will excuse me, I should get back to my desk while I still can.”

Dr Johnson smiled kindly at you which only made it worse. She was pitying you. She felt sorry for you. Sorry for your incompetence, sorry for you not belonging in this place.

You felt like you would throw up any minute.

“Of course, Agent,” she said softly, “I will inform your supervisor of my recommendation. You will receive a copy of the protocol within the next week.”

You nodded, not meeting her eyes as you hurried out of her office.

*

The staff washroom on the third floor was always empty.

You knew that from the fact that you had often used it as a refuge after nearly dissolving into tears in the bullpen. That and the fact that the third floor was far away enough for anyone of the BAU to search for you here made it the perfect place to come after your talk with Dr Johnson.

You threw a look on your watch.

Six minutes. You would give yourself six minutes and then you would go to your desk and work on those reports and show Dr Johnson that you loved your job and that you were capable of doing it. You would show her that you were not the anxious, incompetent student she saw in you but someone who could be an asset to the team.

I am not sure if you are the right fit for the FBI.

Tears shot into your eyes and you locked the little cabin behind you, sitting on the edge of the toilet as you rushed to grab a few pieces of toilet paper.

The first sob echoed in the tiled room and you pressed the tissues to your mouth, hoping it would muffle the sounds somewhat. Your skin felt too hot and too tight and you could already see how your makeup would be ruined by the tears no matter how hard you tried.

And you had left your backup mascara in your bag at your desk.

Great. Just great.

Anxiety filled you at the thought of having to prove yourself even more than before. After Kansas City and Hotch’s encouraging words, you had somehow hoped that the hard part was over now. That you could focus on delivering good work instead of questioning if everyone doubted your belonging in the unit.

But maybe they were and they were just too polite to mention it? Maybe Dr Johnson was finally saying what they all wanted to spare you from?

Tears were rolling freely over your cheeks now, dropping onto your dress and you cursed, trying to wipe it away and somehow keep your face dry. There were still quite a few hours left in the workday and although you hoped there would not be a case coming in today, you were working along with a team of profilers.

You were like an open book to them even if there was the agreement to not profile each other.

A look on your watch told you it was nearly time to go and you took a moment to listen if anybody was there before stepping out of the little cubicle. It was completely abandoned.

Much like you had expected, you looked an absolute mess and just seeing yourself in the mirror brought fresh tears into your eyes.

“Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity,” you echoed the motto, gripping the edge of the counter and taking deep breaths, “Fidelity, Bravery and Integrity.”

*

“Hey, kid, how did it go?”

You entered the chaotic bullpen, just barely avoiding crashing into Anderson before making your way to your desk. Reid was seated across from you which meant that no matter how much of a mess you left at the end of a day, it still looked comparably neat.

Now though, it was nearly empty.

“Hi Derek,” you smiled tightly, your eyes still irritated from your impromptu cry session as you sat down at your desk.

You had splashed cold water on your face in hopes of somehow feeling and looking better. Still, you immediately went for your bag, scrambling to find your emergency mascara and lipstick to sneak back into the washroom before anyone noticed.

Especially –

“Agent,” Hotch’s voice boomed through the office and you winced, feeling the heat of tears collecting in your eyes again. You stayed ducked over your bag, hoping that maybe he did not mean you. Maybe he wanted to talk to Derek or Emily or Reid or –

Cleanly polished shoes appeared in your field of vision and you swallowed.

“In my office. Now.”

“Yes, Sir,” you mumbled, hastily wiping your cheek of a stray tear before straightening and following him up the stairs. You ignored Derek’s worried look, instead choosing to straighten your shoulders and stoically look ahead.

This was but an extension of the interview with Dr Johnson. You could do this even if the man terrified and intrigued you more than he should.

You had barely stepped foot in his office when he sat down. “Close the door. Sit down.”

You did, feeling much smaller than you had in Dr Johnson’s office. His lips were tight and he looked incredibly displeased, even for Hotch’s standards. You must have majorly messed up.

His hands were clasped in front of him and your eyes fell to his fingers. You swallowed heavily, hands wringing in your lap as you waited for him to start talking.

“Dr Johnson just informed me that a written evaluation of your performance on this team is being requested.”

“Sir, I can explain, I –“

He raised a hand, effectively silencing you and your mouth snapped shut.

“You do not need to explain anything,” he said calmly, “Dr Johnson is only doing her job and after what happened last week, it might not be such a bad idea.”

You nodded, trying to not seem as nervous as you were.

“Do not worry yourself over it. I meant what I said in Kansas,” he stated, facial expression unreadable, “You are a valuable addition to this team and I look forward to seeing your contributions in the future.”

“Yes, Sir,” you looked down on your hands, trying to hide your nervousness, “Thank you, Sir.”

“Call me Hotch.”

“Yes, Si- Hotch,” you corrected yourself with a sheepish smile. He was sitting at his desk, hands folded on top of it as he looked at you. And fuck, it should be forbidden to look this good. You froze, licking your lips and hoping you would be able to blame it on the dryness of your lips instead of you imagining what it would be like to feel his mouth on yours.

Not the time, a rational part of your brain reminded you, So not the fucking time.

*

Shuffling through the crowded metro you pressed your phone to your ear.

“I promise, it is all right, mom,” you assured her, letting yourself fall into one of the free seats, keeping your bag pressed against your chest. An elderly woman threw you an offended look and shuffled away from you as if you had any interest in stealing her dog off her hands.

“I am just worried, honey,” your mom said on the other side of the phone, “We are all worried. It is a hard job, isn’t it? And why do they keep putting you up for evaluations? You haven’t even been there for a full year!”

“Mom –“

“Are you okay?” she interrupted you in that voice that only your mom had, “Truly okay?

Your head fell against the window of the wagon, the heaviness of the day washing over you. You took a shuddering breath, “No, Mom, I – I don’t think I am.”

There was a sigh on the other side of the line. She was disappointed and worried, you could hear it already and it did not help to calm the anxiety raging in your stomach. You could almost see her in front of you, the pity in her eyes and the little furrow between her brows.

“You can always come home, hon, you know that, right?” she asked carefully and you cringed at how quiet she was being, “We can still find somewhere else for you to work. A nice option. You can come back home and dad and I will help you. I know it can take some time to find a good position. But you had so much fun doing literature, why not go back to it? You don’t have to stick there if it doesn’t make you happy.”

“But it does make me happy, mom,” you protested, wincing at how desperate you sounded, before adding quietly, “Saving people is what I want to do. And I can do it.”

“I am not saying you can’t, sweetie,” she assured you, “But maybe it is not what you should do with your life, hm?”

*

You could see that the light was on in the living room when you entered the small hallway. The sounds of the TV washed over your ears and you smiled.

“I’m home!”

A non-committal grunt answered you and you grinned, knowing that he was probably too entranced in whatever crime show he was currently watching. You let your keys fall onto the little side table and made sure to lock the deadbolt before making your way to Josh.

Your heels made clicking sounds on the floor and you took care to be as quiet as possible. “Hi,” you grinned, waving at him.

Josh was tall and lanky. And despite being offended if you ever told him that – looked exactly like one would imagine a law student to look. He was always well dressed and took great care when it came to all things cultural. He drank the best wine, read all the important books, watched all the niche movies to impress people.

Sometimes you joked that of the two of you, he was the one who could be expected to work for a government institution.

“It’s late,” he commented, nodding to the screen, “You’re usually here by the second episode.”

“I wanted to get some reports done,” you explained, shrugging out of your coat, “Had a chat with my boss today again. I thought it might be better to not give any more opportunities to criticize me. How was your day?”

“Boring,” he replied, “Attended that one event about intellectual property and want to lunch with a few friends from uni. You should come with us sometime, you will like them.”

You nodded, already thinking ahead of a day when you would have enough free time to join him and his friends. Dr Jones’ words about having a strong social life to fall back to echoed in your mind and you decided to make more of an effort to make friends.

It would be all right.

There was some Chinese takeout in Josh’s lap and you spotted a few grocery bags in the small hallway to your room and the kitchen.

“Did you get me the bananas like I asked?” you asked, slipping out of your heels.

Josh kept munching on his noddle, making a vague gesture that led you into the kitchen. And there, on the tiny dining table were two green bananas.

“They are not even ripe yet,” you called into the living room, “And I asked for four bananas, not two.”

“What do you need them for anyway?”

“I wanted to bake banana bread,” you said, turning to get out some flour and chocolate chips, “It’s an easy breakfast to have in the metro.”

Josh sighed, walking into the kitchen and throwing himself onto the black dining chair. “You barely eat at home anyway, that’ll just go to waste.”

“Which is exactly why it is nice to have something ready to eat on the go,” you explained, wondering if he had overheard your words.

Cracking two eggs into a bowl, you hummed. “I could bring it into the office,” you mused, starting to mush up the bananas, “I think JJ mentioned she liked it once.”

“To the colleagues that despise you?”

You frowned, “They don’t despise me. They are very nice to me, Josh.”

Josh took the last bite of his noodles, setting down the little container “By the way, Greg is coming over tonight.

“But it’s almost midnight,” you stated, throwing a confused look towards the clock, just to make sure, “Didn’t you say you will leave for that Seattle trip tomorrow?”

“Yeah, if it gets too late he will just stay on the couch,” Josh replied, shrugging. You nodded, not saying anything but knowing deep down that George would occupy the bathroom that morning so you would have to get up even earlier than normal.

That would be a stressful day.

#maybege writes #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader

[fruitcoops]

could we see coops first big fight when they’re married? (essentially pure angst)

Yes, we can! Don’t worry, I got your follow-up ask about a happy ending as well--there are no sad endings on this blog, just some bittersweet ones, and this is very soft and fluffy. Hope you enjoy!

Combined with prompts for...

1. Another of Coops’ serious talks

2. Remus overworking himself to keep up

3. From @colored-rain: Sirius sleeping at Dumo’s for a night

4. Slow dancing in the kitchen

TW for couples fighting, suppression, and marriage issues

“Do you think we got married too fast?” a quiet voice asked in the darkness.

Remus paused for several heartbeats before opening his eyes and turning over; Sirius was staring at the ceiling, wide awake. “What?”

“Do you think we got married too fast?” Sirius repeated without looking at him.

“Do you?” Remus countered. Something panicky was starting to buzz in the back of his brain and he tried to keep his breaths steady. Sirius wasn’t breaking up with him. They had only been married for a few months. Things were really, really good—as far as he knew, they were both happier than they had ever been.

Sirius sighed through his nose. “I don’t know.”

“What?” Remus sat up against the headboard, wide awake. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“I—” Sirius shifted to sit up as well and crossed his legs. “I don’t know! People usually date for a lot longer than a year and a half before getting married, right?”

“We’ve known each other for seven years, Sirius.”

“Yes, and I love you, and you’re wonderful, but everything happened so fast.”

Remus wasn’t sure if his heart was trying to crawl out of his chest or dissolve into a puddle of pain. “Are you—Sirius, are you breaking up with me?”

“No!” Sirius said immediately. “I just said I love you, what the hell?”

“People can love each other and still break up!”

Sirius grabbed his hands, holding tight even when Remus tried to pull back and let his panic overtake him. Grey eyes locked on his, as solemn as he had ever seen them. “I’m not breaking up with you, Remus.” The clock on the nightstand beeped midnight and Sirius pressed his lips together. “We have early practice.”

“We need to talk.”

“We need to sleep.”

“Promise we’ll talk tomorrow, then.” We need to talk right now, actually.

Sirius squeezed his hands and kissed his cheek. His cheek. “I promise.”

Remus didn’t sleep much that night. His cheek burned with the memory of Sirius’ lips.

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

Their morning routine was stilted and quiet. Practice was awkward, and though neither of them let the previous night’s events influence their performance, he knew the tension was palpable. “Y’all good?” Leo asked under his breath as Remus filled his waterbottle up.

“We’re fine,” he answered, exhausted.

“Loops—”

“Stay in your lane, Knut.” He regretted the words as soon as they escaped his mouth—the kicked-puppy look on Leo’s face was more than enough to make guilt spike up—but he kept on moving down the hall and tried to wash the bitter taste from his mouth.

The ride home was worlds worse than he could have expected. Sirius turned the radio off the moment it started to play and kept his eyes firmly on the windshield the entire time, tapping his thumb against the wheel in the tic that always appeared when he was nervous. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t help us fix whatever’s going on.” Remus wasn’t angry, per say, but he was really fucking frustrated with Sirius’ sudden inability to communicate. “Talk to me. What happened?”

Sirius chewed the edge of his lip. “I was just thinking.”

There was a long stretch of silence between them. “Wow, thank you for that incredibly helpful information,” Remus said sarcastically when it became clear he wasn’t going to continue.

“You don’t have to be mean about it,” Sirius muttered.

“I’m not trying to be mean—”

“Well, you kind of were—”

“Then maybe you should talk about your problems for once!” Remus snapped before he could shove it back down. Sirius’ jaw clenched. “If we’re going to work through this, then you have to tell me what the hell happened to make you so worried and upset. Do you regret getting married to me?”

The response was immediate. “No.”

“Thank you.” He leaned his head back against the seat rest and closed his eyes. “Thank you, that was what I needed to hear.”

“Do you think we moved too fast?”

Remus scrubbed a hand over his face. “I used to. I don’t, anymore. There’s no rulebook for any of this. How long have you been thinking about that?”

Sirius started tapping the wheel again. “A couple weeks.”

He may as well have opened the passenger door and booted Remus from the car. A breath punched out of his lungs. “A couple weeks?” he whispered. The world was spinning, the floor was open, hell itself was coming to swallow him up. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I figured it was normal marriage stuff. That it would pass.”

“Oh my god.”

“I don’t have a clue what I’m doing.”

“And I do?” Remus said incredulously. “News flash: this is the first time I’ve ever been married, too!”

“Please don’t be angry.”

“Being married means you share things, Sirius, not keep them bottled up for two weeks! Especially when they concern the other person!”

Something stormy came over his face. “Oh, really? So when were you planning on talking to me about the fact that you haven’t slept in six days?”

“I literally sleep next to you!”

“You toss and turn all night, and then you get up and run drills for an hour before coming back to bed. Every time I ask how you slept, you lie to my face, Remus. That’s not okay.”

Remus was speechless. He had done everything he could think of to be quiet and careful so Sirius wouldn’t know. “I…”

Sirius glanced over at him, eyebrows raised. “Yeah, I noticed.”

Be an adult. Be an adult. You’re married. Be an adult. “I’m still worried about catching up to the team.”

“I figured. We’ve talked about this before, Re, it’s not safe for you to do that to yourself—”

“You don’t get it!” Sirius pulled into their driveway and turned the car off. “You have no idea how it feels to constantly be catching up to people! I’m fine, it’s not like I’m doing any damage!”

“I’m sorry, did you forget who you’re talking to?”

Remus clenched his teeth and got out of the car, grabbing his duffel from the backseat before slamming the door. He felt a little guilty—the rising memories of hushed confessions of hours of exercise to his father’s whistle meant Sirius understood better than anyone. Then the front door closed behind them both and the indignance on Sirius’ face sent his temper flaring up again. “You never bother to talk to me about anything that’s going on with you, so why should I even try?”

“What happened to ‘marriage is a partnership’?” Sirius followed him into the kitchen. “Have we moved on to the hypocrite stage yet or are we still clearing the air where nothing ever gets solved?”

Remus reeled back like he’d been slapped. “Fucking excuse me?”

“Every time we fight, you start all sarcastic and defensive, and then you get preachy like you’re reading something out of a fucking self-help book!” Sirius ran a hand through his hair. “Christ, Remus, it feels like I’m talking to a therapist instead of my partner!”

“Husband!” The ring on his finger had always been a comfort instead of a lead weight. “You can’t even say it?”

“I don’t regret marrying you!

“Then why are you so upset about us being married young?!”

“Because it’ll fall apart!” Sirius shouted back. “We’re going to be insufferably happy for a while, and then somewhere along the line we’re going to hate each other, and then it’ll be cold looks when we pass and different beds and all our friends will have to pick sides because we can’t stand to be in the same room together!”

“If you’re so sure about that, then why are you trying to fucking hard to keep us together?” Remus’ heart pounded like he’d run a marathon. Hearing his own fears thrown in his face was the most terrifying thing he had ever experienced.

“Because I love you.” Sirius’ voice broke. They were on opposite sides of the kitchen island, but Remus could see the pain on his face. “I love you, and I don’t want some—some impulsive decision to ruin that forever.”

“I love you, too.” Tears clogged the back of Remus’ throat. So stop pushing me away.

“Then I’ll be at Dumo’s.”

Remus nodded silently as Sirius walked past him toward the stairs; the moment he was out of sight, he headed into the downstairs bathroom and sat down with his back to the closed door, burying his face in his forearms. There was a rustle outside, and the front door closed with a click.

It wasn’t until his face itched with drying tears that he remembered Hattie. Guilt and panic stabbed through him and he scrambled back out, sprinting to her bed and then to the backyard. “Hattie?” he called, frantic with worry. “Hattie, c’mere!”

He closed his eyes and thought back to the events of the day. They had left her in the house for practice, and he vaguely remembered hearing her in the other room while they were fighting, and when Sirius left—

“Oh, you bastard,” he said aloud. The rustling of Sirius grabbing his duffel and whatever else he packed had been accompanied by the pattering of Hattie’s paws. “You took our fucking dog.”

Part of him was grateful that at least somebody had remembered their baby. The other part was absolutely furious. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and took a few deep breaths as the tone played. “Hello?”

“Can you pick me up?”

“Re, are you okay?”

“Not really. Can you pick me up?”

Concern dripped from Lily’s voice. “Where are you?”

“At home.”

“…where’s Sirius?”

“At Dumo’s.”

“I’m on my way.”

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

Harry Potter had been alive for less than two years, and he had been cried on by about half the Lions. Finn had started referring to him as ‘therapy baby’, and Remus was inclined to agree—it was hard to feel anything extreme when he was holding the pudgy little angel to his chest.

“So you fought?” Lily asked gently from the armchair across from him. Remus nodded. The whole story had spilled out in a gross mess of sobbing and baby snuggles until he laid down on his back, holding Harry to his chest as he dozed.

“I feel like an idiot,” he said miserably.

“Don’t.”

“It was awful.”

“I bet.”

Remus sniffled and kissed the top of Harry’s head. “Thank you for getting me. I didn’t want to be there alone.”

“I’m glad you called.” She took a sip of tea and gave him a look that he never liked. “Re, can I be honest with you?”

“Always.”

“I was kind of waiting for this to happen.” At his stricken expression, she folded her hands around the sides of her mug. “I don’t think you got married too early, because neither of you do big things like that on impulse and you love each other so much. However, I do think that you have a habit of trying to protect each other from the shit you carry with you. James did the same thing to me, and it sucked.”

“It does suck,” Remus agreed. “I hate the thought that he can’t trust me.”

Lily held her finger up and shook her head. “Nope. It’s not an issue of trust, is it? Why didn’t you tell Sirius that you were having trouble sleeping?”

“Because I didn’t want to worry h—oh.” Harry wiggled around for a moment and Remus adjusted himself so he was leaning on the armrest. “I think I get it now.”

“You guys need to talk about that at some point or it’s going to keep coming up.”

“Is that what you and James did?”

“No, we let it fester for, like, a year and then broke up for two weeks.”

Remus made a sympathetic face. “I forgot about that part. I should call him, huh?”

Lily shrugged. “It’s up to you.”

“I want to apologize,” he said carefully. The sore spot in his heart and chest still twinged. “But I’m still really upset. And hurt. And a little angry? Mostly worried. There’s so much happening, I just want to hold your baby.”

“Go for it, he’s having a blast. Lover?”

There was a shuffling sound from the other room before James appeared in the doorway. “Yes?”

Remus snorted. “Simp.”

“Yes, and? What’s up, darling?”

“Can I have some more tea?” She batted her eyelashes at him with a dimpled smile and he sighed, then took her mug with him into the kitchen.

“You only love me for my kettle!” he called over his shoulder with a grin.

“Maybe!”

Remus turned his head to look at Lily while he ran a hand over Harry’s back. “Lils?”

“Hmm?”

“Am I preachy when I’m upset?”

She frowned. “What?”

“Preachy. Like—like I’m reading out of a self-help book.”

With a heavy sigh, she stood up and walked to the couch, leaning over the armrest to kiss his forehead. “No, Re, you’re not preachy. You like being right, but you’re not preachy.”

“Sirius thinks we’ll end up like his parents.”

“I’m not surprised about that, either.” She brushed his messy hair off his forehead and braided a small strand along the front, then gave it a little tug. “Guest bedroom’s yours for as long as you need it, okay?”

“That might be a while.”

She shook her head and patted his shoulder. “It won’t.”

“Could be.”

“Remus.”

“Sorry. Sleep well, Lils.” He sat up slightly and covered Harry’s ears. “And you, eavesdropper!”

“Love you!” James laughed from the other room. Lily picked the sleepy baby up and ushered Remus into the guest room with a final ‘goodnight’.

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

“Am I an idiot?” Sirius asked.

The bed creaked as Dumo readjusted his legs. “No, mon fils, you’re not an idiot. You are a young man going through his first marriage spat.”

“I hate it. I hate it. I said horrible things to him.”

“It sounds like you’re both to blame.”

“No, I brought it up first.” Dumo huffed, and he let out a slow exhale into the pillow. “Okay, maybe—maybe we were both in the wrong.”

“Fights are rarely one-sided. You have a visitor.”

Something cold prodded Sirius’ ear and he groaned, then curled on his side to let Hattie onto the covers next to him. “Bonjour, sweet girl. Thank you for the cuddles.”

She licked his nose and he smiled, petting the velvety top of her head. “Are you staying here tonight?”

“I was thinking about it. Re’s got the house to himself for a bit, then, and he knows I’m here.”

“I’m glad you’re taking the time to calm down a bit,” Dumo said as he stood with a final ruffle of Sirius’ hair. “That’s a wise decision. Bonne nuit.”

Sirius mumbled a response and made more room for Hattie, then settled in for a restless night. He never wanted to sleep alone again.

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

By some miracle, practice was more bearable the second day. Remus still ached somewhere deep inside, but it wasn’t like he had anything else left to suppress. Seeing Sirius was a relief; it surprised him at first, considering the explosive nature of the previous evening, before sliding into something that soothed him. If he could still find peace in Sirius after all that, they would be okay.

He knocked lightly on the side of Sirius’ stall after he returned from the shower. “Knock, knock. Ca—”

“Who’s there?”

Remus’ heart stuttered as Sirius looked up at him from the bench with an apologetic tilt to his mouth. Something clicked into place. “Can I get a ride?”

“ ‘course you can.” Sirius stood up just as Remus stepped forward, and they met in the middle for a tight hug. He tucked his face into the dip of Sirius’ collarbone and breathed in his shower-fresh smell, as well as the trace of laundry detergent from his shirt.

“Love you,” he murmured.

“Let’s go, mon loup.” Sirius pressed a kiss to his hair and they headed out toward the parking lot together; Remus caught Leo’s eye and saw him smile.

“How’s Dumo doing?” Remus asked as they turned out of the parking lot. Start slow, start easy. “Did you drop Hattie off at home before you came to practice?”

“Yeah, I did. He’s good, and Celeste sent me back with some brownies.”

Remus tentatively reached over and rested his hand on the side of Sirius’ thigh—his chest visibly caught before he relaxed into it and reached down to put his own overtop. “Harry’s doing well. Lily says he’s almost started running.”

“Did you go see them?”

“Stayed at their place last night.” He shrugged one shoulder. “It felt weird being there by myself.”

“Re—”

“I’m so sorry.” The words spilled out in a rush, despite his best efforts to keep it in until they reached home. “I’m sorry for everything I said to you, and especially for how I said it. I’m sorry I didn’t talk to you about how I was feeling, too. It should never have gotten to that point.”

“Apology accepted.” Sirius sounded a little choked up. “I don’t think we got married too soon, if that means anything.”

“Of course it means something,” Remus half-laughed as he wiped the dampness from the corners of his eyes. “It means everything.”

“I thought it might be too late.”

“Can you pull over for a second?” Sirius obliged, and as soon as he turned the car off, Remus turned to face him. He linked their hands, making sure Sirius was looking into his eyes. “It is never too late to talk to me, okay? I’m sorry if I ever made you think that it was.”

Sirius unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned over for a brief kiss that sent bubbling warmth throughout Remus’ entire body. “I’m so, so sorry for yelling at you. And for keeping everything in, even though we both promised to stop doing that. All that shit I said, it—it wasn’t true, Re, and I wasn’t thinking.”

Remus rested their foreheads together and wound his fingers in the short curls fanning Sirius’ face. “Honey, we’re not your parents.”

Sirius swallowed hard. “I know.”

“So you don’t have to be afraid that we’re going to hate each other out of the blue, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“If—” His mouth went a little dry and he faltered. “If you want to take a break, or take things slower, I totally respect—”

“Nope, no, no, no,” Sirius interrupted, grabbing his cheeks and pulling him in for another fervent kiss. “I love you. I’m happy with you. I let my head get away from me, and I’m sorry.”

“All’s forgiven, love.” They sat in silence for a minute longer as Sirius traced his jawline. “Let’s go home.”

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

Sirius woke up in bed alone, which would have scared him if he didn’t know exactly where his husband was. He smiled to himself and got out of bed, grabbing a hoodie off their dresser before heading downstairs.

The kitchen light was on and music played quietly from Remus’ phone over the sound of running water. “You’re up late,” he said casually from the doorway.

Remus almost dropped a pot. “Jesus Christ!”

“Just me.” Sirius wrapped his arms around his waist as he set the pot on the drying rack. “Stressed?”

“A little. I forgot to do these earlier and didn’t want to leave them overnight again.” Sirius hummed his agreement and rocked back and forth, then took Remus’ hand and spun him in a slow circle. “Oh, are we slow dancing to the Billboard Top 100 now?”

“Very romantic, I know,” Sirius laughed.

Remus shook his head with a wide grin as they swayed, much too slow for the actual song but absolutely perfect. He was beautiful in the low light of their kitchen, puffy eyes from and all. “You are ridiculous.”

I’m the luckiest person alive. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Sirius leaned down for a series of quick kisses, pulling him in until their chests pressed together. Remus let go of his hand and draped both arms over his shoulders, tangling his hands in his hair. “I know we can’t exactly control it,” Sirius said against his lips. “But let’s never fight like that again.”

“Deal.”

[sir-elyan]

for #spnwomenweek day 3: women of color

↳ kaia’s not okay. after being stuck for two years alone in the Bad Place, she ends up in the same place she started.

The third week in a row that Kaia wakes up sweating in the middle of the night, Claire calls for an appointment with the doctor. 

Kaia’s holding Claire’s hand until she can’t any longer, staring at the hair ties and bracelets on her wrist until Kaia is whisked away and she’s back to square one: staring at the white walls of the psychiatric hospital. 

“Fuck,” she says one night, when Kaia realizes she’s been staring out the window so long that even the sun got tired and left. It’s better to stare at what’s real as an anchor, to distract from the thoughts swimming through her head, than to live in them completely. As a dreamwalker, she learned that the hard way.

They don’t give her a room mate. Kaia can vaguely remember an incident in the dining hall, elbowing and kicking and screaming, because they’d gotten too close, that was her meal, her water, and it was running low already. The last rain was so long ago, who knows when she can get more, if she’ll get more. Kaia needs it for her twisted ankle. For her...

She looks down. She’s in bed, wearing sweats and a t-shirt, and she leans forward to reveal her perfectly healed ankle. “Christ,” Kaia sighs, rubbing at her head. “It’s not real.”

But here she is again, alone. Not in the Bad Place, but it was close enough. No Claire, no Jody or Patience or Donna or Alex. Not even her Dark self to keep her company, or a room mate or anything. Not even...

“Jack,” she tries, “holy shit. I don’t even know if you answer to prayers, but, uh...if you do...” Kaia lets out a breath, eyes flitting around her darkened room. She picks at her nail polish, largely feeling like an idiot. 

“You asked me for your help once. I’m...asking for your help now, if you’re willing to...to lend me a hand again. I gotta, um,” she bounces her leg, anxious, “I gotta get outta here, man. I-I know it’s only because my family is worried about me. I know that. But it’s... it’s too much like the Bad Place,” she whispers.

The silence surrounds her. Or, the near silence. Further off in the building, sounds of chatter carry down hallways, faint and unintelligible. The AC hums in the next unit. Kaia’s about to accept that Jack’s not coming, settling further into her blankets, when there’s the pop of the lightbulb in the hall and static in the air that makes a strand of hair stick to her face.

Jack lifts a hand, grinning in the middle of the dark room. “Hello!”

She quickly sits up, holding out a panicked hand, “Shh! Jesus Christ!”

“No,” he frowns, whispering, “I’m Jack....remember?” Jack brightens, “You prayed to me!”

“I know, I know, buddy,” Kaia whispers back, running a hand through her hair, “I just...wasn’t expecting you to show up.”

He walks towards her bed and sits down by her legs. Jack shifts a little to face her better, “Why not?”

“I dunno,” she shrugs, “it’s the middle of the night and you have better things to do? Like...sleep?”

“Oh, Cas and I don’t sleep. Well, not really. I prefer naps. Naps are fun.”

Kaia nods like her heart isn’t still trying to calm down from Jack’s jump scare. “Lucky me, then.”

“Yes, well, what are you waiting for?” he stands, “Get your things and we can go.”

“What...just like that?” Kaia pushes the blankets off of her, looking at Jack incredulously, “It was a way bigger deal last time.”

He shrugs, “I’m bigger now. And Cas has been teaching me some things. But,” Jack stops her on her way to the closet, a hand around her upper arm. Kaia stills to look at him. 

“What?”

“I get why you need to leave, but you have to promise me that you’ll talk about it. You can’t keep this all to yourself, Kaia. It’s too much.”

She looks away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I heard your prayer,” he insists, “you’re still seeing the Bad Place in your head. This place...I don’t think they can really help on this big a scale. But your family...they can. If you let them.”

Kaia stares at him a moment. Jack’s eyes cry sincerity, all concern and good intentions. Sam and Dean and Cas have taught him well. Eventually, she tears her eyes away, “I...can’t.”

“Why not?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t...I don’t think it’s something I can talk about yet. Not with family or even...Claire. It’s just. They wouldn’t understand.”

Jack looks down, eyebrows creased like he’s thinking hard. He lets go of Kaia’s arm, and she slowly moves to the closet to pack, if that’s even still in the cards.

“I think I know someone who would,” he says finally. Kaia turns back around, a soft laugh halfway out of her mouth. “Jack—”

“Cas,” he says. It’s not the answer she’s expecting, so Kaia listens. “You’ve been somewhere where no one has come back from, and you were there alone for two years. The only other person I can think of who might understand that type of darkness and isolation is...Cas.

"He was in the Empty for a while, until I pulled him out. He’s not a therapist, or anything, and he’s not your family. But,” Jack tilts his chin up, “he’s my dad, and I think he could help. I’ll help you break out of here if you promise me you’ll give it a shot with him. Okay?”

Kaia mulls it over, weighing her options. Being stuck here with no friends or anyone to talk to is making her worse, and at least with Cas he might...understand, to some degree. It’d at least be nice to have someone to talk to and...despite Claire not outwardly admitting it, Kaia’s gotten the impression that is a pretty good guy.

“Okay,” she nods, smiling softly, “okay, I’ll give it a shot.”

[@spnwomenweek]

#ptsd cw #mostly its to do with recovery but uhh yeah #spnwomenweek #literally wrote this in half an hour idk what this is jshbcjhsdc #*jack #kaia nieves #bookshelf #roc original #rambleoncas writing #userdainty #scottstiles #holmesemrys #usershey #spnclownpals #my post #ok i actually like this n might expand on it.....eventually. we shall see sknjhcd #b*gen

[dreaming-about-fanfictions]

Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Chapter 19 of 27: Cursed

Summary: Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

CHOOSE ME INSTEAD MASTERLIST CHOOSE ME INSTEAD PLAYLIST

A/N: Better late than never lol! Here it is! Thank you for being patient though! ilysm <3 This was a difficult one, I hope you like it! Btw, I recently found out that Dracos mum is called “Narcissa” and not “Narzissa” in the english version. She’s called “Narzissa” in the German Books. However, I’ll keep calling her Narzissa in this story (because I’m lazy and don’t want to change it). Enjoy!

Words: 3.4k Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader, post war Warnings: tw eating disorder (mentions of it) --> please be aware that the way eating disorders are approached by the purebloods in this story is not something i (the author) approves of. I just thought it’d be a more realistic way for them to act like this.

It felt wrong.

Draco only used the Room of Requirements to be with you. He never went here on his own. Not that he would ever admit it – but the room scared him. The last time he’d been here alone was at the beginning of this school year. He found out then that it didn’t change for him anymore. All he saw when he walked in were the dirty, cracked windows and the flies and spiders that died in front of them. Old furniture, forgotten books and dirt was scattered around, piling up and towering over him.

As he stood there, his gaze was drawn to the end of the room. Hiding behind the corners, buried under black linen, there it was. The vanishing cabinet. He felt its presence. Looming, waiting, calling for him. Alright, to be fair, the last part was probably only in his imagination. It didn’t change his feelings towards this particular room of Hogwarts though.

It was different when you were with him. It changed for you and turned the monster that it was for Draco into a purring housecat. With you, it felt like a vacation. As if he had travelled to a small cottage, far away from roaring cities or ancient castles.

However tonight, you were not here. Astoria Greengrass had taken your place. She sat on a couch across from Draco, back straight, hands neatly folded in her lap. Her black hair was tied up in a bun and not a single strand of hair was out of place. The spitting image of her mother, Draco thought. He had always wondered about how different the Greengrass sisters looked. Astoria inherited the sharp features, thin lips, and slim figure of her mother. Daphne resembled their father a lot more with her round face, long blonde hair, and the doe-like eyes. The both of them were like night and day. Yin and Yang.

Draco looked around the room which had turned into a smaller version of the Slytherin common room. All the important details where there – from the green colors to the Slytherin emblems on the pillows and carpet. Only the windows were out of place. They didn’t offer him a view inside of the lake but were the same cracked ones, he had seen one too many times in his life. It reminded him that he wasn’t here with you.

It felt wrong.

 ***

Draco leaned back against the chair. He crossed his leg and his fingertips tapped a non-recognizable rhythm on his right upper thigh. Astoria didn’t look up at him when she spoke. He could tell that the words had been carefully chosen in advance. Remembered and recited in front of a mirror. Yet she couldn’t meet his eyes. Draco noticed the way she plucked at the skin on her thumb.

When you’d ask him tomorrow for how long the conversation went on, he wouldn’t have an answer. Time seemed to stand still the moment Astoria opened her mouth for the first time.

“Say something,” she whispered when she finished, and the silence became unbearable.

Draco noticed that there wasn’t a fireplace. Another thing that the Room of Requirement had gotten wrong.

“Say something,” Astoria repeated herself, her voice shaking a little more this time.

Draco stopped the tapping. “Is that why?”, he finally asked.

She hesitated and then nodded. Draco sighed and looked out of the window.

“I’m sorry,” he said after a while.

Astoria scoffed. “Me too.”

“I am,” he looked back at her.

For the first time since he had entered the room, Astoria lifted her head. When her eyes met his, he saw the anger in them. “I’m dying and all you have to say is ‘Sorry’?”, she spat out.

“You don’t know that,” Draco said matter-of-factly.

Astoria raised her eyebrows. “What?”

“That you’re dying.”

She looked at him as if he was a little slow in his head. “I … I just told you.”

“You told me about the family curse,” Draco corrected her. “No one can say if it will happen to you.”

She let out a huff, stunned by his reaction. Had he not listened to a word she said? “I told you about the clairvoyant at Knockturn Alley!”

“Seers say a lot of shit.” He shrugged and added: “Especially when you pay them.”

Astoria lost her posture – with wide eyes and a shake of her head, she let herself slump back against the pillows. “I can’t believe you’re not taking me seriously.”

Draco sighed and began tapping on his thigh again. The same rhythm from before. “I am, Astoria. I believe you.”

But I don’t want to, he added in his mind. He had heard rumors of the Greengrass curse before – only once, when he was maybe eight or nine years old and while he pretended to be asleep on an armchair, he listened to his mother and her friend.

“The poor woman,” Narzissa had said. “And those girls …”

“We don’t know if it will happen to them,” her friend replied softly.

“Why risk it though?”, he remembered his mother ask. “And decide to give birth to not only one but two girls?”

“Well, if one dies, she will still have the other.”

Looking back, the joke was tasteless and not the least bit funny. He didn’t remember how his mother responded to it. Back then, Draco didn’t understand what the women were talking about. So he had shoved the memory back and forgot – until tonight.

When Astoria came up to him at the Winter Dance, she was more … vague. Talking about how something had changed in her life, how decisions were made for her and that she was left with no option but to finally confine in him. Merlin, Draco had thought she was pregnant. This was worse – for obvious reasons.

“If you believe me, why are you like this?”, her voice ripped him from his thoughts. Draco hadn’t notice that he was staring out of the window again.

He cleared his throat and focused back on the Slytherin girl. “I believe you’re overexaggerating.” It was the truth. Or better – it was a truth. The one he was able to share with her.

“I’m dying.”

“You’re not!”, he replied with a sharp voice.

Astoria flinched.

Draco sighed and leaned forward. “Look,” he continued, much softer now. “I’m sorry. You’re obviously very scared of this – and honestly, who wouldn’t be after receiving such news.” He paused. “But didn’t you just say you never experienced any symptoms?”

She looked to the ground. “Yes.”

“See?”, a smile played around the corners of his lips. “Stop beating yourself up about it.”

Astorias gaze stuck to the ground. His words didn’t ease her pain, he saw that. “I … Look at me, Draco,” she then mumbled.

Draco tilted his head. “I am.”

“No, truly look at me!” She lifted her head. “What do you see?”

He stared at her for a while. What do you want me to say? He refrained himself from asking that. Instead, for the first time in years, he truly looked at her. Her school uniform was in perfect condition, no spot or loose thread in sight. The diamond earrings sparkled in the soft light and around her neck hung a delicate golden necklace. Her outer appearance was perfect. As always. The only thing that was different were her eyes. He frowned when he saw it. The fire in them. Gone. The arrogant spark, challenging every Ravenclaw and Gryffindor that didn’t get out of her way fast enough. He wondered when it had left her.

“I resemble a corpse! I swear, my grandmother had a better complexion than me on the day she died!”, Astoria continued after another minute of silence.

Oh. Draco blinked. She meant that? He wouldn’t have noticed that in a hundred years.

“And I’m so thin and –”

“Because you’re starving yourself,” Draco interrupted her and immediately scolded himself for it.

Astoria, who was in the middle of shifting to a different position, stopped, and stared at him. “What?”

Draco pondered for a moment about his next words. Astoria and her fucked up relationship towards food wasn’t a secret. Well, not since fourth grade when rumors started spreading about the true reasons of why she was always so eager to get to the nearest bathroom after meals. And then her bones began to stick out underneath her school uniform. Everyone noticed it. Everyone looked the other way.  Problems like hers … they weren’t uncommon among their circles. Yet, they were problems to keep to behind closed doors. They were private. Nothing to talk about.

“Everyone needs an outlet for the stress that comes with living like we do,” his father had once said. “Women are just worse in finding the right one.”

Oh, how he hated his father.

Draco smiled sadly at Astoria. “Everybody knows, Astoria.”

“Knows what?”, she asked sharply.

“That you have issues with food.”

Astoria blinked. “I … you’re such an asshole,” she then exclaimed. “You’re an asshole, Draco Malfoy.”

Draco sighed and shifted positions. “Anyways,” he tried to change the subject. “You’re scared, I get it. But so far, you don’t have any symptoms. In fact, you started feeling ill once your mother went with you to see the seer, right? It frightened you and now you can’t stop focusing on that fear.”

Astoria scoffed. “Thanks, Mr. Therapist. You’ve got it all figured out, haven’t you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I’m just guessing. It doesn’t make sense to care so much about something that might not even happen to you.”

“Doesn’t make sense to you, you mean”, Astoria corrected him.

Draco frowned.

“Because your problems are much more important.”

“My problems are real.”

That was probably the wrong thing to say in this situation. Even Draco realized that. The words had just slipped out. He hated to admit it but the egocentric, narcissistic part of himself believed them.

Astoria stood up abruptly. She smoothed over the fabric of her skirt and tucked a strand of hair that had fallen out of her bun behind her ear. She then looked at him, no expression on her face. When she spoke, her voice was calm and quiet: “Fuck you.”

With long steps Astoria made her way towards the door.

“Shit,” Draco mumbled under his breath and got up as well. “Astoria!”

She didn’t turn around.

“Astoria, wait! Please!”

The last word made her stop, hand already reaching for the doorknob. As she turned around, there was a bitter smile playing around her dark red lips. “Why?”, she asked him. “I trusted you with something and all you’re giving me is shit.”

Draco looked down to the ground and then back up. “I don’t know how to respond to this.”

“With empathy, Draco,” she folded her arms in front of her chest. “You might want to look that word up.”

Draco let out another deep sigh. A part of him secretly wished she would ignore him and just leave. It would be easier for him. Knowing this wasn’t an option for her, he finally walked towards Astoria. He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly. His words had failed him, they had made everything worse for her and he hoped from the bottom of his heart that this would ease her pain just a little. Astorias body went stiff at first – only after a few seconds did she let her body relax. She leaned into his embrace as if someone took a weight off her shoulders.

“You know I’m here for you,” Draco whispered. “And I will be there in case …”

“In case, I’m dying after all.”

When Draco breathed in, he could smell her lavender shampoo. “Yes.”

Suddenly, her petite body began to tremble. At first Draco mistook it for giggling, then he heard the soft whimpers against his shoulder.

“It’ll be fine. I promise.” He hugged her tighter.

“You can’t promise me that,” she sniffed.

Draco let go of her and took a step back. He put a hand to her cheek, making her look at him. “The curse hasn’t been around for decades. It might skip your generation again.”

Her eyes were red and her cheeks puffy, silent tears running down them. “I’m so scared.”

“I know.”

“Please marry me.”

Draco closed his eyes at her plea. His head suddenly hurt and he wished you were here. You’d know how to handle situations like this.

“Astoria …”

“I know you don’t love me,” she interrupted him, her voice still trembling. “You couldn’t.”

He opened his eyes, looking at her in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You love her.”

Her. You. Draco blinked. “What? No, I –”

“I realized it on New Years Eve.” She wiped the tears from her cheek, still holding on to him with her other hand. Astoria cleared her throat. “I didn’t believe it in the beginning but … it’s so obvious. You love her so much, how could I ever expect you to look at me the same way you look at her?”

Draco shook her head. “Astoria –”

“But you know the relationship has no future. Neither of your families would ever agree to it. You know it. You know it in your heart.”

The piercing pain in his forehead grew stronger. When he’d remember this moment, Draco wouldn’t be able to describe his feelings. Her words barely managed to get through to him. You love her, he heard her say over and over again. You love her.

No. He didn’t love you.

He couldn’t.

“Marry me,” Astoria repeated herself and took a step closer again. She had to lift her head to look into his eyes. “My family will secure the future of the Malfoys.”

“I …”

You love her. You love her. You love her.

“What do you get out of it?”, he finally managed to get out and tried to focus back on her, feeling weirdly out of breath.

Another tear rolled down her cheek. No sobs this time. “Once people will be able to see the sickness …”, she hesitated. “I won’t be looked at as the second daughter who’s living in her sister’s shadows.”

You love her.

Draco furrowed his brows at her words, utterly irritated by them. “Nobody thinks that, Astoria.”

She laughed. “Yes, they do! Daphne has always been prettier, smarter, more desired. I can’t compete with her. I am the leftover Greengrass that no one wants and that’s now dying from a family curse. Because of fucking course it would hit me and not my picture perfect sister!”

Draco stared at Astoria.

“But with you,” she continued. “With you people would see that I’m more than that. That I’m worthy of attention and of love despite … being me.”

This is wrong on so many levels, he could hear your voice in his head, clear as day.

“Have you met with the therapist yet?”, Draco suddenly asked out of the blue.

“What?” The Slytherin was thrown off by his question. “Yes.”

“Did you talk to her about this?”

Hearing this made her drop his hands, taking a few steps back. She buried her face in her hands, taking a deep breath. “Oh, fuck you, Draco!”, Astoria muttered. “Stop trying to analyze me!”

“I’m not!”, he assured her. “But … Astoria, this is so fucked up what you just said to me.”

She looked back up at him. “You’re such a hypocrite.”

“Excuse me?”

She chuckled. “You spent a few months with a Gryffindor and now you act like our values mean nothing to you when you are the one who used to scream ‘mudblood’ the loudest.”

Draco swallowed.

“Merlin, what is wrong with me,” Astoria sighed. “After everything I just confessed, you don’t find it in you to show me a little mercy and change your mind?” She smiled at him sadly. “Do you want to marry me?”

“No.”

You love her.

 ***

The talk with Astoria left him feeling uneasy.

It handed after she asked Draco to marry her a second time and he declined. She nodded when she heard his answer, sniffled, wiped the remaining tears away and left. Not without saying “You’ll change your mind sooner or later”. When she was gone, she didn’t take the anxiety with her. Draco had to deal with that on his own. Now, as he walked through the halls of the old castle, his steps were stiff, and he had deep lines between his eyebrows.

“Calm down, she has no symptoms,” he mumbled to himself as he turned another corner.

Yet.

What if he would be wrong after all? What if the curse wouldn’t skip another generation of Greengrass women and fall upon her? What if she would die and he made her last remaining years even more miserable in her eyes because he turned down the proposal?

What if, what if, what if.

He wanted to talk to you about all of it. You’d tell him he didn’t have to feel bad. He didn’t owe Astoria. He shouldn’t be put in this position in the first place. You would find the right words. To be honest, Draco knew all of this himself. He just wanted to hear you say it out loud. Hear the words from another person to ensure that he was right. That he wasn’t crazy or selfish for not sacrificing his life, his future, for a dying girl.

“She’s not dying,” he reminded himself. A Hufflepuff boy passed him and frowned.

“My family will secure the future of the Malfoys.” It was the argument his mother had used against him countless times. He was certain that he’d hear it a lot more often soon. He was aware of how strong the argument truly was. His family could return to their former glory with all the luxury that came along with it. Fancy parties, status, high-paying careers – something he had been promised his whole life and that was stripped away the moment he was forced to become a Death Eater. The promise of a good life. An easy life.

Maybe life shouldn’t be easy for them. At least not so fast. Maybe his father shouldn’t come home from Azkaban one day to live like nothing ever happened. No, Lucius Malfoy deserved to suffer longer than his time in prison. And ultimately, so did his mother and Draco.

Draco gritted his teeth at his thoughts. He couldn’t marry Astoria. Not for that reason. Not to make the life of his family easier. His parents needed to work and plea for their redemption. Just like he did.

“Watch it, Malfoy!”, Seamus Finnigan hissed when he bumped into him. He came out of the library, a stack of books in his arms.

Draco didn’t look at him. Until now, he hadn’t even noticed that he was walking towards the library. It made sense though. The bag that hung from his shoulder seemed to become heavier with every step. The black notebook. He needed to write.

 ***

You sat alone on a table, hunched over a book. More of them piled up next to you, accompanied by an overused quill and bottle of ink.

Exams, Draco remembered. How easy it was to forget those mundane things in the midst of all the sadness. Exams, followed by entrance tests to become an Auror. Draco smiled at the thought of you fighting evil. He was certain that you’d excel at it.

He stopped in the middle of the corridor, not caring about the annoyed huffs and curses from students who almost ran into him. He watched you. The way you sometimes licked the tip of your finger before turning a page. How you sighed and frowned when you didn’t understand a passage.

You love her. The words shot through his mind.

It was different to the scenes he had read in books when he finally saw it. When he blinked and it was suddenly so clear to him. His heart didn’t stop, his knees didn’t become weak, he didn’t hear violins around him. No, a ray of sunlight that fell through the window and hit your face, caused you to lift your head. In that moment, your eyes found his. A smile played around your lips as you waved at him and pointed at the seat next to you. And it was so clear to him, that he wanted this all along: to be with you. To come home to you.

You love her, Astoria had said. 

And he knew she was right.

***

A/N: How did you like it?? I’m so excited to hear from you!! <33

CHAPTER 20

HP Masterlist General Masterlist

Tag List:  @writerdee1701, @youareinllve, @sjmahoney, @detroitobsessed, @takura-rin, @jadam268, @wynterwind,  @renaissance-confiance, @doitforthevine67, @ilovemollyweasley, @flowerpowerpixie, @gold-flowing, @starkssnarks, @bookcornerkins, @harpersmariano, @markedsweetly, @iraniq, @pointlesscoconut, @hvrcruxes, @pillowjj, @idkatee,    @magicwithaknife, @graystherapy, @scoote-rankle, @nxstalgicnxbxdy, @sunsetsofanemoia,  @tommy-holland, @lordfxxker, @streetfighterrichie, @awaken-the-sirens, @destiels-assbutt13, @pockitparks, @just-addicted-to-bangtan, @cuddlykoala101, @zpandaqueen ,  @natsiboo, @jjjmaybank, @justmesadgirl, @books-and-tings, @slytherinprincedracom , @katiaw2, @saintkore, @nctnight, @lifestragedy, @obxmxybxnk, @spideydobik , @ladylizzieofdarbyshire, @aspiring-ginger, @dracomalfoyswifey, @jpow345, @realistic-breadstick,  @abbs-is-tired, @alwaysbeanunknownfan, @niallsarmveinstho, @is-this-a-febreze-commercial, @acciowilltolive, , @sexytholland, @faangirl101, @donttellany1iusetumbler, @mendesmuffinsss, @lilxnvm, @kill-the-teen-memories, @darkusangelus, @itsbebeyyy, @hesaidimcrazy, @jenniweaslee, @hpxpjo, @brisbubble, @xomaymay, @shitnstuffillregret, @serialkillme, @angel-tears15, @panicattheeverywherekid, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything,  @nobleking, @tashii-blr, @ddaeing, @randogirlo-fando-main, @sadgirlnumber92899, @captivateing, @bitchyegirl, @smiithys, @ninipoo1, @intheawks,  @nothanksnyla, @calpal-4ever, @dracosathenaeum, @belsandthings, , @kiwi-sloan, @xdmx, @lexi-ravenclawdracomalfoy, @kvyenxay, @live-awkward, @babebenhardy, @bitchysweets-blog, @cravingmusic, @frau-moon, @ohissandhalasta,  @broken-but-beautiful-cassie, @lil-black-heart,  @vminenthusiastt, @dracos-sluts, @mrmoonyy, @saucysuazo, @fuzzzwald, @matsuno-nadeshiko, @amber-arsenault ,  @loveableasshole,  @spideycures, @echpr, @shiningstar-byulxx,  @twinklebug2282, @bloodiedroses, @klthmef, @ostorian ,  @bi-chai-tea, @maddieisnotok, @amandaluvssupernatural, @makeoutwithstiles,    @i-am-addicted-to-tea, @tenclouds, @lovingdracomalfoy, @lannaax, @dr-bitch-bby,  @fallinallinmendes, @suckerforparker, @runninglownad, @piercinghorizons, @dosicas, @yanaaaaaaa,  @akzer300500 @hoseokslily, @dracofeltonmalfoy, @emilianamason, @tothemoonwithclifford, @gcldreinhart ,  @angelofthorr, @k-k0129, @musicalmuffindog1410, @andydre4m, @mxl-foyrecs, @seeinorange, @vlgsqd , @justmimithings, @allthevoicesinmyhead, @pipppaaaaalouisee, @yessirrz, @2think2twice2 @spencerreidisbootiful, @find-a-little-faith, @thatguppienamedbae, @emmamarie7708, @dontpanicitsdan @jordaangx, @ceeellewrites, @drxcomvlfx, @7minutes-tomidnight, @coldheartedslytherin, @wingardiumdepressionosa, @perfect-storm95, @danisaur1324, @unlikely-y-bliss, @trentdijklfc66, @saptediavoli, @treestarrrrrrrr, @aangsupremacy @yaanasluv, @megamihatake, @lavenderblossom12, @bimbelle, @beiahadid, @weasleytwinswheezes, @bogikrmn, @gublerslut, @prongsandprancer, @superkawaiicandyfloss , @instantllamaruins​

If you want to be added to my tag list, let me know! <3

#draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy imagines #draco x reader #draco x you #draco imagine #draco imagines #Draco Malfoy x OC #draco malfoy x gryffindor!reader #Slytherin x Gryffindor #slytherin #gryffindor #slytherin imagines #slytherin imagine #gryffindor imagines #harry potter #harry potter imagines #harry potter fanfiction #hogwarts #hogwarts imagines #choose me instead #astrids fics #draco #malfoy #malfoy imagines

[deadinside-butstill-horny]

The Night We Met

Part One - The Night We Met

Pairing: Javier Peña/ Female Murphy!Reader

Words: 5.3k

Summary: Murphy's sister travels to Colombia after realising Steve might not quite be A-Okay and meets the Javier Peña.

Content Warnings: 18+ Smut-ish (I wouldn’t wanna read it out to my mom), dry humping, dirty talk in Spanish which reader doesn’t understand so does it really count?, gratuitous love of the black shirt from the torture scene.

AO3

MASTERLIST

Author Note: So here is my return to writing! The word count got away from me but I loved every second of it. Always after prompts, so drop me a message on here if you'd like to see anything in particular. If it's in my wheelhouse, you'll definitely see it.  

Pedro in the black shirt in this scene is what inspired me to write this, I can’t lie. 

If you were brutally honest with yourself, this spur of the moment decision may have been a mistake. 

Other people could make these choices and not have that nagging feeling in their gut from the second they booked their fuckin' airline ticket. You had attempted to grab life by its metaphorical horns and go and sort this shit show out by yourself, but after your momentarial bravery was used up, all that was left was a crippling anxiety that threatened to send you into a full scale panic attack if you thought too hard about the fact you were following your big brother to Colombia.

Yes, Colombia. You, a U.S. national with no particular interest in hunting Pablo Escobar, had decided to vacation in sunny, crime ridden Bogotá on a whim. 

You were fuckin’ dumb. 

Sarcasm aside, you weren’t actually here on vacation, you were going to check on Stevie. Your brother, one of the DEA agents assigned with taking down Escobar. 

You’d been worried about him for a few months, it had sounded like he was dealing with heavy shit in South America, you knew that was the job, but he was still your brother.

His calls had gotten less and less frequent until he stopped returning them all together and the only reason you knew he was alive were your pep-talks with your sister-in-law, trying to help her keep her shit together, but hell, you weren’t a therapist or a miracle worker. So when Connie rang asking to stay at your place you had obliged and she had returned to Miami a mere shell of her former self. 

After a mammoth amount of prodding over the course of two days you managed to wring the truth out of her, not the nuggets of information she had given you over the phone in hushed whispers during her time in Colombia but the whole messy story; the communist Elisa Alvarez, Steve’s kidnapping and the cold edges your brother was developing. 

It was all you could do not to book the tickets there and then, but you held out and supported Connie in the ways Steve couldn't have, taking care of Olivia when you could and just trying your hardest to be there for her. Your presence alone seemed to be enough to help her through the days that followed.  A week and a half after her return, you booked your flight to Colombia in secret. 

You had to check on Steve. 

He hadn’t answered a single one of your many many calls. You packed light and told Connie the morning of, and whilst she didn’t like it, she understood. You supposed that a part of her was relieved to know her husband would have someone in Colombia that wasn't there to kill him. 

So here you sat, two hours into your flight to the paradise destination; Bogotá. Your brother's address scrawled on a scrap piece of paper in the one hand and a glass of cheap whiskey in the other.  The alcohol did little to to calm your nerves, this was a dangerous place for a cop, let alone a fuckin’ clueless civilian. 

When the plane finally touched down, you stood from your seat emptying the last few drops of whiskey which had tried to evade you onto your tongue, you picked up your backpack and queued to leave the plane.

The second you left the aircraft the humidity hit you like a brick wall, it was like all of the fresh air had been sucked out of the atmosphere. On a normal evening you would appreciate such a warm climate, but now the heat meant frustration to your tired brain and it only added to your baseline levels of anxiety as your hairline and upper lip were drenched as you walked through the arrivals gate.

Cards on the table; you didn’t have much of a game plan, you spoke no Spanish and stuck out like a sore thumb. You had the address but no means to get there, you didn’t relish the idea of getting in a taxi as a woman alone in a foreign country, but with little to no other options you went to hail one of the cabs that sat outside the airport.

Your fears turned out to be for naught, well not quite naught as the man had raked his eyes across your body for a large percentage of the trip in his mirror, but he had the good grace not to kidnap or murder you, which for you meant it was a successful journey, how low you had set the bar was just occuring to you.

After paying the gentleman he dropped you outside what appeared to Steve’s apartment building. You take a moment on the pavement to recollect yourself ready for your reunion. Peeling your denim jacket off, you decide instead to wrap it around your waist, tying the sleeves securely. With a harumph, you grab the handle of your suitcase, and drag it behind you. Your success thus far gives you a second wind of determination.

Though apparently dumb luck can only get you so far, because after heaving your suitcase up a flight of stairs and rapping on the door of apartment 20 until your knuckles ached, it began to dawn on you, you had no clue if this was even the right building.

“Fuck.” you mutter to yourself, you should’ve rang Connie or tried Steve again when you landed, but you’d been so single minded in carrying out your plan all common sense had apparently abandoned you. So with a million different scenarios of things you could’ve done better playing out behind your eyes you dragged your suitcase to the small lobby of the building, where the front door stood.

You huffed and dropped onto the bottom step in surrender, not quite sure where to go from here. 

Weeks of anxiety and worry finally took their toll on your body as reality set in, and as it did so you couldn’t help but laugh at the sheer stupidity of the situation you’d put yourself in. A light chuckle escaped your body as you held your face in your hands,you rubbed at your eyes as a way of refreshing yourself before sighing and leaning back.

You must have sat with your head in your hands for around three hours before anyone of note arrived, you had received strange looks from residents in their comings and goings as they stepped around you, your expectant looks turned to disappointment when you realised they weren’t Steve. In fairness, you, a gringa sitting on the stairs at 2am, most likely wasn’t a daily occurrence to these homeowners.

By the time he came through the door, your eyes were closed and your head was leant on the bannister, trying to get what little rest you could. Your eyes opened a crack to see a man and a woman enter the building and turn right, the man had his arm around her as he stared at you in confusion, the look was so quick you may have missed it if you blinked, but they were talking in low whispers of Spanish and from the looks of things he didn’t give you a second thought. 

So you extended him the same courtesy and shut your eyes once again, you heard the metal jangling of keys going into the lock, the sound of smacking lips and then the door was closed. You figured that was the end of it, instead you heard hurried footsteps coming towards you, your eyes shot open as he rounded the corner.

“Estás bien?” The man questioned. It took you a moment to realise he was talking to you, as you took him in you were struck by your stupidity, how could you have dismissed this man so quickly even in the throes of a mental breakdown. His chocolate brown eyes bore into your own as you realised he was waiting for a response. 

“Uh… no hablo... español?” you pretty much asked him, cringing internally at your butchering of the most basic sentence of this gorgeous strangers language, his lips quirked at your mumbles making his mustache raise on one side with his smirk. Now, you’d never been a fan of a mustache, Steve and your father had both taken to styling their facial hair in such a way, and as a rule of thumb they were a big no-no. But my god. This man made that mustache his bitch and that bitch worked for him.

“You’re American?” He questions, smirk dropping along with his eyebrows in confusion as his brain processes the information.

“Oh thank god and Jesus fuckin’ christ above. You’re American!” Your timid nature had given way to pure unadulterated relief. “Stevie, Steve Murphy, he lives in this building, yeah?”

“Yeah… Stevi...Steve lives here- I’m sorry, who the hell are you?” He asks with a puzzled look and a shake of his head, there’s an air of distrust about him for some strange reason. 

“I’m Y/N Murphy, I’m his sister.”

“Sister? Mierda... does he know you’re here?” 

“Nope,” You pop your P as you shrug at the man before you with false nonchalance. “He’d have to answer the phone to me or Connie to know that now, wouldn’t he?”

“Steve.” The stranger sighed, annoyed. 

“Sorry, who are you?” You asked, yourself becoming more bemused by the man by the second. 

“I’m Steve’s partner, Javier.” He held out his hand which you were more than happy to take in a shake, his tan hand was soft yet strong as it held your own captive within it. “C’mon in I’ll give him a call, God knows what time he’s planning on getting back.”

“Uh, I don’t want to interrupt…” You mumble, waving your free hand vaguely towards where you knew the woman was waiting for him, making him smirk once again. 

You were beginning to think that the sarcastic raise of his mouth was just his default resting face.

“You’re not interrupting anything.”

Now I know what you’re thinking, ‘cause I’d think it to. This is how people die in America, let alone fuckin’ Colombia, but if it's a choice between dying at the hands of a gorgeous man who seems to know your brother or a stray that wonders in through the non-descript lobby door then you’d rather go out with a nice view, even if he did have a girlfriend.

If you had to gamble, you’d say you had a damn good chance of making it out of this apartment alive. 

So you nodded and used the hand he hadn’t released yet to pull yourself up into a standing position. He wasn’t particularly tall but he still towered over you, your eyeline gave you a great view past his black shirt which was unbuttoned quite liberally, you assumed that was courtesy of the woman he’d entered with. 

“Thank you,” you nodded at him with a genuine smile of relief. He didn’t reply, only grabbed the handle of your pull along suitcase before extending his arm towards his apartment and motioning to wordlessly say, after you. 

Now you know how people say when you can feel a stare? You had the sensation before, but as you leaned over to pick up your backpack from the bottom step, you felt his eyes laser focus on your denim clad ass. You turned your head in disbelief and found his eyes still lingered there for a moment before meeting your own. Unbelievable. Part of you was flattered, the other part was bemused that he had a beautiful woman in there waiting and here he was ogling you.

You rolled your eyes, instilled with a new confidence as you turned and walked towards his apartment, you felt his eyes follow your form once more. 

Steve’s hot partner was an ass man... Good to know. 

...

As it turns out Javier’s girlfriend, or what you we’re starting to think was more of a one night stand, was not happy with the situation at all, you came to this discovery as Javier pointed you to the sofa before beginning arguing with her in hushed Spanish, the beautiful woman huffed and sent a dirty look your way before storming out and slamming the door behind her, with enough power to make it shake in its bearings. You raised your eyebrows at Javier from your seat. He shook his head with a sigh and began lighting up a cigarette, he turned and offered you one. 

“No thanks, I quit.”

“Woman with an iron will?”

“Not quite,” You whisper, shaking your head.

He smiles before clearing his throat and moving over to pick up his landline. Javier presses a combination of buttons, before putting it to his ear and blowing the smoke from his lungs. His eyes met yours as the phone rang, he gave you reassuring wink. 

“Murphy? … Yeah…  you need to get back to your place now... You’ve got a guest.... No … come find out why don’t you?” Sarcasm dripped from his lazy tone, his voice was so smooth. It was like chocolate on gravel, you could listen to him talk for hours, which led your mind down that deep dark hole of what he sounded like during more carnal acts, he’d be a talker, for definite, what with all that confidence and swagger. “‘Kay… I’ll see you soon.”

Shaking your head you centred yourself, it had been a dry patch for you. You needed to calm down and not throw yourself at your brother's partner, even if he just so happened to be the first man you had any interest in to show you attention in months. 

“He’s on his way,” He confirmed what you already knew but you liked hearing him speak so you nodded in thanks. An awkward silence filled the air for a few moments, as you two perfect strangers shared one another's company.

“Drink?” He offered pointing at the bottle of whiskey on the counter.

“God, yes.” You all but moaned at the offer. Javier chuckled, and grabbed a second glass from his cupboard, before pouring you both a generous serving.  He walked around the back of the sofa, and passed you the glass of liquid gold and took a seat next to you. Close enough to initiate something, but not touching, quite a respectful distance. 

Initiate something? God Y/N, get your mind out of the gutter. This poor man had only invited you in because you were his partner's sister and he was doing the decent thing. 

“Uh… The television work?” You ask, pointing at the empty screen.

“I didn’t realise you could speak Spanish…” His voice was dripping with false surprise, mocking your earlier attempts at the language, though he reached across and switched the box on with the remote, he began flicking through the channels so quickly he almost gave you a headache.

“Oh yes, I’m very proficient, I just didn’t want to intimidate you earlier. Hola Señor Javier.”  You say continuing his ruse. He chuckles at your words, it's a deep warm noise that shakes his entire frame. You were definitely thinking about adding Javier’s voice to your top ten list of favourite sounds. 

He flicks through the channels, for a few seconds before sighing and dropping the remote in your lap. Taking your assignment seriously, you sit up, bringing yourself a few inches closer to the man next to you, purely accidentally of course and begin flicking through the channels as Javier had done moments before, though 3am TV scheduling left a lot to be desired. 

News, News, Colombian QVC, News, News, Soap opera. Bingo!

“Ah, now we’re talking.” You mumble, eyes stuck on the screen of the Colombian Soap opera playing. The two of you sat in silence once again as you slowly sipped on your drinks watching drama play out. 

You watched in silence for around ten minutes, not understanding a single word of what was being said. The scene was on two latino actors sitting in a bedroom. The woman was sat on the bed being confronted by the man in a serious tone. 

“What is she saying?” You question narrowing your eyes at the beautiful woman's tone. Javier, who had been watching your reactions the whole time as you got into the awful tv show scrambled as he tried to listen and translate the woman's words.

“Uh… her dads an alcoholic and she’s trying to support her son… that guy didn’t know about the son... I think… she was happy living a double life without the worry and she wants him to forgive her and start over…”  Javier translated, giving you the general cliff notes.

“Oh shit,” You gasped at his words, but your attention diverted to the screen where the two had continued their heated argument and began kissing or rather where the man was devouring her neck, “I’m getting vibes that he might be open to forgiving her.” 

You chuckled at your own joke, as did Javier. Though this time when his body shook his bare elbow touched your own. 

How was he so goddamn warm? 

All he was wearing was a black button down shirt. One that looked to be the wrong size it was so tightly fitted- not that you were complaining about the view. My God, were you horny today.

You took a gulp of your drink, trying to refocus for the third or fourth time this evening, trying so desperately to reign in your inner school girl and focus on the television, though that didn’t help as the actors were now eating one anothers faces on a bed. The silence was thick with tension, though that could’ve been entirely on you; one innocent touch of a man's elbow and you’re a blushing mess.  

Get a grip Y/N. 

The silence dragged on as you pretended to watch the soap opera you had absolutely no understanding of in a futile attempt to ignore the man next to you. You can only imagine what he thought of your levels of focus on the tv, as you stared at the box in the corner of the room like it was the greatest cinematic masterpiece of all time and you were getting ready to write a full-scale analysis on the work of art. 

Javier broke the tension in the room by finally asking the question that had been on his lips all evening.

“You came all the way to Colombia... Why?” Javier grabbed a cigarette off of the coffee table, placing his drink where the carton of smokes had been. He lit the stick and waited for your response, honestly, you were thrown. The question had come out of nowhere whilst you were still trying to analyse why exactly this man had such an effect on you when he was doing nothing but being a good host.  You hastened to think up a half coherent reply before you just answered truthfully. 

“Steve stopped answering the phone, I mean he’s always been shitty at checking in, even when he was in Miami. When he got here we’d have a catch up every week or so, we all know how dangerous it is for you guys over here, so we joked about calling it ‘the alive check’. For the last couple of months, I was checking in with Connie more than Steve but he’d still pick up once every week, without fail. Then four weeks ago the fucker stopped answering my calls all together and Connie showed up on my doorstep with Olivia in tow last week.”

“Look, you coming down here probably makes more problems than it solves, Steve’s a big boy if he doesn’t call to check in, it's probably ‘cause he’s busy...  He’s-” Something about Javier’s dismissive tone rubbed you the wrong way, call it sleep deprivation or blame the weeks of stress, but you were tired of being called paranoid. You were not an overbearing mother hen.

“My brother always answers my calls. Or at least he used to. I can’t begin to understand what you guys are going through, but I’m not losing my brother to some piece of shit Colombian drug dealer.” 

Javier raised his hands in mock surrender, cigarette still in mouth. “He’s actually more of a drug lord slash narcoterrorist, but-”

“How is he?” You interrupt Javier’s attempt at diffusing the situation with humor, turning to him on the sofa. You rearranged yourself, bringing your leg up so your knee touched his thigh as you gave him your full attention,  you plucked the smoke from between his lips and held it between your two fingers as you spoke. “Tell me Steve’s fine. Tell me I’m worrying for nothing and I’ll get back on that plane and leave tomorrow morning."

You take one drag and offer it back to him, he accepts it, deliberately looking you in the eyes as he places the cigarette in his mouth, attaching his lips to where your own had been seconds earlier.  He takes it from his mouth and stubs it on an ash tray that rests on the arm of the sofa, his focus is single minded on his task. The pressure in your lower stomach is mounting as you stare at the tanned man before you who is carrying out a menial task that has you more turned on than you’d ever admit. 

When the red tip is extinguished thoroughly, taking much longer than you thought it needed to, Javi turns to you, his mahogany eyes have you pinned in your tracks. You found yourself admitting they were gorgeous for the second time this evening, they were the type of brown you could never quite describe, they had so much depth, not quite a chocolate, not quite coffee, they were rich and deep pools. They reminded you of the forest, not the green leaves but the earthy brown, the strong beams of wood that held everything up around it.

Javier's hand emigrated forward slowly, your eyes followed the movement in your peripheral but you didn’t dare look away from the pools of molasses as he reached to grip one hand at your denim thigh, his eyes roamed your face for any sign of this being an unwelcome approach and when he found none his other hand began its climb to rest on your jaw, just below your ear.

You couldn’t say if you moved towards him or if he advanced on you, all you knew was he was on you now as the tips of your noses rubbed against one another.

“Quiero saborearte…” He whispered so lowly you barely even heard it before he leaned in that last inch and captured your lips in a single, chaste kiss. Your lips connected and you realised the heat you had felt from his arms had been nothing. Fire coursed through your veins upon contact, surging through your blood and going south to a pressure that built in your lower stomach. 

Your hand shot up to land on his collarbone, before you could even really consider your own actions you pulled apart until your foreheads were the only thing touching.  He was intoxicating, you could lose yourself completely in this man, he somehow smelt like cinnamon, whiskey and sweat, a combination you’d never thought would send liquid fire through your central nervous system.  You’d give anything to taste him properly, but this was wrong. So so wrong. This was your brother's partner, this was inviting complication to your door, when you were just here to check on Steve. You were here for Steve.

You were here for Steve... 

“... This isn’t a good idea.” You all but whisper, closing your eyes. Regret pulses through your veins at your self imposed restraint. 

“Never is.” He leaned forward and captured your lips. You didn’t have any fight left in you, exhausted and at wits end you embraced your spiral into stupidity instead and your hands glided across the clammy skin of his neck to grab at his short ink black hair. You wrapped your fingers around it to drag him closer to you, your lips clashed, all teeth at first but you didn’t care as his tongue began to fight against yours for dominance. 

He tasted as good as you imagined, he was the right combination of sweet and bitter, with undertones of whiskey and tobacco on his tongue. Your response to his assault on your mouth told him it was go time, Javier pulled you into his lap and his hands lowered to your ass. Your body was flush with his own as your breasts pressed against his chest, you could feel every solid line of his lithe body against your own. 

You licked at his honied tongue, before withdrawing and pulling his bottom lip into your mouth and sucking on the soft plush skin. His mustache tickled your upper lip, a sensation you weren’t used to but could so easily grow to love.  This made him tighten his grip on your backside in response and he let out a throaty groan at the meat he found there, Javier was definitely an ass man, you felt his bulge pressing against your core as you both began grinding against each other in earnest. You felt like a horny teenager as you grinded on a man you barely knew. 

You felt him grip at the bottom of your tank top and begin to lift it, except he stopped, and began to rub patterns on the stomach he exposed. Javier’s mouth descended from your lips to begin to suck and lick at your throat. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head at his work as pleasure rippled throught your body. His hands slid the length of your body to grab at your chest, which conforming to every stereotype was heaving, he palmed your breast blindly as his face was still buried in your hair, sucking and kissing along to your ear, before he raised his mouth a mere inch and whispered  “Te follaré toda la noche niña.”

He said it with such surety that your body convulsed in on itself without even needing to know what the man above you was saying. You could only hope it was absolutely filthy and profanity ridden, because then at least, the sentiment would be shared. He bit at the lobe of your ear before his hands left your breasts and travelled to the hem of your tank top, getting ready to pull it over your head.

It was strange to say that you remembered your brother was on his way here as a man tried to take your t-shirt off, but that’s just the way it went. You knew if that top came off, dry humping would be the most PG action of the night and if Steve turned up and found you mounted on his partner, he probably wouldn’t be too thrilled. 

You couldn’t stop yourself from stroking the man's hair whose face was planted in between your tits as his hips rose against your own pushing his hardened length up against the seams of your jeans, you gasped as he hit that sweet spot. You let out a noise that sounded like a wail. You wanted nothing more than to lie back and let this man have his filthy way with your body. And you know, from the hour you’ve spent with this man it would be phenomenally filthy. The kind of sex that would ruin all men for you, but no. You had to be a good sister. Like a fuckin loser. 

Sighing, you threw your body sideways before you could change your mind and ended up on your back. Javier followed you, caging you with his frame as he covered your body with his own.  Gripping your face like he was a starving man and you were the only sustenance he’d ever need. It would be so easy to get lost in him, to give in to that magic tongue but you couldn’t let this go any further so you placed a hand on his chest.

Taking your cue he paused his tongues assault on your mouth and stopped, resting his forehead against your own. You were both breathing heavily trying to come back down to reality, his eyes were no longer the chocolate brown you’d been comforted by when you met, but rings of obsidian staring into your soul. You wanted this man, my god you did. But this would make more problems for Steve.

The two of you stayed that way for a while, foreheads and bodies pressed against one another until both of your breathing evened out. The silence dragged, heavy in the air as you two strangers both waited for the other to break it. 

“...Is Steve okay?”

“...No... He’s been fuckin’ mess ever since Connie left.” Javier sighed whilst closing his eyes and breathing deep. You raised your hands from his chest, which was difficult as he was crushing his body to yours and cupped his cheek, you joined your lips once more, much like the first kiss. This was sweet and there wasn’t a carnal appetite behind it but rather an understanding. 

The loud knock on the front door startles you both as you’d been so wrapped up in one another you’d not heard the steps leading to it. The two of you split apart like a pair of guilty teens caught in the act. You both stared at each other for a second before he nods at you and walks to the front door whilst rearranging his bulge discreetly in his jeans, this was something you pretended not to see as you sat back up right on the sofa. You had only a moment to fix yourself, as you pulled your tank top from where it was hooked by your breasts and ran your fingers through your hair so you didn’t look like you’ve just had the ravaging of a lifetime. 

Javier pulled open the door and you clutch your hands into your lap, not quite sure what kind of reception you were about to receive from your brother. You hear the two men greet one another in hushed whispers, you couldn’t make out Steve's voice much until you hear his voice clear as day “...what the hell was so important it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

You stand from your spot on the sofa and quickly realise the button on your jeans is undone; if you’re honest you don’t even know how he managed to do that without you noticing, even though it's not the time you take a solitary second to commend Javier on his artistry of disrobing a woman. Turning quickly you pull the rivet back through the hole and swing around as Steve crosses the threshold from the hallway.  

Steve looks from you, to Javier and then back to you once more in complete surprise. It takes his brain a hot second to process that you’re here in front of him and in Colombia before he rushes you. Clutching you tight and hugging you to his chest. You hear something that sounds suspiciously like a sob leave your brothers chest before he collapses into you. The front door and Javier’s bedroom both in rapid succession, giving you the privacy you knew your brother would need after breaking down like this.

You couldn’t support Steve’s weight with your considerably smaller frame and the two of you fell to the ground as you held your broken brother. His body shook with silent sobs as he buried his face in your shoulder.

You said nothing as you held him and stroked his hair. In that moment you thanked your every instinct that screamed at you to come to Colombia. 

This had definitely not been a mistake. 

Part Two

#javier pena x reader #javier peña x reader #narcos fic #pedro pascal x reader #I LOVE THE BLACK FUCKING SHIRT #narcos fanfiction #javier peña #murphy!reader

[alirhi]

This is oddly fun lol

Let's see how many of these I can churn out before I get distracted or need a break! (pff. like I need an excuse to watch the show again. Despite its flaws, I really, really love TFATWS, guys)

Without further ado, let's get down to it!

Episode 2: The Star-Spangled Man

I'm pretty sure I'm on record when it comes to my undying hate for John Walker, yes? So obviously, Bucky's grumpiness 100% stays 😂

I'm not really a fan of how much emphasis they put on the shield. I can see it as a catalyst for Bucky to go confront Sam, yes, but he wouldn't keep going "shield shield shield" like a broken record. Bucky has consistently been shown to be an empathetic man. I can't believe for a second that he'd be barking at Sam about having no right to give up the shield; he'd ask why. Sam's got shit to do, so he'd get impatient and not answer.

"Why'd you give up so easily? If you were overwhelmed, I could've helped you-" "You've been ignoring me. Like now, how you're ignoring me walking away from you." "Well, you weren't texting me about this." "You think I needed your permission?!" "No, but I was right there with Steve while he was learning what it meant to be Cap. I wouldn't mind helping you get used to-" "Then go teach him." A vague gesture toward the "Cap is back" posters. Bucky makes a face. "Steve passed the mantle to you. You fought with him. You earned it. That little shit didn't." "What do you want me to do about it?" "Just tell me why, Sam. I mean it. I just wanna understand." "Not now, Buck. I've got shit to do. You see me heading for a plane right now, right?" "This is important!" "So is this." Sam tells him about the Flag Smashers, we get our silly Big Three/Gandalf conversation.

I'm sorry, but that whole jumping from the plane scene is funny as hell, and I love all the nods they added in to jokes from the press tours that brought us this show in the first place (like ripping the sleeve off his jacket lol). I don't think I'd change a single thing from the Big Three convo to Bucky joining Sam in the warehouse.

"You're doing the staring thing again." "You're staring at your watch," Bucky points out. He knows it's linked to Redwing, he's just pointing out how dumb that line is in that situation. They're there for recon lol. They're meant to be looking around.

I don't...particularly care about the other common gripe here? Meaning, "Bucky's a civilian, so why is he allowed to randomly jump in on a military mission?" Bucky's also known in this universe as an Avenger, just like Sam, so I don't think anyone would really bat an eye at him joining. Also, I have my own agenda related to Bucky's apparent freedom to walk in and out of military/government things.

What does bug me (as funny as it is) is Bucky's animosity toward Redwing. Again... Bucky is a certified nerd. Always has been. If anything, he'd be fascinated by Redwing and Sam would constantly have to slap him away because he's leaning in too close trying to see the tiny watch monitor. "I don't trust Redwing" is just old man griping "I don't trust your newfangled technology" and that... that's not Bucky.

And that "we're not assassins" dig, and then laughing when Bucky gets upset? That's not Sam. Both of these men have shown a remarkable amount of empathy, and Sam has a background in helping traumatized vets. If he cared enough about Bucky to be texting him after Steve left, he'd care enough not to make callous jokes about his time as The Winter Soldier, whether he knows the full story or not.

The fight on top of moving trucks looks cool, but makes no logical sense. I keep trying to think of a way to explain this from a story perspective, rather than a lazy "it looks cool!" filmmaking one, and I'm coming up blank. Anyone with half a brain would have pulled over, had the fight, and then taken off. It was a fun sequence, though... Eh. I'll leave it.

When Karli breaks Redwing, Bucky doesn't say "I always wanted to do that." Again, it's funny - I love the jabs about that stupid robo bird XD - but not Bucky. In my version, he smirks and says "You're so gonna regret that."

"You were kinda getting your asses kicked before we got there." Is immediately followed by Bucky staring him down and asking, "And... how did that fight end for you?" Sam adds, "I don't see them in custody. Are-are they following in a van?" He looks around, sarcastically searching for another vehicle. Walker and Hoskins grimace at each other, grudgingly conceding that point.

credit to @dailycelebs

Seeing Walker, and having to listen to his stupid pro-government rhetoric, makes Bucky think about Steve. When we cut from the Flag Smashers back to Bucky and Sam and the closeup of Bucky's pensive face, we hear 1940s Steve angrily telling 1940s Bucky about how the higher ups in the army had already written off the POWs and were going to leave them to die. "I love our country, Buck," he laments, "but what do I do when I'm not too sure anymore about the people who run it?"

"What you always do," is young Bucky's answer, "stand for what's right, not who's in power."

Perfect lead-in to the conversation about handling things themselves.

When Sam meets Isaiah, and hears his story, not only is he horrified and heartsick for him, but he also begins to see Bucky in a new light. He's seeing Bucky's face, the way he tries to hide his emotions and not make this conversation about him, and he's putting things together. He's still upset at being out of the loop, but he's seeing more of the situation than just "omg black super soldier". When Bucky says "he'd already been through enough," Sam asks quietly, "like you?"

The racist cop comes back before Bucky can answer, to arrest him for missing his appointment with Raynor.

ngl guys, I was so moved by the difference in how that cop treated Sam (before knowing he's Important) vs how he treated Bucky (knowing that the government views him as a violent, if pardoned, criminal). He approaches Sam with his hand on his gun, eager to defend Bucky; "is this guy bothering you?" Just because they're having a heated conversation. Then, when he sees that there's a warrant for Bucky, he approaches timidly, apologizes, treats him gently and politely. By "moved," btw, I don't mean "it was so sweet." I mean "this is fucking sick, and very, very realistic." White cops see a white guy and treat him with respect regardless of his actual criminal record, while being openly hostile towards an innocent black man without even knowing who he is, just because he's black. Moments like this made me applaud Spellman.

"You, too, Sam - That wasn't a request" is Sam's first sign that there's something off about Raynor.

Look, again... The couples therapy banter is funny because Sebastian and Anthony are funny, but that scene, from a storytelling and a mental health standpoint, is atrocious. Without some underlying reason behind her actions, Raynor is just a pointlessly terrible therapist.

Rather than insulting Bucky from the outset, Sam is angry with Raynor for violating Bucky's privacy by not only introducing herself as his therapist, but forcing a "couples" session without her patient's consent. With his background pre-Avenging, he knows this shit shouldn't fly. He immediately points out how unprofessional she's being.

Raynor doesn't bother listening - the fuck does she care, really? She shrugs and casually admits it's "slightly unprofessional" but proceeds anyway.

"Whatever's eating at him?" Sam scoffs. "Did you really just say that to a WWII veteran and the world's longest-serving POW with complex PTSD? Did I hear that right? I've had, maybe, like five conversations with this man since we met, and even I know he's been through some shit and-" "Sam," Bucky tries to interrupt, looking uncomfortable. With his crushing guilt, he has an easier time dealing with insults than someone coming to his defense. "No," Sam snaps. "If the HIPAA Slayer over here wants to drag me into this, she's damn well gonna hear what I have to say!" He turns back to Raynor and demands, "Is this how you've been treating him this whole time? Downplaying what he's been through and making a grown-ass man sound like a sulking teenager?" Raynor keeps her cool, but barely. Visibly frustrated and annoyed, she ignores Sam's tirade and tries to force the conversation back onto the track she wants it on. Bucky's embarrassed and doesn't know how to react to any of this, so he still makes that little "he would talk less" jab. Sam, seeing that he's not going to get anywhere with him until they're away from this bitch, glowers and plays along. We get our silly/angry banter.

After their argument with Walker, Sam finally confronts Bucky about what really happened to him.

"He meant HYDRA; HYDRA used to be my people." "Were they?" Sam asks, stopping him and looking him in the eye, not letting him look away or deflect. "Steve was under the impression that they were your captors. I was under the impression that the Wakandans spent two years deprogramming you so no one could use you the way HYDRA did ever again." "I-" Startled, not expecting that, Bucky stutters a little and admits, "Yeah, I... That's true, I guess." "You guess?" "Does it matter? Sam rolls his eyes. "I dunno, does it matter that you were a slave for most of the 20th century?" "I doubt it matters much to my victims." "HYDRA's victims," Sam corrects firmly. "Just like you." Bucky fidgets; he doesn't know what to do or say. No one since Steve has even so much as insinuated that Bucky wasn't 100% culpable for what he did while under HYDRA control. "Look," Sam sighs, "I don't particularly like you. I don't hate you, but I'm not your biggest fan." "...Thanks?" "I just need you to know where I stand-" "Yeah, got it-" "-So you know I'm not biased like Steve when I say you had no choice. I don't know your story, but I know no one flips on a dime from docile and plagued with guilt to an unstoppable killing machine and back without some serious psychological damage behind that. I'm not saying you're an innocent little bunny, but I don't think you're a monster." "Thanks," Bucky croaks, more sincerely this time, and a bit choked up. He clears his throat and looks distinctly uncomfortable as he grumbles, "but to catch these guys, we may need to talk to a monster." Sam cringes. "I was afraid you'd say that."

#sebastian stan #anthony mackie #tfatws #tfatws critical #fan ramblings #show rewrite #if i'd written it #episode 2