#everyone deserves to live a peaceful life of self love or contentment so stop telling fat people they can’t

[abyxbby]

i always share existing content but never find myself typing out much anything all on my own.

25 years doesn't seem like it's that much time at all it seems at least to any individual with a full long life already tucked in nice & secure under their belt. i've always been very much so self aware, i guess that's just the reason why i want to die too.

the first 5 or so years on this planet the only things i knew where i felt were loneliness & bewilderingly unfit. i always knew there was not a single place in which id ever actually belong. the next 2.5 years only gave those feelings more permanence, i still clearly recall the ugly dark places my mind would wander off to late at night tucked sweet n sound in the toddler bed adjacent my sisters. even though i didn't know about it then, it's like some force from inside of me knew for a fact that a soul at such a young age should even be capable of thoughts & feelings with so much complexity, i was just as ill as i am now back then, i really haven't seen one aspect of this life without these painfully heavy & ridiculously damaging lenses given to me from the moment of my birth.

i am yet again more than sad within my time here where all i can manage to be is inconvenience & disregarded due to how different i am compared to the vast majority of this dull world. i'm seen as a real quack job, a nut case. which over time seems to give any person with which crosses my path the idea that they have any right to label me as a manipulator, i was born sick but it's all just that i'm out for attention. i've never known a day thus far without soul shattering levels of pain. even the best of days hurt more than most imagine, i still after all had to experience it while being me.

as far as the message im trying to get across, i couldn't tell ya what the hell it even is. after being isolated from quite literally any & all human contact, after living within the confines of 4 increasingly claustrophobic interior walls, i guess this is just the one place i have left where i feel any kind of safety. between u & i, it's all been set up so when it's deems to be THE time, i'll have more than what i could ever need and best of all being simply just peace of mind. the legwork is done, it's all ready as soon as i am as well. that way, i won't have to scramble ideas, source inventory or even have a chance for a damn soul to get in my way, not a chance to stop me, because at this point all i know is i am absolutely dead set on it, i just want to fucking die.

not too long ago, despite how off it may have seemed at that time, i took the one last attempt to save myself if ever be given again & risked every bit of it all because some boy told me kind things & somehow it did actually feel like I AM finally understood. for the first time of my life it was as if i was worthy & valued, deserving of any others effort & time, and as absolutely stupid of me as it was, i also let myself grow to genuinely love that boy. unfortunately, just like all others in my life, it wasn't ever actually based on the truth or had anything solid within it at all. my last ditch effort to at least find contentment seeing as happiness is too far away still for me as any kind of goal, the only time id be given to literally save my own fucking life, was ripped away in one fast excruciatingly malicious, selfish ass tear of my soul. once again i was no more than what everyone sees of me from the outside, which is never more than some sex fantasy perverted individuals make me into within their own minds, i've never been a single thing other than smokin hot. i'm sure it can sound great at first but being desired physically then consistently rejected mentally & emotionally has killed me entirely at this point already. i see not one reason then as to why i subject my physically form to such torment & misery.

i guess that's why i just won't anymore.

i'm tired. for so long i have kept my head above the water enough to survive while every now & again scream out with my soul in hopes somebody, please help fuck literally anybody please see me because i'm about to go under again n for the very very final time i ever will.

all it ever would've taken to make the universe of a difference for little ole me, is one person who doesn't judge & has enough compassion, just let go of norms bc they don't apply in the least bit when it comes to me just show me i deserve still to be fully embraced.

i've never had a friend this entire time. never more than simply a matter of wanting to fuck me or wanting to fucking be me. oh, my bad there is a lethal dose of pure hate that comes right with it too. and if by chance a soul thats encountered mine happens to come across this, just know yes it's exactly as i've always said & is now while taking in my agony. yeah just to toss it directly in the trash like the funnies from last weeks sunday paper after forgetting day after day i keep meaning to be rid of it.

if anything is to ever be educational & come to serve a purpose from the short & trauma filled years of torment im going to be free from, the most fitting of all it could be is just for human beings to STOP treating other human beings any less than respectfully & regard them with decency, because that's a u would ever want someone else to fucking do for u.

with all this being said it has come time to close up my inner thoughts & exhaust myself just getting by another day with no chance or possible way that i don't have to do the shit and still have to be me.

this is where i always say how much love i have for whom i'm addressing but since i have nothing more than just posts on tumblr saved to my own blag, it feels larger than life to say i dont fucking love shit & the first excitement to run through my body in so so very long comes from finally making the decision to ensure the ending to my very own life.

i won't see this time next year. maybe not even in 6 months. sooner the better in my book.

so long & fuck off to every single last one of u. the reason those who are born into suffering don't stand a chance is all because of selfish close minded tainted vile cruel tasteless hurtful manipulative wastes of good quality pack full of potential clean slate souls.

i hope the world burns and maybe then everyone would feel a touch of what i've endured full force now for every last moment in my 25 years of life.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Not on my boat

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | whilst helping Sam fix his boat, during the midst of its progression, Bucky corners you within the old Wilson heirloom, leaving your friend and future captain, rather disgusted in the both of you.

Warnings | tfatws spoilers, mentions of death, some angst, smut, oral (male and female receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, bit of choking, swearing

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Hearing the waves crash against the side of the boat brought a smile upon your face, as you felt the breeze brush against your face. It was peaceful, fixing something rather than leaving it broken in order to save lives. If you weren’t swarmed with the government on your tail about how you were not allowed to use your powers, you’d be living out a free and happy life with the man you loved.

You were enduring a break from your assistance on the old Wilson vessel, your legs plodded around its platform, as you surveyed every piece that was in progress. Soon it would be in tip top shape, and when Sam and Bucky’s relationship was on par with that, that was when the two of you had planned to leave. There were plenty of things the two of you had to make up for before you could reside in peace; one of those things was that list of his.

It was a ledger of the amends that he had to make, a reminder of all the lives that had either taunted his own, or he had stolen from whilst he was not himself. James did not deserve the grievance that he was pardoned with, he was struggling, that much was clear. He had lost Steve, and then he was forced to watch as the shield had been handed off to some wanna be cap. To say he had been furious at Sam was a deep understatement, but as said, he was making amends.

Sam was a good man, you had learnt that much from the time that you had spent avenging to him. You had yet to tell him, but you weren’t planning on going back to that life after Karli was stopped, you wanted to continue working in the small shot bar slash grill, where Bucky and Youri would visit during your hours for lunch, and remain in that partition of worlds. Having Bucky and normalcy was a fine balance, which was a deep seated structure that you deeply needed.

If you did not have that then you were sure you’d explode, and hurt someone, or break something. That was no longer your duty, the fighting that you had spent most of your life giving into was coming to an end, and you were more than fine with that. A civilian life sounded good enough, and something that you could definitely settle for, though, you weren’t sure that Bucky would do the same, you hoped that he would.

That gleam in his eye was far too noticeable every time that he looked at that star striped shield. It had brought him much pain, but it had been there in the corner of his sight everywhere he had went. And now, Sam Wilson, the man that his best friend had entrusted with it, finally accepted the mantle, holding it in his firm grasp, ready to become the next captain to walk the earth, and both you and him knew that he would do far better than Walker could.

He was already a hero, he’d been fighting the Sam foes as Steve for some time, that was enough to know that he was ready. His hesitancy had been understandable, more so after listening to Isiah, though, it was nice to see Sam take his own path on this one. There were pictures of his younger self assembled upon the wooden walls, he was with his sister Sarah. She seemed like a nice woman, a part of you wished that you get to know her better, but she wasn’t a buyer into the whole superhero get advantages agenda, and nor were you.

From what you could tell, Sam had his advantage right here; his family. Sarah was supportive of him, always aiding him necessary, whilst she simultaneously raised to young boys, that looked admirably up to their uncle, and feeding the kids that they went to school with because their parents had no intention to. If you could, you’d buy a replica of her life, her head was above water, although the boat almost wasn’t.

The boat. It was an heirloom, something that you did not have of your own family. Everyone was gone, the only person you had was Bucky, and thinking of him caused a light chuckle to fall from your lips, he made you endlessly happy. But neither of you could have the picture perfect life, and that was why the pair of you worked, you were each well aware of the restrictions that taunted you both, and had both been down dark roads on more than one occasion.

Things were turning brighter though, as the sun glared through the old glass, casting luminosity to stroke the high points of your face. A gently creak had your head diverting to the door way, where no other than James Barnes was leant up against, his metal arm pressed to the frame as he adoringly swept his oceanic pools over your form, slowly stepping closer.

“What are you thinking about doll?” He asked you, his tone genuine, as you sighed from his words, rubbing your eyelid as you felt a small itch. You puffed your cheeks, as you placed your hands on the super soldier’s waist, rubbing small and vigilant circles through his grey shirt.

“Too much.” It was an honest answer, everything was rattling around like pins in your mind, sinking in and letting loose to their own will. They could not be organised, they would only tumble about again, until the box was empty, though, for now, you had nowhere else to put them.

“Sarah said we could spend the night.” At his words, you hummed, taking note once more of how generous the woman indeed was. “We get the couch, so you best be on your best behaviour baby girl, nothing dirty goes on inside.” A small smirk crept its way onto his handsome face as you gasped at his spoken intention, lightly hitting the vibranium of his arm.

“Why do you blame me for not keeping it in my pants?” You interrogated him, glaring up at the man with a furrow between your brows. “You’re the one that corners me, a lot like this actually, so that you can get your own way and fuck m- oh, that’s exactly what you’re doing now, isn’t it?” You scoffed, crossing your arms and stepping away due to the man’s hormonal impulses. “Why am in not surprised?” You asked yourself, shaking your head at the behaviour of your partner.

“Hey, I’m doing us both a favour. Sex in someone else’s house is not exactly appreciated, and there’s kids, that i would rather not risk getting caught by.” He moved towards you, grabbing an ass cheek in each hand, as he pulled you closer by his grip. “At least then, there’s a chance I can survive the night, without being woken up by you sucking me off, or riding me.”

He was pushing your buttons, and he far well knew that, almost too well. It was his technique to get you riled up, that way, there’d be no dismissal of his current proposal, though, you continued to wear that adorable frown that he loved so much, and so, he gave your ass another firm squeeze, causing you to gasp against his chest. “Fucking on their dead parents’ boat isn’t exactly respectful either.”

“We’re helping fix it, may as well take our break on board, let loose a little, release all that’s clouding your mind.” He shrugged, knowing that his words were tempting you into complying with his lustrous whim, and so, to put another step in to helping his cause, he stepped back, reaching behind him to pull his shirt over the back of his neck, leaving his muscular torso bare, and free for your eyes to roam.

“That’s not fair.” You whined at him, not stopping yourself as you moved closer, and smoothed your hands down his stomach. “You’re such a tease Barnes, why couldn’t you have just fingered me in the public bathroom and waited until tomorrow?” A groan slipped from your mouth, as you peppered kisses over his warm flesh, tasting the sweat on his skin as your tongue swiped over the ridges of his six pack.

“Where would the fun have been in that?” He watched you roll your eyes, but continue to work your way down to his navel, stroking his v line with your fingertips. “We’ve had sex on a plane, might as well add a boat to the list.” Bucky remarked, groaning as you put your weight down onto your knees, looking up at him with your pretty eyes, as you palmed him through the denim of his jeans.

He could feel his cock stirring beneath the material, wanting more, eager to breach the layers that were keeping your tongue from rotating around him. But he remained still, as you swept your hair out from your face, the noise of your pulling down his zipper audible, as you sent him a naughty grin. The man above you licked his lips, breathing a sigh of relief when you tugged his jeans and boxers down, his erection swiftly bouncing up, the leaking tip pointing rudely at your face.

With a quick hand, you grasped his length, rubbing over his veins as you pumped him, spreading the moisture of his precum over his rigid skin, aiding you in your movements. As you proceeded to jerk him within your grip, your mouth moved forwards, your breath fanning over his balls before your tongue slipped out to stroke them, swiping up the droopy skin, as you suckled one into your mouth, contently moaning from the flavour of his skin.

Your eyes had shut as Bucky opened his own, watching you through a hooded gaze as you happily assisted his genitals, sending him into a crusade of pleasure as you used your well adversed skill set upon him. Your bottom lip ran up his shaft, slowly dragging along his reddened skin, until your reached the tip, your hands fleeing down to fondle with his sack, as your mouth stuffed itself full of his cock.

“Baby girl.” He breathed, his chest feeling tight as he stood there, practically naked aboard your friend’s boat. James gritted his teeth, watching as you effortlessly bobbed your head up and down half of him, lazily grinning as gagging sounds eventually emitted from your throat as you had him down the back of your throat, saliva slipping down your chin as you shook your head from side to side with him choking you with his dick.

Though he worried not for your struggle, not as you moaned against him, your lashes fluttering though your eyes were shut. He reached his vibranium hand down, stroking the side of your face with the cool metal, a high whine whistling it’s way out of your nose. Your spare hand reached up, cupping it against you, as you hollowed your cheeks, steadily breathing your nostrils.

A light frown covered your face as you focused on smoothing your tongue on his underside, causing Bucky to throw back his head, his stomach sternly clenching as he felt his balls twitch; and then, before he could fathom it, he was filling your mouth, cumming down your throat, as he pulled out, the last of his seed falling upon your tongue as he manhandled himself, feeling sensitive as he watched you fumble your tongue around your mouth, swallowing the mix of your spittle and his cum.

“Taste so fucking good.” You spoke, laughing lightly as you stared up and saw his dazed expression. Bucky pulled you up, his hand cupping your ass again, as he backed you up against the dash, your back lightly hitting against the window as he pulled at your shorts, whisking then down your legs, rubbing you through your underwear. His tongue explored your mouth, tasting himself as he located your clit, your arms grabbing at his shoulders to push him down, to which he complied.

His noises echoed through your mouth, as he pressed kissed along the top of your thighs, his fingers surpassing the seams of your panties, swiping at your entrance, until his prodding ceased, and he sunk his middle finger into your pussy, feeling you clench around him instantaneously. His teeth bit into your skin, emitting a squeal out of you as you harshly tugged his hair, making him rut his loose cock against nothing but the air.

“So wet.” He mumbled against your skin, as his vibranium snapped the sides of your underwear, letting the damp material fall to the floor, as he licked circles around your clit with his tongue, pulley airy sounds of pleasure of of your lungs. He slipped in another finger, his nose being pressed against your mound as you tugged him even closer, feeling as though you were almost there. Then you came, his fingers quickly exiting you as his tongue plunged in your entrance, cleaning up all your juices.

“Need you to fuck me Buck, please honey”. The man stood, stroking his hard cock as he teased your entrance. He swiped it through your slit a couple of times, before slapping his head against your clit, making your mewl against his lips, as you licked your essence from around his mouth. “James...” His cocky demeanour returned, as he watched you glance down at his cock, pressing your lips together in desire.

“Thought you didn’t want to fuck me on the boat.” He sneered dominantly, gripping your throat with his vibranium fist, giving it a tough squeeze, finding it endlessly hot as needy tears pooled in the corners of your eyes. Your lips pouted as you sputtered to speak, but you were just so hungry for him. “Guess I’m just gonna have to take pity on you doll, aren’t I?”

With that,he wedged his way through your folds, filling you to the brim as he bottomed out, gently releasing your throat to paw at your tits through your shirt. “Move baby, move.” You mumbled, your head feeling dizzy as your nails dug into the back of his neck, pulling him closer so that you could place tender and supple kisses across the front of his shoulders.

And so, he began to thrust into you, keeping a grip on your hips as he raised your leg around his waist, driving into you deeper, your head tiredly lulling as you chanted his name in soft and delirious pants. “So damn tight angel.” The soldier muttered, biting down onto your chin as he kissed his way up to your lips, abusing the swollen flesh a little more. The kisses were sloppy and downright needy, his vibranium hand held your chin up so that it would tip in rhythm with his movements, making access to the inside of your mouth easier.

“Buck.” You mumbled against his lips as your eyes rolled, your own hand circling your clit as you jutted against his exceeding administrations, one hand crawling up into his scalp as you let our small screams. You were indefinitely close, and as Bucky swerved his head around your own, moving his lips to nip at your earlobe, you came, coating his cock in your wetness, as he continued to hit his hips against your own.

It wasn’t long until he followed after, your clumsy hands trailing down to roll his balls in your palms being the last thing to push him over the edge. Bucky remained standing between your legs, each of your heads resting over each other’s shoulders as you felt each other, eyes closed, and smelling how the aroma of your sex wafted around you, like a personalised perfume.

“Hell no.” And the peace was broke, as Sam’s voice broke it. He had his hands on his hips as he shifted his gaze away from the two of you, unimpressed by what had happened. “The two of you get a break and you - not on my boat!” He practically screeched like a falcon at the pair of you, his arms flailing about like a bird’s flapping wings.

Although he was maddened, it didn’t settle well with you. You were too far out of it to acknowledge what he must have thought about the on deck dick that you had gotten, you were too lost in Bucky, the feeling of him still inside of you, and the falling of his cum out from beneath you both. “You know what, I’m outta here.” Sam left, quite glad to do so.

“You alright doll face?” Bucky asked as he pulled out, making you wince from the feeling of emptiness. You nodded as he reached for your underwear , leaving them be when he registered he had torn them, and instead opted to picking up just you’d shorts, pulling them onto your legs, redressing himself afterwards.

“I love you Buck.” You smiled tiredly, humming as he pecked your lips a few more times, combing his hands through your sex hair, as he returned the facial expression, seemingly calm. It looked good on him, the pair of you had momentarily forgotten your traumas, and it was bliss.

“Love you too darling.” He pecked your nose, staring lovingly into your eyes as he helped you down, and abled you with support to stand. “Unfortunately I think our breaks over beautiful.” He spoke, his hand upon your waist as the pair of you walked from the scene, going to fetch a bottle of water from Sarah, whom you hoped had not learn of your oversea adventure .

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x reader #bucky oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes imagines #tfatws x reader #tfatws smut #tfatws bucky #marvel smut #mcu smut #mcu x reader smut #imagines #imagine #xreader #twssmut #twsxreader #sebastian stan oneshot #sebastian stan x you

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New Romantics | Part Three

18+

Summary: She needs help studying for her Case Exercises at the Academy, He needs a date for the annual Banquet... they just so happen to be neighbours who aren't afraid to lend a helping hand, or in this case, a helping kiss.

Categories: Fake dating, neighbours, strangers to lovers, mutual pining, Angst with a happy ending, Smut *as selected by my poll on what you wanted to read*

Warnings: Season 9 Spencer (no Maeve arc), Angst, kissing, drinking, police training mentions, case details, canon typical violence, self-doubt, autistic!spencer, age gaps (24/33), FWB relationships, period mentions, anxiety attacks, crying, misunderstandings,

Word Count: 4.7K

a/n: this chapter covers the whole week from Monday to Friday, thank you @awrfhi for making the gif I used here <3

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five

Monday morning she’s in his arms still, and then again on Tuesday; he basically lives with her when he’s not on a case. They make dinner together at night and they drive in together every morning, and they have had sex all over her apartment… and he loves her but he was tired when he said it and in a post-orgasm haze and he’s her best friend.

But he loved her— just not the way she loved him. She was sure of it.

Tuesday morning at 10:53 am, she cracks her fake case. They’re apprehending the unsub by Noon and then she has the rest of the week off. So she heads to the main Quantico building, she gets a visitor's pass and she takes the elevator all the way up to the BAU.

She walks through the bullpen doors and Spencer is sitting at his little desk with his head buried in a book. Penelope sees her first, wrapping her up in a hug that gets everyone’s attention as she rocks her back and forth while telling her how much she likes her.

“You are so pretty, and nice and cute, and your hair smells so good?”

“Thank you, it’s Spencer's shampoo,” she laughs as she holds her back, “I just wanted to come and see him really quick?”

He’s standing beside her and she doesn’t even know until Penelope releases her from her grasp. He wraps her up next, “why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

She kisses him right on the mouth, holding his face in her hands she has missed him too much to wait till they are alone again, “I caught the unsub.”

“No way?”

She nods feverishly, “yeah remember I found that stray hair on the crime scene? Everyone was fighting over why there wasn’t a sexual aspect and I was trying to convince them she was a women unsub when the hair came back matching our victims best friend, who also knew victim number 1.”

He’s so happy, his smile is the biggest any of his teammates have ever seen, he lifts her and twirls her around and no one can believe the sight. Spencer Reid the uptight, overly smart, always following proper procedure, Doctor at the FBI; was spinning his girlfriend around as he kissed her cheek.

“You are a genius,” he compliments her as he sets her back down and places another kiss on her lips.

“I know,” she laughs, “I beat your score by one day.”

“I hate you,” he kisses her again and by now they don’t realize they have an audience. It’s incredibly convincing to everyone except each other.

“No, you love me,” she whispers, kissing him again before they hear someone clear their throat.

“Do you want to help with ours?” Derek asks, jumping into the moment and reminding them that they’re in public. “We’re just doing non-urgent consults today.”

“Am I allowed?” She lights up.

Derek nods, “I don’t see why not, as long as you just tell your ideas to us and don’t file anything then I think it’s legal?”

So she helps and it’s the most exhilarating thing since having sex with Spencer. She’s in her element, looking at small details and making connections that even leave Spencer humming and ha-ing. She has a younger insight than the rest of the team, she’s exactly why they hired Spencer in the first place and now she was shining brighter than him.

But he loved it.

Every time she made a connection or she had a suggestion that helped one of them on their own train of thought, Spencer would smile at her like she hung the stars in the night sky. He was proud of her in a way she hasn’t seen in many people before, filling her heart with warmth and hope that maybe he can love her for real one day.

—

She was possibly the love of his life and the more he saw her work and the more he knew her mind; the more he fell. She walked around his office and talked to his friends as if she was always meant to be there, and a part of him really wanted her to be.

He snuck away to go talk to Hotch, closing his office door as he sat down, “what’s wrong?”

“Y/N isn’t really my girlfriend,” he whispers. “She’s pretending so I could get everyone to stop bothering me about dating, and I understand it looks like she’s using me to get close to the team but I really do think she would be an excellent asset to the unit even if she was just in the office—“

“Reid,” Hotch cuts him off and a smile builds. “I already sent her an offer to take Anderson's job while he’s out on paternity leave.”

“Oh,” he smiles to himself. “Pretend I never said anything.”

“It stays in these 4 walls, don’t worry,” Hotch smiles back, “but you should tell her.”

“Tell her what?”

“That you’re in love with her.”

“I’m not,” he lies, “really, I do love her but I’m not in love with her, there is a difference.”

“I know,” Hotch reminds him. “Did you know that I only joined the school musical to get close to Haley? I did whatever I could to get her to fall in love with me and didn’t even realize it when she did because I was so worried she didn’t.”

“Oh.”

Hotch nods with another smile, “you don’t have to tell her until you’re ready, obviously, but you should tell her before it’s too late.”

“I will,” he whispers. “Thanks, Aaron.”

“Why don’t you guys head out early?” He offers, “we could all use a day off with the people we love.”

When he walks back down from Aaron's office, Y/N is with Emily and JJ discussing how she caught her fake unsub at school that morning. She doesn’t brag, she loves to mention her classmates by name and verbatim explains how they helped her. She is a team player, a genius, beautiful, kind… she really is the love of his life.

“Hey,” he places his hand on her lower back as he slides into the conversation. “Hotch said we can all leave early if we wanted?”

“Sure,” she smiles, “actually, did you want to come with me to buy a dress for your thing?”

“That would be fun,” he agrees, wrapping his other arm around her so he can rest his chin on her shoulder and hold her. “Remember I’m buying it so don’t stress about the price.”

“You’re too nice to me,” she replies.

“I just love you,” his voice is as low as he can make it but everyone still hears.

She holds him back tighter, in a silent ‘I love you, too’ and they hear JJ and Emily swoon.

They’re quick to get their things and head out, she hands Spencer her keys and lets him drive to the mall so she can relax, she’s done a lot today.

She’s so quiet on the drive, she holds his hand like she always does and she just looks out the window, she’s peaceful and content with the nothingness of spending alone time with Spencer. They were always just quiet together, sometimes they laughed till they cried and sometimes he could make her scream but most of the time they were quiet.

“Have you checked your email?”

She smiles as she turns to him and her grip on his hand tightened, “what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything, I just told hotch the truth so that he could offer you a job, but he already had before I went in there but he’s a good secret keeper, believe me.”

“Oh,” her smile disappears. “So he knows we’re not really dating?”

He nods, “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, I guess we’re going to have to find a convincing way to break up for them and still be able to hang out all the time,” she worries aloud. “Because I don’t want to stop this any time soon, I hope you know that. I really like spending time with you.”

“I feel the same way,” he agrees. “I promise, we can just tell them we work better as friends and they might believe us?”

“I don’t think they will,” she frowns again. “JJ told me not to break your heart today, but I feel like if we break up I’m going to break all of theirs.”

“We could have a fake ugly breakup, and not talk to each other publicly for a bit and then be friends again?” He suggests, “Penelope and Kevin did that.”

She nods, still frowning. She interlocks their fingers this time and she holds his hand instead of just anxiously fiddling with his fingers. She really doesn’t want to let go, and he’s almost convinced she feels the same way.

The banquet is on Saturday, she has one last week of school before her graduation and then they’re done. He thinks about asking her, about what would be the best time to tell her he was in love with her and ask her to be his real girlfriend.

Maybe he’ll do it after the banquet? Maybe he’ll do it after her graduation? He just really wants to do it before she meets his mom. He wants his mom to meet her as the love of his life and his best friend.

He hated many things, but as he kept glancing at her as he drove he realized he hated one thing most of all. He hated that he couldn’t love her as much as she deserved, at least not yet. He wanted to shower her in love, he wanted to protect her and care for her, he wanted to show her off and make love to her and never leave her side.

It hurts, his heart physically aches as he thinks about that. If he had to feel like this to know his love was real, then the pain was worth it. She was always worth it, and he would hurt as long as possible, forever even, if it meant he could be around her just as long.

He held her hand tighter in the silence which made her turn to him, he had no idea he had been crying until she leans over and wipes his cheeks, “I love you, you know that?”

“I love you too,” he smiles but he can’t keep the conversation there, he’s feeling trapped and so he changes the topic. “What colour dress were you thinking?”

The quick-change makes her laugh, “probably black.”

“Are you sure?”

She nods, “I don’t need to stand out beside you any more than I already do.”

“What does that mean?”

She bits her lip, “some of the people in my class are saying that I’m only doing so well because you’re helping me cheat and that I’m just fucking you to get a job… just like I thought they would.”

“At the end of the day, we have a friendship they will never understand, we have great sex because we want to, you’re smarter than me, and the BAU wants you… so who is the real winner?” He’s always going to be her number one cheerleader.

“You’re right,” she smiles again finally, “as always.”

—

He convinces her to get a red dress.

She hasn’t had a pretty dress like this one since her prom and that was 6 years ago. She hasn’t been to a party or mingled with people in just as long, she didn’t realize how lonely she had been while chasing her dreams until Spencer came along.

He was one of the dreams. She saw him talk once, years ago on a school trip, and she fell in love with him a little, even back then. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to be him or be with him back then, doing everything in her power to get into the criminal psych degree at her local college, she just wanted to be like him.

Now she’s liked by him.

Every night he goes to his home across the hall and he does his own nightly routine before coming back to her apartment for the night. She’s too emotional to sleep with him today, she knows that if she has sex with him she’s going to say something stupid or cry after because being this close to him without being honest with him is killing her.

Something in him has changed too, he’s less scared to initiate contact, he doesn’t jump anymore when she hugs him or when she smacks his bum as she passes him. Now he’s wrapping his arms around her while she cooks dinner, and he kisses her cheek randomly when they’re in public.

He tells her that he loves her.

She’s confused and she has no one to talk to about it.

She lays back against her pillows and closes her eyes, she knows she’s going to cry soon, and she doesn’t know what to do because she doesn’t want to cry in front of him and he would be upset if she told him to not come back tonight.

The stress of the situation just makes her cry more as she stresses herself into another anxiety attack, much like the first night she talked to him. She just lets it happen, the anxiety in her stomach builds and the tears slip past her eyes and suddenly she’s sobbing into her pillow hard enough that she doesn’t hear him come back.

She jumps at the feeling of his hand on her back as he sits on the edge of the bed, “what’s wrong?”

She just sits up and hugs him, and he hugs her back and they stay there like that for a while. When she calms down, she pulls back from him and wipes her eyes, “my period is coming.” She’s not really lying, and he believes her.

“Does it normally make you this emotional?”

He’s never really experienced her mood swings, he has no idea what he’s in for, she nods. “Yeah, and I have really bad anxiety which just gets worse around this time.”

“And you’re not on anything?”

She shakes her head, “I’m waiting to get onto the good healthcare when I get a job with the bureau, I can’t afford to work and go to school, I’m glad I had enough scholarship money left to rent this place long enough to go to the academy.”

“Oh.”

She just nods, “I’ve never had much money like my parents have been saving for 2 years to buy plane tickets to Virginia so that they can see me graduate. They started saving before I even got in. I went to community college on a scholarship and I get a lot of money from applying for bursaries.”

“Are you going to take the CARD job or the BAU offer?”

She shrugs, “I’m not sure yet, but probably CARD.”

“Why?”

“I can’t work with you,” she whispers. “It makes me feel like I don’t deserve to be there like I’m using you and that all my work isn’t that great. I’m just Doctor Spencer Reids girlfriend.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way, imposter syndrome is a leading factor in depression among child prodigies, once you reach a certain age and you stop receiving awards for your work, it’s hard to believe that you’re still doing a good job.”

She knows he gets it, he has probably said the same fact to himself to calm down before. “Thank you.”

“Do you want me to stay?”

She nods, pulling back the covers and moving over so he can snuggle in beside her. She holds him, resting her head on his chest and taking a deep inhale of his cologne, this was the love of her life and if this was as close as she was ever going to be to him, she was going to take it.

He kisses the top of her head and holds her in his arms at just the right pressure to calm her down. She feels so comfortable with him but she still feels like shit, she doesn’t stop crying, and he just holds her through it.

“Do you want to tell me what’s really wrong?” He whispers after a while, he sounds worried.

“No,” she whispers. “I can’t.”

“Is it about me?”

“Yeah,” she cries again, “and I don’t have any other friends to talk to about us and now you’ve told hotch and I have no one to talk to about how this is kinda stressing me out.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” his voice is still scared and she knows he’s going to panic regardless and just send them around in a circle of constant anxiety. But his tone is more apologetic than one fuck up.

“Who else did you tell?” She sits up, “I thought this was just between us?”

“I needed advice, the same reason you are reacting right now, you’re stressing me out,” Spencer finally talks back with passion and she knows they’re about to fight for no reason.

“I never said you were stressing me out. I said our situation was, but I think I need to sleep alone now, Spencer” she’s confident and stern even though she’s crying.

“We can’t go to bed mad at each other. You even said the mornings are the worst, we can’t hate each other for no reason tomorrow,” he starts to cry, not knowing where he went wrong and she can see it on his face.

“I just don’t have what you have, and I’ve always been trying to copy you…”

“What?”

She sighs and wipes her tears, “I have had a big fat, fan-girly, crush on you since I was 18, I came here with my class to watch you do a talk on philias and phobias and then I knew I wanted to get into the academy and I wanted to beat your record and join the BAU, and I just thought; one day I’m going to be friends with this guy and catch bad guys with him and now I am and I’m so alone.”

“You have me?”

“I know,” she tries to smile, “but I only have you and I can tell you almost everything. Like my biggest stressor right now is that if just looking at fake crime scenes for 3 weeks has made me this anxious; what if I’m not cut out for this? What if I get to a real crime scene and I pass out or—“

“That’s only human,” he presses his lips together, awkwardly, and very Spencerly. “If you didn’t feel like this job makes you hate the world and untrusting of everyone around you; then I would think you’re crazy.”

“How do you do it?”

“I open up and let people in, but I typically wait till I’m at my lowest; crying in my friend's arms because I don’t know what to do anymore,” he smiles again, wider and toothy as she smiles back.

“Thank you,” she can’t help but tilt her head and smile as her heart settles and her brain calms down a bit, “I love you.”

“Can I kiss you or is that too much right now?”

She gets in closer to him, laying back down on the pillow and looking at him. They���re closer enough to kiss, and she just takes a moment to look at him, resting her hand on his cheek as he wraps around her waist and pulls her in closer.

“We’re okay?” He asks with his lips right against her, his breath is hot and he smells like toothpaste.

“We’re okay, but no more talking tonight, okay?” She whispers.

He nods, leaning in and kissing her finally. She knows she shouldn’t be kissing him, she knows that she should be mad at herself, but she also knew that even just pretending that he loved her back was good enough.

—

He gets called away to a case on Wednesday morning, he’s too busy to really call her and he doesn’t text back. He feels bad about it but he knows she wanted space to think anyway, what he didn’t expect was for her to reach out to Penelope.

She’s in the office with her on Friday, tired of Spencer ignoring her so she went to the one place he couldn’t avoid her; Penelope’s office.

“How can I help you today, my fine furry friends?” Y/N answers the phone with a smirk, copying Penelope’s line perfectly, they can hear them high five through the line.

“Y/N?” Spencer is the first to catch it, “what are you doing there?”

“I came to meet Anderson and see if I’d like to take his job or not,” she teases, pretending she wasn’t there just to bother him.

Hotch cuts in, asking the question he needed to ask before hanging up, “not sure what’s going on at home but we’re too close to cracking this case for schoolyard games.”

“Yes sir,” he nods and looks away, retreating to the other side of the room to stare at the map and pretend to find connections.

“Crack this and you can go home to her,” Derek whispers with a smile, thinking he’s helping the situation.

“That’s not where I want to be right now.”

“Woah,” Derek catches it, “what happened?”

“Nothing,” he’s quick to get him to stop it but he really wants advice, “she’s stressed out and she took it out on me and I wasn’t very nice back.”

“You said sorry and you pretended you were over it, didn’t you?”

He turns away from Derek with a nod, he wants to come out with it and get it over with and he’s so mad and embarrassed he just starts to cry a little, “I don’t want to lose her.”

“How could you?”

“You have no idea,” he rolls his eyes lightly and scoffs, confusing Derek.

“And I won't unless you want to talk to someone about what’s really bothering you, but you’ve been happier since you met her and I like seeing you happy, and Savannah likes double dates,” he scolds him with a smile, patting his shoulder lightly. “now let's crack this and maybe on the plane you will tell me what’s up?”

“Sure,” he says, but he doesn’t want to.

However, Derek Morgan is good at a lot of things, and one of those things is getting Spencer to calm down enough to tell him anything. Everyone is asleep on the plane, it’s just the two of them at the back together when Spencer finally feels confident enough to say it.

“I lied to you, a long time ago… and it’s just the first one.”

Derek doesn’t look angry, “okay, explain your thought process. I need to know how this pretty brain of yours works.”

He smiles a bit, “I slept with Elle the night before she shot that rapist in Ohio.”

“You did not?” Derek's voice gets a little too loud and they stop to make sure no one woke up.

“I did, but you still always made jokes about finally getting me some lovin’ and it bothered me for a while and I never told you, instead I offered to help my neighbour with her homework if she pretended to date me,” his voice lowers as the words continue and he only stares at the table between them.

“Spencer, I’m sorry,” Derek apologizes first. “I didn’t know I was upsetting you, is there anything else I do that upsets you?”

He shakes his head in a silent no, still not looking at him, he can't.

“What happened between you and Y/N?” He jumps to the main issue, fine with what happened because he feels bad for causing the issue in the first place.

“We started sleeping together.”

Derek sighs, “you have such a big brain, you can remember everything she’s ever said to you and yet you can’t see that she’s in love with you.”

“She’s good at pretending,” he pushes it away.

“No she’s not, because she’s pretending she doesn’t love you right now; the same way you are and you’re both fucking it up for each other,” Derek gives it to him straight. “You have always been loveable, but you have a very hard time accepting it, Spencer.”

“Yeah,” he starts to cry a little more.

“Go home and talk to her and tell her the truth,” it’s the best advice he can give and Spencer knows it. “What’s the worst that can go wrong?”

“She does love me back but in a few years, she realizes I’m too much and she leaves me,” his voice is the saddest Derek has ever heard it.

He gets up from his seat and hugs Spencer, sliding into the seat beside him and wrapping his arms around him, “you have never been too much. You just surround yourself with people who aren’t good enough to love you for who you are.”

“She’s better than me.”

“Which is exactly what I mean, she’s not going to leave you, believe me, once you love Spencer Reid for who he really is, it’s hard to stop,” he speaks from experience, thinking of what could have been between them if either of them had tried harder in the past.

“She’s the love of my life,” he confirms, “I’m never going to love anyone else the way I love her.”

They get the word that they’re going to be landing soon, Spencer wipes his tears and buckles in for the descent, avoiding everyone’s stares and questions on the ride back to headquarters. He’s nervous to see her, he knows his face is puffy and she’ll be there waiting for him with Penelope, but he has to do it.

“Would you wait here, I need to tell her now and she might not give me a ride home if it doesn’t go well,” he asks Derek before heading to Penelope, “she was already mad at me for telling Hotch the truth.”

“Okay, sure,” Derek smiles, reaching out a hand for Spencer, “come to me when you need me next time, okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees with a small smile, heading out to find his fake girlfriend.

She’s not with Penelope, no she’s in the filing room with Anderson and the other temps all talking and laughing, and it sounds far too interesting to interrupt. He waits outside the door and smiles at her laughter until he hears it.

“So be honest,” Agent Camden asks, “are you sleeping with Reid for this job?”

“If I was sleeping my way to the top, don’t you think I would have picked Morgan? Or Prentiss even?” She laughs and it’s like someone stabs a knife through his heart.

He turns around and heads back to Derek, “take me home.”

“Okay,” he doesn’t pry, he just grabs his coat and keys and follows Spencer to the garage.

—

He’s really ignoring her.

She finds out from Emily that Spencer left with Derek, and that he looked rather pissed off when he asked for a ride. It breaks her heart a little and she doesn’t know what to do next, she just drives home and finds herself knocking on his door.

“Let me in, please, Spencer!” She begs from behind his door.

He opens it and looks at her with a puffy red face, tear-stained cheeks and swollen lips, he’s been crying for a while. “What?”

“What did I do?”

“You slept with me,” he whispers, “and I told you I wouldn’t react well.”

“Is it my fault you’re crying?” She asks softly and he nods, “do you want to tell me?”

He closes his eyes and shakes his head, “are we still going to the banquet together tomorrow?”

“I really fucked up,” is all he can muster, crying again as he closes the door and goes to cry in his room.

She just opens the door again and follows him inside. Kicking off her shoes she crawls into bed beside him and wraps herself around him, “you don’t have to tell me but I am here for you, always.”

“I love you,” he says it like it’s the problem before he rests his head in the crook of her neck and holds her back for the first time in days.

“I love you, too, Spencer,” she cries along with him. They cry until he’s asleep and she’s just there holding him in her jeans and she’s really uncomfortable but she loves him too much to let go.

“More than you will ever know.”

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for sale or wanted — jean kirstein x fem! reader

series masterlist

prev | next , part two

warnings: cursing, porco being toxic lol. dates are wrong once again sorry !!

[ playlist : love again - dua lipa ]

eight.

Half asleep and ready to go to bed, Y/N fell back into her bed. She picked up her phone, hoping to mindlessly scroll through some TikToks. Instead, she was met with two messages. Audibly gasping as she read Porco’s name, she dropped her phone, hitting herself in the face in the process. “Ow!”

Porco? Y/N thought incredulously. What the hell does he want?

Contemplating asking Ymir and Sasha for advice, Y/N then decided against it. This was her life, she couldn’t expect her friends to guide her though it. But God, was she such a coward when it came to Porco. It wasn’t like he was Prince Charming, but Y/N had an extreme loyalty complex. She couldn’t ever allow herself to let go of people. Porco used to berate her for that constantly.

Why are you so clingy? He would ask.

Who’s the clingy one now? Y/N thought bitterly. She decided to ignore Porco’s text until she could think of a reply that wasn’t along the lines of “No, fuck you.” She slid her thumb over to Jean’s message.

Great. Another text asking to talk. Why couldn’t people just send their question and save a girl the anxiety? Y/N scolded herself for allowing her egotistical ex to ruin her mood. Jean didn’t deserve her snappiness.

Jean sighed in relief. Thank God she replied. He didn’t know if he could handle the mortification if she didn’t.

Y/N pondered for a bit.

Y/N laughed quietly to herself. So Jean could in fact match her sense of humor. She exited out of their chat, mindlessly scrolling through social media. She actively avoided Porco’s message, not wanting to burden herself with the chore of responding to him. What could he possibly have to say? She headed to Twitter, hopefully finding something relatable to retweet. As Y/N scrolled, she saw a familiar face appear on her timeline.

Recommended for you from contacts, the header read. Below it was about 3 profiles of people in her contacts she had not followed yet. Among them, was Jean.

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat.

Should I? She questioned. Would she be overstepping some unspoken boundary? What if she hurt her own feelings by stalking and seeing something she wouldn’t like/had no business seeing? Maybe she should just ignore it. She doubted Jean was some internet creep… but wouldn’t it be good to know if he was? Curiosity getting the better of her, Y/N decided to invade that boundary and look at his account.

He didn’t have much content from what Y/N could see. He just retweeted fancy cars and some funny memes. She spotted Connie, Sasha’s lifelong friend and Jean’s infamous roomie. She mentally hoped Jean didn’t tweet like Connie. That would be the ultimate ick.

Y/N’s thumb stopped scrolling, hovering over a tweet. Her heart beated ten times more rapidly.

well she is pretty lol, Jean’s tweet read. Tweeted just an hour after he met Y/N.

Could it be? Y/N wondered. No way. There’s no way it’s about me. I’m just jumping to conclusions. Why would he say that about me? I’m just being self absorbed.

She brushed off her inquiries, deciding to just stop stalking his account entirely. From what she already saw, there wasn’t anything suspicious or icky enough to make her want to not interact with him. And she was already paranoid, so every tweet she saw she would begin to assume it was about her as well. She was just getting her hopes up.

Rolling over on her side, Y/N placed her phone to charge and went to sleep. It was late, which was probably what was causing her mind to become fuddled.

——

“You should’ve told me Sasha’s third roomie was Y/N,” Reiner had said to Jean in the truck. “I totally blindsided her. Top ten worst encounters of my life.”

“Uh, care to enlighten me? Do you guys have beef or something?” Jean asked, perusing the radio stations.

Reiner sighed. “She’s dating- was dating- my childhood friend, Porco.”

Jean felt his stomach drop. “Oh.”

Reiner glanced at him before stopping at a red light. “I said dating. He dumped her like a week ago. It was pretty trash.”

Jean secretly felt more at peace hearing that. Poor Y/N, but.. she could probably do better than this Porco person.

“So what does that have to do with you?” Jean asked.

Reiner shrugged. “I guess I didn’t really help. She said she felt a little betrayed. Like I agreed with Porco and my friends that she’s the crazy one.”

Jean nodded. “So you were a bystander.”

Reiner sighed again, tilting his head in an I guess motion. “It’s just hard. Porco’s like my brother, and I don’t agree with how he acted… but maybe I should have spoken up sooner.”

Jean patted his shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself, man. That was between them.”

“Yeah. I could have at least told Porco to step it up, though.” Reiner murmured.

I’m glad you didn’t. Jean snickered to himself.

“So, you think she’s cute?” Reiner shot Jean a devilish grin. Jean rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I guess. You goin’ to Historia’s birthday?” He slyly changed the subject.

“Is it open invite?” Reiner’s eyebrows scrunched up.

Jean shrugged. “I have an invite. Maybe you can be my plus one.”

Reiner made a “Hmm” sound in response, weary at Jean’s invite. “What are you dressing as if you go?”

“I was thinking swag era Justin Bieber.” Jean replied, smiling widely.

Reiner gave him a look. “You for real?”

Jean’s smile dropped. “What?”

Reiner laughed. “I’d pay money to see how badly you embarrass yourself with that.”

“It’s a 2000’s party?” Jean was confused.

“Yeah, but everyone does like, early 2000s. Think Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake.”

Jean shot him a curious look.

“What? Pop culture is my guilty pleasure.” Reiner explained himself. “And everyone knows Britney Spears.”

Jean hummed in response. “I just think you got a thing for pop girls.” He referenced the earlier Becky G mishap.

“I’m not even gonna deny it anymore.” Reiner agreed, defeated.

——

“Guys,” Y/N said the next morning. Ymir and Sasha were at the breakfast “nook” (a corner of their miniature kitchen designated for a small table that barely fit all three of them), Sasha eating cereal and Ymir chomping on an apple while scrolling on her phone. “Porco texted me last night.”

Ymir continued scrolling, unfazed. Sasha’s eyes widened and she swallowed her food before speaking. “What? Why?” Y/N glared at Ymir.

“Thanks for your interest YMIR, but as i was telling Sasha-“

“I’m Sasha.” Sasha cut in, obviously confused.

Y/N gave Sasha a look.

“Did you say something?” Ymir said, bored. She still hadn’t looked up from her phone.

“Ymir!” Sasha scolded. “Y/N’s telling us Porco texted her!”

“Who’s Porco?” Ymir replied, monotonous.

Y/N sighed in exasperation. “Are you stalking Eren again? I already told you to stop comparing your subscribers-“

“I’m not stalking Eren!” Ymir snapped defensively. “I’m…” She mumbled the next part incoherently.

“Huh?” Sasha and Y/N asked in unison.

“I SAID,” Ymir repeated, annoyed. “I’m looking up Britney Spears outfits. Historia wanted us to go as different eras of her. But I can’t find anything that matches my style.” She grumbled.

Y/N’s heart melted. It was adorable watching Ymir struggle to find a matching costume for Historia. It was like Marilyn Manson wanting to get along with a CareBear.

“Just go as JT,” Sasha said, chewing her cereal.

“One, close your mouth, and two, Historia asked for us to go as Brittney. I can’t just show up like a dude.” Ymir visibly deflated as she scrolled through countless pictures of a younger Spear’s iconic looks.

“Why don’t you try her bandanna phase? That wasn’t so over the top, and she wore mostly jeans.” Y/N suggested as she squeezed into the corner chair.

Ymir sighed. “I don’t want to wear a skirt or some bimbo shit. That’s y’alls look.”

“How do you manage to sound endearing trying to please your girlfriend while simultaneously insulting us?” Y/N wondered aloud.

“It’s a talent.” Ymir waved her off. “What did you guys get her though?”

“A giftcard to Urban Outfitters,” Sasha replied. “I got tired of searchin’. I put $50 on it. I think that should be enough for like, a shirt and a half. She better like it, too. ‘Cus I’m broke.” Sasha pointed her spoon at Ymir accusingly.

“I got her the Taylor Swift vinyl she’s been wanting. And some pink film for her camera.” Y/N added. Ymir nodded approvingly.

“I hope she likes my gift. I don’t know if I’m moving too fast though?” For the first time since Y/N mer Ymir, Y/N hadn’t ever seen her this distraught.

“Calm down,” Y/N reassured her. “You’ve been together for years now. I don’t think you can move any slower.”

Ymir rolled her eyes, leaning back im her chair with arms crossed. “It’s a small trip to Seoul. I know she’s been dying to go. It’s not like it’s anything she hasn’t seen before with her family… but I figure it’d be different with just us.” Y/N’s heart melted.

“That’s so sweet!” Sasha exclaimed, eyes watery. “I want an Ymir!”

“Well, you can’t have me!” Ymir laughed. “It’s not a big deal. The sponsorship I managed to land gave me a decent payout.” Ymir sheepishly replied, her cheeks a faint red

Y/N nudged her. “Look at you, being modest.”

Ymir waved her hand. “Shut up. How does this look?” She turned her phone to Y/N, showing a picture of Britney Spears clad in low waist jeans, a black tank top and sure enough, a yellow bandanna.

“That’s perfect.”

Ymir smirked, smug. “Just like me.”

“Y/N!” Sasha shouted. “Go back to the Porco thing!”

“Oh, yeah. What did Oinky want?” The girls turned to face Y/N, who shrank a bit back in her seat.

“That’s a new one,” Y/N chuckled. “I thought of one last night, too,” She paued for dramatic effect. “Porker!” She gasped out, giggling, hitting the table in a slight fit of laughter. Sasha and Ymir gave Y/N a blank stare, unamused at Y/N’s mediocre roast.

“Not funny, didn’t laugh.” Sasha spat.

“If your career was stand up you’d be living in a box.” Ymir deadpanned.

“Tough crowd,” Y/N sighed, wiping imaginary tears from her eyes. “But if you must know…” She purposely stalled a bit, knowing it would send an impatient, jittery Sasha over the edge and annoy Ymir even more, even if she pretended she was not interested in the relationship drama between Y/N and her disgraced ex.

“Just say it already!” Sasha begged.

“I…don’t know. I haven’t responded.” Y/N finally admitted, putting her head in her hands. “I just-“ Her words were muffled by her hands.

Ymir removed her hands from her face. “Your words, darling.” She scolded, voice oozing sarcasm.

“Ugh,” Y/N groaned. “I’m too pussy to respond. He just asked if we could talk. What could he possibly want? What if he wants the couch? It’s just too much.”

Sasha gave her a sympathetic gaze. “Just leave him on read! If he wants to talk so badly he’ll find a way to say what he needs to.”

“For once, I agree.” Ymir added.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Y/N stretched. “But it did keep me up at night wondering what he wanted.”

“Y/N, forget him! Historia’s party is soon, there’s no time to worry about ugly men!” Sasha stood up, rushing to put her bowl in the sink. “I got a lecture in a few, but you need to find your costume! We’re all going as Britney!” She said before disappearing into her room.

“Um, who’s gonna tell her we’re not all dressing as Britney?” Ymir inquired.

Y/N snorted. “Not I. I’m probably going as Suki from Fast and the Furious.”

“Niiceee,” Ymir fist pumped Y/N. “She was my sexual awakening.” Y/N choked on her muffin.

“Ymir, what’d we say about uncalled for horniness?” Y/N reprimanded. Ymir made her way to the coat rack, searching for her car keys in her leather jacket’s pocket.

“If I was gonna be chewed out for liking women I would’ve lived with my parents!” Ymir called out. “I gotta pick up Historia!”

“Will you be back?” Y/N shouted back.

“Get off my dick!” Ymir shut the door. Laughing to herself, Y/N picked up Ymir’s dish to place in the sink. She was, out of the three, the more tidier one. Ymir did the best cleaning, but she was selectively lazy.

“Bye, Y/N!” Sasha shouted before leaving in a rush. One thing Y/N had grown used to was the fairly chaotic mornings. She secretly hoped they would be like this for a long time.

Since Y/N had transferred, Ymir and Sasha had been the best roommates she could ask for. Yes, Ymir was snappy and Sasha was a bit ditzy, but it was the perfect combination and they were respectful. Y/N had transferred from Sina University purely for academic reasons, but she had not expected to fit in so well with the girls or their group of pre establish friends. She worried she would not fit in since they had already been so tight-knit, but found that wasn’t the case at all. They were open, accepting and loyal. Y/N couldn’t be happier where she was, and even though she wouldn’t admit it, she was grateful for how close they had all gotten in their short time together. Who knew randomly assigned rooming would provide her with friendship to last a lifetime?

Which is why every time she thought about Porco she kicked herself. How could she have let some… meathead ruin her freshmen year of college? She should have been having fun, interacting with Ymir and Sasha’s friends more, lived her own life. But no, she chose to become involved with a self absorbed fraternity guy of all people. Now she was semi-heartbroken, extremely humiliated, and about a year’s worth of time and effort short. She had allowed him to take advantage of her so much, that he felt he could contact her still after basically using her. The thought made her want to rip her hair out and scream.

Almost as if through divine intervention, her phone beeped with a notification.

What the actual hell? Y/N thought.

She froze for a second. What does she do? Respond? Ignore? Block?

After a few seconds of mental deliberation, Y/N finally decided. She was fed up with the lack of bravery she showed and decided to just end it once and for all. Typing out a response, she clicked send and decided to go to the mall for the retail therapy she was sure to need after whatever Porco said what he wanted to say. Turning the shower on, she braced herself for his response. What could Porco want? She couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

This better be good, Y/N thought.

taglist : @tsunderehokage @lagrimasdeglitter @snowyseungs @mukeovernetflix @bakugouswh0r3 @punicorn999 @deadlyaffairs @usernamehere91 @calumsfringe

a/n: woohoo!! long chapter. so to recap: i graduated!! i am finally free from the clutches of high school. i might do a face reveal :) bc i loved my grad dress. anywho, my fever cleared up, i have chapter 9 already completed (just need to revise + edit) and this is NOT proof read!! it’s 2 am guys i’m tired. but i hope you enjoyed this :) sorry for the weird cropping too. peace out

#aot headcanons #aot imagines #attack on titan x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirstein #jean kirstein smau #jean kirstein x reader #jean x reader #shingeki no kyojin #aot #snk smau #snk #snk x reader #snk headcanons #snk fanfiction #snk jean #jean aot #jean x female reader #jean kirschtein #jean kirchstein headcanons #jean kirschtein scenarios #attack on titan social media au #attack on titan #aot smau #aot fanfiction #aot x y/n

[violetnotez]

fic or whatever concept: fushiguro is in love w the reader but they have a huge crush on yuuji and it’s just megumi suffering as the reader and yuuji get together and they’re actually really,,, happy??? and in love???

This is the shit I LIVE FOR -also I made a whole playlist for this idea-you can watch the vid here!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Megumi x reader (not really?), Yuuji x reader

Songs to Listen to: Treat You Better (but the Kurt Hugo version, seriously, thank me later!)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Maybe if he had tried harder, this wouldn’t have ended up like this. He just felt alone, empty, with nothing to show but a broken heart and head full of bitter dreams.

Did he fool himself? That maybe, some miraculous way, he would have won?

Megumi lay on his bed, worn sweatshirt making his skin crawl and his black sweats uncomfortable to wear, his toes curling from disgust.

Nothing could get his mind off of you, even months after you started dating Yuuji.

 It almost got worse, now that you were off limits.

Funny how it works like that.

His brain seemed to just always want to think of you-the way your voice seemed to sparkle when you yell out his name, the way you look too damn cute when you’d walk out of your dorm room in the morning, hair messy and feet bare-

Fuck fuck fuck.

Megumi groaned, placing a hand on his forehead and smoothing his hair back in exasperation.

You weren’t his, and you’d never be his-he shouldn’t be thinking of you like this. You were dating his best friend after all-didn’t he have any shame?

Even though he was in so much heart ache, so much pain from the fact he couldn’t have you.....he couldn’t ever hate his friend from taking you away from him.

Yuuji was good to you, and painfully, he had to admit Yuuji was better than him in every way as a boyfriend.

Yuuji was sociable, able to strike up a conversation and make everyone feel like his best friend-Megumi wasn’t like that.

Yuuji wasn’t afraid of physical touch, constantly having a hand on your hip to keep you near him or swinging you around lovingly like he hadn’t seen you in years- he was terrified of physical touch.

Yuuji was strong, powerful, and able to protect you from the world- he couldn’t say the same for himself.

Megumi’s insecurities were infesting his body, gnawing at his bones, squirming through his muscles and into his skin, making his jaw clench and nails dig deep into his skin from disgust within himself.

Why hadn’t he at least fucking tried?

But he had been too placid, too worried of rejection, too worried of ruining your friendship-

But then again....he was just too selfless. He was willing to let everyone around him surpass him if it meant they would win, thrive, and live happy lives- even if it meant he had to suffer the consequence.

Megumi squeezed the white sheets around him, twisting them into tight spirals around his digits.

He let it happen again-he had succumbed to that fear.

Years worth of affection, years worth of admiration and dedication-washed away like it never happened., because of it And now he was dealing with the repercussion with phantoms of what could have been, with the jealousy, and a broken heart.

Megumi shifted in his bed, feeling his sweatshirt stick to his back, his hand reached out to grasp at the white beams of moonlight drifting into his room.

What would have happened if he had said no that day? Would anything have changed-if he had admitted that he did like you, that he had wanted to call you his?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

He remembers that day like it was yesterday, that feeling of dread filling in his stomach as if he knew something was about to change, the shift of energy making an icy chill run along his back.

Yuuji has been behind him, leaving training as they usually do with his hands in his pockets.

It was quiet, the hallways empty except for the two of them, the wooden floors making soft clicks as it reacted to their footsteps. It should have felt peaceful, a soft breeze fluttering in from the opened windows as the sun began to set outside. But that errie sensation was still boiling in Megumi’s gut, that gnawing feeling of dread making him unable to enjoy the peace.

“Hey man, I wanted to ask you something real quick,” Yuuji’s voice stopped Megumi in his tracks, his feet halting with an echo in the empty corridor.

Megumi turned around slowly, tentatively, almost too worried to face what was behind him. 

Maybe at this time he knew what was about to happen, the feeling of dread settling.

“Sure,” he simply stated, shrugging nonchalantly as the golden sun set the room in a red hue.

“This might be a little personal,” Yuuji began, hands placed in the pockets of his sweatshirt still, “but I got a question about y/n.”

Yuuji looked at him, staring him down like two men in a duel. He was serious, more serious than Megumi had seen him in a long time.

“I know you guys are pretty close...”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.” Megumi stated, swallowing a ball of saliva down his dry throat.

“Well, I-“ Yuuji sighed, pink hair swaying as he looked down at the floor quickly, almost preparing himself for what he was about to say next.

“I-I wanted to ask them out.....out on a date....”

“- it okay with you?”

Megumi’s eyes widened in shock, the his whole body feeling as if hit by a ton of bricks from Yuuji’s words.

This was it-the worst case scenario, the worst thing he knew was happening but didn’t want to admit.

Megumi tried to recover quickly, his eyes slanting back down to unamused slits in a matter of seconds.

“Why are you asking me?” he questioned, trying to keep the growing panic inside him at bay,” It’s not like I dictate who she dates.”

“I think you know why.”

“I don’t.”

“Fushigoro-“

Megum sighed violently, eyes looking up at the ceiling as he tried to fight the growing pain in his heart.

“I don’t dictate your life-I don’t dictate them-and you don’t dictate mine. Do whatever the hell you want-“

“I won’t date them unless you say it’s okay for me to Fushigoro.”

Itadori’ voice had none of that boyish, playful tone to it. It was more mature than Megumi had even heard it-but something behind it was different.

It was almost like there was this desperateness to it- Yuuji needed him to say yes. Yuuji so badly wanted to call you his-just like him.

“You can say no-“ Itadori rushed on, eyes intense with anticipation, “-I won’t think less of you or hate you for it.”

Megumi watched as he shuffled uncomfortably, the knowledge that he just admitted his crush making him slightly sheepish as he scratched the back of his head.

“Hell, I know I would-” he said truthfully, “ I just don’t want to ruin our friendship by going behind your back.”

Fuck, Megumi wanted to fight for you. He wanted to so so badly.

Megumi had known you for longer, you two were close friends, he had a connection to you-didn’t he deserve to be yours after being so dedicated to only you?

Fushigoro was there for when you cried over your stresses, rubbing your back patiently as you let everything out of you, summoning his animals because he knew how much they made you happy.

He was there for your late night study sessions, the lighting hazy as the pouring rain pounded on the window, cleaning up your room of the papers and flashcards after he convinced you to go to sleep.

He trained with you when you worried you weren’t strong enough, always making sure to congratulate you in someway, fighting the redness in his cheeks after you had successfully completed a new move, your skin dangerously close to his.

God, he had waited for so long-why did the world have to fuck him over? Why did his best friend, out of all the people in the world he could form a crush on, like you like that?

But looking at Yuuji, he knew he wouldn’t win this war. Him and Yuuji were very similar in their passion and devotion, but the simple difference between them was Yuuji wasn’t afraid to be selfish.

Megumi was accustomed to backing down for everyone, sacrificing himself so the people he loved could succeed. It was an awful habit of his, maybe due to his insecurities, maybe just a routine he learned at this point, he would never know- but the fact was he knew that Yuuji would never stop fighting for you. Even if Megumi screamed at him, cursed at him, told him to fuck off and leave you alone-Yuuji wouldn’t ever stop loving you. Itadori would respect Megumi’s wishes, but he would still protect you, fight for you, and love you with everything in him.

And that much devotion coming from someone as charismatic and kind like that-what person wouldnt fall for that?

Megumi sighed, his heart breaking in two at the sudden realization hit him-he was too weak to be any threat to Yuuji.

”You’re not going behind my back.” He finally said, looking down at the floor as the self loathing boiled in his stomach.

“But you-“

“I don’t. Like them.” Megumi was seething, hating every fiber in his body for doing this to himself. Each word was choppy, the sentence laced with sternness and bitterness.

“-Do whatever the hell you want.”

Megumi needed to leave, and leave quick. He hadn’t felt this emotional in a long time, and he didn’t want Yuuji to start thinking that he was actually bothered by all of this.

He turned on his heel, ready to get out of there as quickly as possible-

“Hey Megumi- you really okay with this? This won’t change our friendship? I won’t do this unless youre okay-“

Yuuji took a step forward, hand reaching out to his friend as a peace offering, a sheepish smile on his lips.

Megumi turned, his chest tightening as he looked down at his hand, too tired to reach out for it and pretend like he didn’t hate his friend at this moment.

“They dont like me. They like you- I see it. You’ll make them happy, and that’s all I want for them.”

Yuuji smiled , seemingly content with his quiet friend’s answer.

“Thanks man,”

Megumi turned again, head hanging low as he quickly left the corridor, desperate to get out of there.

“Tell me thank you when they say yes.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

He groaned, letting the painful memories overtake him as he turned his back to the wall.

It just hurt-maybe he would get over all of this one day, but right now he couldnt.

As if on cue to deepen his torture, he heard a giggle from you across his room, the muffled noise of Yuuji’s voice making him cringe.

Thin ass walls-you were probably visiting Yuuji again for the night, staying up all night to watch movies.....

This was destroying him-but he couldnt ever blame you for it, because you were oblivious to his love for you. He had made sure you would never catch on- and now you would never know because he was too cowardly to ever say it. 

God, what he’d do to have the roles switched though...with you breaking school rules to come visit him at night, to here that sweet laugh in his room, to feel your head cuddle into his chest, or see you slowly begin to wake up in the morning....

Megumi felt a pain in his chest at the wanting feeling that would never fully be satiated gnaw at his chest, his hands despertedly grabbing at his pillow and shoving it against his ear.

He didnt want to hear you, he didnt want to see you...at this moment he didnt want anything to do with you or Yuuji. 

This hurt too much...

Fuck, he really screwed up.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x y/n #megumi x reader #jjk megumi x reader #jjk fushiguro x reader #fushiguro x reader #megumi x y/n #jjk megumi x y/n #jjk itadori x reader #itadori x reader #yuuji x reader #jjk yuuji x reader #itadori x y/n #jjk itadori x y/n #jjk angst

[spine-buster]

peaceful easy feeling ft. b.boeser | one

A/N: Here’s the beginning of my new mini-series!  I hope you all enjoy it.  It will definitely be a bit of an emotional rollercoaster, so be prepared!  There will be five parts!

SUPPORT MY WRITING HERE: https://ko-fi.com/spine_buster

CONTENT WARNING: parents with disease/sickness (Parkinson’s); swearing; sex; alcohol use; lots of emotions.

                                                                   *     *     *     *     *

Brock Boeser felt like he was at some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous meeting, with everybody around the circle introducing themselves and their similar predicaments.  The group was in a big meeting room at the local community centre, and when he walked in, he saw a group of dads playing basketball in the gym.  He sort of wanted to join them instead of being here, in this room, with all these people that he didn’t know talking about what they were going to talk about, but he’d done this back in Minnesota, at his mother’s behest with his siblings, and he was going to do it here, too, in Vancouver, to make her happy and ease her mind and to make sure that he was easing his own mind.  

“Um, hello everyone.  My name is Brock Boeser.  I’m from Minnesota, but I’m living in Vancouver.  And um, I’m here with you all because my dad was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease.”

“Hello Brock,” everyone smiled at him, and he smiled and nodded back.

“So it was your dad that was diagnosed,” the leader, a kind, older woman named Esther who had greeted him at the door and stuck with him until everybody sat down, egged on a conversation.  He knew she was doing it because he was new; everybody in this room probably already knew each other.  A part of him actually wondered if anybody knew who he was.  “When?”

“Um, he—he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s in 2010,” Brock revealed, stuttering it out.  He knew he’d have to be open at these things – open so people could empathize with him, open so he could empathize with others – but it was still tough for him to do so.  “But he—it’s—it’s not just Parkinson’s.  Two years after he was diagnosed, he was in a car accident and suffered a traumatic brain injury.  In 2017, he was diagnosed with lung cancer.  He beat it but then in June it returned to his liver and chest.  In July, he had a heart attack and his heart stopped beating for 15 minutes.  I was with him and—I—it’s—it’s a lot, as you can imagine,” he tried not to start crying right then and there.  Imagine that – first meeting with a Parkinson’s Society of BC support group and he’d bawl like a baby.

“Goodness me, Brock,” Esther said.  “He has support at home?”

“Um, well, money isn’t an issue now, but when I was growing up my mom worked three jobs to make sure we were all taken care of,” he revealed.  “I’d pitch in too wherever I could, obviously.”

“But it’s been tough for a number of years.”

Brock paused.  It had been tough for a number of years.  It had been really tough for a number of years.  He nodded his head.  “Yes ma’am.  I try to take it day by day.”

Esther nodded as well.  “I don’t know if you pray, Brock, but I know a couple of members around the circle do, and, well – you’ll be kept in all our prayers.”

Brock saw a few people nod their head.  Another older woman, probably his mom’s age, clutching a rosary; a Sikh man dressed in a casual suit; a younger woman, probably in her thirties, with short blonde hair.  He appreciated the sentiment.  He knew that people took prayer very seriously – that people suffering took prayer very seriously.  It was, realistically, one of the kindest things somebody could ever say to you: “I’m praying for you.”  “Thank you very much,” he said, nodding his head once.

***

There was an arrangement of cookies at the end of the meeting.  Even after the 90 minutes of everybody talking about their experiences and emotions, they apparently liked to stick around afterwards as well just to mingle.  It didn’t all have to be doom and gloom, he thought.  It didn’t all have to be about Parkinson’s or about sick people or losing your loved ones all the time.  Maybe some people just wanted to talk about the news.  Maybe some people just wanted to talk about sports.  The weather.  Anything.  Anything to make a connection with someone beyond something so tragic.  

After stuffing an entire Fudge-O cookie into his mouth, he looked up to see a young woman staring at him, holding her trenchcoat in her arms.  She was smiling to let him know she was friendly.  He was embarrassed because he knew she just saw him stuff an entire Fudge-O into his mouth.  “Hi,” he said, his mouth still full of cookie, the sound of his voice reflecting that fact.

“You’re Brock Boeser, right?” she asked sweetly.  “You play for the Vancouver Canucks?”

“Yeah,” Brock couldn’t help but smile.  He swallowed the rest of the cookie even though he didn’t really finish chewing it.  “That’s me.  Are you a fan?”

“My step-brothers are more so than I am,” she said.  “But I’m a fan of the team, yeah.  I’m Grace Gillespie,” she extended her hand to shake his.  “God, they’re not gonna believe me when I say I met you.  They’re gonna freak.”

Brock couldn’t help but chuckle slightly.  “Do you—I mean, do you want a picture?  I don’t mind at all.  I’ll sign an autograph on a napkin if you want me to.”

“Well…it’s a bit awkward to ask you at a Parkinson’s Society of BC meeting, but we could go to the Starbucks down the street and I could buy you a coffee.”

Brock was slightly taken aback at her forwardness.  He shouldn’t have been.  Girls came up to him all the time.  All the time.  And they were most definitely not shy.  But he wasn’t exactly expecting it to happen here, of all places.  A bar, sure.  Out with Petey or any of the other guys, absolutely.  But not here.  “Yeah…yeah sure,” he stuttered out.

“Then we should go,” Grace smiled.  She turned to look behind her.  Brock saw Esther picking up a few Oreos.  “Thank you for leading another great session, Esther,” Grace said.  

“Oh you are most welcome Miss Gillespie.  How is Hamish these days?  You didn’t speak much today.”

“He’s been doing fine lately.  His caregivers have been working around the clock for him.  They just work wonders, don’t they?”

Esther nodded.  “They are angels on Earth.  Anyways – we’ll catch up next week,” she said, leaning slightly on her leg to look beyond Grace and to Brock.  “I hope to see you here again next week, Brock.”

“Thank you, Esther.  See you next week,” he said, realizing he made the commitment before he could even realize what he was saying.

***

“I take that was your first meeting?” Grace asked as she set down the two lattes on the table against the window where Brock was waiting.  

“Was it really obvious?” Brock asked.

Grace shrugged her shoulders.  She didn’t want to make him feel self-conscious.  “It was the stuttering that gave it away, at least to me.  I know I stuttered a lot the first few times I came to these meetings.  I wasn’t the most comfortable talking about my dad’s condition to a room full of virtual strangers.  But within just a few months I realized the people in that room are the kindest, most empathetic, most amazing people that I’ve ever interacted with.  So I became a lot more open.”

Brock was transfixed by every word that Grace was saying.  “So you’ve been coming here a long time,” he said.

Grace nodded.  “My dad got diagnosed with Parkinson’s when I was fourteen.  I didn’t start coming here until I was about eighteen, though.”

Brock knew he shouldn’t ask.  He knew he shouldn’t.  But his brain had ulterior motives, and his mouth – well, his mouth listened to his brain, because it apparently needed to know.  “Is your—is your dad like my dad?” he asked.  “Does he have, like, other problems complicating things?”

Grace shook her head.  “No,” she said softly.  “But the Parkinson’s is enough for him.  I mean he was diagnosed just short of ten years ago and he’s already on puréed foods.  It’s not—I mean, you know as well as I do that it doesn’t regularly develop that fast.  But that’s…I don’t know how you do it.”

Brock didn’t know either.  Some days he didn’t.  “I just take it day by day,” he said simply, just like he said in the meeting.  “If I think about it too much…that’s when it’s bad.”

“I hear ya,” Grace said, taking a sip of her coffee.  “But let’s…not talk about this for too long.  Do you like Vancouver?  Do you find it nice?”

Brock appreciated the change in topic.  “I love it here,” he nodded his head, smiling.  “The city’s great.  The fans are great.  My teammates – I mean they’re amazing.  What do you do?”

“I’m a dance teacher at Goh Ballet – little kids and teens, mostly.”

He wasn’t expecting that.  She was drop dead gorgeous, sure – Brock wasn’t blind – but he wasn’t expecting to hear she was a dancer.  “Do you, like, dance in the real ballet?”

Grace snorted slightly at his phrasing of ‘real ballet’.  “No.  I pursued it only up until a certain point.  I was good, but uh, I stopped when my dad got diagnosed.”

“Why?  Don’t they always tell people like us to have, like, an outlet or whatever?”

“They do.  But I loved my dad more than I loved dance.  And I would have rather spent the time that I was spending on dance with him instead.”

He understood where she was coming from, and he wasn’t there to judge her.  “And your brothers you mentioned, did they help too?”

“Oh no no no.  Sorry – I should have specified.  I’m an only child.  Like, the only child between my parents.  But they divorced when I was six and when my mom re-married I gained two step-brothers, Jasper and Theo.”

“How was the divorce?” Brock found himself asking.

“You ever see footage of a nuclear bomb exploding?” Grace giggled as she asked the question.  It caused Brock to laugh too even though the analogy she was making was dreadful.  “It was awful.  The type of divorce nobody deserves, you know?  I became a pawn, basically, and my parents would only speak to each other through lawyers.  Even stuff concerning me.  It was bad.”

“That sounds horrible.”

“It was.  But it’s the only life I know,” she said.  “He was lucky my mom ended up marrying another rich guy.  I mean, my mom only marries rich men,” she giggled slightly again.  “That’s how Jasper and Theo became my step-brothers.”

“So your family has money?” Brock clarified.  “What’s it from?  Dad a lawyer or something?”

“Not exactly,” Grace said.  “My dad and his brothers own a private equity firm that started like this,” she pinched her fingers together, “and went like…” she continued, spreading her fingers and moving her hands around her like a bomb explosion.  “Gillespie Brothers Investments.  I’m sure as a Vancouver Canuck you’ve heard of them.  I mean they wanted to buy the Canucks before the Aquilinis.”

Brock hadn’t heard of them, but he now knew he’d have to do some snooping when he got home. “I haven’t heard of them.  But I mean – sounds like they were successful.”

“Three billion dollars is pretty successful to me,” Grace quipped.

“B—Billion,” Brock sputtered out.  “With a B.”

“With a B,” Grace nodded.  Brock had no idea he was sitting across from the daughter of a billionaire.  She didn’t act like a billionaire.  Not like Brock knew what billionaires acted like.  He’d never met one before in his life.  Well, besides Francesco.  “But tell me more about what you like about Vancouver.  What about the nature?  I always kind of fine a good long walk along the Seawall or through Stanley Park really clears my mind from all…this.  What about you?”

Brock smiled.  “I find the white noise of downtown clears my mind.”

***

“You want my number,” Grace said as a statement rather than a question as she and Brock exited the Starbucks.  They were kicked out.  They’d been there for so long that they’d been kicked out because they were closing.  Their coffees had gotten cold.  They hadn’t ordered new ones.  And now they found themselves on the deserted sidewalk, jackets put on hastily, and Grace came up with that.

Brock looked down at her.  They’d been able to look into each other’s soul for the past few hours.  “Of course I want your number,” he said.  There was no reason to hide it.  No reason to deny it.  No reason to have to wait until next week to see her again as they sat around in a circle in a community centre talking about their parents.

He took out his phone.  She gave him her number.  He texted his name to hers so she’d have his.  When that dance was done, she looked up at him.  “I’m really glad I met you tonight,” she said, her voice sincere.

Brock nodded.  “I’m glad I met you too.  I—I really enjoyed this.  And I mean—I needed it.”

Grace smiled, nodding her head.  “I needed it too.”

“D’you—” Brock stopped, trying not to get too far ahead of himself.  “D’you need a ride home?”

“Oh no no, my driver is right there,” she motioned her head towards a black Mercedes waiting by the curb.

Brock hadn’t noticed the car until now.  “Chauffeur?”

“Billionaire dad,” she winked.  Brock understood.  She took a few steps back before smiling one more time.  “Call me,” she said, before flipping her hair over her shoulder and walking towards the Mercedes and getting into the backseat.  Brock watched as it drove off, making a right at the end of the street.

He would definitely be calling.

#brock boeser #brock boeser imagine #brock boeser fic #brock boeser fan fic #vancouver canucks #vancouver canucks imagine #vancouver canucks fic #vancouver canucks fan fic #brock boeser blurb #vancouver canucks blurb #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fan fic #nhl blurb #hockey #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey fan fic #hockey blurb #peaceful easy feeling series

[pretoriafics]

Therapy sessions with the devil

I'd did this request yesterday on my Portuguese blog, and I thought that you guys would love it!

Anonymous asks: Y/N is a therapist who works for Vought and is doing a few evaluations on the Super.

Word count: 1.806 Contain: Therapist!Reader x Homelander Warnings: Mention of sexual violence, mention of serial killers, mention of cases of children with psychopathy, mental disorders. +16 only Versão em português aqui  PART 2 THE BOYS MASTERLIST

Your profession was gratifying.

You loved the idea of helping people, getting to know each other better, and getting them to learn to deal with life's challenges. For you, being a kind of "confidant", where people could talk about their lives without any judgments, was an honor and your purpose. You believed that it would make the world a better place.

However, it also had its burdens. Some things were difficult to hear, even for you with all your knowledge and professional background. Patients who suffered from sexual violence, for example, demanded of you a stomach that you were not always able to have. It was something you talked to your therapist about, and you kept a mantra in mind: After all, you were still human, and it was okay to feel that way.

And when Vought invited you to work as a therapist for The Seven, you went nuts. It was the chance of a lifetime!

Or, at least, this was what you thought at the beginning.

It was not uncommon for you to hear things that made your stomach a little sick, just like when The Deep told you about the way he “welcomed” Starlight. You felt nauseous but, on the outside, remained impassive, just watching him as a silent request to continue to talk.

All of them were, simply, not only media products but also puppets of the advertising world. You already had some political patients, and in fact, you thought The Seven was a similar case: Both went to that market with the intention, many times, to help people. However, they ended up corrupted in the middle of the road, forgetting their whole purpose in helping others.

You saw a point in common between The Seven: Everyone, with perhaps the exception of Starlight, was too worried about their own egos to be real heroes. They were all too narcissistic.

But Homelander was the worst of them.

The childhood phase was the most important part of a person's life. A traumatic childhood could lead to a troubled adult, as in the case of Mary Bell and Beth Thomas. Homelander's case was no different: his non-affectionate childhood, being raised as a laboratory rat, was the bigger reason to make him that kind of man.

Although at the same time you were fascinated about to study a mind like that - since one of the reasons why you did psychology would be to unveil the secrets of the human mind - each therapy session was daunting and made you rethink your job at Vought.

In short, you were interviewing a serial killer. Easily one of the most cruel and unhealthy.

"Good morning, Homelander." Your voice was soft, just like the smile you gave to the super who just sat on the couch.

"Good morning, Doctor." He returned the smile to you, but the smile on his own way: The corners of your mouth pulled to the side in a smile that you recognized as fake.

"So..." You put your hands on your knee, looking at him with the best receptive look you could pretend. There, in that office, your sessions with Homelander made you feel you deserved an Oscar "How was your week?"

“Well…” He lay down on the couch, his blue eyes staring at the ceiling, and his hands joined in front of his stomach “Nothing new. In fact, he had a little incident with Maeve. Sometimes she is so… pathetic. ”

"What happened?"

It took a while for Homelander to actually get some confidence in you. In fact, he only started telling you things in detail when he realized he could get something out of the sessions. They were productive to him, they made him think. You didn't know if you were thanking God for getting something out of him, or if you should cursing yourself because of the horrors he tells you.

"Maybe you saw something about the 37 Flight on the news."

"The one who had been captured by the terrorists?"

"Exactly! Maeve and I had to rescue the plane. We managed to take down the terrorists, but when I killed the last one, in the Pilot's cabin, I hit the plane's controls with the lasers. And then, the flight was doomed. I told Maeve that our job was done and we should leave, but she was reluctant. He wanted me to save the passengers! ” He laughed, but a natural one. "Can you believe that?"

Oh, it was going to be a long therapy session...

"And what happened next?"

“What did she want me to do? That I fly 137 times from the plane to land? Ah, pathetic, pathetic! ” He shook his head, clearly humorous. "Now, just imagine: You are on a flight with 137 people shouting 'Help, Homelander!', While your stupid partner insists that you should do something to save everyone. I was losing patience so I threatened everyone with my eyes, and they finally settled down. I don't blame them, I mean, they are so vulnerable. They are bugs! ” He looked at you, the corners of his mouth pulled in a fake smile. "No offense."

Homelander was a cold-blooded killer. Not only, but like Ted Bundy, he was a narcissist. He liked the feeling of power that invaded his body when he saw that people feared him, and when he felt that he had the power to decide whether that person would live or not. He didn't mind if killing people just for fun was against the law. Homelander didn't care about the law or any kind of rules. Furthermore, just as Bundy believed he was fully capable of defending himself in his court's judgment and did not need lawyers, Homelander thought he was an incarnate God walking among the 'bugs', simply because he had powers.

"And how do you feel about Maeve?"

“She bothered me a little with the drama on the plane, but that's okay. I am sure that after I spoke to the journalists, near the wreckage of the flight, she understood. This is all going to be an excellent opportunity to make our presence in the army happen. ”

A sociopath.

Empathetic behaviors aren't part of him. He was unable to have that feeling. Self-centered, Homelander was unable to love. The relationship he had with Stiwell, for example, was far from loving. He didn't feel it, quite the opposite: Homelander had a feeling of possession with her. She was his, and nobody else's.

A doubt hammered in your head: Homelander was intending to drop the plane? Your stomach was upset, you felt bad about that therapy session. How could Vought leave someone like him in The Seven?

The answer was simple: They didn't care. Homelander was profitable, and that was all that mattered.

That was one of the times when you thanked God that Homelander was self-centered enough to lie on the couch and just think about your own life, instead of analyzing you and realizing that you were completely terrified. It was as if a misstep, a wrong word, was going to cost his life.

And you would end that today.

You conducted the therapy session normally. In the end, you shook hands with Homelander as you always did and closed the door. Tears invaded your face as you thought of each life that was lost in vain on that flight, and, worse, you were sure that Maeve would tell you about the flight at her therapy session, early next week. In an attempt to calm down, you took some coffee and sat down in front of your MacBook. There, sipping coffee, you wrote your resignation letter.

Alright. You were free.

Or at least this was what you thought.

 * * *

Another week has started, and the fact that you worked at Vought made you get a more comfortable office, in addition to increasing your service price. You were ending your day. Your last patient had left the office, and you were about to go home when you heard a familiar voice from your couch.

"I miss you in the tower."

Homelander looked at you with his pairs of sick blue eyes, his fake smile, and his murderous hands behind his body. He was standing next to the couch, and you felt your whole body freeze. A lump formed in your throat, and your hands vibrated in pure dread.

So he would kill you there? In your office?

Trying to take control of the situation, you faked a slight smile.

“Sorry, Homelander. I didn't saw you here. Need something?"

"Actually, I do." He started walking towards you slowly. "I didn't want to end our sessions, so I came to ask you what our new schedule is going to be."

You narrowed your eyes.

"I thought Vought was going to hire someone else to work with The Seven in my place."

“In fact, they put an incompetent in your place. I really prefer that we continue where we left off. ” He stopped in front of you with his smile, his eyes emanating pure insanity "I like our therapy sessions."

“I'm glad that you like my job and that you appreciate our results, Homelander” You gave him a smile, but inside you were still in pure dread “But I don't have appointments available. My schedule filled up easily after I came to this new office. ”

“Oh, but I'm sure you can fit me in your schedule. I can pay you well. ”

How to say no to Homelander without putting your life at risk?

You walked over to your tablet, on your desk. You took it in hand and slid your finger on the screen, analyzing awhile. You didn't need him to tell you that you would be paid well. In fact, you were fully aware of that. The point was that you could exchange all the money in the world to be at peace, without having to deal with Homelander. Without much choice, you concluded that you would reserve a single day for your therapy sessions with him. That way, your head wouldn't get so tired when you still had to deal with other patients.

“Are you available on Friday morning? At nine."

He nodded, giving the same smile he did when he achieved something. One of pure contentment.

"Of course!"

"Great so." You typed 'Homelander' in the space corresponding to the hour. You put the tablet down on the table, next to your MacBook “There, it's done. Friday, at nine in the morning. ”

“Ah, perfect! Thank you. Have a good night."

"Good night, Homelander."

He walked over to your balcony. With a jump, he flew through the sky. You lay on your couch, terrified. Would you never get rid of him?

All that was left for you now was to be the therapist of the incarnate Devil.

#the boys imagines #the boys imagine #the boys fics #the boys fanfics #the boys fanfic #the boys fanfiction #homelander x you #homelander x reader #homelander x y/n #homelander imagine #homelander imagines #homelander fics #homelander fanfics #homelander fanfic

[nincompoopydoo]

PINING, BAGELS, REPEAT.

— WHEN THE DRINKING'S DONE ; PART 6 / ?

( gif from this gifset by @jascontodd )

PAIRING: Bruce Wayne x reader

WORD COUNT: 2.9k

SUMMARY: Sunday night dinner with your mother doesn’t go as planned when Bruce shows up unexpectedly at your door and you both know how your mother really loves him alot.

A/N: Slow and kinda long-winded chapter again haha. I used to be the kind of person who couldn’t write long stuff. Now look at me. Who is she??? Enjoy this one yall. Probably one or two more chapters to go, depends on how much I can write <3

WARNINGS: Swearing, alcohol. I write about what I feel and they are very real. So if you find these things triggering, please do not read this.

MASTERLIST ; MASTERPOST

Sunday night. You’re in an apron, flushed from the heat of the stove. You’ve just poured a glass of wine for your mother, but she doesn’t drink it—too busy walking around your apartment, clearing your stuff as she criticizes your lack of cleanliness and organization. Grading papers during exam season keeps you busy. Needless to say, you don’t have the time to clean your goddamn house.

You still love her anyway.

You’re at the sink, purple-stained fingers from peeling the tunic of the red onions are under running water when there is a knock on your door. It’s deafening, rapid, and agitating. You’ve just spilled boiling water onto your hand and you really don’t need another problem to come charging at your front door. Literally.

Moving out of the kitchen with haste, you call out over your shoulder to your mother to quit rearranging with bits and bobs of stationary and papers because yes, it’s messy but you know exactly where everything is. The knocking doesn’t cease, and your annoyance aggravates further. You’re gonna have to punch someone or something if it doesn’t stop.

You aggressively pushed the barrel of the bolt lock, swinging the door open as the strands of your wild hair flew backward in the sudden blow of air.

All forms of anger and agitation disappear as soon as your gaze meets the flushed face of none other than Bruce fucking Wayne, dressed in a grey dress vest, tie hanging loosely a pristine white shirt, and an ebony tweed overcoat. This feels like deja vu. Your expression goes through a series of mixed emotions, mostly confusion, when it morphed into a guise of embarrassment, cheeks even redder. “Don’t tell me I texted you by accident again?” He blinks, seemingly as bewildered as you are. “What? No, no. No. I—” His sentence is cut short when he takes a moment to catch his breath. Your brows are frowning even deeper than before. “Did you run here or something? And what are you doing here anyway?”

Bruce shifts in his stance, a palm against the door frame, shaking his head. He feels small under your interrogative stare. “No, I came here to see you…” he trails off, eyes shamelessly skirting across your figure. He just now notices that it may be a bad time for him to turn up, and you’re hit with the realization you’re in a ratty apron, very red and very sweaty. You’re right. It is deja vu because why are you always a mess when Bruce shows up at your front door unannounced? You abruptly pull the apron over your head, hurling it behind the door, hands palming the frizz of your hair into a somewhat presentable look.

“Look, I need to talk you—”

“Honey! Who’s at the door?” He’s being cut off mid-sentence again. This time, by your mother’s voice from the living room. Your eyes are wide again—so are his.

Your mother’s fondness for Bruce is an understatement. Obsession is a better word. She had only met him once, and that was six years ago but the conceptualization of being somewhat related to an exceptionally handsome and successful man had gotten to her head all those years ago. Hell, she loves him more than she loves you. Your mother—A woman who wishes to call your best friend ‘son’ with a whole lot of love to give. If she discovers Bruce is here, at your doorstep, she will never let go. Never. And you both know it. There’s a silent understanding that travels between the two of you and the look you’re giving him tells only one thing—Run before it’s too late.

“Bruce Wayne as I live and breathe...”

Well, too late.

A small-statured lady stands on the farther side of the hallway, face lit up with sheer joy and excitement as if she had just won a lottery. She approaches him with arms open wide and soon, her hands are laid on his cheeks, examining the man’s face carefully. Bruce just stands there, stiff as a rock, unsure of how to regain his composure from all the adrenaline of wanting to see you now that he was in such close proximity to the woman who raised you. When it’s you, he tends to struggle with timing and it’s partly the reason he has never managed to act on his feelings for you. For the longest time, he has wanted to be more than friends or whatever the hell this was. He had been hesitant but now, he’s very sure.

Sometimes it feels like it's the right person but the wrong time. He doesn’t want it to be that way. He wants to make things right with you.

And there he was, being squished under the grasp of the lady that loves him very much.

He catches your gaze; you flash him a sympathetic smile as you mouth the word “sorry.” Bruce arches his brows, indicating he has no idea what to do or how to get out of this situation.

“You’ve grown so much since the last time I saw you!” the older woman exclaims, a hand now firmly on his shoulder, the other brushing away his long strands of hair from his face with affection. Bruce would never admit it; he likes the attention your mother gives to him—the touch of a mother. Something he longs for.

“Why don’t you come in and join us for dinner? There's more than enough food.”

Crap, you should have known that question was bound to be mentioned. You’re not convinced that you will be able to suppress your emotional heartburn and the idea of Bruce tasting the dishes you’re cooking, it’s making your palms sweat. But what the hell. You shouldn’t be this nervous around him, you’ve known each other for years. He has seen you at your worst and vice versa.

Still, you’ll like to avoid the predicament of a dinner table set for you, your mother, and the man you secretly love. You’re quick with an answer. “Oh, I’m sure he has other important things to do. Bruce is very busy—”

“I’ll be happy to. I have no plans for tonight after all.”

You stare at Bruce, eyes glimmering with shock and betrayal—he is supposed to be on your side. He simply sends you a swift wink, and you feel the growing and most likely apparent deep red of your already flushed cheeks. You glance away to face your mother, eye crinkling in hopes of concealing the effect he has on you. Well, at least your mother looks fucking overjoyed. Maybe the night won’t end in disappointment.

-

The scent of chicken and spice whiffs through the air from the dishes of chicken and chorizo paella you’ve managed to whip up in a quick thirty minutes—a recipe you came by in an article titled “Fancy dishes for lazy cooks.” Well, it’s certainly working; everyone looks pleasantly surprised when you emerge from the kitchen with a cast-iron skillet within your kitchen gloved-grasp.

Happiness is the sound of the clinking of cutlery against nearly empty smeared plates, the splash of wine cascading from the bottle you held into the glasses of your guests, and the occasional laughter that erupts from your mother as Bruce tries to make a joke through mouthfuls of paella. A symphony of contentment and comfort, composed and orchestrated by the two most significant individuals in your life. Beauty is made anywhere beautiful people are; in this space, cramped up at the beech wooden table made for one by the casement window that overlooks the apartment across yours.

This side of Bruce—where boyish smiles were manifested and hearty laughs arising from the belly—is the side you miss the most. Years ago, things felt simpler though your past self would deny that notion as human life continues to become more intricate as we grow older and our eyes see more. Innocence to maturity. Happiness to grief. But, the complexity of this warfare between the brain and the heart seems to reside in perpetual darkness, no light at the end of the tunnel. For a long time, you thought deciding to be alone could eventually bring peace to the madness but maybe, you’ve been with the wrong people this whole time. It’s your reflection against the window pane that shows the evident crinkle in your eyes and the constant upward in the curve of your lips even though it contrasts the gloomy hues of blue from the sky at twilight—you’re happy.

It’s the way your mother leans over and wipes off the bits of rice from the corner of your mouth and the exchange of awkward smiles when Bruce accidentally brushes his hand against yours when reaching for the fork. This is what you want. And maybe, just maybe, you deserve to not be alone.

“So, have you decided on who you’re taking to the wedding?”

Your mother’s voice hauls you back from your daydream. She gives you a knowing look, discretely glancing towards Bruce on the other end of the table. She knows you don’t have a date, and you know she wants you to bring Bruce. You feel your anxiety creep back in.

This is weirdly the second time you’re in this situation.

“I don’t know yet...” In times like this, you wonder if your mother wields some sort of magical ability of truth or something because no matter how much you try, you can never lie to her. And now, you wish the ground would collapse and swallow you up. You know she means well, but oh my God, Bruce is staring at you and you don’t know what to do with your hands anymore.

“Wedding?” Bruce chirps with a questioning brow as he glances between you and your mother. Now, you’re forced to explain for the sake of context. “My cousin’s getting married next week and mom here wants me to bring a date.” Your mother’s expression indicates that you’re lying through your teeth. Yet in reality, it’s not technically a lie if you’re leaving parts of reason out of the explanation because it’s true she wants you to bring a date but you don’t mention how you don’t want to go alone because weddings make you sad.

It sounds pathetic.

Bruce just nods, taking a sip of his wine. The fact he’s not saying anything is making you anxious. You thought you didn’t want him to be your date but now, maybe you do. These feelings are messing up your brain. It’s just mush now, and there’s no cure.

These are the times you want to say “Fuck you, Bruce” but in the nicest way possible.

“Why don’t you bring Bruce?”

She was direct as they come but is mostly tired of your lack of initiative and doubt. I mean, it’s not like you’re asking him to marry you, right? And honestly, you’re kind of relieved you didn’t have to be one to do it but you can’t keep depending on her to do all the heavy lifting for you. You’re not a teenager anymore. You’re a goddamn grown adult.

Nevertheless, you peer at his reaction to this from the corner of your eye, fully expecting some sort of a resting jaded expression or eyes wide in horror but he’s just looking at you...with that look—highly bewildered and almost seems to be entertained by your embarrassment. Despite the purse of his lips, you manage to catch sight of the slight impish tuck of his lips.

He thinks it's the wine, but he isn’t exactly sure.

“Yeah, sure. Why not?”

-

“Are you sure about this?” you cross your arms, as you watch Bruce shrug on his coat from the rack. The two of you are squeezed in the entryway of your apartment, huddling in hushed conversation. “About what?” he asks absentmindedly when in reality, he knows exactly what you’re referring to. As much as he doesn’t want to admit it, it’s an excuse to be around you longer. You purse your lips, shifting in your stance, eyes flickering away from his gaze. “About coming to the wedding,” you say it slowly, carefully, like you’re afraid to and you’re not sure why. He nods with the furrow of his brows, tugging his hands into the pockets of his ebony tweed coat. “I’m sure...Unless you don’t want me to come—”

“No, no. God, of course, I want you to come,” you stop, realizing how your sudden outburst of excitement must have made you seem desperate. You clear your throat, feet shifting once more. “I don’t want to pull you off work just because I don’t want to be alone.”

He raises his brows, nearing a little closer to you. “So that’s the real reason?” A hint of a smile—it’s a teasing one. You simply throw a fist to his arm yet unable to stifle your growing smile. “Don’t be a jerk.”

Bruce winces followed by a laugh that comes out more light a puff of air as he bares his palms in a gesture of surrender. “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

Maybe, it’s the walls of this hallway, covered with hung framed photographs of family, childhood, and friends because it’s starting to feel warm. You think it’s the way his eyes light up when you laugh, radiating a sort of comforting warmth on this cold night. It feels like home. Bruce feels like home. You notice the prominent stain of your mother’s lipstick on his left cheek. You bring one hand to rest on the curve of his cheekbone, thumb trying to efface the smeared stain away.

You’re not sure if it's the smell of his deodorant or the sudden sense of his breath on your skin that made you comprehend the closing gap between your face and his. In an instant, your hand jerks away and returns to your side, clenching to a fist. Bruce clears his throat, bringing a hand up to scratch the growing stubble at his jaw. The touch of your fingers lingers like a burn.

Recognizing the tension in the air, you decide to avert your thoughts back to the conversation you were having in the first place. “You know, you don’t have to come. Really. You’ve done a lot for me, and you know that.”

“Yes...but I’ll always have your back no matter what.”

He smiles at you. The kind that reaches his eyes. He looks younger like this.

“And I’ll always have yours, Bruce.”

You’re an idiot. He’s an idiot. You’re just two idiots, standing in the hallway with hearts that feel like they’re about to explode. Despite the lingering tension in the air that’s still present, you bring him into an embrace. It feels natural, your arms around his shoulder and his on the small of your back. “Thanks for everything. Especially for making my mom really happy.” you punctuate your sentence with a gentle caress to the back where his shoulders meet. You hear the muffled sound of his laugh, feeling the rumble of his chest against yours as you try not to squirm at the brush of his unshaven chin against the curve of your neck. “No problem,” he mumbles before pulling away.

“And you need a shave.” You’re pointing to his chin and he finds himself scratching it again. He merely hums in response.

Swinging the door open while you wave him goodbye feels like a part of you is leaving. You’re not sure why you’re feeling this newly found emptiness in you when you know you’ll see him next week. You decide to blame the wine. It’s easier that way.

He’s walking away, already out of view when you decide you should really say something at least.

“Bruce,” you suddenly call out; he turns on his heels and backtracks a little too eager to face you at the doorway. “What was it you wanted to talk about?” He frowns in response, head tilting in a questioning manner. “When you came here, you said you needed to talk.”

He recalls the real reason he was here in the first place. Rushing to your door like you’re about to disappear any minute. Yet, you’re here, still at the doorway, three hours later. Fuck, he was about to confess.

Bad timing. Again.

Right person, wrong time.

No. He’ll make it right. Just, not now.

“I was...going to thank you for the bagels; Asiago. Nice choice.” Is what he says instead of reciting the words that had been running through his head in rehearsal since the drive to your apartment. He ignores the way your shoulders sag, perhaps in relief—he doesn’t want to know. He ignores the burning in his chest when you nod, the corners of your mouth tugging into a faint smile as you raise a palm in a somewhat solemn wave of farewell. He ignores the sting in his eyes when the door closes on him, symbolizing finality when he really doesn’t want it to end. Left alone in the dismal light of the hallway; it acts as a poignant reminder of his bereavement and how much of his consolation depends on your presence.

When the drinking's done, does it make it any easier for him to open himself up to you?

Bruce allows himself to cry once he pulls the car door to a close because he feels overwhelmed by the conflicting thoughts that continue to reside in his mind. The regrets, the what-ifs, and the should-haves. He forgets himself sometimes because he gets so lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t recognize himself anymore.

You keep him grounded. You remind him who Bruce Wayne truly is.

He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the rearview mirror.

You’re right. He does need a shave.

TAGLIST:

@raineeace

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #batman #batman x reader #bruce wayne imagine #batman imagine #bruce wayne x you #batman x you #justice league

[mymelodyheart]

Miles Between Us Chapter 14 ~The Element of Surprise ~

WARNING: VERY EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT

Previously in The Reunion

They fitted perfectly, her softness cradling his boneless heap, making him hard as steel again. Some part of his brain must have still been functioning because he jerked and reached out for her bra to cover her when his doorbell rang. Christ!  Forcing his body to move with marginal success, he yanked her up and pulled up his jeans.

Claire slid off the table and grabbed her clothes. "Who could that be?"

"That better not be yer uncle or ..." Jamie trailed off, muttering curses under his breath, annoyed at the disturbance as he was just revving up for part two of their lovemaking. When he opened the door, a sense of deja vu hit him when he saw Mrs Fitz standing there with what seemed like a plate of a lemon meringue pie. What the fuck?

"Mrs Fitz!"

The older woman didn't bother to hide her curiosity this time as her eyes tried to peer past his shoulders. "Heard ye have company, lad, and I havenae seen Miss Claire the last couple of days."

  If you wish to read this on AO3, here is the link.

If you wish to read this from the beginning:

AO3 link

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  Six Days Later

Claire's heavy eyelids fluttered open, her brain still addled by sleep. It took her a while to gather her thoughts and remember how she'd made it to bed last night. She shifted slightly in bed, but there's a two-hundred-fifty pound of hard-muscled, naked male restricting her movement. Jamie's arm was draped across her waist, securing her against his chest, her legs confined under his heavier ones. She could feel his soft, steady breathing blowing warm air on top of her head, reminding her how well he'd been sleeping the last few nights. There had been no night terrors or unpleasant dreams interrupting his sleep, and she put it down to his workload during the day and their physical activities between the sheets at night.

Today was Friday, and the realisation caused a huge smile to spread across her face. Last night she'd worked late until past ten, and Jamie had found her fallen asleep in front of her laptop in her studio shed. He'd scooped her up in his arms and helped her get ready for bed, and just before sleep claimed her, he'd whispered he had a surprise for her today. 

She wondered what the surprise was and guess it would probably be a long lie-in for them and breakfast in bed. Looking back, the past few days had flown by in a blur, packed with work and catching up with her uncle Lamb during nights. Ever since her emotional reunion with Jamie, her work-related things had gone from a shamble of mess to running smoothly. It's as if the universe had decided to grant her reprieve as everyone went out their way to appease her. Even her boss John seemed to have given her space and was allowing her to work in peace. Somehow, deep down, she had a sneaking suspicion Jamie had something to do with it. 

It had all began at the start of the week when Jamie had been at work. Tom had stopped by the cottage to hand her a signed contract agreeing to his book's publication. By the time she'd told John the good news, he'd been in his element detailing his main point plan for getting the word out and announcing the book deal to Tom's adoring followers. She'd thought her boss would demand to get her and Tom on the next plane to London, but instead, John had told her he'd arranged a team to fly to Inverness for a formal meeting with their new author. As if that wasn't enough, two days later, Mary had produced enough drafts for Claire to work on and promised there would be more on the way. Her uncle, sensing work was piling, would occasionally stop by either to whip up something to eat or bring food while she'd been ensconced in her studio shed. Not that it was unusual for her uncle to perform domesticated pursuits; however, it's still surprising that he was going the extra mile to help around the house when he had the Highlands at disposal for his adventures being an outdoor person that he was.

It's becoming clear this week was proving to be a period of many turning points. She had no idea what the future had in store for her and Jamie, but she knew something had shifted in their relationship, and it was definitely for the better. Though she's still the same girl who's still trying to find her place in the world and fit in, she knew she'd changed, too. A few months ago, she would have probably backed down from any forms of conflicts, citing life as complicated enough without adding more complications. But she'd learned how to respond, choose fights that are worth fighting for and cast aside that wasn't deserving of her peace of mind. She'd also learned that once in a while, it's good for her sanity to give propriety and rules the middle finger when a situation called for it. 

It's hard to believe she's planning her life in the Highlands, the place where her parents had met and found love in each other. In her quest to get to know them more, she'd spent her holidays here to be closer to their memories and live that adventure they'd so craved. Now, she was involved with a man tormented with demons. If her parents were still alive today, she wondered how they would receive Jamie. Would they have been like Jenny or her uncle, suspicious and sceptical of their relationship? Or would they have been happy with her choice just like Willie, Brian, and Ellen have been with Jamie's?

Deep in her heart, she knew that her parents would have taken one look at them and understood that Jamie was special and meant to be her life adventure. From what Claire had surmised from uncle Lamb's stories, her parents have been that kind of people, magnanimous of spirit and always saw the best in others. Jamie was like that too. He'd taken a gamble with her despite their differences and the geographical challenges ahead. Though it seemed she was helping him with his condition, unbeknownst to Jamie, he too was helping her heal the part of her that became an orphan. In some invisible way, he was repairing something in the fabric of her world that had been torn down the middle when her parents passed away. She absorbed that thought and was reminded of what Uncle Lamb once told her, that her father always had a peculiar sense of humour. With that in mind, she'd like to think that just maybe her father had sent Jamie her way on purpose. His way of telling her to let go of the past, not over-think, embrace the Highlands as much as he had and just love.

Lying next to Jamie in bed, she felt totally at peace. They might have had a crisis of faith, but she was confident they'll find their way through whatever path was laid before them. Their love wasn't and probably never going to be easy, given their journey had been emotional, tangled with roadblocks, denials and self-preservation. Still, she wanted to find her way with him. She'd just discovered this strength she didn't realise she had, and Jamie continued to surprise her with his single-mindedness purpose to be cured. Someone once said there's no fulfilment without a bit of struggle. Just like in the stories she hoped to publish one day, the heroes had to break down first and bleed before earning their happy ending. Well, if that's the rule, she couldn't envision facing life's trials and tests with any other person to stand beside her other than Jamie.

Her smile was still in place when her thoughts were suspended by a rush of heat as Jamie's hand coasted over her hip to disappear between her thighs. A sudden thrill shot through her, making her breath catch in her lungs. He shifted the leg holding her thighs down and deftly opened her to his touch, stroking the sensitive flesh in between. She felt his shaft stir against her bottom as she scooted closer to him, eliciting a guttural sound to escape his lips.

"I can practically hear the cogs turning in yer head, Sassenach," he muttered thickly, his breathing turning shallow at the back of her neck. He nipped her earlobe between his teeth and tugged. "What's going on in that mind of yers?"

"Oh, this and that and how you've been sleeping soundly ...these last few nights." She gasped out loud when he rubbed her nub with a calloused thumb. She tilted her head back to look at his face, and her lips were met by a long-drawn, possessive kiss. By the time their mouths parted, she was panting for air and squirming against him mindlessly. 

"Christ, ye're ready for me. Why did ye no' wake me up?" He thrust his finger deep inside her, fondling the spot he knew drove her wild and frantic. "Next time ye want me, wake me up."

"I-I couldn't. You were sleeping so peacefully." 

He paused his ministrations. "That's no' the answer I was hoping to hear."

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ! "Y-yes, next time, I'll wake you up!"

"That's my lass." He sank another finger into her entrance. But as she tried to clench around him, his fingers slid out, using her wetness to coat her nub and gently rub her aching flesh. She wanted to scream at him for teasing her, but he only softly chuckled against her neck. At that moment, she needed to come more than she needed air. She hoarsely whispered his name in a plea for release. "Ach, no' yet, Sassenach ... ye listen better when I'm touching ye." She yelped when he suddenly yanked the covers away and flipped her on her stomach, the crisp morning air caressing her heated skin. "Let me see first that beautiful arse of yers." He shoved a pillow beneath her hips, putting her in a highly arousing position, her face mushed against the mattress and her bottom in the air. "Such a beautiful bum."

"Jamie ..." 

He kneaded the curves of her buttocks as he let out a frustrated male groan. "Let us talk first. This is the only time I'm pretty sure ye're no' gonnae argue with me with what I'm about to say. Ye listening?"

"Yes, yes ...get on with it, damn it!"

He laughed out loud just before his lips travelled along the path of her spine, kissing and nibbling her flesh. One hand slid around her belly and down the apex of her thighs, slipping blunt fingers into her folds as his mouth moved to her neck. He lingered there, biting hard and then soothing the sting with a lick of his tongue. Anticipation pulsated within her body, and goosebumps erupted on her skin as the weight of his erection slid against her upturned bottom, and Jamie positioned himself behind her. When he hefted her higher with his forearm, she let out a squeak. "Ye'll no' be working this weekend."

"Jamie," she whimpered. "B-but I can't."

"Oh yes, ye can." Skilled fingers stroke her sensitive nub, and with one thrust of his hips, he completely filled her, taking her by surprise. She nearly screamed, pressing her mouth against the mattress, suddenly mindful of nosey neighbours. She remembered what Jamie had told her about Mrs Fitz and muffled her moans on the covers of the bed.

"Oh, God, this is not fair," she breathed on an uneven exhale.

"I told ye last night, I have a wee surprise for ye. Ye've worked long enough this week. Ye're taking a wee break this weekend." When she didn't respond, he stilled his hips and took out his fingers from inside her. "You need a break, Sassenach. Now, for the love of God, just say yes, Jamie."

When Jamie drew out his hardness and plunged deeply back into her, heart-stopping sensations coursed through her whole body. Something about how he positioned her, the fluid, smooth drives of his movement made her mad with need. She wanted to urge him to go faster, but she clamped her mouth shut. He was deliberately torturing her and forcing her to agree with him. So she decided she was going to get her own back. Contracting her inner walls, she clenched around him. From experience, she knew the more he had to work to push into her, the wilder he would become. Just when she thought she finally got the upper hand, he paused and dropped his weight, stopping just short of squashing her. "No, no, no! Please don't stop!" she wailed.

"Oh, aye." He pushed his lower body tight to her bottom, his erection throbbing inside her. When she tried to wriggle her bum to urge him to start moving again, he firmly gripped her hips in place. "Ah, I ken what ye're up to," he whispered hotly in her ears. "I'm no' taking no for an answer. Ye owe this break to yourself."

"You don't play fair."

"Neither do ye."

Thinking she could compromise later after spending the whole morning with him, she finally conceded. "Fine. Just keep moving, for God's sake!" she hissed.

He let out a pained laugh and pressed his lips on the crook of her neck. "Good lass, ye ken it makes sense." Then cursing under his breath, he moved all the way out in one smooth slide before deliciously gliding deep back. "Christ, I can feel ye want to come, but ye're going to stay with me a little longer. Ye fell asleep on me last night, leaving me with a painful cockstand." 

"Jesus, Jamie."

"Aye," he rasped hoarsely into her hair. "I said the same thing when ye wriggled that pert arse against me and fell asleep immediately."

The way his thickness was invading her from an angle almost sent her hurtling over the edge. And it gave her a new appreciation for math. The thought almost made her laughed out loud if it wasn't for the pulsing pleasure between her legs.

"Christ ...look at ye," Jamie gritted, his voice sounding raw and almost severe. "So bloody perfect." 

He nudged her legs wider and changed his movements to short, strong strokes, increasing his pace with primitive energy that left her gasping for breath. With the sound of their slapping bodies, the earthy scent of arousal, the sweaty slide of skin, her belly began to tighten and coil.

"I just want to make ye happy, Sassenach," he groaned, bearing down his upper body more, his hips relentlessly pounding into hers. "So just say yes to my wee surprise, aye?" 

"Yes, yes, yes." Their voices sounded so far away, and her initial hesitation about taking a break from work almost forgotten. Not entirely, though. She tried to grasp that mental note about emails to be sent, but the hand gripping her hips moved, and fingers slid to rub her nub, stroking and pushing her further towards her peak. She gave in and widened her thighs to let him fill her more. But it left her no time to prepare for the release that shattered her apart, her love for him and the physical pleasure fusing to intensify the sensations blasting through her. It threatened to overwhelm her, but Jamie's presence anchored her as he followed her over, groaning her name, gripping her hips with a fierceness as he claimed her for his. 

Moments later, he pulled her boneless body in his arms and tucked her into his chest, tugging the covers over them and curving his front to her back. He held her tightly as the morning light streamed through the windows. 

Battling to keep her eyes open, thoughts of work slithered in, but it kept flittering away with her consciousness before she could dwell on it. Maybe just for a minute, she thought. But Jamie smelled so good, and his tender strokes enticed a hazy sleep to claim her muscles, dragging her down into the dark. Just one minute. 

As she eased into sleep, his whisper drifted toward her unconscious. "It's still early, Sassenach. Sleep a wee bit more. Your wee surprise will come soon enough."

..........

Claire woke for the second time that morning with an unladylike shriek when the mattress dipped and moved. Muddled, she jackknifed into a sitting position, eyes scanning wildly around the curtain-dimmed room for a trespasser. Claire knew someone was there, her gut instinct telling her it wasn't Jamie. Summoning her eyes to refocus, she collapsed with relief when she realised who it was sat at the foot of the bed.

"Surprise!" Annalise squealed, clapping her hands.

"Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!" She swiped her bedraggled hair out of her face. "You scared me bloody witless."

"Bloody hell, you're jumpy." Annalise shifted a hip on the bed. "Jamie's bad dreams rubbing off on you now, are they?"

"That's not something to joke about," she glowered at her friend, pulling the covers up to her chin.

Annalise' smile waned a bit. "Hey, what's up? I'm not making fun of Jamie's nightmares, and you know that." Her shoulders slumped. "In case you don't know, bad dreams can happen to anyone. In fact, I had a bad dream a few days ago. I was being chased by a pirate."

Suddenly feeling bad for snapping at her friend, she mentally dispersed the sleep fog in her brain and gave Annalise an apologetic smile. So this was her surprise, she thought. Not that Claire wasn't happy to see her friend, but she'd expected Jamie's surprise to be a romantic weekend with him. She let out a sigh. "Chased by a pirate, huh? Let me guess ...sunken chest and no booty?"

Annalise perked up at Claire's feeble attempt to sound less grumpy. "Har de har har! I didn't realise you could be funny before coffee. A total package for a marauding pirate if I may say so."

"Tell that to Captain Beard," she mumbled, getting out of bed. 

"Aye, matey!" Annalise mischievously winked. "That's if he happens to be in Isle of Harris this weekend. Which is where, by the way, we're going, as in, now! So get packing!"

Claire stilled and shook her head. "Wot?" She began to shake her head, tugging the covers around her as she made her way to the dresser. "Oh no, no, no! I'm not leaving this place for any man or woman, including you, blondie! I've got a pile of work to do. You know I have deadlines."

"Oh no, you don't. You stop right there, missy! Have you forgotten you agreed with Jamie to take a weekend break?" 

Claire's eyes widened. "Oh, did he also tell you how he got me to agree?"

"No. But you can tell me later on the plane."

"Plane?" Claire dropped her face in her hands. "Oh, God, I can't believe I agreed to this. Jamie never told me anything."

Annalise stood up from where she was sitting and crossed her arms across her chest. "Hmmm, you don't look too happy to be spending time with me."

She puffed out a breath. "It's not that ..."

"We haven't had girly time in ages, Claire. Jamie thought it would do you a world of good to have a bit of fun."

"So now what? You and Jamie plotting and ganging up on me behind my back, is that it?" Claire accused. "What about Willie? Surely, you miss him more than me. When was the last time you saw him?"

Annalise grinned. "Don't worry about Willie. We have been doing a lot of catching up all night last night, and you want to know what he did?"

Claire's face crumpled in disgust as she held up a hand. "Oh, gross! Too much information. I don't want to hear about your sex life."

Annalise laughed out loud. "Fine, I won't discuss our sex life if you start packing now. Besides, you wouldn't want to waste the tickets Jamie worked so hard for, now, do you?"

Oh dear Lord, save me from well-meaning friends! She didn't really want to leave, but if Jamie had spent money organising this trip, she wasn't about to let it go to waste. But ... "How about uncle Lamb? He came to see me, and I can't just leave him."

"He knows all about the trip, and I've been told he's got a few excursions planned around the Highlands." 

"Oh, well ...if that's the case, I need to call Mary and John and let them know what I'm up to this weekend."

Annalise grinned. "Jamie's sorted it already."

"Wot?" she exclaimed with disbelief, her hands landing onto her hips. "Jamie's been planning this with you all along, hasn't he?" She shook her head. "I-I can't believe it!"

"You better believe it."

Claire blew out a breath of exasperation. "Fine! Grab my suitcase. It's in the airing cupboard."

"Yay!" Annalise whirled on her feet and pumped her fist in the air. Claire couldn't help but smile as enthusiasm began to wiggle its way through her system. Maybe Jamie was right. She owed it to herself to have a break, and probably a change of scenery was what she needed. After Mary had delivered the goods, Claire had worked herself to the bone all week and sometimes into the wee hours of the morning. She was already in her second round of edits on the extensive manuscripts Mary had submitted and must admit they were indeed making progress. As for Tom, her job with him was done, and the team organised by John should be arriving next week. It was definitely time for a bit of fun. 

On second thoughts, though it was generous of Jamie to arrange the trip, it would have been nice if he could come along too. But the idea of Jamie's condition worsening with something as simple as weekend trips away brought a feeling of melancholy to descend upon her. She had no doubt Jamie would be cured, and they'd be able to travel together one day, so she forced herself to shake off the momentary bout of wistfulness when Annalise came bounding back with her small suitcase.

"So ...you talked to Jamie. Where is he, by the way?" she asked, grabbing clothes from the dresser and throwing them in the bed. "He left early this morning."

"Oh! Jamie said he needed to be somewhere important, and he'll see you when we return. Willie will be driving us to the airport." When Claire frowned, Annalise came up behind her and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, we'll only be away for two days, and you'll see him again Sunday night."

It was apparent to Claire she'd been at a disadvantage waking up to the news of the weekend trip because if Jamie had suggested it a few days ago, she would have definitely put her foot down and refused. Unfortunately, Annalise and Jamie knew her too well; hence they'd planned this trip in secrecy.

Claire absorbed that for a few heartbeats and felt a tad of guilt. It had been a while she'd spent time with Annalise, and once her job was done in London, she'd be living with Jamie. Plus, who knew when she'd have another chance to hang out with her best friend ...just the two of them and in the Isle of Harris at that. Besides, they always had a great time together. There was no sense in spoiling their spontaneous weekend with her stubbornness. She might as well make the most of it.

Claire turned to face her friend and smiled. "Do I have time to shower?"

"Plenty of time," Annalise beamed. "While you get ready, I'll make some coffee. I know what you're like without your cuppa first thing." And with that, she danced out of the room, whistling, leaving Claire to shake her head in amusement.

Later that morning, as they drove past the motorway exit for the airport, Claire shifted restlessly in the backseat of Willie's car, watching the familiar structure pass by in a blur outside her window. She frowned. Willie must have forgotten to take the turn. Uh oh! But before she could say anything, Willie veered to a different dual-carriageway. She tried to relax back into her seat, thinking there was probably a different route to the airport she didn't know of.

Eventually, they pulled to a stop in front of a building that didn't resemble a terminal, but there was an airfield and a charter plane coming out of the hangar. When Willie stepped out of the car, a man with worn jeans, a black leather jacket and a pair of aviators waved. He looked kind of familiar, but Claire was unsure.

"Who is that?" Claire asked quietly.

Annalise followed her line of vision. "Oh, I thought you knew that guy." She frowned when Claire shook her head and squinted to get a better look. "I was told the guy flying our plane was the soon to be famous Highlands' ultimate guide to Scotland." As if on cue, the man removed his aviators and started walking towards their car, a smile plastered to his unshaven face. When he waved at them, Annalise giggled, and Claire's eyes widened in confusion. "You probably can't recognise him from afar ...it's your author, Tom Christie," Annalise announced with a satisfied smile and to her utmost shock. "He's flying us to Stornoway."

What the bloody hell? Jamie arranged this?

 Dear Readers,

Thank you all for your readership and the feedback from the previous chapter. I'm super thrilled a lot of you enjoyed it after what I put you all through with Jamie and Claire's roller-coaster journey. I hope it was worth it all in the end.

Speaking of the end, the next chapter will be the last for this arc, and after taking a break, I will start arc three of the WONDERWALL series. I'll keep you updated here. Meanwhile, feel free to speculate what the next chapter will be. Until my next update, wishing you all good health and vibes. X

#melodyheart #wonderwall #milesbetweenus #claire beauchamp/jamie fraser #jamie fraser #claire beauchamp #outlanderfanfic

[mittensmorgul]

Since the finale aired, I’ve been yammering on about how it would’ve only worked as a finale to s2, and now that I’m actually rewatching s2, I stand by that even more staunchly. The finale doesn’t work in a post-s2 supernatural universe.

This is the version of Dean we saw in the finale-- the one whose only mission in life was to Save Sammy, to help him get his revenge and allow him to go out and live a Normal Safe Life pretending that hunting and monsters don’t exist. The one who just wanted some pie, to drive his car, and had no real connections beyond Sam in the world outside of Bobby. Even Dean’s characterization in the finale is this far younger Dean who’d never allowed himself to crack open and truly understand love. It would take me years to plow through everything I’ve ever written about him as a character and his long struggle to emotional maturity we saw evolve over the next 13 years beyond this episode, but the tl;dr will always be “this s2 Dean is the same as the Dean in the finale.”

The goal of s2 was saving SAM from his “destiny,” too. In this era of the show, Dean didn’t have a “destiny” the same way Sam did. The ONLY thing that mattered was freeing Sam from “becoming evil,” and being manipulated into terrible things. What Dean wanted, what he was “destined” for by the narrative was irrelevant, because all of his choices and emotional burdens were tied only to saving Sam. To freeing Sam so he could safely return to his “normal life.” Go back to college, have a family and the white picket fence life.

This was before Dean truly began fighting for HIMSELF. Which only really and truly began after he sells his soul to resurrect Sam. That’s when Dean truly begins fighting for himself. Sure, he’s angry with John during s2 for trading his own life for Dean’s, for putting the burden of “if you can’t save Sam, you’ll have to kill him” on his shoulders with his dying breath, but Dean is still fighting against John’s authority and the complicated tangle of feelings of his own childhood and not actually coming to terms with his own wants and needs and wishes out beyond that yet. He’s still unwittingly confronting the “destiny” John had set up for him, and hasn’t moved beyond that yet. It’s only trading his soul for Sam’s that finally brings Dean into the cosmic narrative that will fuel his introspection and personal growth for the rest of the series.

And out beyond that point, his entire character arc explodes into orbit.

Dean’s entire character arc in s3 is confronting this very basic fact: he doesn’t deserve to have been sacrificed just to save Sam. He doesn’t deserve that burden, and he does deserve to live. This is the realization he comes to before eventually being dragged to Hell and then rescued by an angel, who literally tells him, “you don’t think you deserve to be saved” in the aftermath of that. From that point on, we have TWELVE SEASONS of Dean struggling with what he “deserves” versus what is “fate” and “destiny” and eventually confronting what he WANTS if he truly could choose his own destiny.

Plus, out beyond that point, he has Cas. And nothing changes Dean, pushes him to grow and understand himself, and accept himself-- all of himself, from the good to the horrific-- than the pure and unflinching acceptance of Castiel. Cas never looked at him and said “you are evil,” or “you are worthless.” (well, they’ve both said some pretty awful stuff to each other over the years, but there was either brainwashing or other deeper issues pushing those things on them, and they have ALWAYS eventually come back to one another, and the awful stuff was dealt with). Point is, Dean and Cas both began running these parallel arcs of duty versus desire, and for Dean, the duty was always framed around “taking care of Sam” versus pursuing any sort of ambition or goals for himself. They would fight for this for most of the rest of the series, until eventually the goal for ALL of them would be about discovering what they would want for themselves.

The show explicitly dealt with this, repeatedly, over later seasons, asking all of the characters the big questions: is this what you would choose for yourself? What WOULD you choose for yourself if you could?

And then they made the narrative of the final season, of the final Big Bad, the fact that they had NEVER had real freedom, and that their entire lives (and the entire history of not only this universe but every parallel universe) had been Chuck’s Puppet Theater, and true free will had been a lie all this time. Pushing all of the characters to confront their own choices and understand what about who they were as people was separate from what Chuck pushed them into choosing and doing all these years. The main thing that Dean (and also Cas, and to the extent she was included in the narrative this was Eileen’s issue as well) were being pushed to come to terms with what really was real, and were their feelings and choices their own or imposed on them for the furtherance of Chuck’s story.

At the end of the road, finally free and out from under Chuck’s control, they knew what was real. For Sam and Eileen, they had chosen each other. Cas had chosen Dean, but Dean hadn’t yet had a chance to reply, but anyone with two eyes and a brain knows what he would’ve said in return. It’s what Cas stopped him from saying even back in Purgatory in 15.09. And yet, for some reason Sam and Dean forgot all of that, as if none of it had ever even really happened at all, and we went right back to who they were right after they finally defeated the YED, before we even knew Azazel had a name, let alone the fact that the ultimate boogeyman of their entire lives to that point had been nothing more than a fanatic pawn in a much larger destiny for both of them.

The end of s2 was the last time Dean sacrificing himself so Sam could have a normal life, where Dean really felt there was nothing more for himself than fulfilling his father’s orders to save Sammy, even feels remotely plausible. It’s the last time we can feel like Dean might find peace and contentment in a Heaven where John is nearby to be proud of him, and where Dean would actually feel like that validation was even relevant to his own life.

And that finally brings me back to s2, where that was actually addressed through John’s self-sacrifice to save Dean, to serve Dean up to the narrative and provide a stage for this self-transformative journey INTO being a version of John himself. Only... Dean DOESN’T choose that. He fights to save Sam at all costs, even when it seems clear that the right answer would probably be to KILL Sam instead. When not only the ghost of John Winchester plaguing Dean’s mind would make him doubt his own drive to save his brother, but the John Winchester Insert Character of s2-- Gordon Walker-- basically put Dean’s own doubts out there in plain words in 2.10:

GORDON: I'm surprised at you, Dean. Getting all emotional. I'd heard you were more of a professional than this. Look, let's say you were cruising around in that car of yours and, uh, you had little Hitler riding shotgun, right? Back when he was just some goofy, crappy artist. But you knew what he was going to turn into someday. You'd take him out, no questions, am I right?

DEAN: That's not Sam.

GORDON: Yes it is. You just can't see it yet. Dean, it's his destiny. Look, I'm sympathetic. He's your brother, you love the guy. This has got to hurt like hell for you. But here's the thing. It would wreck him. But your dad? If it really came right down to it, he would have had the stones to do the right thing here. But you're telling me you're not the man he is?

This, the episode where Dean finally confesses John’s final orders to Sam, where Dean has decided that saving Sam is all that matters, even when circumstance and everyone else is practically screaming at him that this could all be over if only he gave in-- be it his own self-sacrifice OR killing Sam. Six of one, half a dozen of the other, the universe doesn’t care (and neither does Chuck... especially at this point... and the proof of that is Sam’s s15 nightmares where one of Chuck’s alternate universe endings for Sam and Dean was Sam actually going Darkside on demon blood and killing Dean... any iteration of the old drama, Chuck has explored all potential endings-- oh, except the ending where TFW gets to just be happy and live... that’s the one ending they never get and the only one they deserved in the end).

also from 2.10... loads of chat about “destiny” and one of Dean’s first “we should just lay all this shit down and take a vacation” moments when he suggests they go to Amsterdam and enjoy some of the not-coffee-coffee-shops, which Sam counters by doubling down on the fact that Dean has a destiny in all this as much as Sam does:

SAM: Well, come on, dude, you're a hunter. I mean, it's what you were meant to do.

DEAN: Ah, I wasn't meant to do anything, I don't believe in that destiny crap.

SAM: You mean you don't believe in my destiny.

DEAN: Yeah, whatever.

SAM: Look, Dean, I've tried running before. I mean, I ran all the way to California and look what happened. You can't run from this. And you can't protect me.

DEAN: I can try.

And that’s it, right there. This is the “neither of you can try for a normal life outside of the other while the other is still alive.” This is Sam pinning a destiny to Dean that’s just as inescapable within Chuck’s narrative as Sam’s demon blood and psychic powers. 

This is the core essence of Chuck’s story about them. The sibling dynamic that Chuck failed to free himself from, and that Sam and Dean failed to free themselves from after Chuck’s demise in 15.19.

Destiny. One must die so the other can live.

And considering the next 13 seasons of the show and the long and emotionally grueling character arcs Sam and Dean proceed through where they truly confront the core of who they are as people-- as individuals outside of their duty and destiny-- the finale ceases to make any sense outside of Chuck’s narrative for them. If 15.20 really happened exactly as we saw it on screen, then Chuck still won.

And they had to loop Sam and Dean all the way back to where they were emotionally at the end of s2 in order to make it seem plausible. Which, for those of us who actually care about what they endured after s2, makes the finale entirely implausible as a whole.

#spn 2.10 #spn 15.20 #spiders georg of the tnt loop #while i was writing this up i also watched 2.11 and yep... still holds up #the ghost of john winchester #chuck's process

[headboyweasley]

to my beloved // h.p

pairing : harry potter x reader

summary : when harry learns you’ve gone missing, he hits rock bottom. no one can reach out to him until a peculiar letter ends up in his possession. 

warnings : ANGST (happy ending???), swearing, post-war, alcohol/implied alcohol abuse, violence (against inanimate objects), missing person/presumed dead, mentions of food

word count : 1.3k

author’s note : hi!! this is my very first fic posted on tumblr, so i hope you enjoy. i’m actually really proud of this one, as it was inspired by my favorite song “play this when i’m gone” by machine gun kelly. also, thank you for the support on my masterlist! it means the literal world. also my favorite writers followed me and i am freaking out. sorry for the this long note,,, i tend to ramble. enjoy!

( disclaimer : gif is not mine! )

It had been months since the war had ended. While the wizarding world was still healing, the future for it had become hopeful. The threat of war had hung over the heads of the community, so once it had been taken away, everything was reborn. Bustling crowds and children’s laughter had filled Diagon Alley once more; the boarded up shops had now opened up, gleaming with pride. Many felt grateful for this new age.

The last person people expect to be so devastated was Harry Potter. Afterall, he was the one that killed Voldemort. Good things don’t happen to heroes, as someone had once told him. He gave everyone that hope, but he couldn’t find it in himself. Why, you may ask? Well, my friend, he found out you were among the missing people in the aftermath of the war. The love of his life, his sunshine, his darling had been snatched from him.

Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but sometimes he wishes that he hadn’t gone to the forest to face Voldemort. Sometimes he wishes he had hid away in Shell Cottage with you and grown old together. When he decided that was selfish, he tried to find other ways he could have won that war with you by his side. 

He knew he couldn’t. What happened was the only true ending. 

A sigh fell from his lips as the bottle was barely held by the tip of his fingers. The bedroom reeked of firewhiskey, which wasn’t a surprise since there was a surplus of them scattered across the floor. He took a final sip before letting this bottle join the rest. 

Of course, Ron and Hermione had attempted to help. They had kept it up for a couple months through staying at his home and making meals for him. Hermione tried reading to him, while Ron kept his friend updated with Quidditch and the Weasley family. This had come to an abrupt halt, though, after a particularly angry outburst from Harry. They had given him one last look of sympathy before apparating.

That had been months ago, and since then, Harry had been trapped inside his mind and flat. 

“You never do anything fucking right. First, you lose the love of your life. Next, you ruin the relationship between you and your best friends. You’re fucking alone, and you’re going to die that way.” He seethed with anger just looking at himself in the small mirror. He continued to glare at himself for a few more minutes before grabbing the mini dresser and slamming it into the floor. 

Glass shattered, while his old Hogwarts uniform and merchandise tumbled out. Violence was an often thing for the items in his home. Usually after a bottle and self-degrading speech, he’d destroy something to let the anger fizzle. The aftermath of this, though, was a bit of a coping mechanism, as he would fix things by hand instead of using magic. It let his mind breathe; focus on anything but his self-hatred. 

He crouched down to pick up his Gryffindor scarf, wrapping it around himself and relishing in its warmth with shut eyes. It reminded him of the freezing wind that nipped at his skin whenever he went out to visit Hagrid, or the times his roommates were challenging who could put on the most layers. These memories let him be at ease. They always transported him from the harsh reality to the happier days. 

Once he allowed himself to come back, his eyes scanned for something that would ground him to the real world. He expected to find a bottle to do so, but instead laid eyes on an unfamiliar envelope at his feet. It couldn’t have been his Hogwarts letter, as this one did not bear the mark to close it. However, there was a date written at the top in an all too familiar handwriting. Then, it clicked.

Your handwriting.

Harry scrambled to grab the paper. It was sliding all over the hardwood floor when he kept grabbing at it recklessly. After a struggle that felt like forever, he held the envelope in his shaking hands. Yes, that was definitely your handwriting within the date that read “31 July 1997.” He flipped it over to find “To My Beloved” written across the front. 

It felt as time had stopped, as he carefully pulled the flap from its seal. To him, it was like he was touching a part of you. Granted it was written over a year ago, but the small spark of hope held onto it anyways. Slowly, he pulled out the folded up paper inside. Deep breaths, he thought. He did quite the opposite, though, as his breath hitched when he read it.

Hi there, Harry. I hope you’re doing well.

If you find this, there’s a good chance something happened to me.

Already, tears pricked his eyes. He continued, despite his semi-blurry vision.

Please don’t fret though. Things happen for a reason, remember? If you hadn’t stayed in the hospital wing after your bone disappeared, you wouldn’t have met me and my major clumsiness. I’d like to think that’s another reason Lockhart’s git self had ended up as teacher; for our chance to meet. 

It’s ok to cry, but please don’t think that it’s your fault. I am so in love with you, Harry James Potter. I dedicated my life to you. I promised you I’d follow you until the end, and I followed through. 

Since I filled my promise, please promise that you’ll live; that you’ll find that happiness in your life again. You’re the best damn seeker I know, so don’t go telling me that you can’t. I mean, I’m sure you killed Voldemort and brought light into the dark world. You deserve to be in that light. Don’t dwell on the past, my love. Focus on the future. All I want is for you to be happy.

I know we never got married, but I knew you were mine from the beginning. The box with this letter; I thought I’d give it now before it was too late. In marriage, you want the best for your partner. That’s exactly what I want. When you wear this, please remember to do whatever you can to be happy. If not for you, then for me.

I love you, Harry Potter. I am so proud of you.

Yours, Y/N

The letter would be covered in wet spots if his glasses hadn’t taken the fall. He let out a choked sob as he clutched the letter to his chest. His eyes scanned the area for the aforementioned box, and found it between a few bottles. One hand darted out and snatched it up, while the other kept a tight grip on the now wrinkling letter. Slowly, he flicked open the lid with his thumb.

A wedding band glistened against the little light peeking through the blinds. Upon seeing it, he hesitantly let the letter fall onto his lap and went to take the jewelry instead. His hands shook as he grabbed it and slipped it into his finger. A perfect fit, of course.

Maybe, just maybe, the ring was magic. It must be, as there was a strange feeling bubbling in his chest. Happiness? Love? Hope? He sifted through a few emotions before landing on a feeling of content. This letter was the closure he had been subconsciously grasping for. Now that he had it, he felt reconciliation with his mind. 

Harry pushed himself up to stand, and with shaky legs, he made his way to his home phone. He made sure one hand held the paper that brought him much peace, while the other dialed the number. It rang a few times before a familiar voice answered. A final deep breath before he responded.

“Hermione? I think.. I think I’m ready to change.”

-

!taglist!  @/empty :(

#harry potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter oneshot #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfic #fanfic #harry potter fic #fic #hermione granger #ron weasley #fred weasley #george weasley #draco malfoy #neville longbottom #ginny weasley #luna lovegood #pansy parkinson #taylor fics

[danddymaro]

Resistance | Leone Abbacchio x Reader

Anime Abba if no one minds; Just an advance since I know the manga and anime have different color schemes.

Thoughts are italics in quotations = ‘Example’

Flashbacks are in italics = Example

Word count :  3229

 After the fight With Illuso Abbacchio can no longer hold back 

 Stay Back

 His glazed, golden eyes stayed trained right ahead as his body sluggishly slumped over the brick wall. He struggled to stay upright, somehow pushing past the overbearing pain for just a moment longer as the strength of the human spirit coursed on within his tired, worn being long after he’d accepted his fate.

Like a traveling sludge, he'd left a sticky trail behind, one that would be evidence of his sacrifice, all of which would be the only thing left behind aside from his cold carcass,

And he was fine with things being left as they were; so long as the mission was a success.

After all, they'd gotten the key, and as messy as things got, it was a win in his book.

' That's all that matters… ' he thought with content, struggling to breath, his sight beginning to blur as occasional little black splotches scattered across his hazy vision,

"Yeah...At least… At least I did that right," he thought with a snicker, albeit a rather bitter one, humored that while his life had been a waste, he’d done just one thing successfully,

'But...there's just one thing…' he thought to himself, chuckling wearily at the recollection of a rather dejected face he’d last seen, deeply wishing that hadn’t been his last memory of her, but somehow grateful that it was, because then he could live on with the idea that he died with her resentment.

And maybe then, she wouldn’t miss him. Maybe then he’d only be an ugly memory she’d be willing to forget, finally getting it through her head that he wasn’t ever worth the worry.

“Just stay back!” he barked at her, looking back at her with hardened golden eyes narrowed fiercely at her as she tried to leave along with them.

“Keep watch if you want to feel useful,” he said in an offhand sort of manner, making her face fall, disheartened.

(e/c) colored eyes then hardened as he followed up with more expected backlash, the woman visually preparing herself for his sharp tongue, swallowing it all down with a quiet nod.

“Why the hell Bucciarati insisted on you coming… it's a mystery to me.” He said lowly, completely turning from her by then, not sparing her another glance after the uttered words.

Frowning, Giorno stepped towards her, his hand raised to touch her slumped shoulder before she shook her head, immediately perking,

“Okay!” She agreed, “I’ll stay here!” She chirped, “Abba’s Right,” She went on, “Besides, I wouldn’t want to get in the way,” She added, an undertone of hurt weaved through the façade she put on.

“So you guys go ahead. I’ll take care of things here.”

All the while her eyes were stuck on the other man’s back, watching as he drew further, his shoulders squared and tense as he went in search for the important item, the other two males following in suit, though seeming just as exasperated as her at the elder man’s choice of words.

“I’ll have a talk with him,” Fugo said softly as he walked past her, offering her a lax, apologetic grimace of a smile.

‘You always do,’ (f/n) mused, smiling back nonetheless, finding his effort to help her to be sweet, yet futile because it never changed anything.

‘It won’t change a thing,’ She added, her expression dying as they drew further from her.

She wished it wasn’t so and that somehow, the cycle would cease.

“By now… She should hate me…” Leone said to himself, his heart weighed down by the thought,

'But it's all for the best, ' he silently added, lazily blinking.

‘It’s better you’re not here…It’s better you stayed back,’ he thought with true gratefulness, a shuttered, thankful breath falling past his painted lips.

He thought of her running into the Stand user herself, doubting she’d have any better luck than he did, because after all, her stand wasn’t made much for the offensive, just as his own stand wasn’t.

Hers was meant for love; to care for and tend others. It did wonders on everyone else, the drawback being that the power was useless to her, something that was befitting of such a selfless person.

She could do wonders for others, but not for her own self.

‘And If you were hurt...I just know that bastard Giorno would have the time of his life fixing you up,’ He thought bitterly, hating how close the two had gotten, right from the start,

“It’s nice to have another healer,” she said while showing off a happy, little, quirky smile, one that made Abbacchio’s jaw clench, and seemed to have its own effect on the younger male as well.

Sweetly, Giorno smiled back, a featherlight blush dusting over his features, “(f/n), right?” He said back, meeting her halfway to grasp her hand, the small contact being something the elder man paid attention to keenly because it bothered him so much to see her cozy up to the rookie as though they were old pals.

“ Bucciarati mentioned you briefly.” He revealed to her, making her smile grow,

“Really?” She said surprised, “What did he say?” She asked curiously, wondering just what her Capo had said about her to the rookie.

What was she known for?

“He said well...” Giorno trailed off while suddenly growling nervous as the words formed a knot in his throat, “ Oh well, nothing really!” he insisted, not wanting to repeat that he’d actually referred to her as ‘the pretty, little sweetheart,’ much more, that he’d actually agreed with him the second he found himself locked eyes with her and she smiled to him, seeming to be the most amiable of the group.

It was easy to tell that in some sort of way, Giorno liked her and it irked him. It bothered him even more so to see that not only Giorno showed interest in her, but also had the nerve to go out of his way to make her giggle, finding any excuse to do so, behaving innocent with each attempt, 

"Usually the flowers trail behind you," Giorno started, falling into step with (f/n) as she walked alone, "But today..." he trailed off, humming, "I don't know, " He started, “You don't seem as bright," He added, quirking a brow, stopping right before her, reaching down to lift her chin up.

"It just isn't right," He told her, concerned, the genuine look of worry crossed over his features.

"What do you mean?" (f/n) asked, her dimmed (e/c) colored eyed gleaming up at him, curious as to what he meant.

She knew that perhaps she seemed dull, but to be fair she hadn’t had much sleep to begin with.

"You haven't smiled today," He explained, "which isn't right, as the sun should always shine," He added.

Shaking her head, (f/n) giggled, finding the quirky, little line to be even cornier than Mista’s own cheesy throw-away ones. She was ready to comment on it when his stand appeared before her, the humanoid being’s power at work,

" Giorno," She muttered, watching with growing eyes as a little flower sprouted from the blonde’s hand, the golden, little face of the white petaled blossom facing her,

"Ah...There we go," He mused, a cute, little dust of pink on his own face, chuckling at his own moronic actions.

Perhaps it was over the top, but he knew it would liven her up, and that's all that mattered to him at the moment, because to him, if anyone deserved to have a smile drawn over them, it was the kind woman.

All the while, (f/n) thought of him as sweet, the charming young man being someone she greatly appreciated for his considerate nature, while on the opposite end, the other man in the room brooded, annoyed.

"Tch, " Leone clicked his teeth, his eyes fallen far away from the pair as he ground his teeth together, turning his nose,

'She'll grin at anything he does,' He thought irked. 'She'll just stupidly smile at any shit anyone tells her,' He added, wanting to turn back and eye the cute, little expression, but knowing full well it would scathe him as he remembered just why it existed.

"Shit.." He muttered, trying to push the thought of her away as he realized that she’d yet again invaded every bit of his mind, even during his final moments of what was supposed to be peace.

And it seemed as though somehow, his thoughts had reached her, because before him a small moving blur grew, coming closer to him with hasty speed,

“Abbacchio!” He heard her say, following up with large pants as she knelt before him, immediately falling to both her knees to be more on his level, the skin above both joints burning from the sudden, harsh friction.

He could smell the sweet scent of her perfume, the smell very faintly wafting into his nose as she came even closer, slipping through the personal bubble he’d kept himself in. 

During then her (e/c) colored eyes skimmed over him and every beaten bit of him that was visible, visually shaken at the sighed of his missing limb.

'she came…' he thought to himself, 'she….bothered to come…' he added, grimacing.

After he ordered her to stay…

After he'd pushed her away so many times already…

‘You always come to me…’ He said to himself, falling forward, his heavier body almost toppling her over with the sudden action.

"Hey!" She began worriedly, steadying him, slowly easing him back towards the wall to sit upright, “Come on now,” she encouraged him, her comforting smile present as her hands which were firmly placed on his shoulders immediately went to cup his cold cheeks,

“Abba,” She urged him, “ Stay with me,” She added as she gently eased his lolling head straight, trying to get a better look at his paled face with frantic (e/c) colored eyes.

“I’m right here now,” She told him, “ So you're going to be just fine,” She assured him with an unshaken determination.

He squinted, trying to get his eyes to work right, only to find himself stuck on her own shining (e/c) colored gems.

Her (dark/light) eyes looked into him, and as she did so, he felt an electric charge run up his spine at the glance, the powerful bolt that came down on him raking his entire being with unforgiving violence.

He was spiritless in the motion, yet somehow found it in himself to stray his golden orbs away, deciding to not challenge her own look with his own fading will, the man slowly growing even smaller beneath the grace of her sweetly trained stare.

“Quit staring...Quit looking...at me...like that,” He grumbled, savoring down the bitter metallic taste in his mouth, "Tch… you damn idiot," he rasped, slowly shaking his head from her sweet hold, doing so with all the mustered strength he had left.

He couldn't feel anything, and yet it burned, her touch scathed him, the unbearable ache that was present bursting through from deep within his being.

Maybe she was overreacting she reasoned, chuckling wearily, but unable to fight back tears,

“ It’s just...I...I thought I’d come here too late!” She cried out, not able to resist the urge to hold him, latching onto him with desperation, the bloody grime over his body sticking onto her clothing, causing her smell of sweetness to be masked by his pungent gore.

By then his head was pressed to her chest, placed right over her heavily beating heart as she continued to shake, holding on tightly in a desperate embrace, 

“For just a moment there…” She muttered, “ I thought I was going to lose you,” she added, little tears still pricking her eyes as she began to heal him, her (e/c) colored eyes closed as she coddled him.

'stop...stop touching me ...' he thought to himself, his lethargic body beginning to squirm as she tended him, her hold on him remaining unmoved.

'stop crying over me,' he added feeling her tears fall over him, the droplets falling onto his face even after she’d expressed her relief, despite the fact that gradually his body began to feel warm again, function slowly coming back to him.

'stop…' he pleaded, his bottom lip quivering, wanting to snap at her and make her go away altogether.

He could feel his fingers begin to move, his gaze beginning to align right with the more time he spent under her care.

“(F/n),” He rasped lowly, her head rising at the utter of her name as her face lit up the sound of his voice. And it was then that she drew back from him, her brightened eyes gazing into his glowing eyes with expectancy.

(E/c) eyes stared right at him, her face streaked with salty tears and as she saw the dimness from his golden eyes begin to fade, her face lit up with sheer joy,

“Leone,” She said softly, a smile gracing her, very faintly taking over her, "I’m so ha-," she started, cut off as his hand that was now healed, took hold of the back of her head, tightly weaving itself through (h/c) strands as he grabbed her,

"Why don't you just stay away from me?" He said lowly, teeth grit together as he shoved her down, straddling her as he glared down at her, " You shouldn't be here," he reminded her, “remember?” he asked her, having thought he’d been very clear.

“Are you an idiot?” He went on, his grip on her hair bound tight enough that it began to sting, causing her to wince, “If that asshole was around still...what would you have done?” he asked her, already knowing the answer.

He thought about it with so much rage it had him shaking,

‘ Don’t you get it? I’m doing this for you!’ He thought to himself with utter frustration. 

All the while her eyes were wide as she wordlessly looked up at him, caught beneath him as he continued to loom over her, the sight making his hold slacken for just a fraction of a second, realizing just what he was doing,

“Damn it (f/n),” He grumbled, continuing to look down at her, completely taken by the sight of her in her current state, his vexation slowly dying out.

Through teary-eyed and bloodied, she seemed beautiful lying beneath him, her (h/c) colored strands caught in his hand and tangled there to create the very same scene he’d selfishly conjured up on more than once occasion.

Mindlessly, his eyes then drew down to her lips, tempted by the sight of their inviting curve and thickness, causing his own to press together with longing.

She was filthy now, drenched in his blood, her back pressed onto the filthy ground as well, and even then, it took nothing away from her beauty and much more, the undeniable attraction he had for her.

“It’s so damn annoying when you think I need you,” He told her, trailing off as he came down closer, his lilac-colored lips almost touching her (color) ones, “...even more annoying when you're right.” He muttered, hating just how perfectly she fit beneath him.

They fit like two puzzle pieces slowly being inched together, and he’d already known it would be the case.

“Leone...I want to tell you I l-”

“I know,” He said quietly, “ I already know,” He told her, his heart racing, not wanting to hear her say it, because he knew he wouldn't know what to do with himself if he actually heard her say it.

He was currently struggling, unable to function right, and the single admittance would undoubtedly rattle him, making him do something he’d long fought,

“So quit crying. And quite following me around like a lost dog,” He told her, his voice soft, the words meant to be snide, but missed all the bite they needed.

“I...I don’t want you around me,” He struggled to say, biting his lip afterward.

‘You say so.. but you haven't drawn back,’ She noticed, ‘You’re shaking...And all the while your eyes...Your eyes are so soft,’ she mused, a sudden realization falling down upon her with the weight of a ton,

‘...You’ve been doing it purposely.’ she understood, ‘ But you’ve also been hesitant.’ 

"...Why do you do this?" She asked him, her heart heavy as she looked up at him, seeing the same hurt crossed over his features as he tried to push her away yet again.

It was a frail shove, but a sign of resistance nonetheless.

‘Whenever I feel so close to you...Whenever we’re just inches apart, you find a way to drift back away.’ She thought to herself, helpless as she was stuck in the same repeated cycle with him.

Yet again, he was so painfully close, but all the same remaining distant, blocked off as though there was a stone wall between them.

"- It's better," He said to her, though sounding unconvinced.

He shook, his breath being both inhaled and released in the same shaking manner as for just a second, his lips brushed hers, accidentally smudging the soft color of his lips onto hers,

“How?” she dared to ask. 

“ Don’t you get it? I’ve been trying to fight it... But when you go out of your way for me, I just want you more,” He admitted, swallowing down harshly. "So just quit it already," He begged, "Before I regret it...before you regret it too," he added.

"I'd never regret it," She insisted, "because I lo-"

Cutting her off, he smashed his lips to hers, his palms both pressed to her cheeks as he rocked his body to hers, wanting to completely melt over her,

“(f/n)” He said in between the heavy kiss, “What did I tell you,” He panted roughly, his lips trailing down her jaw, falling over the flesh of her neck with long, wet kisses as his hands traveled down to her waist, holding her still.

“Just stop, “ He argued, also being a hypocrite, occupied with trailing his mouth over her, not being the one to draw back instead.

“No..” She breathed, “Because I...I love you.” She said instead, feeling his body suddenly tense, his actions stopping, suspended as he held in a breath.

“I love you. I love you. I love you so much Leone,” She said to him, her hands reaching for his long strands of hair, the silky lengths weaved through her fingers before she curled them down to her palms, tugging them whilst he released the air in a small, light groan.

‘And I don’t want to ever lose you,’ She thought to herself, eyes shut tightly as she focused on the feeling of his hands roaming over her body, desperate to grip every bit of her.

As she’d seen him bloody, and barely alive, she knew she couldn’t live without telling him the truth that lay locked within her chest, much more when she began to understand his own reasoning.

“(f/n)...I...I love you too,” He finally admitted, breathing along the side of her neck with tightly shut eyes as the last bit of his resistance died, by then the only thing he held back on was the threatening tears that welled in his eyes as his body relaxed, finally finding ease.

So this was basically Abba the Tsun-Tsun （≧ｙ≦＊）

#leone abbacchio x reader #leone abbacchio x reader insert #leone abbacchio one shot #leone abbacchio #abbacchio x reader #abbacchio x reader insert #JJBA #jjba fanfic #jjba part 5 #Jojo Part 5 #part 5 jojo #jojo's bizarre adventure part 5 #part 5 x reader #part 5 #Vento Aureo #JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #JJBA Vento Aureo #vento aureo x reader #vento aureo reader insert #jojo #leone x reader #leone x reader insert #jjba leone

[hadesisqueer]

I'm bored and I don't care and you most probably don't care too but I don't care about that either, so here it comes: my Blake analysis.

People tend to think Yang is my favorite character. And, although they're not entirely wrong, because she's the character I relate the most to, my actual favorite character is Blake. I just find her so inspiring, and such an interesting character yet flawed character. CRWBY did a great job showing her traits as both the Beauty and the Beast, and I just love it.

Leaving the White Fang and Beacon times

Honestly, one of the things I admire the most about Blake is just how freaking brave she is. Because it takes an incredible amount of courage to be able to realize about your mistakes and seek a way to redeem yourself by learning to help people. And it takes a lot of strength to be able to leave your abuser behind.

Blake leaves the White Fang and gets into Beacon hoping for two things: redemption and a new life. She starts off as the typical quiet, kind of cynical (yet still idealistic), emo and mysterious girl who we knew basically nothing about her. We had basic information about the other three, but nothing from her except that she wore a bow and liked books.

I really liked how she seemed to not want to get close to anyone, but then the interactions with Ruby and Yang came. She, although kind of annoyed because they wouldn't let her read (mood), seemed amused by them, and even awkwardly tried to tell them that it was a pleasure to meet them as they fought and before Weiss came and she gave up reading (mood).

Which is one of the reasons I think she chose Yang as her partner. She was probably looking for a partner who she knew she could work well with. And having being partners with Adam, who was just as much of an offensive fighter as Yang, she knew she could work with that. That and the fact that she also seemed to like her and Ruby the night before, so Blake probably recognised her and followed her around to check if Yang could fight too (also because she was hot okay this is just me shipping). And when she saw she could, she was probably like “Okay, I'm keeping this one”. Which is fun, because Blake was the quiet girl and then she went and chose the most extrovert partner (besides Nora) there was. And actually liked having her around, as anyone could see when she smiled when Yang said something.

And that's the thing: she didn't want to get really close to anyone, but she was really eager to start a new life. Even though she wasn't really sure about Weiss, she had good teammates and genuinely liked them. She joined Ruby and Yang in their idiocy (love those two) from the start and showed to be as much as a dork as them if she wanted. She was relaxed with them and liked team JNPR too (we never really saw her having conversations with them alone but if she sat with Pyrrha in class it meant she was cool with them too) and, if you read the books, she was really good friends with team CFVY as well.

Still, she was afraid to open up about her past, or even tell them about being a faunus to the point that when she slipped and told them when she was mad at Weiss being an ignorant, she ran away. Because after all, she doesn't think they would like her true self. I mean, we're talking about a girl who ran away from the White Fang because she realized it had turned into basically a terrorist organisation -one she took part of, and left her family behind for. A girl who's suffered from abuse, making her feel like she doesn't deserve anything good. It's crystal clear in the comics (though they're vol 4 content), Blake thinks she is poison and ruins everything good around her. And she felt like she'd just ruined it again. Which is why when she sees that they don't care, and that Weiss has decided she doesn't care either (and to me, that's the beginning of her arc of being an ignorant and daddy's girl to “when I see a racist a floor him and fucky you, dad), Blake almost cries.

Then in vol 2 she is literally obsessed with Torchwick and the White Fang. It's understandable: she used to be part of that organisation (goddammit, her own father created it) and she's had to see how it went from believing in peace and equality to becoming more violent to start working with human crime lords in a way that doesn't seem to benefit the faunus at all? She knew there was something big going on, and even if she had to fight her own past, she was willing to if that's what it took to find out what it was. It's funny because I felt like she was the main protagonist in that volume instead of Ruby and it's true: she was the one calling the shots.

The thing is that she took it too far and led her to basically become obsessed with the White Fang, as I said. To the point that Yang had to almost literally slap some sense into her and tell her to chill and go to sleep. And well, it worked. She took Yang's advice and didn't forget her goals, but took her time instead of destroying herself in the process.

In vol 3, she seems more relaxed than we'd ever seen. She doesn't have to hide who she is to the people she cares about, because she's slowly opening up more and they are understanding. They succesfully stopped a Grimm attack in Vale and got Torchwick in jail, so she felt more confident and hopeful. And they were killing it at the Vytal Festival. So yeah, she deserved to chill a little, enjoy herself, to be a little goofy and eat some tuna with her friends. The girl had earned it.

... but it's volume 3, and if it fucked everyone up, it wasn't going to be any different with Blake. Like, for fuck's sake, give the poor girl a break.

It starts with Yang breaking Mercury's leg and Blake not knowing what to think. Because as she said, the whole situation was so familiar. She'd had a passionate and aggressive yet “kind” partner before, one she thought she loved and trusted, and he slowly became more and more violent, and more abusive, and for a long time, she was blind to it. And then Yang does that. Her passionate and kind of aggressive yet sweet new partner, who she may already had romantic feelings for (even if she hadn't realized yet), who even had the same semblance as Adam. Was it all happening again?

Yang and Adam are, after all, foils of each other in a way. They're really similar. The main difference is how they deal with their suffering: Adam used it as an excuse for hurting others and never really got over it, and Yang took meaning from it instead and found the way to move on. Her heart was never driven by hate; she used her pain to become a better, stronger person. After all, just as Blake said, Adam was Spite, and Yang was Strength.

Blake's reaction was understandable. She was a victim of abuse and the situation reminded her of it. And as I said, it didn't help that Adam and Yang were so similar. But deep down, she knew that Yang wasn't Adam, that there was an explanation, which is why she gave Yang that chance to tell her. And she knew Yang wasn't lying.

And then everything gets REALLY fucked up for everyone. The situation couldn't be worse. Penny has died, Ruby is at Amity Arena, Yang is still at the dorms. Blake and Weiss are fighting together at Beacon against the White Fang and Grimm- and also the robots. And getting separated was honestly the worst thing they could have done, but Blake went after that Beowolf. And then she found Adam.

I don't think I have to even explain how I think she felt at that moment, when she saw her abuser right there in front of her eyes, for the first time since she left him. I think the look in her eyes are enough to express how terrified and conflicted she was. And yet, she is brave enough to fight him. And she loses. And then the guy uses “summon love interest” card and Yang appears, and he sees right through Blake. And the thing she feared the most happens. She's ruined it. She's really ruined it.

Vol 4 & 5 or the Belladonnas, Sun and Ilia.

Volume 4 is, without any doubt, Blake's lowest point, and again, thank God for having her parents and Sun around, because the girl was almost suicidal (most of all, when you read the comics). As I said, she feels like she's poison who ruins everything good around her, and this once, the universe has proved her right. Yang, her lovable partner who had been nothing but sweet, funny and understanding since she'd met her, had lost an arm trying to save her. And she knew that Adam wasn't kidding when he said that he'd kill her. So she left because she'd rather have Yang, Ruby and Weiss hating her than risking their lives. And because she couldn't stand the guilt she felt. The poor girl hated herself for what happened.

It took her while to decide to go back to Menagerie, but she did, and I was honestly thrilled to find out about her family. Like, we knew about Ruby and Yang being sisters and later we also find out more about their family life. We knew about Weiss being the heiress of the SDC, that she came from an important family, and later we know that she has siblings and it's implied that her father is a dickhead. But we didn't know anything about Blake's family life. We didn't know if she had any family at all or if she was an orphan, or if she had been abandoned, or if she was poor or rich. I think a lot of people had those headcannons before vol 4. But nope. Those ideas were obliterated.

Her father had created the White Fang, which explained why Blake always took the whole matter so personal: it was her legacy, and it had been taken from her and became corrupted. Not only wasn't she poor: she was some sort of fucking princess and owned a mansion. And not only wasn't she an orphan or an abandoned kid: out of team RWBY, she was the only one with two functional, loving parents. She clearly felt guilty about leaving them as well but both of her parents forgave her without any doubts, and showed her unconditional love. Kali and Ghira were two understanding and forgiving people who loved their daughter more than anything, and really, it was such a relief.

And I have my issues with the whole Sun thing, most of all after reading Before the Dawn. He followed her without permission, didn't respect her boundaries and she got too aggressive with him sometimes because of that (first slap I get it, the other two no). And I don't think he was completely necessary for the whole Battle of Haven thing. But at the same time, I really think having him around actually helped Blake a lot. Because yes, he didn't understand her many times, but I do think that having him around helped her as much as her parents. He had a big crush on her, and Blake did like him back, but never at the same level. After the time-skip, he still liked her but her crush on him had faded. And he took his time, but he realized. Blake didn't need a boyfriend, she needed a partner, a good friend who opened her eyes and made her understand that not everything that happens is her fault. That pushing people away with the excuse of protecting them wasn't helping anyone: she was just hurting herself and others more. And that's what he became. And I love the fact that he never for a second thought that she owed him anything: he helped her because he wanted, not because he expected anything from Blake. He would literally be disgusted with people who think she did owe him. Sun has his issues but he is an amazing friend and a perfect example of a guy without one bit of toxic masculinity, and his friendship with Blake is just great (can't wait to see more of them. Brotp).

Blake got love, forgiveness, support and friendship from her parents and Sun, but honestly, I think that what finally pushed her to stop running away and put an end to this whole bullshit was Ilia's appearance. Her former best friend up until she left the White Fang (who was, by the way, the person who indirectly gave her the idea of using a bow to pass for human).

She had already seen someone she cared about lose his way and turn into a monster. Blake herself had lost her way for a good while, found it back and then lost it again, and was working to find it once more. Seeing Ilia in that situation too made her brain go like “Okay, there's no way I'm letting you end up like Adam”. Blake knew Ilia wasn't like Adam, she knew it wasn't too late for Ilia yet, just like it hadn't been too late for Blake herself. So she gave Ilia the same things her parents and Sun had given her, the same things team RWBY gave her once too: love, forgiveness and friendship. And by helping Ilia, Blake also helped herself. I've done this before in another post, but I'll do it again; as uncle Iroh said once: sometimes the best way to solve your own problems is to help someone else.

(I'm not going to get too deep about the White Fang; most of all, because I'd need an entire post just about it. I'll just say that even though I thought I liked most of it, I still have a lot of issues with the White Fang thing and I found the end to be a bit disappointing and rushed).

Back with team RWBY, rebuilding relationships and Adam's end.

I'll never stop thinking that the fact that she didn't know what the fuck was going on at Haven but still joined the fight was hilarious, but still, it really made sense. She's done running away from her fears and her past, and one of her fears was that: confronting her team (mostly, Yang, because of the whole Adam thing) after leaving them. And then they all appear right in front of her eyes.

Past Blake would run away again to avoid the consequences. But she'd grown from that. Instead, she dealt with her own problems with Adam and the White Fang, and as soon as she was done, she went right back into the building and start fighting by Weiss and Ruby's side. And after the fight, while she was talking to her family and Ilia, Sun gave her the final push: he encouraged her to go and actually talk to the team, and she did. She went and told them that if they gave her a second chance, she wouldn't leave them again. Because she knows that leaving them had been one of the biggest mistakes of her life, if not the biggest one. She didn't know if they'd forgive her (a part of her probably still thought they wouldn't, and that she probably didn't deserve it anyway) but she still tried. And Ruby and Weiss accept her without questions. And honestly, the face Blake makes when she sees that Yang is also accepting her back and then they all invite her to the group hug still gets me every time.

She was obviously really happy that they'd forgiven her and that they gave her another chance that it's clear she was really trying to make the most of it. She clearly wanted to make up for lost time, and really make up for leaving, showing Ruby a bunch of times that she was always ready to follow her lead, reassuring Weiss after finding the bodies and... the whole thing with Yang. Because she felt guilty. But don't think Blake was feeling guilty because of the arm thing; at least, not anymore. She had reached a point where she understood that Adam's actions weren't her fault. No, she felt guilty because she left.

Yang had told her about Raven, and Blake knew that the poor girl had some serious abandonment issues (actually, Blake and Raven are kind of similar as well but with many differences, like the fact that they both tend to run away when they're scared, but for different reasons; one leaves by putting people in harm's way to protect herself, and the other because she wants to protect people in the wrong way. Eventually both get called out on that behaviour, and one responds with running away again, and the other with learning to not to run and face her fears. Both are foils of each other in Yang's eyes just like Yang and Adam in Blake's. Okay I'll continue). And Blake knew that when she left Yang, she most likely made said issues worse. Which is why she was trying so hard to make sure that Yang knew she wasn't leaving her again. She even actually tells her over and over again. “I'm not leaving”, “I'll hurry back”, “I'm not gonna break my promise, I swear”. Even during the Bees vs Adam fight, she says “I have people who actually care about me and I promised I'd never leave them again, so I'm not dying now”. That states two things:

1) She wants to fucking live, of course.

2) Blake is telling Yang that she is not going to die, not only because, as I said, she is a normal person who wants to live. But because she knows that, even if she would totally do it given the case, Yang doesn't want her to sacrifice herself for her, because then, she'd be leaving her again. She is telling Yang that she's not going to do that, and that they'd leave that place together.

But the thing is, Blake was trying SO hard to be there for her that she made things awkward, making Yang think Blake believed she was fragile and needed protection, which wasn't the case (I already talked about all this and Yang hating people taking care of her she thinks it makes her weak in the Yang analysis). And which is why Blake corrected herself and said “protecting each other”, as equals.

(Before people complain about how I'm talking too much about Yang in here, let's be clear: you can't make an Yang analysis without talking about Blake. Just like you can't make a Jaune analysis without talking about Pyrrha. You can't make a Salem analysis without talking a lot about Ozma. Or a Weiss one and not mention her entire family. Because that's what happens when you write a complex character with varied relationships with different characters - the relationships shape the character into what they are-. And Blake and Yang's arcs is so intertwined with the others' since the Fall of Beacon that you can't make an analysis of one without talking a lot about the other. Thus, I'm analyzing their relationship too, just like I'm talking about Sun, Adam and more. And yes, I'm doing this from the romantic perspective. Because, in case you hadn't noticed, the relationship stopped being platonic since Heroes and Monsters, and has been showing to be more and more romantic as the show goes on. It's been even confirmed to be romantic. So please, anon, I'm talking to you: if you don't like it stop reading lmao).

Now for the Adam part. Man, I can't even talk about this.

People complain that it didn't make sense that Blake seemed full of confidence at Haven when facing him, and then at Argus, she was terrified. Well, let me clear one thing up: the situation was totally different, dude.

At Haven, she was surrounded by people she knew they would help her: Sun, her parents, damn, even team RWBY. She had a whole army supporting her (and even with Sun's help, she wasn't dumb and she knew better than trying to follow him, because she knew him and knew that that's what he wanted). So of course she was going to feel safer then than being totally alone with that guy who had been stalking her across the world like a total creep. Like, thank God Yang appeared and helped her.

Once again, these three are all together again since the Fall of Beacon. This guy, who maimed and traumatized Yang in a way she will most likely never completely get over (as a person with PTSD, I know it gets better, but it will never entirely go away). Blake's ex boyfriend. A person she trusted and loved, and turned out to be completely different than he made her believe.

Blake's done with running away from him. And she's done with being afraid, because she is. But even though she's afraid, I love how during the entire fight, he tried to get in her head but Blake didn't let him. Because she was done with that. He had abused her, tried to kill her and the people she loved, took her innocence and confidence, even stole her own legacy. And she's not letting him do that again. Not now, and nevermore.

Sorry, I had to.

Blake and Yang give him multiple opportunities to leave. He didn't. We know how that ended for him. And even after that, Blake feels terrible about having to take his life, and feels guilty about it, or felt like she'd ruined the whole “let's steal an airship” plan. But luckily, she had all of her friends reassuring her and being completely understanding and loving, and honestly, I'll say it a million times: that scene between Ruby, Blake and Yang is one of my favorites.

Volume 7

We don't see much Blake during volume 7, to be honest. Yes, we get that great moment with Weiss and Jacques (fuck you). We get to see how she really hasn't forgotten about the whole Adam thing, and how killing him was haunting her in a way. We got to see her and Yang being the ones who reached out for Robyn (people with brains who don't try to take her out and try to make her and the HH allies instead. THANK YOU). We got to see her and Yang kicking some ass in the RWBY vs Ace Ops fight. And of course, we get confirmation (we already knew, but some people are blind and needed more. Some people won't understand until they kiss) of Bumbleby going the romantic way. And I liked that.

But neither Blake nor Yang had much of an individual arc or important stuff to do last volume (and I really hope that changes in volume 8). That annoyed me. But at the same time, I remember that they hadn't had a break since vol 3; Blake had never had one, actually, because every volume found the way to emotionally fuck her up in some way. And after losing limbs, being stabbed, having to deal with terrorists, with bandits, with terrible moms, with abandonment issues, with PTSD and depression, with an abusive exboyfriend they even had to end up killing to survive... I was kind of fine with both of them getting an “easy” volume where they didn't have to deal with big emotional arcs like that, and were just chilling and enjoying themselves for a little while. Still, I want them to be more important, both as a couple and individually, next volume.

Conclussion

As I said, Blake is my favorite character. She is a very flawed person who learns about her flaws and works hard to be better. She is incredibly brave, by far, the bravest character in the series, who overcomes her fears and her abuse and moves forward. Blake's arc, besides taking back her legacy and fighting for equality, is about her finally understanding that she's not to blame for others' actions, that she isn't poison. She learns to finally stop running from her fears and her guilt, to stop pushing others away, and realize that she deserves a second chance, that deserves forgiveness and love and friendship, and to be happy. Blake's entire personal journey is about her finding her path, about overcoming her abuse and trauma, and about learning to love herself. And I love it. I love her.

#rwby #blake belladonna #yang xiao long #weiss schnee #ruby rose #bumbleby #sun wukong #kali belladonna #ghira belladonna #damn this is long #i just love blake so much #rwby analysis #blake analysis

[jawritter]

Save Me

Summary: It’s hard to be the hero, especially when no one saves you. 

Warnings: Cannon level Dean Winchester depression. Mentions and hints of drug use, Alcohol abuse and excessive drinking, language, self loathing, maybe a hint of jealous!Dean? Dean’s in a very dark place in this fic, and it’s a tear jerker. 

Paring: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2013

A/N: This fic was based on the song Save Me, by Jelly Roll. The lyrics are in Italics. This fic was also beta’d by @miss-nerd95! Thanks so much hun! Please do not copy my work! I hope you all enjoy this one! 

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**MASTERLIST**       ***BECOME A PATREON***

Somebody save me Me from myself I've spent so long Living in hell

Dean twisted the cap off of another bottle and downed the contents of the warm alcohol quick enough to make himself a little tipsy, and that alone felt like an accomplishment. He could hear Elieen and Sam in the room just down the hall from him, and honestly, it made him sick. 

It wasn't  that he disliked Elieen. In fact, he was the one that told Sam to go for it. She knew what they did, understood their lifestyle because she herself was a hunter and if Sam had a chance at being happy, who was he to tell him otherwise. It was more than Dean himself felt he’d ever have, or even deserve. 

He supposed this was the price of being the 'hero'. The guy who saved everyone's  ass. Why couldn't he be the one getting saved for once?

Eileen’s laughter cut through the silence  of the Bunker and drifted into Dean’s room where he pulled the covers up over his head to try and block  the sound. 

He was tired of living this way, but once he got drunk enough to not feel the lonely ache in his chest, he guessed it would stop mattering then. Then he could carry on with this shit-storm of a life he’d been reduced too. People thought Hell was lonely, turns out it was pretty much the same topside too.

They say my lifestyle is bad for my health It's the only thing that seems to help All of this drinking and smoking is hopeless but feel like it's all that I need Something inside of me is broken, I hold onto anything that sets me free

“Dean, you're getting too old to drink like that, man,” Sam said from his side of the table in the library where he and Eileen had taken up residence to look for another hunt. Dean hoped they’d fucking find one because he was tired of sitting here looking at them and just twiddle  his thumbs.

His liver desperately wanted him to find something to do with himself as well, not just keep on damaging it, and seemed to be screaming at him pretty loud this morning. 

“I’m fine, Sam. I quit the hard stuff a long time ago. I just need some sleep. Come get me if you guys come up with a hunt.” 

He got up and slid the chair back with more force than needed, but he hated it when Sam tried to butt in his life and tell him what he should and shouldn’t be doing. It’s easy to say shit like that when you don’t have to wake up to a cold bed every morning. 

Dean was just like everyone else. He craved companionship that didn’t come from some one night stand he picked up at a bar. He wanted a family, hell, he wanted to have kids someday. There goes that opportunity when you're in your forties and too damn broken to even get through the night without alcohol. 

“So much for being a good father figure,” Dean snorted to himself as he flopped down on his bed, letting the silence that stood in his room carve him deeper than any torturer from Hell could conjure up, or any wound his body had ever endured. 

Dean’s eyes drifted over to the almost empty bottle of Tennessee Whiskey on his nightstand, and he let out a huff. He would never tell Sam about the dime bag he kept in the hiding place under the floorboard of Baby for when things got really bad and he knew that he should stop doing this shit to himself, but it was the only relief he seemed to get sometimes. Today seemed like one of those days.

I'm a lost cause Baby, don't waste your time on me I'm so damaged beyond repair Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams I'm a lost cause Baby, don't waste your time on me I'm so damaged beyond repair Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams

Dean picked up his phone that was lying next to him on the bed, and somehow he started to dial your number, just like he’d done a thousand times over the years. It felt like a lifetime since he’d last seen you, but he always kept your phone number and would even dial it on occasion to just hear you say “hello” before he would quickly hang up. 

But he couldn’t do that to you, he couldn’t put you in the kind of danger his life seemed to be saturated in.  Besides there was no hope for someone like him, and if he thought he was fucked up years ago when he’d first meet you on that hunt in Wichita? Well, fuck if he wasn’t more in deep shit now than he’d ever been. 

Dean was sure you’d moved on by now anyway, he wasn’t going to waste your time on him. He was a lost cause. A shattered, broken shell of the former hunter when he was 28. Now it was all an act and a brave face until he could get stoned enough to get numb to not give a damn, because Dean fucking Winchester wasn’t allowed to feel. And as a result, he never did .

What if the night sky was missing the moon? And there were no shooting stars, to use wishing on you And all of my sorrows, I just wash them down It’s the only peace I've ever found. All of this drinking and smoking is hopeless but feel like it's all that I need Something inside of me is broken, I hold onto anything that sets me free

Dean didn't stop until he was tired of driving, but it was better than being in that Bunker with the couple fucking happy in love. He found himself in probably another state, but fuck if he even knew which one, they all looked the same after so many years on the road. A joint burning slowly in one hand, a bottle of cheap whiskey in another, and his back stretched out on Baby’s sleek, black hood. Nothing out there between him and all of his past years of regret but the stars, and the moon that shined out over the body of water he was parked in front of.

He was starting to feel the effects of his self-medication, and he knew he’d end up spending the night out here-which wasn’t much of a problem for him. At least it was quiet, peaceful even. That or he was just shit-faced enough to drown out the voices in his head that were screaming at him louder than usual that he would die alone, just like his father. Chasing his demons. 

If this little bit of pot and that little bit of alcohol gave him a little earlier out without having to actually pull the trigger? Well, fuck he’d take that too. He deserved nothing less than to die stoned, drunk, and probably in his own vomit. So much for being a hero. At this point though, he was pretty positive that heroes didn’t get saved. 

When the alcohol had run out and he had to lean against a tree to take a piss, he decided that he’d go crawl in the backseat and try to sleep it off so that he could play the hero one more day. That was, if he woke up

When he had flopped across the leather seats of the only real home he’d ever known, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed the number he was pretty sure he’d never forget. It rang and rang until he was just about to say fuck it, and hang up when you finally answered the phone. 

“Hello?”

Dean’s breath hitched in his throat, and he knew that he should've just hung up but for some reason, he couldn’t. He couldn’t stand the ache in his own chest any longer.

“Hello?” your voice said again as one silent tear slipped down his cheek onto the leather seat underneath him.

“Y/N, It’s Dean… I-uh, I’m sorry to call you so late.”

You could have heard a pin drop as your own heart picked up pace, your mind racing a thousand miles a minute. 

“Dean? Damn it’s been years. I thought you were dead!” you tell him in disbelief, sitting down on the concrete steps outside of your little house. His face still was a clear picture in your mind, the night he’d left you felt like it was yesterday as it was all those years ago. 

“Not dead yet, Sweetheart,”  Dean laughed almost humorlessly. It was too late to hang up now, so he could either lie to her, or he could tell the truth, he could tell her how lonely he really was and how much he regretted the day he’d left her all those years ago. “I’m-uh… I’m thinking about coming by and seeing you for a few days. It’s been a long time, and I just… God Y/N, I just really want to see you again.”

Your mouth fell open in shock. You could tell he’d been drinking by the slurred speech, but it was almost as if you could hear the cry for help in his voice. 

“You know you're always welcome here Dean. I told you years ago, and it still stands today, you can always come home.”

Dean swallowed the lump in his throat as the tears started to flow freely down his face now. “So you never moved on? No, Mr Right?” Dean tried to sound like he was joking, but honestly, he just felt like he sounded weak. Still, he had to know. 

“No Dean, I told you-it was you, and it would always be you,” you said, drying tears of your own away with the sleeve of your shirt. “I still love you, Dean, I always will. No matter how dangerous you say it is.”

Dean was about to hang up and tell you it was a mistake, but you had to go and say that. The internal battle was still raging inside of him, but dammit if he wasn’t tired of fighting it.

I'm a lost cause Baby, don't waste your time on me I'm so damaged beyond repair Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams I'm a lost cause Baby, don't waste your time on me I'm so damaged beyond repair Life has shattered my hopes and my dreams

You talked to Dean until he had passed out with the promise he’d see you in the morning. He told you over and over again that you should hang up on him, that you should rightfully tell him to fuck off, but you refused to. So now you stood pacing the front porch of the address you had texted to his phone last night. Praying, hoping that you’d see that beautiful black Impala that haunted your dreams pull down your driveway. 

Some of the things that he’d told you last night that he’d been through were horrific and you knew he wasn’t the same man he was all those years ago, but you also knew he still had the same soul. He saved you all those years ago, and now, it was your turn to save him. 

You didn’t breathe easily until you heard Baby’s engine purr and saw her coming down your street. It took all you had not to run to meet him halfway, and when he got out of the car, he said nothing, just wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tight into him-like you were a lifeline, and if he let you go, he’d never surface again. Little did you know that it was exactly what he felt.

“You’re home Dean,” you told him through broken sobs of your own mixed with his. 

And he was. Finally, someone decided he might just be worth saving too, and he was glad that it was you.

Forever Tags: @deanwanddamons @rvgrsbrns @bi-danvers0 @onethirstyunicorn @i-love-superhero @akshi8278 @lyss-dw79 @magssteenkamp @lemondropirwin @squirrelnotsam @hobby27 @spnbaby-67 @mrsjenniferwinchester @defenderrosetyler @screechingartisancashbailiff @thecreatiivecorner  @aflamboyanceofgays @vicmc624 @busy-bee-angel-misska @justanotherwinchester @brilovesdeanwinchester @idksupernatural @lyarr24 @amandamdiehl @love-jackles-37-blog @miraclesoflove @waywardsistershy @emoryhemsworth @dean-winchesters-gardian-angel @softsebastian @tatted-trina6​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @hayleeharling​   @flamencodiva​ @coldmuffinbanditshoe​ @bxbyizzy​ @rain-dance-goblin​ @itmejado​ @supernatural3002​

#Dean Winchester #Dean Winchester x Reader #Dean Winchester x You #Dean Winchester fanficiton #Dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester cannon #dean x reader #dean x you #jealous!dean #hurt!dean #sad!dean #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn #jensen ackles #save me #jawritter #x reader inserts

[bestworstcase]

i’ve been thinking about this post from a couple days ago and how i shared my four questions of character development but didn’t actually give an example of what my answers look like and it’s bugging me a bit because it occurs to me that it’s kinda just. lobbing a tool out there without documentation on how to use it properly rip

so uh. further details with examples ft. the bitter snow cast.

#1: what are they looking for?

all characters have an UNFULFILLED DESIRE that motivates them to action. the more central to the story the character is, the harder this must be to attain, as a general rule. this is, ideally, NOT an exterior goal. instead, it is the intrinsic wellspring from which the character’s goals and aspirations emerge.

EXAMPLES:

cassandra: it’s complicated. she is a character defined more by what she lacks than what she wants, per se; she does not feel secure of her place in the world, she craves trust because she feels she is distrusted, she craves respect because she feels she is overlooked, she craves love because she feels unloved. she doesn’t want to be a servant. she is terrified of insignificance, of being forgotten. she does not fit, and this hurts her. she is riddled with self-loathing and self-doubt because of the discrimination she has endured due to her saporian heritage. but if pressed to explain what she wants… she can’t summon a true answer. she doesn’t know what she wants, so what she is looking for fundamentally is to figure that out.

rapunzel: complicated again. she is a character defined in large part by what other people want from her. a people-pleaser who becomes anxious, persistent—even forceful—in her efforts to make everyone happy. she isn’t accustomed to paying attention to her own desires, and tends to neglect them unless she is acutely unhappy. i think she is looking for herself, more than anything.

varian: he is searching for answers. he wants to understand how the world works, to discover what it has to teach him. simple.

caine: she is looking for freedom. her life has been a long succession of horrific losses: her father was brutally taken from her, her mother became horribly ill, poverty and familial obligation robbed her of what remained of her childhood, she became disillusioned with the faith her aunt tried to share with her, her best friend died in her arms. she wants vengeance, and she also wants to stop carrying these ghosts with her, and she also wants to stop looking over her shoulder all the time and waiting for the next loss to catch up with her.

zhan tiri: she is looking for peace. she is the oldest living being in existence, and she came from nothing, and every single significant moment in her unfathomably long life has been soaked in blood and pain and death. her intrinsic nature is to hunger—always needing, always restless, always empty—and more than anything, she longs to break this endless circle of want.

#2: what’s stopping them?

every character must have an OBSTACLE which DISRUPTS their pursuit of what they’re looking for. it is the thing standing in their way. this is NOT the antagonist—it is the reason the character cannot easily overcome the antagonist. ideally it is something intrinsic.

EXAMPLES:

cassandra: she has, again, a complicated answer—because the very thing she is looking for is the same thing that stands in her way. how can she discover her basic, most primal want if she can’t even articulate her goals? she wants, at the beginning of the story, to join the watch—but not because she wants to join the watch, so much as joining the watch is a proxy for cassandra assimilating fully, for being coronan through and through, for scrubbing herself clean of the stain of her parents’ legacy—and that proxy is itself merely a proxy for her desire to belong—and her desire to belong is, in turn, a proxy for the agony of not knowing herself. she is piling bandaids on top of bandaids on top of bandaids on top of hemorrhages.

rapunzel: she is trapped in her own story. an evil witch kidnapped the magical lost princess, who escaped and came home; a miracle. the sundrop gifted its power to the lost princess; destiny. she a peacemaker and a mediator; it is her job to fix problems. narratives piled on narratives and she’s lost—or rather, never had—the insight to recognize that there is more to her than the stories people tell about her.

varian: his crushing need for approval is the key thing standing in his way. it isn’t just that his father’s disappointment or his village’s distrust make him warier of free experimentation; it is also, and perhaps even more so, that he is afraid of finding the wrong answers. answers that won’t help people. answers that his friends and allies won’t like. answers that change his basic view of the world in ways that feel antithetical to who he is. this fear holds him back from pursuing the truth.

caine: she is looking in the wrong direction; she is trying to not care, as if by not caring she can trick the universe into not taking anything else away. she is someone who cares so deeply trying to sever herself from everything she cares about without actually letting it go, which is of course an exercise in futility.

zhan tiri: what she wants is, quite simply, impossible. this is not a human answer because she is not human. contentment is and will always be something she is not capable of feeling, and chasing it is nothing but another exercise in insatiable hunger.

#3: what are they going to do about it?

this is about ACTION. it is not an option for a character to do nothing; the nature of the unfulfilled desire is that they are COMPELLED to seek it, somehow, by some means. if the answer to this question does not involve the character DOING SOMETHING, you need to return to question number one and fix the answer there.

EXAMPLES:

cassandra: she is going to fling herself headlong and without hesitation after whatever concrete goals feel like they might “fix” the lack she feels. even if a short term goal (like helping rapunzel sneak out) clashes or is contradictory with a longer term goal (like joining the watch). even if it is an obviously stupid idea (like her secret correspondence with rosalia morcant). even if it is an impulse with little if any rational basis (like fixating on finding varian, or joining the fight in socona). she is, essentially, throwing stuff at the wall to see what sticks, because without knowing what she wants, she can’t form a coherent “quest” for herself.

rapunzel: she is going to follow the path of least resistance with whatever narrative feels the least restrictive to her at any given time. when she is fresh out of the tower, reconnecting with her real family and throwing herself into becoming a princess is that narrative. later, taking adira’s and xavier’s advice to pursue her destiny by questing for the moonstone replaces that narrative. since none of these narratives fully suit her—they are all boxes she tries to fit into—she will eventually grow discontent and cast them aside to try something new, until she finally breaks this cycle.

varian: he is going to fall into a cycle of hesitant side-stepping leading to crisis leading to frantic charge forward until he identifies this pattern and chooses to step calmly but courageously into unknown territory. his instinct is to try to go around, to find an oblique solution, but to get what he wants he will ultimately need to just face his fear head on—and deep down he is willing to do that.

caine: she is going to run, and fight, and keep running and fighting until her legs give out beneath her. vengeance appeals to her, and she’s going to chase it with everything she’s got while trying to protect what she has; her intense drive is tempered by caution, which manifests in a pragmatic approach to pursuit of her exterior goals.

zhan tiri: she is going to continuously and experimentally refine and broaden her definition of “hunger” with the aim of hitting on something that allows her to feel satiated. she is going to line up goals and systematically chew threw them until there’s nothing left. she is, eventually, going to devour the whole cosmos and then probably die.

#4: who do they think they are?

this is a question about the character’s SELF-IDENTIFICATION. how do they PERCEIVE themselves? how do they choose to DEFINE themselves? what do they see when they look in the mirror?

EXAMPLES:

cassandra: she is untrustworthy. she is ignored. she is likable but not lovable. she doesn’t fit anywhere. she’s empty. she’s unsure. she’s drowning in doubt. she is insignificant, unimportant. she has been wronged, somehow. she wants to be a hero. she is someone who wants to do the right thing. she never stops trying. she’s stupid and reckless and incapable and doesn’t deserve any of the things she wants. she probably cares too much.

rapunzel: she is good. she is kind. (she is better than other people, in some small way. she sees the potential for goodness that other people can’t, or won’t.) she is worthless. she exists to make the world a better place. she is a princess, so she has to lead. she is the sundrop, so she has to heal. she is strong. (she is weak.) her determination to be kind and willingness to trust are her best qualities.

varian: he’s probably a lot smarter than most people he knows. he doesn’t know anything, but he wants to. he’s reckless. he’s not good enough. he can’t replace his mom. he’s accident prone. he’s a disappointment. he moves too fast. he thinks too fast. he doesn’t really need to sleep. he’s better with chemicals and formulas and machines than people. he’s not someone people want to be friends with. he could do great things if people—especially his dad—would just believe in him for once.

caine: she is an asshole and there is nothing wrong with her. she’s callous. she’s selfish. she’s out for her own interest first. she’s fine. (it was her fault cornaīn died. it’ll be her fault if her mom dies, or if neasa dies, or if any more of her crew dies, or if cassandra dies.) she isn’t afraid, she isn’t hurt, she’s angry. the only person she can rely on is herself, and the only person she wants to rely on is herself. she’s not anxious, she’s being smart.

zhan tiri: she loves, and it hurts, and she loves anyway. there is a way to break the circle and she is going to find it; it isn’t over until the end; but nothing lasts but hunger. she has done nothing wrong, ever, in her life. she has so many regrets she could drown in them if she weren’t immortal. she is beautiful, stop screaming.

…and that’s the bedrock of a character. 

every individual action, every specific goal, every thought and feeling, is ultimately guided by the clash between this internal core with the realities of the setting, plot, and choices of other characters. cognitive dissonance between answers #1-3 and answer #4 is a breeding ground for inner conflict, and answers #1-3 are the raw material from which the spine of the character’s arc is sculpted.

[bonus round: this method comes from a scene in the pre-broadway houston run of the musical wonderland, wherein a character poses these questions to alice; her answers are:

#1: “i’m looking for my lost child.*”

*this being both literally her child who is lost but also metaphorically her own sense of wonder and discovery, which she has lost touch with.

#2: “i do! i keep getting in my own way, it’s all i do!”

#3: “i’m trying to figure that out!”

#4: “i’m chloe’s mother. i’m married to jack. these people are my friends. i’m a writer. i’m a teacher. i’m the dreamer of this dream. i’m lots of things; i’m my own invention!”

and when i first listened to this audio i was blown away by just how perfectly this distilled the character of alice down to her purest essentials so i immediately adopted it for character building purposes and i have never looked back because it is simple and it works.

in this scene there is also a fifth question, “what are you afraid of?” (paraphrasing: “losing the people i love”) which i have over time sort of just lumped in with how i answer the other four, because i find it to be less evocative on its own. however, it is useful information to know about a character and i recommend keeping it in mind when answering the other four.]

#[flings writing advice into the void at 5:30 am] hello

[ddarker-dreams]

Fallen From Grace. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

Giorno has given you too many gifts to count.

This benevolent act serves multiple purposes, culminating towards the goal of making your time here better. He doesn’t shy away from the reality of what he’s doing to you, the extent of your loneliness after being displaced. Forcing himself to remember this bitter truth keeps him from getting complacent, striving to make your experience all the better. 

No detail is to be overlooked. In what little free time Giorno has, he molds your surroundings to your liking. The meals that are planned for you consist of high nutritional value, often rotating your favorites with only the best ingredients and chefs to prepare them. Your wardrobe is full of outfits tailored to your measurements and tastes. Rare and ethereal flowers span across the master bedroom you share with Giorno, him creating them with the purpose of soothing you. 

For all this effort, Giorno never has an expectation for your gratitude. He doesn’t believe he deserves it, having stolen you from your normal life. He’s the reason for the tear soaked pillows, the restless nights and detached demeanor you’ve adopted. Whether it’s to ease the guilt that suffocates his heart, or to see your eyes light up for only a moment, Giorno tends to you. 

This custom, handmade journal is one he gave you at the start of your time here. With you receiving limited human interaction, Giorno found it important for you to have a way to express your thoughts. While you were initially antagonistic towards him about the journal, you began to use it. He lets you hide it from him, letting you believe it’s out of his reach for peace of mind. 

Ironic as it may sound, Giorno respected you by never laying a finger on it. The overwhelming temptation of learning his beloved’s most inner thoughts isn’t lost on him. He could read it and place it back to its original spot without you being none the wiser. For months, he made a point in refusing this alluring idea. 

That is, until this very second. 

Sitting on his dark mahogany desk, is the journal that contains your private thoughts and experiences. Giorno’s eyelids flutter shut, a soft sigh leaving his lips. Leaning further into his chair, he gives more thought to the situation. The forbidden fruit lays before him, ready to give knowledge he shouldn’t have. 

There’s a grander reason for this dilemma. When spending time with you, Giorno is keen to pick up every nuance of your behavior. It’s a trait of his that has followed him since childhood. Every twitch of your mouth or hesitation in your voice paints a larger picture. He’s capable of reading you, knowing your thoughts before you even know them yourself. This often works out in his favor. 

But lately, when he speaks to you, something feels different. In a way that doesn’t make sense. You still hold apparent dislike for him, but you avoid eye contact less. There’s a sense of underlying assurance, like you’re privy to information that he isn’t. It gets under his skin, eating him from the inside out. 

No longer do you threaten him with bitter words, detailing your resentment towards him. You seem content to sit in his presence, talking casually about what you’ve done that day and asking him the same. He won’t lie and say he doesn’t like the development. But his gut tells him there’s a malicious intent laced in your new behavior. 

What are you hiding from him? 

The realm of possibilities is few and far between, and Giorno considers every possibility. None of his theories placate a voice in his head, a gnawing that something is very wrong. Talking to you and asking questions laced with hidden agendas has led to no discoveries, options growing limited to discover the truth.

Running his fingertips over the spine of your journal, he gingerly opens to the first page. It’s a dirty feeling to be doing this, invading your privacy behind your back. He’s done worse for the sake of your well being, the justification spurring him to continue on to the next page. It contains your first entry. 

“I didn’t want to write this. Putting the words into paper almost feels like I’m accepting the reality of what’s happening to me, this parody of a life. I don’t have much else to do to pass the time. 

Even my hobbies bring me little joy, knowing who set them up for me like a doll in a dollhouse. Focusing is another thing entirely. How can I focus knowing I’m always being monitored to some degree? Even as I write this, I wonder who’s watching me. 

In the past, when I felt anxious, I’d write. And well… anxiety is the heartbeat of my life now. Everyday I wake up, more numb than the last. All I look forward to is when I’ll sleep next. At least then I don’t have to feel anything, I can just exist without trying. There’s nothing else for me to say.”

He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Giorno’s lips curl down into a frown, his eyebrows furrowing and stomach dropping. Seeing the depths of your pain so tangible, in your own words, kills a piece of his soul. It’d be an insult to you to waver now, he thinks, resolve staying firm. Not wanting to invade your privacy more than necessary, he skims through more entries in hopes of finding any leads on your current behavior.

“It’s already been three months since I’ve begun living here, if you can even call it that. I’ve gotten better at spotting the guards. I like to think of it as a little game. They’re good, I give them that. But when you have nothing to do, living in a house with no noise, it grows easier to listen. To notice things I wouldn’t have before. 

Maybe I’m going stir crazy. I don’t like knowing how I’m being monitored, but I’ve grown accustomed to it. I hate to admit how he was right , when he said I’d grow accommodated to this with time. I don’t want to. I don’t want to learn to live like this. But I can’t stop it. Resisting the inevitable is a pointless waste of energy, which I hardly have anymore.” 

Giorno picks up on your lack of mentioning him by name. In most of your entries, you avoid even insinuating to his existence when possible. It’s a cold sensation, knowing who he loves most omits him at every chance. He understands -- it’s what he deserves after putting you through this isolation -- yet the complex hurt remains prevalent. Every word stingers more than the last.

He soldiers on, searching through more entries. 

“I wonder if they’re allowed to talk to me. When I call out to the occasional shadow, or creak in a room beside me, there’s no response. But I know they’re here, I’ve seen him giving them orders in the past when I pretend to sleep. It’s always in hushed whispers, as if anything they say could surprise me. 

I just want to talk to someone. Someone that isn’t him. Someone that doesn’t avoid my gaze like everyone else here. It makes me feel like I’m a disgusting sight to behold, even though I know why they look away. The guilt from witnessing what they do, outweighed by their longing for money. I hate it. It makes me hate them. At least look at me, like I’m a human. 

They’re spineless cowards. All of them. Disgusting subhumans that take a paycheck over my suffering. I hate them so much, almost more than I hate him.” 

Giorno freezes, noticing small crinkles in the paper towards the end of this entry. Signs that you must’ve been crying, he deduces. God. He wants to tell himself that it’s worse than he thought, but that’d be a lie. All along he’s been aware of the great extents of your suffering, all pointing back to him. 

Running a hand through his hair, loose from its normal styling, Giorno wonders if he should stop now. Every word is like a nail in the coffin of his heart, paining him in more ways he thought possible. Making difficult decisions has come as second nature to him, so he preserves on. 

“Yesterday was my birthday. What a shitty thing to realize. I got a lot of things. More than I ever had gotten before. More offline games, clothes, perfume, shoes, jewelry, and even a painting. By the looks of it I think it’s rare, but who gives a fuck. 

An interesting development occurred. One of my guards, if that’s what you’d even call them, approached me. He had just gotten off the phone, and informed me that my plans for the day were going to be different. Apparently the big boss got held up at work, so he wouldn’t be joining me for dinner.

Am I supposed to be upset about that? Well, I certainly wasn’t. Who cares. Seeing him would just make me feel worse. I hate how out of control I feel like he’s around. I almost find myself forgetting about all he’s done, when he speaks to me so calmly. Just thinking about it makes me feel dirty, like I should shower. 

I didn’t see a point in responding at first. But eventually, I spoke up before the guard could leave. I asked him why he was okay with this, what he sees everyday. He didn’t offer a response. But I noticed something. His breath hitched, I’m sure of it. 

Maybe there is another human being in this pseudo-prison after all.” 

A painful reminder of the past. It did hurt him at the time to have to miss out on an important day with you, even though Giorno was self aware to know his presence brought you little comfort. There had been emergency phone calls over an attack from former Passione members, retaliating for losing drug related income. 

The timing of it was awful, just thinking back to it reminds Giorno of the impatience he felt then. Hours were spent personally dealing with cleaning up what had happened, meaning he wasn’t able to see you as was originally planned. Orders were given back home to inform you of this change, though it’s now evident it impacted Giorno more than you. 

The last section piques his interest. You felt you had noticed guilt in one of the guards? The pool of men that Giorno had carefully sifted through are no strangers to witnessing barbaric acts. Such is the life of a gangster. In your state of heightened emotions, there’s a possibility you could’ve imagined it. 

The journal goads him to continue, unraveling the mysteries of your heart.

“I’ve gotten better at spotting the guards.

I can’t believe something like this is exciting to me, but it is these days. It’s kinda funny in a pathetic way, watching as they shrink back when I spot them. The guard from before is the one I recognize the most. I pretended to be hurt, and he came out of the shadows to check on me. 

I guess he wasn’t expecting me to turn around looking fine after my acting, because he didn’t leave right away. Before he got the chance, I asked what his name is. He sighed, probably relieved that he wouldn’t have to report to his boss about me being harmed. He said his name is Marco. 

At that point, it was my turn to be surprised. I guess he was too, given the slip up. I must confess, it felt nice talking to someone. It’s been so long since I’ve heard another person’s voice. He went to walk away soon after, but I stopped him. It’s not like they can use force to get rid of me, so why the hell not? 

I told him I was bored and wanted someone to talk to. And, for some reason… he stayed.” 

Giorno rereads this passage multiple times, scrutinizing it. So you managed to speak to one of the guards he assigned to watch over you? When he was recruiting within Passione for the position, he made expectations explicitly clear. They were not to interact with you unless an emergency calls for it. And if they felt the situation called for it, they needed to report it back to Giorno. 

Your safety is paramount in his eyes. Regardless of this being a minor grievance, this guard will be punished accordingly for breaking the rules Giorno set. All of them were put in place knowing that if you grew connected to someone and they you, possibilities of insubordination would blossom. 

The dates on the pages are getting closer to the current day, not many more entries left. 

“Marco and I have been speaking more frequently.

He gave me a rough idea of the conditions in which we can talk, only in certain blind spots and times where other guards aren’t around as often. I wish it wasn’t so complicated. In our rushed conversations, I’ve learned more about him. I didn’t really think I would get all that invested in this person, since he’s stood by and watched my situation for a while now.

But now it makes a bit more sense. He told me that his little sister is unwell, having to practically live in a hospital room. That this dirty job is the only one that can cover the full expenses, and that without it she wouldn’t last. I can’t say that I forgive him entirely yet, but… I guess I can sympathize. I wish there was more I could do to help. 

Her name is Lucia. One of the times we talked Marco told me she’s the strongest person he knows, staying dedicated to her studies despite having waning strength. She’s a few years younger than me, but I think we’d have gotten along well. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to leave this place, but I wish I could meet her one day. 

Having him to talk to is nice.” 

Ah... so that’s what it is then.

Unpleasant emotions rise within, feelings that Giorno long thought were gone. Times before when you were speaking freely with your friends, laughing among them and living your life to the fullest. Those times were he wanted nothing more than to join you, to have you by his side and share in the experience. His position shot down any hopes of that, the possibility of endangering you deterring him. 

It was a painful time. Knowing that what he wanted was close and yet so painfully far, just out of his reach. Giorno wanted you to look at him like that, mirth in your eyes and a smile on your lips. To enjoy outings to the movies like you did with your friends, to have inside jokes and memories to fondly look back on. 

Envy doesn���t begin to describe the hideous feeling that permeates within him. Giorno’s grasp on your journal feels weaker, fingers shaking as he flips to the next page. Predator-like intent shines on his visage, emerald eyes narrowed and grip tightening. Not typically one to dwell on what could’ve been, it’s rare Giorno would feel like this. He makes the most out of every situation, his resolve unwavering and sights set on a single goal. 

You throw all of it into a loop, his normal composure a long forgotten memory. 

“Today I played a game of checkers with Marco. 

I think he was letting me win, but it was fun nonetheless. Apparently one of the normal guards was tending to business elsewhere, so we had more time together. He’s kind, kinder than I would’ve ever expected. When we’re together I just forget about everything other than the present moment. 

For once, I don’t feel like a prisoner all on my lonesome. I don’t notice the heavy ring on my finger, the suffocating air of this villa that I despise. It’s just us, cracking jokes and learning about one another. It’s what I look forward to the most, what I hold onto even when Marco isn’t around. It makes me feel human again. Like I’m not [First] Giovanna, but entirely myself.

Smiling comes a lot more naturally these days. I can even find myself stomaching his presence easier, though I still don’t like when he’s around. As long as he doesn’t find out about Marco and I, I feel like I can get through this. Everyday I change the location of this journal, within the expanses of this mansion. 

I still wish there was more I could do to help Lucia. I suggested giving Marco some of this stupid jewelry to pawn off, but he said it’s too risky. It’s surreal to know even pawnshops in Italy are fiercely loyal to Passione’s Don, and would be too hesitant to purchase his wife’s jewelry in fear of retaliation. 

Having all this wealth surround me feels like a waste when I know there’s someone who could actually use it. As much as I don’t like the thought, maybe I could convince Giorno to help Marco somehow. I have a few ideas but they’re probably all too risky. He does always tell me, ‘If you ever want anything in this world, tell me.’ 

I want to help Lucia. I want to help Marco, who I’ve found myself caring for. 

I’ve never asked Giorno for anything really. I don’t know how to propose it without making him suspicious--” 

Giorno can’t stand to read it anymore. 

Closing the book and placing it down, he steeples his fingers together. It takes a great deal of effort to frustrate him, normal composure melting away. Is it betrayal? Hurt? Jealousy? Everything wraps around his person, the air in his office feeling thick. Loosening the tie around his neck, he takes a much needed deep breath. 

A flash of your smile from earlier this evening at dinner comes to mind. You called him by his name, maintaining eye contact and asking about his day. Lulled into a false sense of security, wanting to believe nothing more than the farce unfolding before him. Of course you didn’t love him back. He was a fool to have deluded himself into believing that. 

At his fingertips is his phone. With a single phone call, he could command the world to fall. To have this guard who failed him tortured in the worst ways imaginable, experiencing hell on earth. Or to even join Passione’s former boss in a never ending cycle of death, that stretches the lengths of eternity. 

So many possibilities. Yet none of them would soothe the agony of his heart. Completely and utterly alone once more, like his earlier days. Requited love was all but an illusion, a fog that has now been lifted. 

Giorno purses his lips, considering. Fingers drum against his desk, the sound reverberating across the empty room. Grabbing a hold of his phone, he calls upon someone who could help him deal with this traitor appropriately. A message must be sent, he thinks, that will set the tone within the organization. It will hurt you to lose this newfound companion, but it’s a sacrifice he is willing to make. It’s not like you need to know the details either. 

The phone rings. Once, twice. Before his second in command on the other line picks up. 

“Yo, Giorno? You’re calling pretty late,” Mista’s voice is chipper as ever, the distant sound of music playing in the background. “Everything alright?” 

Getting up from his chair, he walks over to the window that overlooks his garden. His beloved wife walks among the paths, bending down and inspecting a rose. Giorno remembers when he turned an object into that very flower, how your dull eyes lit up at the awe inspiring sight. 

This is ultimately all for you, he reminds himself.

“Yes, everything is fine. Are you free at the moment? I have a job for you.”

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