#let's say it's for men's mental health awareness or something

[violaobanion]

PERIOD MEN IN DISTRESS *:･ﾟ✧ Poldark (2015-2019), created by Debbie Horsfield The White Queen (2013), dir. James Kent, Jamie Payne & Colin Teague Emma (2020), dir. Autumn de Wilde Bridgerton (2020-), created by Chris Van Dusen Boardwalk Empire (2010-2014), created by Terence Winter Peaky Blinders (2013-2022), created by Steven Knight Pride & Prejudice (1995), dir. Simon Langton Jane Eyre (2011), dir. Cary Joji Fukunaga

#perioddramaweek2023 // day 7: free day

#perioddramaweek2023 #poldark #the white queen #emma #emma 2020 #bridgerton #boardwalk empire #peaky blinders #pride & prejudice #pride & prejudice 1995 #jane eyre #perioddramaedit #perioddrama #periodedit #pdedit #pdgifs #userperioddrama #weloveperioddrama #userbennet #ceremonial #tusereliza #usershelby #myperiodgifs* #edits #don't ask #let's say it's for men's mental health awareness or something #onlyperioddramas

[navstuffs]

"Private" Security

Pairing: Rookie!Leon Kennedy x GN!Reader

Summary: Your rookie cop boyfriend, Leon, protects you during your morning jog. Based on the tiktok by @johnny_tsunami_88.

Warnings tags: protective!leon, fluff, though the image says female jogger, this is a fic for gn!reader!!!, reader might be jogging/running/walking

Author's notes: heeey!! finally i have decided to write! i am a HUGE sucker for protective fics and when i saw this tiktok i HAD TO WRITE.

my leon's masterlist

"Leaving the house. Love you."

Your text message arrives around 15 minutes before the end of Leon's shift. It had been a relatively peaceful night in Raccoon City, except for a fight in the busy bar on Main Street at 3 am. Again, Leon had to separate two males who got involved in a fight because of a woman. " Every Saturday, he thought as he sent both men their way before asking for backup. At least they were inoffensive enough to get in their ride-share app cars without complaining.

Leon welcomes your text message with a smile. You tell him you want to restart your fitness journey at 5 am. Why? Because if you don't do it at 5 am, you will never compromise for the rest of the day, so it is a way to encourage yourself.

Of course, Leon was there at 5 am every morning to accompany you. There was no way in hell Leon would let you run alone. The streets could be dangerous, and Leon was always cautious about your safety, especially given the dangers of Raccoon City.

But today, the first day of his new schedule, Leon couldn't relax. He asked you to text him when you left the house, let him know if anything bothered you, and carry pepper spray, though you hated the idea of "arming" yourself. Leon couldn't fathom something happening to you.

With a sudden decision in mind, Leon turns on his patrol car with his lights on, but no sound. He has an appointment he can't miss.

-x-

Breathe, you tell yourself. Breathe deeply. Concentrate.

With your favorite playlist playing in your ears, you put one foot after the other, focused on exercising. It is your first day without Leon at your side as your loyal partner, and you thought you would feel bad, but sometimes being alone is the most peaceful thing that could happen.

You texted him as he asked you to put one earbud in (Leon begged you not to put both and to always be aware of your surroundings) and started jogging- slowly, at your own pace, with no stress. The sun wasn't out yet, and the birds weren't singing yet. Most lights are off in the houses in your neighborhood. 

This new fitness journey has always been about your mental health, a way to make you feel better about yourself. The fresh air, the feeling of having your body moving. It sucked that you had to be aware of your surroundings, but what can we do right?

Within ten minutes of your run, you notice the familiar lights of a police car appear behind you. You are surprised, turning your head quickly behind you and seeing the familiar car following you at a slow speed, escorting you as you exercise.

As you get close to the park near your house, far away from most houses, you hear your boyfriend's voice through the speakers.

"You are doing fantastic! I know you can do it, honey!"

You giggle, then continue and focus on your usual jog- almost a walk, but you don't mind. What matters is that you are feeling good about yourself. After you had enough, you walk toward the police car, breathing heavily, and Leon has his window open, a massive smile on his face.

"Hey, pretty." He looks so handsome, with the rising sunbeams illuminating his face.

"Hello, officer. Am I in any trouble?" You tease back, lying against his open window. Leon offers you a water bottle, which you gladly accept and drink. "Shouldn't you be off work already?"

"Yeah. Need to keep civilians safe, though. Especially adorable ones like you."

"I would be fine. My boyfriend told me to bring this." You raise the pepper spray in your hand, and Leon nods, happy.

"I am glad you are following your boyfriend's direction." Leon then stops and becomes more serious. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."

"You didn't, sweetie. Are you telling me you will always escort me during my morning jogs?" 

"I will always keep you safe. Your safety is my number one priority, always." Leon replies, his tone very serious. You nod, saluting his seriouness. "Do you need a ride back home?"

"No, I will be fine on the way home. I promise." 

Since no one was around, you decided to return to the house after giving Leon a quick goodbye kiss. Looking over your shoulder, you saw the police cruiser still parked in the same spot, probably with the driver still keeping his eyes on you.

Leon watches as you quickly turn around to blow another kiss before disappearing. His face is red, and his heart feels fuzzy. He shakes his head, thinking it's better to bring the car back to the police station.

#leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy fanfic #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy fanfic #I WROTE THIS SEMI DRUNK YOLO #pardon the mistakes #I LOVE THIS TROPE

[buckyalpine]

A little longer

HI MY BEAUTIFUL 🐚ANON!! I adore this so much, I adore YOU so much, as always, your requests are everything!! 

Warnings: So so much fluffy fluff, angst if you really squint till your eyes go cross-eyed and blurry

-

"It's been decades. Not even a couple years. Almost a century. You probably shoot dust. Or whatever your bionic ass reproduces with"

Bucky contemplated throwing his half finished milkshake at Sam's head while they both scarfed down burgers from a late night diner after a taxing mission. Sam was pestering Bucky yet again about his nonexistent social and lack of a love life, a topic he seemed to get high off of. 

“For fucks sake Sam-”

"You need to get out more man, at least start dating. You don't need a whole girlfriend but a few dates wouldn't kill you. Or maybe it would, since you're what, 106?"

Bucky groaned, rubbing a hand over his face, his patience wearing thin. Dating wasn’t for him, not because he didn’t want to date but because he wasn’t sure who would even date him. He’d only just gotten comfortable talking to Sam though he’d never openly admit he actually enjoyed their conversations. He wasn’t exactly the most approachable, Peter had once told him he had a resting bitch face, whatever that meant. He wasn’t the most tech savvy unless it involved doing something illegal. He had a plethora of devices that could take down the US government at the push of a button he secrecy hoarded under his bed but God forbid someone ask him to pose for their Instagram story.  

Talking to a pretty girl was a completely different story. What would he even talk about? His time before the war involved a lot of nursing an injured or sick Steve back to health. After the war and his time in Hydra, he didn’t really have time for himself. He liked plums. The hobbit. He was thinking about getting a cat. Bucky internally groaned, maybe he’d find a girlfriend at the retirement home down the street; at least they’d have things in common. 

Sam cocked an eyebrow while Bucky narrowed his eyes at him. Usually he’d respond with a grumpy pout or complete silence but today his exhaustion had caught up with him. He debated on how to get Sam of his back, a dim, flickering, half broken bulb going off in his sleep deprived brain. 

"I already have a girlfriend Tweety bird"

The deafening silence that followed that statement made it clear both men were aware that was a lie. Sam snorted, shaking his head while they both finished they food, slapping a $50 on the counter before leaving. He looked at the super soldier, deciding not to press into the issue further for the night but he definitely wasn’t going to let it go that easily. 

5:30 AM

The buzz of his phone jolted him awake, the faint sound of the TV still playing in the background. Bucky felt around for his phone, tossing his sheet off, sitting up from his place on the floor seeing Sam’s caller ID light up the screen. 

“What are you doing next Saturday” Sam sounded unusually chipper, a hint of a smirk in his voice, a suspicious amount of enthusiasm for such an early hour. 

“Why” Bucky groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes, going back to lying down. 

“Were having a cookout over the weekend, you should come”

“You woke me up to tell me what could have been a text message?” Bucky asked incredulously, closing his eyes, ready to let sleep free him from such a ridiculous conversation. 

“Ooo, white panther knows how to text now” 

“White Wolf” Bucky grumbled, regretting every telling Sam the name he had been given in Wakanda. “I’ll come if you just let me go back to sleep” 

"Alright, but bring your girl too"

There it was. 

He could feel the shit eating grin Sam was giving him over the phone, eye brows wigging up and down, all his perfect teeth out. 

“Whatcha say Barnes?” 

Sleep had disappeared into thin air as Bucky shot up, mentally kicking himself for the nonsense he’d gotten himself into. He fiddled with the corner of his sheet, hoping to find an out. 

"I thought you only invited family" 

"Hey, anyone that you're allowing within 3 feet of your personal space might as well be considered family" Sam snorted, not believing a single word Bucky had said the night before. The conversation moved on to a different topic, easing some of Bucky’s nerves. A whole hour had passed and Bucky was sure he was in the clear until-  

“Back to the matter at hand, you bringing her or not?” 

“Why are you like this, does being Captain America always come with the caveat with also being a pain in my ass, I’m not going to-”

Bucky was about to refuse until a knock at the door pulled him away from the conversation, the scent of fresh pancakes wafting through the door. He pulled himself up, a smile tugging on his lips, knowing exactly who was on the other side, not needing to check as he untangled himself from the sheets. 

His sweet neighbor. 

Bucky wasn’t religious and he wasn’t a big believer in a higher power but there had to be something out there when people like you existed. Whenever Sam asked him why he stayed in the dingy little apartment that barely had windows and a closet for a bedroom, he’d insist it was because he preferred a small space and was still getting used to living a normal life so he wasn’t ready for another move just yet. 

The part he always left out was that his dingy apartment came with an absolute angle that lived next door. Kind hearted. Sweet. An absolute darling. You were one of the first people he’d interacted with when he moved in. All the nerves he had about living alone and growing accustomed to a regular life melted away the first day, when you came over with a plate of fresh cookies. 

He felt like a little boy whenever you were around, having the biggest crush on the prettiest girl on the playground, his mind going to mush whenever you smiled at him. But it wasn’t a crush. Nope. No....? No. He narrowed his eyes at himself before making his way to the door. 

“Buck? Did your tongue rust-” 

“I’ll uh-I’ll think about it” He mumbled before cutting the call, a bashful smile on his face as he unhooked the chain and swung the door open. “G’morning doll” 

“Good Morning” You grinned, handing Bucky the plate which he gratefully accepted, his stomach rumbling between the butterflies that fluttered in his tummy. “I heard you get in last night, didn’t think you’d have time to do a grocery run or cook anything” You handed him a bag of fruits and vegetables, two of those bags full of plums. His favorite. 

“You didn’t have to do all this” If his cheeks grew any warmer he would’ve sworn he was running a fever. And he didn’t get fevers. 

“You’re out saving the world, I think getting you a few groceries is the least I could do. So, how’s the new Captain?” You had never met Sam in person but hearing enough stories from Bucky told you all you needed to know. No one else was better suited to take on the shield than him. 

“A pain in my ass even if he means well” Bucky smiled shaking his head to himself. “He’s been pestering me to get out more...start dating” He mumbled the last part, wincing. He’d fought off aliens, gone to battle alongside a tree and a talking raccoon, survived being help captive by Hydra but being boyfriend material? His flirting game was as strong as pre serum Steve's right hook. 

“Well, handsome solider like you, shouldn’t be too hard to find you a date” You felt your own face heat up as soon as the words left your mouth but wasn’t like it was a secret. There was no way he would have had trouble in the dating department; aside from being one of the most beautiful people you’d laid your eyes on he was also the sweetest. Bucky was nothing but a gentleman and with a pure and soft heart and if you didn’t get your shit together and control the way he made you weak in the knees-

“Not the same ladies man I was in the 40′s doll” He chuckled, blue eyes sparkling at your compliment, “Either way, I got myself into a mess with that” He smiled sheepishly while you cocked your head, urging him to continue. 

“Well, I sort of lied to get him off my case” Bucky blushed, rubbing the back of his head, his the pink on his cheeks deepening at your cheeky smile. “I-I told him I already have a girlfriend but as you can see-” Bucky waved into his empty apartment that showed no signs of human life, “-it back fired immediately because he's invited my nonexistent girlfriend to a cookout this weekend. In Louisiana. With all his family. And friends”

Bucky let his head hit the wall with a dull thump, cursing himself for putting a foot in his mouth. Sure he could just come clean and say he lied. But that would mean admitting he lied and that was worse because then Sam would give him shit for that, plus try to get him out more and- 

“What if- what if I went with you?” Bucky’s head shot up, blinking in surprise at your words, wondering if he heard you correctly. “I could pretend to be your girlfriend for a day, get Cap off your case. Only if you’re comfortable with it though”

“Really? You’d do that?” You giggled at his lost puppy expression, his eyes lighting up when he realized you were being serious.

“Of course” You smiled sincerely,  “I’d be happy to! Just let me know what time to be ready at and I’ll be all yours” 

All his.  

The little boy in his was running around in circles, his heart beating too fast for the rest of his body to keep up. The thought of you being his girlfriend for a day was more than he could ever dream of. Of course it was only pretend and he’d wouldn’t dare push for more; not when you deserved the world. At the very least, he wouldn’t have to deal with Sam’s nagging. 

Problem solved. 

*****

This was a bad idea. 

A bad, bad idea. 

Bucky had gone through at least 4 outfits, debating between an array of Henley’s, before settling on a blue one when he remembered you complimented it because it was blue like his eyes. He picked up his razor and then immediately put it down when he remembered you once said you liked the scruff on him.  Even if this was just pretend, every single part of him was on edge as if this were a real date. As soon as his enhanced hearing picked up your soft footsteps padding down the hall, he was right by the door, nervously chewing his lip. 

Bucky blinked, his heart nearly giving way at 106 years old when he saw you make your way down the hall towards his apartment. You were in a flowery sundress, with a large cakebox in hand, your sweet perfume already making him dizzy. If Sam didn’t kill him for lying, the crush he had on you would be the next thing to take him out. 

"You-you look beautiful"  And sweet. And adorable. And delectable. 

An angel.

You looked like an angel. 

"Thank you, you look good too Sarge" You looked down at Bucky’s chest instead of meeting his eyes, unable to look at his pretty face. His adorable face. Handsome face. That dimple on his chin. Blue eyes. Pink lips. Fuck, you had such a big crush on him. 

It was going to be an interesting day. 

*****

Bucky parked the car at Sam’s place, which wasn’t too far from the lake where everyone had gathered. Part of him was almost sad they had made it on time; the car ride over with you ending faster than he’d liked.  

“He wasn’t kidding when he said he only invited family” Bucky snorted, seeing all of Sam’s relatives there along with his closest neighbors, many of whom he’d met before. He took the cakebox from you, slipping his hand into yours, smiling when you gave him a reassuring squeeze. You both made your way over, hand in hand, your heart skipping a beat each time someone greeted Bucky, every single person over joyed that he’d finally met someone to call his. 

He made his way over to the grill where Sam filliped a few burgers; the new Cap grinning when he saw you both. There was no missing the sparkle in his eyes when he looked down to your hand in Bucky’s, noting you were was holding his metal one, no longer covered by gloves. 

Interesting. 

“You’re lookin’ good” Sam wiggled his eyebrows at Bucky, loving the way the soldier rolled his eyes, trying to brush off the way his cheeks were dusted pink. 

“This is y/n, my girlfriend” Girlfriend. Bucky loved the way it rolled off his tongue with ease, not feeling an ounce of hesitance. The word previously feeling so foreign to him now felt so natural when he had you by his side. And holding your hand. And hearing your laugh. And-

Relax Bucky, it’s just for a day. 

“I’m Sam, and it’s very nice to meet you” He pulled you into a hug, still curiously eyeing Bucky, genuinely unable to figure out where he’d managed to find a sweetheart like you. 

“Thank you for the invite” you giggled as he gave you a light squeeze before letting you go, inspecting the cakebox Bucky handed to him. He grinned at the fresh strawberries that decorated the cake, shamelessly plucking one off and popping it into his mouth. “Strawberry shortcake. A little white wolf told me it was your favorite” 

“Well if the big bad wolf likes you then I like you cause he doesn’t like anybody. You must be special” Sam mused, a part of him wanting to be skeptical but there was nothing, absolutely nothing made up about the Bucky was looking at you. He gazed down at you as if you’d hung the moon and stars right in his room, an utterly lovesick puppy. You felt your cheeks heat up, burying your face into Bucky’s side while he chuckled, pulling you closer to him and pressing a kiss on top of your head. Damn right, she’s special. 

You both made your way over to mingle with the rest of the crowd, have no trouble at all playing the role of an utterly in love boyfriend and girlfriend. Bucky didn’t miss a single chance to press little kisses on your cheeks, every so often pecking your nose. His hand never left your waist, always holding you close to him, his face occasionally buried into the crook of your neck. 

You played your part almost better than he did, gushing over what a gentleman he always was to you, stayed tucked by his side, nuzzling under his chin, occasionally actually getting lost in his soft scent of laundry detergent, his cologne and something distinctly him. You made the elderly ladies giggle and blush each time Bucky did something adorable, proudly showing you off to everyone. 

He didn’t even let you eat without being the most perfect doting boyfriend. You’d both served your plates, finding a nice spot to sit under a shady tree; Bucky sat on the large lawn chair, secretly happy there was only one. You were about to walk off to get another when he tugged your wrist and pulling you back. 

“C’mere, I wont bite” Bucky grinned, surprised with himself as he pulled you onto his lap with ease. You let out a squeak, your nose bumping against his as you plopped onto him, lips nearly brushing his. 

“Smooth, Barnes. Remind me again, how you don’t have a girlfriend” You let out a breathless laugh, screaming to yourself on the inside that this was fake. He was playing the role perfectly, that was all. So fucking perfectly. 

Why was he so perfect. 

Bucky smirked, kissing your shoulder, letting you relax against his chest, wondering if you’d feel his heart hammering against his ribcage from how flustered he actually was. He easily maneuvered you so you sat comfortably across his thighs, his arm still securely around your waist. 

When was he ever this smooth. 

If anyone else was this close, he’s run for the hills, but now he was contemplating tossing you over his shoulder and running to Sam’s house, the guest bedroom was upstairs and two doors to the right-

“Well I’ll be damned, he really does have a girlfriend” Sam shook his head while Joaquin snorted, both men looking at you and Bucky with heart eyes while they sipping their beers from the docks. 

“You think they’re faking?” Joaquin nudged Sam’s shoulder, watching Bucky now fed you a piece of cake, still keeping you on his lap, sneakily kissing the cream from the corner off your lips between bites. You’d giggle every time, feeding him a strawberry, squealing when he’s playfully bite your fingers. 

“You can fake a lot of things but not the way he’d blushing and giggling like a toddler in a candy store” Bucky played with your fingers, intertwining them with his hand, his nose scrunching as he laughed at something you said. 

“It’s nice to see him like this” Joaquin had seen grumpy Bucky, grouchy Bucky, angry Bucky, scary Bucky, sleepy Bucky, just about every Bucky on the planet, but this? This was a first. Love struck Bucky. Charming Bucky. Happy Bucky. Simpy Bucky. Sappy Bucky. Giggly Bucky. Playful biting Bucky. Ready to get down on one knee if you’d let him, Bucky. 

“Steve always said he was a charmer, he wasn’t lying”

They couldn’t take their eyes off the way the corner of Bucky’s eyes crinkled each time he smiled or the way you’d instinctively lean into him when he spoke. He’d tuck your hair away from your face, his hands lingering on your cheek for a second longer, giving them a glimpse of the man from the 40′s before the war,  youthful and innocent, his heart full of hope, a smirk that would make his best girl swoon; the both of you in your own little world. 

“He looks happy”

Sam had seen people look happy before. They’d smile but their eyes would be empty. They’d laugh but their voices were hollow. They’d look like they were on top of the world while sitting at rock bottom. The way Bucky’s eyes sparkled, his boyish laugh, the way he’d nuzzle into you, trying to be closer to you than physically possible, was more than just looking happy. 

“He is happy”

Bucky had completely forgotten about pretending with you, lost in how perfectly you fit in his arms. You had taken up your role very seriously, telling him how utterly handsome he was, never missing moment to peck his scruffy cheek or card your fingers through his short soft locks. You intertwined you fingers with his vibrainium ones, busing your lips against his cool knuckles. 

At some point in the afternoon, he’d slipped his jacket off and wrapped you up with it as evening crept around the corner. Not a single person doubted the nature of your relationship; at least four of Sam’s uncles had told Bucky to propose soon. 

You don’t meet a girl who makes you this damn giggly just anywhere, Sergeant. Hold onto her. 

****

Just when he thought he couldn’t fall for you more, you had fallen asleep in his arms, contently snuggled up in his jacket as the sunset over the lake. Most of Sam’s family had gone back home, a few close relatives still hanging around the boat, sipping on coffee. Bucky couldn’t help but wrap his arms around you, softly kissing your forehead; he could get used to this. Cuddling up with you after date nights. Hearing your laugh. The softness of your lips. The way your hand always found itself in his metal one without hesitation. 

Fuck he wished this was real. 

You stirred slightly, a content sigh slipping past your lips at the feel of his kiss. Nothing felt more comfy than being wrapped up by the super soldier, his solid arms holding you close. You didn’t want to wake up, wishing you could sleep forever if it meant you’d be this close to Bucky all the time. The day felt like a dream; the exact dreams you had when you thought about your sweet neighbor. How it’d be for him to call you yours. To Be his girl. To make him smile. To make him laugh. 

If only it wasn’t just for a day. 

“You have a nice nap, baby?” Bucky smirked as you blinked awake, stretching on his lap like a cat before snuggling against him again. “My pretty girl” 

“Why wouldn’t I when my boyfriend is the comfiest spot to sleep on?” You teased, bringing your hand up to toy with the chain of his dog tags. Bucky chuckled, tilting your chin up to meet his eyes, kissing your nose. There was no one around you both, though neither of you seemed interesting in dropping the act just yet. 

“You fit perfectly here, doll” He grinned, blushing when he hesitantly pulled you a little closer, your arms moving to wrap around his shoulders, resting on the back of his neck. 

“I think I like it here” You sucked in a breath as he rested his forehead against yours, bringing his hand to cup your cheek. His nose gently bumped against yours, his warm breath tickling your lips. 

“Me too” He closed the gap between you both, pressing his lips to yours sweetly, savoring every bit of your softness. He couldn’t help but deepen the kiss as you parted your mouth letting his tongue lace with yours while your hand made its way through his hair, tugging on his short locks. Bucky let out a groan, letting his hands drop to your waist, kissing you for as long as he could until you both needed oxygen. 

“Maybe we can pretend for a little longer?” Bucky broke away, panting, his forehead still pressed against yours. You giggled between breaths, peppering kisses across his face. 

“Just a little longer?” 

“Maybe- maybe forever?” He looked at you with his classic puppy eyes, his heart bursting when you pulled him in for another kiss; forever. Forever sounded good. 

A few years later

“So, you finally gonna admit I made this happen?” Sam whispered while Bucky snorted, shaking his head. 

“Not gonna happen” 

“C’mon, I made this happen, I caused this” 

“You caused chaos” 

Sam scoffed in fake offence, taking a sleepy Becca from Bucky’s arms while the soldier went to go check on you. “Now when do I get to meet my second God child?”

“In a few hours” Bucky stretched before making his way back to your room, smiling at your resting form. He carefully laid down beside you, letting his hand splay across your tummy; in just a few more hours there would be a little Samuel Grant Barnes in the world. 

“We’re really good at pretending” You murmured, make Bucky chuckle, taking your hand in his and kissing the ring that sat on your finger. 

“Maybe just one more baby after this? Really convince them, Mrs. Barnes?”

*

“Uncle Sam, tell me a bedtime story?” Becca pouted, having been at the hospital for hours, giving Sam the exact same face Bucky gave you. Her little bottom lip jutting out, big (y/c/e) eyes blinking up at him. He grinned, settling her on his lap before he made a thinking face before asking what she’d want to hear. 

“What kinda story, Beccs, an animal story, a super cool falcon story or Captain America story or a flying Falcon Captain America story?” 

“The chaos daddy said you caused” She giggled while Sam nodded, taking a deep breath before starting. 

“It all started when your daddy said he had a girlfriend...”

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[copperbadge]

RE watching thoughts: I’m not 100% sure, but it might be that the whole “I am not my thoughts” is about engaging and identifying with your metacognition MORE than your initial thoughts. Because I get where you’re coming from - what is a consciousness but a collection of thoughts and feelings? But you can also have thoughts about your own thoughts that are more useful for dealing with whatever situation you’re in, I guess. (Random aside - every time I start thinking about thinking about thinking my brain inevitably starts thinking about Tiffany Aching and The Wee Free Men.)

I really should have replied to this ask sooner because it's going to seem like a non-sequitur now (this was sent much earlier in March) but I'm kind of glad I didn't, because I've been chatting with people about this and I think I understand more why there's an emphasis in some therapies on the idea that we are not our thoughts.

(I uh, haven't read the Tiffany books so I'm not much help there.)

I am coming to understand that many, perhaps most, people judge themselves, comprehensively and harshly, based on their thoughts. Perhaps it's just a lot of people who struggle with mental health, but given the commonality of the sentiment I don't know if I'd confine it that tightly; generally it appears that people cannot conceive of themselves as anything other than a binary of good or bad. So many people I've talked to about this portion of DBT, the watching-questioning-identifying thoughts portion, say that it helps to snap them out of a spiral of "I'm a horrible person, I deserve to suffer/die, I can never be redeemed" after they've failed at something, or had a negative thought, or reacted poorly to an unexpected event.

That is not something I've ever experienced. I mean, jokingly maybe, but not in a real, internal sense.

And that's not to brag -- I'm not saying I think I'm a good person, either, because I don't think I'm a good person. I don't conceive of myself in terms of good or bad. I never cuddle my cats and think "I'm such a good cat dad" or forget to feed them and think "I should die now." I have a perpetual morally neutral attitude towards my own existence; my thoughts and actions might trend me one direction or another but I'm aware of the temporary nature of that. If I fuck up I'll worry about who I might have hurt or whether I'll be fired or what's going to happen as a consequence, if I am polite to someone who didn't deserve it I know I was acting kindly in the moment, but I don't make an inherent moral judgement of myself based on that. And it seems like the vast majority of people do. Which you would think would make me feel pretty good about myself, but honestly...I don't know.

A lot of people I know who have ADHD or are Autistic have talked about seeing themselves as other, as alien -- like that one webcomic artist who draws themself with little antennae to indicate they're strange and different. I've always understood why one might do that, but I never felt that way myself, before or after the diagnosis. After all, let's remember, I was The Normal* Child of my siblings, and if I was The Normal One before the diagnosis, why wouldn't I remain Mostly Normal after?

* As ever, I'm using "normal" as a cultural term, to indicate what we think of as mainstream, not because normal is a thing that really exists.

My life has been relatively solitary -- I have friends and family and I love them but I'm rarely part of a large group, I don't spend a lot of time out in public interacting with people, I'm not a big socializer. Before the Adderall, I really couldn't be, I took too much psychic damage from interpersonal interaction, so I chose those very carefully. And now my DBT class has been a rare moment when I'm encountering contradictions to a lot of my assumptions about the way human beings in our society interact, react, and behave. I just...don't fit that mold very well. I think of it as having crossed wiring, not in the sense that I'm faulty but just in the sense that I'm very, very different. Not Normal. It's not exactly a bad feeling but it's certainly not a great one, internalizing the sensation of alienness.

DBT is proving to be a mixed bag but not in the way I or my therapist intended -- it seems to be either things I was already instinctively doing or things that simply do not apply to me. In one way it's disappointing because it means there isn't much help to be had (we're a little over halfway through the course and I keep thinking "Maybe next class will be useful") but on the other hand it's validating that so much of what I came up with myself as unconscious coping mechanisms is literally what I would have been told to do anyway.

Sometimes it's a combination of both, though, which really blows. I guess most people, if they reframe another person's actions, actually find emotional relief in that, and I don't. An example from the class is that if someone is rude to you, you can consider how they might be having a hard day, and be polite in return; that's great, in terms of defusing a situation, and it's something I do a fair amount of. But apparently it's also something that for most people results in feeling less awful about the interaction, and that's not the case for me. Which is why so much of DBT feels to me like lying to oneself. It's not lying for most people.

So, yeah. I'm going to finish out the course and keep trying things with the therapist but I suspect given everything, I might already be at "as good as it gets" in terms of emotional work. Which isn't the worst thing in the world, and there is still the option to try medication that could help, but I think there will come a point where I'm going to have to deal with the fallout of just how different I am, and how that has impacted my life. Might end up a good thing; something I've really been trying to resolve is unhappiness over being unpartnered and highly likely to remain that way, and at least if this provides a better understanding of why, then perhaps I can process that and put it to rest in a way I've been trying to do but not succeeding well at.

So, we'll see. But I find it both fascinating and kind of horrifying how many people can believe they are irredeemably bad, even if the belief is only temporary, simply because they had an uncharitable thought or impulse. It makes me somewhat grateful for the crossed wires, at least.

#sam has adhd #therapy #dbt

[everythingelseisextra]

You're Like Me

Part Twelve: Run, Little Girl

Description: A loose idea for saving you sparks conflict. Warnings: References to rape and torture, language, references to poor mental health Word Count: 2125 Tag List: @theshelbyslimited @ttaechi @weaponizedvirtue @majesticcmey @optimisticsandwichgladiator @zablife @princesssterek @mm0thie @callsignvenus @ay0nha @mgdixon @fairytale07 @babayaga67 @look-at-the-soul @shelbydelrey @globetrotter28

When you were younger, trapped in a constant cycle of hotel rooms and hazy, feverish feeding frenzies, you acted as though love was a brutish thing, something to be brushed off and forgotten about. Like a bruise on your body left over from some client with more insidious inclinations, it only hurt if you thought about it. Love was performed, used in order to gain some gentleness, maybe, placed on your form like a costume. As soon as it was over, as soon as you could let it go, it became a brash, useless thing again, pointless. You loved a girl and you would never have been able to make something out of it. That was the beautiful thing about it; you were doomed from the start, and yet, you still dove in without holding your breath. You tried to nurture a still-born. You wanted to love yourself and you looked in a mirror and you weren’t sure who that was. It’s hard, you think, to take such a risk as to love. In your years on this earth, you’ve looked at love from afar and thought you could never have it. As a child, you looked at anything kind and saw darkness underneath it.

You are Eve and you’ve taken a bite from the apple, and now you’re aware, far too aware, of the evil in the world. These are things you have said and done, and most of them make you a victim or a villain. These are the people you have been, and most of them are sad. 

Now, though, you are starting to see the good too. Because a white horse prances through the arena and he stands beside you and watches with soft blue eyes and his head tilted towards you, just slightly. Because when you wake from a nightmare, or from fitful half-sleep, and you call him, he always picks up. Because on the few nights you have together now, you share a bed, and he does not touch you. Because he is the closest you’ve ever had to safety, and you’re not sure what you fear more; the circumstance of it being taken away, or the possibility of it staying and learning who you are without the trauma making you a survivor. 

There is a quiet battle happening in front of your eyes. They are trying to locate you. There are men, he says, who prowl Birmingham with hungry eyes and dirty clothes, and they don’t settle. They pace and provoke and pester until people fall prey to their pressure and answer their questions, all too vague to pinpoint, but too pointed to be for anyone else. Descriptions of your younger self float through the city, and you find yourself face to face with who you used to be. That person who held fast to life when everything around her asked her to want to die. 

How does one kill a hydra? Tommy struggles with this, pacing back and forth in the bedroom. You lie back on the bed, your legs dangling off the side, and stare up at the ceiling. If he tries to take down the current lead, a man named Liszt, then another will simply take his place, and they’ll know where the threat comes from. A web of men dangle around Liszt, prepared to fight for him and what he stands for, and targeting one of them would likely wipe out the Shelbys, powerful as they are. 

“Money?” You turn your head to look at him, your eyes drifting over him. He wears a white dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, and a black vest and pants, accessorized, of course, by a gold chain and finely made watch. “If we could somehow stop their revenue, that might do something.”

“Lead the girls out on strike and watch them get shot?” He shakes his head, continuing to pace. His head rolls back on his shoulders, stretching out his tired muscles, and he looks up at the ceiling, pausing. “You’re not gonna like this.”

“Oh God, okay.” You sit up, one arm supporting you on the bed while the other toys with the belt you wear. “What is it?”

“Only way I can think of is to infiltrate. Report back to my connections. Take them down from the inside.” 

You blink slowly at him, unbelieving. “And you’re suggesting you go into that world and— and what? Pretend to be one of them? Tommy, you know that line is thin.”

“Arthur’s not careful. John doesn’t take things seriously. Can’t ask Pol or Ada. Who else?” He looks over at you, eyes flicking to your hand on your belt, then back up to your face. 

“No.” You press your lips together, staring him down. “I won’t let you”

Knowing what he’d say as soon as he opens his mouth, you shake your head. “Because I don’t want to see you put into positions where you’re forced to rape and torture and use young girls like who I used to be. I don’t care the reason why you’d be doing that, you’d still be doing it.. Intention doesn’t matter when it’s going to affect someone for the rest of their lives.”

“I wouldn’t be doing all that.” He gives you that infuriating, searching look, like he’s unsure how he should proceed and wants you to tell him how.

“Yeah, you wouldn’t start out doing that, but you’d get deeper and deeper. Boiling a frog.”

“I’m not a frog.”

“No shit, Sherlock. It’s a metaphor.”

“No, I’ll know when I get too deep.” 

You resist rolling your eyes, both wanting to express your frustration and also maintain the mutual respect you serve each other. “You’ll know when you get in too deep like I knew I wasn’t actually being sent to a boarding school?”

The sentiment hovers between you, tense in the air, and you become deeply conscious of the rise and fall of your chest, of the way your fingers fall still on the belt. He will get in too deep, you think, and by that time, it’ll be too late to back out. It’ll be too late to change anything. He’ll be stuck, like you were, in a loop of being forced to do something you would never choose, would never wish on anyone. 

“It’s the only way.” 

“That’s a cowardly argument and you know it.”

“You’re afraid to take the risk that’ll ultimately save your life.” His voice raises slightly. “I’m not the fucking coward.”

You bristle, standing up and stalking towards him. “Why are you so desperate to risk your life for me? What does that say about you, huh? Do you care about me or hate yourself?”

It was a low blow. You said it without thinking, without realizing the effect it might have. His eyes widen slightly, and his jaw tightens, and he takes a step back, then another, then turns and starts to walk out of the bedroom. 

“Tommy, wait.” You follow him, socks sliding on the wooden floor. “Wait, I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes. You fucking did.” He’s bitter, not giving you the time to explain yourself. 

Your heart pounds in your temples.”Thomas, you know I don’t think—”

“You do. You do, and you’re right. You’re fucking right.” He turns and points a finger in your chest, rheeling on you. “I’m fucking— I’m not right in the head, and you know it, and you’re like everybody else in this damn family and look at me like I’m the worst thing a human being can be. I’m getting fucking tired of it. For once could someone treat me like I’m not a liability?”

“First of all,” you snap back, a hollow sensation filling your chest and something cold spiking your heart. “I happen to quite like you, so whatever you’ve got in that head of yours about me looking at you like the worst thing ever is all you. You’re not right in the head, and neither am I, and I don’t blame you for that, so we can move right on from what I just said to you. That was bullshit and I’m sorry. Lastly, and this is probably the most important,” You take a step towards him, leaving about a foot between you. “Who the hell told you that having feelings and vulnerabilities made you a liability?” 

He straightens, the furrow in his brow loosening, the anger in his face turning to something tensely thoughtful, the expression someone would take when doing difficult math or strategizing. He considers you, taking a few deep breaths, then looks away. “Probably me.” 

You nod slightly, reaching out a hand to take his. “I’m sorry I said that. I got heated at that moment. I didn’t mean it.” 

“You still said it.”

“Yeah. And that’s on me. It wasn’t right to say that to you.” You squeeze his hand, peering up at him, trying to read his expression. “Are you ready to move on?”

He nods slowly, eyes staring off over your shoulder, mind clearly elsewhere. You gently tug at his arm, leading him back to the bedroom. 

Once the door is closed behind you, you let go of his hand and cross your arms. “What?”

His lips purse in an almost-pout and he shakes his head. 

“Out with it.” 

His lips twitch up and he stares at you, as if waiting for you to speak.

“Thomas Michael Shelby, is this funny to you?”  You step towards him, resisting smiling back and failing miserably. 

His smile widens, and you catch a glimpse, for the first time since you met him, of the boy he used to be, all charm and sleepy eyes. Your heart flutters and you feel your cheeks heat slightly.

“Oh, so it is funny.” 

“I’ve been with a lot of women, and—”

“Oh boy, I’m so excited to hear what comes after that absolutely stunning start to a sentence.” 

“Do you want me to talk or not?” 

You incline your head, trying to hide a grin. 

“I”ve been with a lot of women, and they all wanted Thomas Shelby. Except Grace.” His tone sobers. “Not Grace.”

You stay quiet, tilting your head, letting him have the space to speak. Grace’s name serves as a kind of silent message between the two of you; that he wants, or needs to be able to speak his mind without interruption, no matter how long the pauses take, no matter how shy or uncertain he seems. You don’t speak until it’s over. 

“I’m a broken man. I’m no fucking joy to be around, and there’s no great reward for knowing me like they always expect. I’m heartless, cold, and called the Devil. But you—” He looks away from you, swallowing hard before he speaks. “You don’t give a shit who I am. Just yelled at you in the hallway and you didn’t fucking flinch. You’re brave. Or— or not smart enough to know better.”

You shake your head, chuckling slightly. “You know I’m neither, Tom. If you’re asking why I stick around, I’ll tell you.”

He looks back at you, giving you a slight nod. 

You step forward, placing a hand on his chest, just above his heart. “You say you're heartless but you’re not. You say you’re cold but you’re not. You’re like me. You’ve adapted to live in a world that isn’t fair to you. You’re ashamed to admit that your heart beats like mine does. And I— I love you for that.”

Slowly, his hand lifts to cover yours on his chest, his eyes slide shut, and he speaks his next words in one long breath. “There are better men—”

“And they’re not you.” You smile, slipping your hand up his chest to hold his face, stroking his cheek with your thumb. Eyes still closed, he leans into you, and his whole body seems to shift, to relax, to move to you. “I choose you, Tom. Like you chose me.”

He nods, his soft eyes opening to look down at you, pupils a little larger than before. 

You shift your weight forward and kiss him, and he melts into you, lips soft and pliant, allowing you to take some control. Your other hand rests on his waist, gently pulling him towards you. You fit together, entwined, his hands resting on your hips, delicately holding you. You pull away to rest your forehead against his, and you sway in silence, an almost-dance. 

“Stay the night.” It’s not a question.

You chuckle. “I have to do the horses in the morning.”

“Fuck the horses.”

“Maybe don’t.”

His hands, hesitantly, pull you to stand flush against him. His voice is breathy. “Please. Stay the night.”

You exhale slowly. “Alright. Alright, we can— we can try.”

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #thomas shelby #peaky blinders imagine #thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinder imagine #peaker blinders fandom #thomas shelby x y/n #thomas shelby imagine #thomas shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy x grace #only the wild ones #peaky fucking blinders #peaky blinders fanfic

[itsjustmylifeconfessions]

I loved episode 6 for so many reasons (Pedro your Emmy nomination is secured!) but two things really caught my attention while watching the episode and seeing people reacting to it (on YouTube, twitter, here...)

The amount of male reactors that didn't know what a menstrual cup was, and even thought it was some sort of birth control, shouldn't have been surprising to me but damn y'all really don't know anything do you?

One video I watched they were saying Maria was trying to control Ellie, by giving her birth control and cutting her hair against her will. They did not think Maria was being genuinely helpful at all.

Now let me tell you, as a woman, I would have helped another woman with everything she needs immediately. We have a shower, let me get you a nice soap. Need period products? I got you. I have scissors do you need a haircut? Let me get you clean underwear, do you need a bra? Here have a hair tie.

When Ellie found the tampons in ep 4 that made me so happy, then this happens and this display of not only women's solidarity towards each other but this awareness of our daily issues actually warms my heart.

I've always wondered what it would be like to be a woman in an apocalyptic world. We need these things. We don't just want them, we need them. I have cramps that are so bad sometimes I think I'm gonna pass out, even if I take meds, but I have never, not even once, watched a scene with a woman even acknowleding her period. unless if for some bulshit pregnancy arc but don't get me started

The second thing was that a lot of people (not just men in this case) thought that Joel was having a heart attack, when it was so clear he was experiencing something like a panic attack/anxiety/PTSD episode.

The lack of awareness on mental health is so clear. Maybe it's because I deal with anxiety and know what it feels like, but I understood immediately what was happening in those scenes.

We are so used to not talking about it. It should be so obvious to everyone but it wasn't. Because we don't even discuss this in real life.

I love that the show doesn't shy away from such important things that somehow for us are taboo. Mental health, women's health, these are things we don't really see in shows like this and I love that they are not hiding from it.

Ellie is a girl, she has periods. She also has a lot of trauma to unpack. Joel is not a robot, he's been through so much of course there's trauma there, of course he'll have PTSD and anxiety and have panic attacks on the possibility of caring for someone so much again and failing to protect them.

Anyway, I'd love to talk about everything I've been loving about this show but this post is too long already. I'm loving how they are adapting this story, they are doing a fantastic job, and the things they are changing/adding are only making the story better, and I can't wait for what's coming next.

#im surprised every time i see periods being acknowledged at all tbh #AND PEDRO THE EMMY IS YOURS BABY #the last of us #tlou #hbo #episode 6 #ep 6 #1x06 #pedro pascal #joel miller #bella ramsey #ellie

[softlyspector]

Solid Ground

Summary: Benny likes you a lot, you like Benny a lot. Both of you are determined not to get that.

Pairing: Ben "Benny" Miller x Reader

Word Count: ~13.2k

Warnings: idiots in love, pining, canon level violence, PTSD, mental health issues, panic attacks, mild harassment and threats of violence

A/N: Thank you for reading! Again, I am so very aware I’m writing in what is probably a dead fandom for a meh movie. That being said, please let me know what you think!

The afternoon is slow, hot. 

Like most afternoons at the bar. 

The Florida air is so heavy and thick with humidity, it feels like something you could swim through if you really tried. There’s a lethargic weight in the air, like you’re slowly sinking into the mire of your own life, the dreariness of the mundane and the everyday.

All the folding doors are open onto the deck that overlooks the lake, umbrellas open over the tables to keep the sun at bay. But the only patrons, a group of older men that come in at the same time everyday to drink together, currently sit inside beneath the lazily rotating ceiling fans. 

The only balm against the pain of manning a tiny bar in a small town that hardly saw any customers during the endless afternoon shift, is that the owner doesn’t mind you reading on the clock if there are no customers that need your attention.

John likes you well enough and knows you’re competent. He also knows how slow things can get, but refuses to close up shop during the afternoons. He’s ran the bar the same way for forty years, and he’d be damned if he started doing things differently just because the town’s population and tourist traffic had shrunk a little. 

So, once your regulars are taken care of, happy with beers and lowball glasses of whiskey straight, you take a seat on the barstool behind the counter and prop open your book against a bottle of tequila. 

Sweat drips down your spine as a warm, heavy breeze drifts through the bar, bringing you the scent of lake water and sunshine. A local rock station plays lowly from the overhead speakers, and a peace settles between your bones. The low conversation and sudden loud chuckles from the regulars, along with the buzz of crickets and cicadas, the lap of water against the wooden poles of the deck, make for good background noise. 

The front door opens and you glance up, trying not to look too excited, too giddy. But a smile pulls at your lips despite your best efforts. 

And Benny Miller smiles openly at you, unabashedly happy to see you. He beelines toward you, waving at the regulars who all know him by name in this small town. 

They know Ben Miller the MMA fighter, Ben Miller the soldier.

But they also know him as Benny Miller the troublemaker, as Will Miller’s little brother Benny.

“Hey, Ben,” they call and he glances over his shoulder to flash that famous Benny grin, hyena wide and begging for trouble. 

The breeze carries the scent of Benny’s soap and cologne to you. Though he’s in jeans and a t-shirt, you can tell he’s just finished up at the gym, the edges of his hair still damp beneath his usual backwards ratty cap. 

“Hey babe,” he coos at you, dropping a battered copy of the last book you’d loaned him onto the counter before rounding the bar to envelope you in a hug that nearly knocks you out of your seat. 

“Easy,” you remind him even as you fold one arm tightly around him, smoothing your fingers down his spine, that clean soap and earthy smell that’s distinctly Benny wrapping around you. “Hey, pretty boy.”

He clings onto you, his nose pressed against your temple, for just a tad too long. And you have to tap his back with a laugh when your lungs feel like they might collapse. 

He skims his lips across your forehead before releasing you, grinning big and wide at you as you snap your own book closed to give him the attention you know he's about to demand. “Miss me?” he asks as he takes a seat on the opposite side of the counter. 

“You don’t give me much of a chance to miss you, Miller,” you say, raising a brow at him. “We see each other almost every day.”

“And ya miss me every single day,” he confirms to himself with a nod, nudging the book he deposited on the counter closer to you. “I liked this one.” 

“Really? I’m a little bit surprised,” you pick the book up and flick through your worn copy of Stephen King’s Carrie. “Why’d you like it?” 

“Big fan of goin’ out with a bang,” he grins, leaning over the counter to brace his forearms against the bar and drop his head. You can hear his leg shaking where he bounces it against the floor on the other side of the bar. 

You shake your head and take the book to stack on top of your own. “You want another one or are you good for now?” 

“Sure, what d’ya got for me?” 

“Why don’t you come over to my place and you can pick something yourself?” You offer. “And you know you don’t have to get something else right away? You can take a break.” 

In the months you’d known Benny, he’d never struck you as a reader. But a couple of weeks ago he’d suddenly asked for a recommendation. Benny, you’re almost positive, has undiagnosed ADHD, so his sudden interest in something like reading had surprised you, though you'd been happy to recommend something to him. You were more than happy to have an excuse to invite him over to your place, if only to look through your book collection.

Benny preferred motion and action to something like sitting down with a book - MMA, fishing, running - literally anything but sitting down for hours on end. Stillness and silence did not suit Benny and you almost wonder how it was that he was getting through your books so quickly. 

Whatever the reason for his foray into reading, you're glad for it, glad to have someone to talk with about books.

“Nah, I’m good,” he laughs. “I got you to keep up with now.”

You roll your eyes, “Do you have to be competitive about everything?”

“Yeah.” 

“You want anything today? Or are you just bored again?”  

“No,” his eyes flick over you, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “Just knew you’d be missin’ my company.” 

Benny never orders anything, not since the day you met him and not unless he hung around long enough for the dinner crew to start drifting in. He mostly just came in to keep you company - as he put it, or annoy you - as you’d put it. 

“That so?” You can’t help but grin, shifting in your seat to cross your arms over your chest, “And who told you that, huh?” 

He smiles wider at you. “You always gotta be so mean to me?” He jokes, lifting his gaze and peering at you from beneath his lashes, eyes wide and open and so pretty it makes your breath stall.

You glance away from him, skimming your thumb over the pages of your book instead, to avoid meeting his eyes, a gaze that hid absolutely nothing from you. “Any other thoughts about Carrie?” 

“Not about her, no.” 

“What about then?” 

“Thinkin’ about how I’m so smokin’ hot you can’t even look at me.” 

You flash your eyes back up at him, “Careful, Ben, I might think you’re flirting with me.” 

“Oh, honey, trust me, I’m trying.” 

You reach out and touch a yellowing bruise at the edge of his temple. He winces against your touch. “Maybe. Good thing I think you’re pretty when you’re a little rough around the edges, huh?” You try not to think about how he leans into your hand, reaches up and holds your hand to his face, even when you press your thumb harder into the bruise.

Benny Miller had stormed into your life for the first time a few months ago. It had been raining, a temperamental, torrential rain that had the bar’s parking lot flooded in minutes. 

He’d swung through the door mad as hell, his lip split, his cheek cut and bruised, soaked to the bone. His t-shirt had clung to him in all the right places, ridges of muscle and padding visible beneath. Cerulean blue eyes had been nearly eaten up by the black of his pupils. 

A bandage had been wrapped around his upper arm, partially undone and spooling down his bicep, boots thumping against the worn floorboards as he closed in on you at the bar. 

You had wondered for a half a second if you should be afraid of him, alone in the bar as you were, even the regulars kept away by the horrible weather. 

But he’d only sat at the counter and brusquely ordered a beer. Those blown out pupils - so easily mistaken for fury, had held something deeper. 

Fear. 

He had been terrified of something, fingers drumming nervously on the bar, a shake in his hand. 

“Little early for that, isn't it?” You’d asked, watching his brows tilt up as he ran a hand through locks dampened and darkened by the rain. “Rough day?” 

“Sweetheart,” he’d said, his voice low and graveled with just a hint of a twang. It was a voice that had made you melt, that softened everything inside you into mush. “You have no fuckin’ idea.” He sounded exhausted, breathing hard and fast like he’d just got done running a race. 

You’d raised a brow at that and handed him the beer you poured from the tap. For a few long minutes, you only watched him sip his beer.

Veteran, you’d marked him out easy. 

And he needed a distraction - so you chatted at him, telling him about how you’d rewatched Top Gun recently, mindlessly talking as the tension slowly rolled out of his shoulders and his grip on the glass loosened until his fingers weren’t quite so white with pressure. 

You still wouldn't be sure, even months later, if he’d heard a word you said that day. But your voice alone had seemed to be enough to ground him.

“I got a first aid kit here. Want me to take care of that for you?” You had eventually offered when his breathing stabilized, nodding at his busted cheek. “So you don’t go home with an infection. Gangrene or something.” 

He’d barked out an unexpected laugh at that. “Don’t think I’m at risk for gangrene,” he snorted. 

You shrugged. “Want me to or not?” His only answer had been a sheepish nod, an offering of his face to you with a jut of his chin. 

He hadn’t told you what happened and you hadn’t asked. You had only moved around the counter, cleaned the cut and stuck a butterfly bandage over it, dabbed the blood from his split lip where he'd worried a wound open with his teeth. You had changed and rewrapped the bandage on his arm. The gauze was old and clearly hadn’t been changed in awhile. 

And while it looked like he’d been shot, you hadn’t mentioned it. 

“What’s your name, honey?” he’d asked you when you finished, his voice saccharine to your ears, slow and sweet and so low, like gravel wrapped in sunshine. 

And, oh, you’d liked that. Liked how he sounded when he called you honey. Liked the slow, sweet drip of it.

You gave him your name, and he’d repeated it back to you, like it was something vital that needed to be committed to memory, your hand still on the curve of his bicep, your body still very close to his. “Ben,” he’d informed you, even though you hadn’t asked for his name in return. “Benny Miller. You knew around here?” 

“Been in town just a couple months. But just started workin’ here.”

“And you always patch up customers like this?” He’d asked, the last dregs of  anger and fear lingering around him dissipating fast, a smile that you would come to know as his signature look spreading over his face. 

“Only the pretty ones, Miller.” Without realizing it, you’d gravitated so very close to him, his thighs bracketing your body but not touching you as you worked on his face. Something warm had bloomed between you then, that made you step back and look away, that made you take your hand off his arm where his skin was so warm it burned. 

Something bloomed between you that would make Benny hang around for the rest of your shift, that made him walk you to your car, and come back the next day and the next day and the next…

“Not pretty,” he'd disagreed. “Handsome? Yeah. Hot? Fuck yeah.”

You laughed, watched him beam with pride at the sound. “With eyes like those? Ben, you’re pretty.”

And ever since that day, he’s made a point to stop in the bar during the afternoon. He claims he has time with the way his training schedule works out and you can’t really complain. Benny makes good company. He’s a good storyteller, loud and energetic and fun, and always interested in whatever you have to say even if he doesn’t always remember what exactly you say. 

He’s become a constant presence in your life, a fast friend that stuck. And soon enough, it became hard to imagine your life without him, without his regular appearances at the bar. 

More often than not he hangs around until your shift ends, walks you to your car, still talking, before asking you to take a drive with him. 

And you always find yourself saying yes. 

Benny can talk. He chats constantly about anything and everything - MMA, baseball, anecdotes from his time in the military, his little family of friends. Lately, he talks with you about the books he borrows, movies you watch and rewatch together. 

The military thing comes up suddenly and without preamble, like it's something everyone already knew about him, ingrained into his identity. And although he openly tells you about his service, there’s a pain that lies beneath, something that he’s not yet come to terms with, a crinkle in his brow that concerns you. 

Some days, his hands shake a little. 

Some days, his breathing isn’t ever quite even. 

Benny is going through something, and you think he hasn’t told a soul about it. 

You quickly felt at home in his passenger seat, going too fast down country roads, listening to him talk, radio all the way up, windows all the way down. 

Sometimes you go to the lake, sometimes to an empty, open field that Benny seems to know well - sitting in the back of the jeep with the seats down until the stars come out. 

You’ve spent almost all your free time with Benny over the last few months. You go to baseball games together on the Fridays he doesn’t have an MMA match, and spend most Saturday mornings fishing together. His face is usually stained yellow and green from the previous night, broken blood vessels blooming purple and red, a cut to the cheek and above his brow. You always call him pretty and he always pretends to hate it. 

You’ve gone to Topgolf together more than once and been kicked out each time for being too loud and rowdy and drunk. He’s taken you to the shooting range and taught you how to handle a weapon though you insist it's not knowledge you want or need, while Benny insists that it is. 

He somehow becomes your best friend, worms his way inside your heart, in such a short period of time that you can’t imagine your life without him, especially not in this town. 

Now, Ben leans back when you pull your hand away from his face, flexing not so subtly. You can tell by the way he sits, the bunched coil of muscle in his forearms twisting as he settles more fully in his chair, chest puffed out.

You roll your eyes at the display. Ben’s flirting is about as subtle as a hammer to the head. 

“Well, actually, babe, I have a bone to pick with you.” 

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Invited you to my fight and you didn’t show. You’re making a bad impression with my buddies. They’re starting to think I made you up.” 

He says it so casually, almost like it’s a joke, a megawatt smile still on his face, but you can tell Benny is hurt. Your heart gives a painful thump and you cast him a small smile in return. “I told you I wouldn’t be able to make it, didn’t I?” 

“Sure ya did,” he whines, leaning forward again, “But I thought you meant it in a faking me out kinda way so I’d be surprised.” Before you can respond, he continues, fidgeting with a loose bit of wood on the counter. “What was so important anyways? You have a date or somethin’?” 

You slap his hand away from the wood before he can damage the scarred bar more than it already is. Benny never stops moving, fidgeting, usually destroying napkins and paper drink coasters and straw papers in droves as he talks to you. “Yeah, actually. And what happened to that fidget thing I got you? The pop-it?” 

And the stress ball, you think. To help with whatever he was bottling up inside, waiting for the emotions to shake up and erupt in a bout of anger instead of dealing with them beforehand.

Benny ignores your question and goes deadly still, the vibrations echoing through the floor from his bouncing leg ceasing. “You serious?” 

You feign nonchalance, twisting the liquor bottles in front of you so their labels face out. “Yep. So serious. We fucked in the parking lot and he bought me Taco Bell after,” you deadpan.  

Ben laughs, the sound loud and unapologetic, so very Benny it makes something in you ache. But there’s something else in that laugh too - relief. “Really, though.” 

“For real,” you say.

You had gone on a date, but it had been a bad one. One in which you had been bored out of your mind. One in which your date talked at you and not with you. He had been so low energy - or maybe he hadn’t been. Maybe you’d just been comparing him to Benny, who made everyone seem low energy. 

You’d had dinner and left. There hadn’t been any random detours to the batting cages or a race against time down back roads, no here, honey, lemme show you this ice cream joint by the water-

It had been a date where you thought of a different guy the entire time, wondering if Benny was looking for you at his fight, wondering if he was getting his ass handed to him or making some money with a win.

The truth is - Benny terrifies you. 

You’re terrified of him, you’re terrified of the way he makes you feel, of the heart pounding, blood warming way he looks at you. 

And you know that he wants something from you. 

And it's something you aren’t really willing to give. 

Benny is a flirt, a curl of energy that bounced from thing to thing with surprising ease. The only constants in his life were his family and the military and fighting - and you do not fit into any of those spaces. 

Benny loses interest in things at a rapid rate, and you’re sure you’re just another stepping stone, something that would only hold his attention briefly. 

And you do not want to become just another thing that Benny Miller lost interest in. 

You don’t want a night with him, especially if it meant losing him after, of losing these conversations, these moments, all the things you’d done together and shared. You don’t want to lose his friendship. 

Friendship for Benny is made of much sturdier stuff, long lasting and fierce. 

And if Benny wanted more than that, he’d just tell you. He’s one to take the things he wants, or at least ask, instead of letting them fall into his lap. 

So you keep him at arm's length, knocking him back a step or two each time he hints at something besides this thing you have with him now. And meeting his friends, going to one of his matches, feels too close for comfort, feels too personal and raw and vulnerable. 

You would lose Benny and the things truly closest to his heart if you were to let that happen. 

Besides, you’ve been left alone before and you aren’t keen on it happening again.

He rolls his eyes at you, “Uh huh, sure.” Benny drums his fingers against the bar, though he doesn’t sound particularly convinced. “Listen, I get it's intimidating -,” he starts when you scoff at his assumption, “Hold on! Let me finish! I know it's intimidating but I’m always fine. And it would mean a lot to me. And the guys.” 

You soften. That he thinks you don’t want to go because you don’t want to see him hurt, makes your chest ache. 

“Oh believe me, Ben, I’d love to watch you get your ass kicked.” 

He flashes a smile at you, yanking the ball cap off his head to toss onto the counter. You lift a brow at him as he laces his fingers together against the back of his head, arms wide. “Oh yeah? Perfect opportunity right in front of you then,” he says with a shit-eating grin. “But I’m usually the ass-kicker.” 

You’re always surprised at just how much room Benny takes up, the space he occupies without a care in the world, summer gold skin washed out in the low lighting of the bar. You also really don’t mind the pull of the band of muscle in his arms, or the way his shirt rides up so you can see the flat of his belly, the dark trail of hair. “Of course you are,�� you roll your eyes, forcing yourself to focus only on his face. 

Benny’s expression splinters, his smile fading for just a second, brows tilting down. “Is it something else? Why don’t you -,” 

He’s interrupted when the front door blows open and your name is called. You cringe, John’s horrible son Victor violently thrusting into you and Benny’s safe little world. You'd hated Victor before you met Benny, for the way he looked at you, the slimy innuendos he made, but you hated him even more after. 

He and Benny had gone to high school together, hated each other then too. And Victor never lets Benny forget that he thinks he’s trash. 

“Oh, and Miller is here too. How wonderful,” he snaps, the smile he’d been directing at you turning to a scowl when his gaze lands on Ben.  

Benny bristles immediately, standing up and knocking his stool back but not over. “What the fuck is your problem?” He asks loudly. “You always got some shit to say to me.” 

“Just wondering how you can get drunk in the middle of the day, everyday. Don’t you have a job?” Victor’s eyes flit over Benny’s broken face, the bruises that never quite faded. “Oh. Right. You get the shit kicked out of you for a living.” 

“Better watch your fuckin’ mouth,” he snarls, the converstaion of the regulars in the corner coming to an abrupt halt. Benny’s never afraid to defend himself, and he certainly wasn't afraid to make a scene while doing so. “I don’t lose much.” 

You hold out a hand when Benny starts around the counter. “Benny,” you say gently, “C’mon. Stop it.” 

Victor stops next to you, his hand going to your hip and you force yourself not to jerk away from his touch, as he intentionally tries riling Benny up. “Yeah, Miller. Stand down. We all know how good you are at following orders and not using your brain.” 

Benny’s chin tilts down, eyes on Victor’s possessive hand against your waist. Something goes dark in his gaze and this time he does come around the bar. 

You move quickly, grabbing Benny’s hat off the counter and both your books before shoving Victor’s stupid ass behind you as he laughs. “Fuckin’ idiot, it's like you want to get the shit kicked out of you,” you mutter at him as as you step in front of Benny. He's fuming, leaning against you, pushing with a gentle strength, unwilling to hurt you to get to Victor.

Benny would never hurt you, but he looks like he’s considering shoving you out of the way. His eyes go cold as he watches Victor over your shoulder and you don’t turn because you don’t want to know what gesture he’s doing behind you. You press into Ben, leaning hard against his solid frame, laying one hand flat against his sternum. “He’s not worth it. Let it go. For me, Benny?” You plead with a calm you don’t feel, “C’mon, I’ll walk you out. Leave this asshole to man the bar.” 

He smirks at that, sliding an arm around your shoulders, holding you hot and tight and close against his chest. You swear you can feel his heartbeat. “Anything for you, sweetheart,” he says, the lilt of fury still lingering in his voice. You pull out of his arms and he follows you out of the bar easily when you tug him after you. 

“You always do everything you’re told, Miller?” Victor calls after your retreating backs. 

“Fuck you,” Benny snarls over his shoulder. “Only when she’s the one asking.” And he sounds almost proud. 

Proud that you chose him, proud that you commanded him.

Something in you shakes, that this hot headed man listens to you. 

You keep one hand behind you, tucked into Benny’s elbow so that he doesn’t get any ideas about bolting back to give Victor the beating he very much deserved. 

“I hate that fucker,” he says when you finally pull him outside to cross the parking lot towards his jeep, his hand trailing down your arm to lace his fingers with yours. “Always have. Made all the girls uncomfortable in school. And the way he fuckin’ talks about you-,” 

“I hate him too, Benny,” you interrupt. “But he’s my boss’s son, what am I supposed to do?” You pause by the driver’s side door and reach up to tuck Benny’s hat back onto his head, cradling your books against your chest as you stroke some stray hair back from his forehead. “Go easy, darlin’. He shouldn’t fuckin’ talk about you that way either. Fucking snob.” 

“I’m used to it,” he says, breaking your heart just a little bit. “But you don’t hear the shit he says when you aren’t around. I should have knocked his teeth down his throat weeks ago.” 

You close your eyes briefly, hearing every horrible thing Victor has ever said to you about Benny. Namely that he was stupid and mean and not worth the time you spent on him. “Yeah, well, ditto,” you say bitterly, blinking up at him, the last argument fresh in your mind. 

“He’s a loser and he always has been. He’s lucky he has Will for a brother and feels like he needs to play catch up and get out of his shadow or he wouldn’t have made it out of high school.”

Benny watches you, eyes darting between the bar’s door and you, his expression souring by the second as he monitors you. “Don’t,” you warn. 

“Not gonna,” he says innocently. 

“Liar.” 

“Why don’t ya wanna come to my matches?” He asks abruptly, remembering what you’d been talking about before you were interrupted. 

You sigh, “It's not that I don’t want to. I’m just-,” you fidget on the spot, trying to decide how to put it, wiggling your fingers at him. “-I just worry about you.” 

It isn’t untrue, just not exactly the reason you didn’t want to go. 

“Bullshit,” he says, calling you out. 

“Benny,” you say gently, ducking your head to avoid his eyes. “I-,”

He shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it. I got you.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Just what I said. I got it. You don’t want to,” he yanks open the door and you’re forced to stumble back a few steps as he climbs in. The engine roars to life and Benny rolls the window down to look at you. “Forgot. Got this for you. Meant to bring it in with me,” he says, handing out something rectangular, wrapped in pink paper. 

You take it from him, peering up at him before you abruptly tear the paper and he groans, “Don’t open it now.” 

But you just keep shredding the wrapping paper until a book is revealed to you, a limited edition of one of your favorites. “Oh,” you say, running a finger down the cover. You’d been looking for this particular edition for over a year. “Oh, my God! Benny, how’d you find this?” 

He shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it. You like it?” 

You clutch it to your chest. “Fuck. Yes. Thank you.” You stare at Benny, and he stares back at you, the sweltering heat pinching at your skin. Since when did Benny go hunting for obscure books? Since when did he read in his limited free time?

“Fuck, Benny. Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I just don’t know how to explain it right. Can I ride along? Lemme go tell Victor to fuck off and we can go to my place for your book. Dinner on me?”

You know John won’t mind, not if you leave a note that you needed to leave an hour early and that his useless son came in before he was supposed to. 

The grin that cracks open Ben’s face could end wars. “Never gonna say no to that.” 

~

Benny really isn’t sure what it is about you that drew him in, like a moth to a flame, that first time he met you - dripping wet and mad as hell when he stormed into the first bar he came to. 

He’d just freaked out in a gas station convenience store - panicked and panicked and couldn’t fucking breathe for a full minute before he was able to leave - all because someone was too close to him and he was trying not to put his hand through a freezer door or through the guy’s fucking head. 

He hadn’t. 

He hadn’t and had been proud of that fact until he was back in his jeep and that tightness in his chest still wouldn’t go away, even though he was safe, even though he’d never not been. 

Benny had had half a mind to call Will, to ask him to come pick him up because he didn’t think he could drive, felt like maybe he was having a fucking heart attack. 

But then the anger set in, the irritation that now, after everything - this was happening to him. 

It was just another thing to add onto the shit that just kept stacking up. He’d heard about guys going through this when they came home. Fuck, he’d seen Will go through it. 

But why him?

Why now? 

After all these years? After he’d been home for so long?

Just because of the Colombia trip? It wasn’t even close to being the worst thing he’s been through.

Just because one of his closest friends, a man who was like his brother, had been killed in front of him? 

Fuck off. 

It’s not the first time - it hadn’t been that bad - 

For a while he hadn’t realized what was happening to him - why his chest would go tight and the air in the room felt like it had suddenly evaporated. 

Fuck, he doesn’t want to be having panic attacks, doesn’t want to think about what he went through, doesn’t want to think about why this was suddenly happening. 

And if he doesn't look at it, it can't hurt him. If he doesn't look at it, it would go away. 

So he ignored that it was happening at all. Even though it was happening more and more frequently. 

Still, that day, his chest was tight, his heart pounding so hard he thought it might explode. 

The anger suddenly burned up the tightness, made him so pissed off at himself for being so weak, that he knew he’d be no good in training, and decided to go for a drink instead. 

No, he hadn’t punched anyone that day.

And that was good, something to be proud of. 

Everything else? Shit. 

The cut on his cheek was from an unregulated fight in some fucking parking lot the day before, the bandage around his arm unchanged since he got home from Colombia two weeks before. 

Nothing had felt right since they got home. It was worse than before, worse than when he was discharged from service.

Fighting in parking lots? He hadn’t done that shit since high school. Everything felt like it was twisting down and away, the tentative grip he held on his life slipping away with every second. 

His first instinct was to do something stupid, to go find a fight or break a speed limit. 

But he couldn’t. He shouldn’t.

And so the bar it was. 

And you had been there - an unsuspecting buoy in a restless storm, so calm and rock steady, his exact opposite in so many ways. 

The immediate sharp burn of your presence, the steady way you’d looked at him, unfazed by the roll of anger that he tried to keep a lid on, how you’d not asked him a damn thing about what happened to him - why he was so torn up and spaced out and mad. 

He probably wouldn’t have been able to answer you anyways.

You talked to him as he nursed that beer, told him about a movie you’d rewatched recently - something old and he wishes he could remember now what it was - Top Gun? Back to the Future? 

No idea. 

Then you’d asked if you could help him out - one nonsensical, calm brow raised.

He’d known in that moment, that he’d never be able to quit you, so suddenly and quick, like a flash of lightning - something inside him locked into place.

But Benny had always been that way with his loyalty, a gut instinct that he trusted implicitly. 

He knew you were a person he should keep.

It was like when he’d known that his life would never be the same five seconds into his first day of basic training, like he’d known fighting was what he wanted to do the second he stepped into the ring that first time. 

He knew. 

Benny knew you were for keeps, that you were going to stick inside him like a burr, something that would be painful to rip out - just like fighting, just like the military, just like Delta.

You’re something he can’t quit.  

You’re something unchangeable and steady in his life. You become one of his constants only hours after meeting you. 

And he doesn't want you to quit him. Benny wants you to want him too. He wants you to hold on tight, to claw your way into him and make a home there.  

But fuck, do you make it difficult.

You are adverse to him making a move, knocking him back again and again. If you hinted that you wanted more he’d shoot his shot but you don’t indicate that. 

And that’s fine, it really is. 

He’ll be friends with you and nothing else if that’s what you really want. 

But that thing you lodged in his heart? It has sharp edges and its starting to fucking hurt, to ache, to bleed.

He spends all his time with you - you’re like a drug he doesn’t want to quit. 

And when he’s with you? That’s when he finally breathes normally again, when his blood settles down and he feels like Benny again - he can forget about what happened in Colombia, he doesn’t have to think about the spray of Tom’s blood when he was shot. 

He starts spending all his time with you, you become his best friend so suddenly it's almost shocking.

He stops fighting in back alleys and parking lots, and he can tell Will is relieved by the set of his shoulders when the bruising on his face actually gets a chance to fade. He can tell that you are relieved, because you note how his hands aren’t as shaky, you note that the bruises fade and that he doesn’t space out as much, breathing like he’s run a fucking race completely out of the blue. 

That fucks him up so bad too, that you’ve noticed the panic. 

Still, you don’t come to his matches, you don’t meet Will or Santi or Frankie. 

Maybe he’s just something temporary to you even though you have become a constant to him. 

And that’s never happened before, and it terrifies him. 

He’s always been the one to call the shots in his own life - he’s never had to wait for someone to decide on him. Benny has always been the temporary thing, jumping from relationship to relationship with ease. 

And fuck if he isn’t trying to tell you, to light the path so he can shoot his fucking shot. He started reading, and even though he’s coming to enjoy it a little - just because you light up like the goddamned sun when you get to talk about books - it's not easy for him. It takes concentration and frustrated brain power. He thinks for a while maybe you don't get it - but fuck if him taking up reading isn't a flashing neon sign of attraction, of trying to impress you and relate to you, he doesn't know what is.

He looked for a fucking book for you with an intensity he reserved for fighting, for missions, hunting and bidding and cajoling until he got it. Until he felt like he won a fight when he found it. 

For you. 

Now, he watches you unlock the front door of your apartment. He holds the screen door open for you as you fiddle with your keys, eyes locked on the curve of your jaw as you talk, intoxicated by the scent of you, the movement of your mouth, the flash of your teeth.

He’s pressed close to you, the heat of your body radiating into his as he leans into you. 

One thing he really appreciates about you? You’re good with how he expresses himself - the too loud way in which he lives his life, the way he likes to touch. 

Too many relationships had soured early - not that he was planning for the long haul but still - because he was too much. 

Too loud, too brash, too quick to temper. 

You’ve never told him he’s too much, never told him not to be the way he is. You say gentle things like easy to remind him not to squeeze you too tightly in a hug but that’s it and sometimes he needs the reminder, forgets his own strength. 

But you never tell him to stop, you never say that he’s too much. 

“Jesus, Benny,” you say now when the door finally swings open and you lurch inside. “You’re heavy.” 

He grins and toes his shoes off by the door as you do the same. “Sorry,” he says, not sorry at all, tucking himself behind you as he follows you to the kitchen. 

He loves your little studio, loves that he can see everything about you in one room, your bookshelves and your pink sheets patterned with tiny little strawberries, your vintage coffee table saved from someone’s trash and the stickers you’ve pressed into your kitchen cabinets. 

“I’m going to cook something.” 

“We can definitely just get takeout though,” he says, throwing himself down onto your couch with a groan. 

He doesn’t need to look at you to know that you’re rolling your eyes. “Ben, one day you’re going to be old and all that shit is going to catch up to you.” He hears you shuffle closer, and then you lean over the back of the couch, peering down at him, “And then you’re going to come to me and complain that I didn’t warn you and feed you better.” 

“You still gonna be hounding me when you’re old and gray?” 

For a second, your face cracks, an unreadable expression crossing your face before you smile again, some of the light gone from your eyes. “Sure,” you say, voice careful, “Someone’s gonna haveta.” 

“We can order pizza,” he says, trying to decide why the look on your face, that flash of uncertainty, made his chest tight, why panic is starting its slow unpredictable crawl up the back of his throat.

Maybe because it reminds him that you’re temporary. Maybe that’s why it's hard to breathe, why Tom’s face and the flash of blood imprints into his mind, why Will’s face stark white while blood drips down his side darts behind his eyes. 

Maybe you wouldn't be around to remind him, maybe you aren't planning to be.

Benny relies on very few permanent things, always moving, going, tracking forward and leaving most things behind. 

But there are essentials - fighting, Delta, the military - and now, you.

He wants to ask why you’re looking at him like that but the tightness in his chest is rising and he can’t speak. 

You place a hand on his chest, and it's heavy and good and it steadies him. His breathing stabilizes. “No pizza. I’ll make spaghetti.” You nod at your bookshelf, “Anything you want is yours, okay? When you’re ready.” 

And you walk away, back to the kitchen counter, searching through the fridge for ingredients. 

He’s glad you leave him, struggling to find the right rhythm in his breathing even though the breaths come easily. 

Since when did people leaving scare him so fucking bad? Since when did anything scare him this fucking bad? 

He wonders why you hold him at arm’s length, keeping yourself away from the most important parts of his life, of himself. 

Maybe you know you’re too good for him. 

He hears what that fucker Victor says about him, that you’re too good to be keeping company like Benny, that he’s an idiot and always has been. 

Benny isn’t sure how much of it you believe. 

When the pain eases, he stands and pulls himself to your bookshelf, scanning for the most battered copies. 

You abuse your books, but only the ones you like, the ones you read again and again, filled with notes and tabs and folded pages, covers shredded to bits. That’s how he knows you love roughly and hard, and it makes picking something out so easy. 

The cover of Carrie had been picked apart. 

He thumbs out one of the more ruined books and glances at the title - Howl’s Moving Castle. Something clearly for kids. Even better - it’ll be easy to get through. 

When he shows you, you smile - “There’s a movie too! We can watch it when you’re done.” You turn back to the stove, “You always have a way of reading my favorites.” 

God, the things you don’t realize. 

~

Hours later, when you’ve eaten and cleaned up the kitchen, settled onto the couch with a bowl of popcorn, he decides to try to ask you again about why you didn’t want anything to do with the things that were really important to him. 

“Be straight with me for a minute,” he says, turning onto his back so he can look up at you, his head pillowed on your thigh. “Why don’t you wanna come to my matches? Why aren’t you keen on meeting the guys? You don’t have to but I want a reason. It’s important to me. They’re important to me. You're important to me.” 

You look startled at his admission but quickly recover, shaking your head as you press your fingers down the center of his chest, tracing slowly back up to his shoulder, across his collarbone. He bites down the urge to say something about just how much you liked to touch him.  

“Can you try?” He pleads. 

You pause, and Benny waits, even though he’s never really been a patient person. But for you, he'll try.

“I’ve just never been good at being close to people, Ben. It’s hard for me not to feel like the rug is going to be ripped out from under me,” you card your hands through his hair. “I moved here alone. I’m always alone. It’s easier not to be so attached.” 

“You think I’m gonna cut and run?” 

You don’t answer for a moment and the only sound is that of the movie playing quietly on the TV that neither of you have paid attention to in a while. “No,” you say eventually, carefully. “You aren’t one to abandon your friends.”

Benny, he tries to understand, what that meant you thought about him, that you don't want to come any closer than you already are. 

Friends. 

He would have to be okay with that. 

But it’s late and he’s tired and your hands feel nice when they thread through his hair. “I kept the pop-it,” he says suddenly. “I know I ribbed you about it but I kept it and it helps. It’s actually starting to fuckin’ fall apart because I use it all the time.” 

He uses it when he reads your books, so his hands are busy. 

“I’ll get you a new one,” you say, like the fact you would means nothing. 

~

You barrel through the front door of the bar, the crash of music and laughter and pool balls clacking together assaulting your already delicate ears, a headache lingering from the day you’ve had. 

Benny hadn’t come in during your afternoon shift and you’d been stuck alone with Victor for a majority of that time, your pleas for help via texts to Benny going unanswered. 

“Thanks for coming back in,” John says when you meet him at the bar. “Some fucking fight just let out and Sal’s is closed tonight so we got their usual folks too. Promise this is a one time thing,” he adds.  

“No problem,” you say with a smile, swinging through the office door to drop your stuff and clock in. You catch sight of Victor as you pass back through the kitchen but avoid his gaze. “Hey, where d’you want me? Bar? Floor?” You ask John when you meet him back by the bar, tying your apron around your waist. 

“I need you to take those tables over there,” he points to the far corner. “They haven’t been served yet.” 

You nod and cross the bar, trying not to think about Benny, about how goddamned much you’d missed him and how any effort you’d made not to let him worm too closely into your heart had been severely thwarted. 

Your Benny hangover coupled with the amount of time you’d been forced to spend with Victor alone has you on edge, tired and unhappy. 

You take care of the couple sitting quietly together and a group of chatty girls before you move on to your last table, a group of guys. One of them, a blond with close cropped hair and a beard, looks strangely familiar. He tilts his head at you, like he knows you too and can’t place you. 

Ignoring the feeling, you plaster a smile to your face, the pounding at the base of your skull increasing in intensity. 

“Hey, sorry for the wait,” you start, laying down some napkins. “We’re a little bit understaffed tonight. What can I get for you?”

One of them, a man with fathomless, dark eyes and gray streaked brown curls, opens his mouth when a familiar voice says your name. 

You start to turn just as Benny slams into you from behind, knocking the breath out of you. You jolt into the table as he wraps an arm across your chest, one of your hands coming up to hook at his elbow, to steady yourself. “Benny? What are you doing here?” You turn your head to find him grinning widely down at you, beaming at you like a ray of sunshine, happy to see you beyond what is reasonable. 

“Could ask you the same thing, honey. Weren’t you here all afternoon?” 

“I was but we’re understaffed so I got pulled back in. What are you doing here?” You ask again. 

Benny’s face is a masterpiece of pain. He’s bruised up again, a scarlet cut above his cheek and near the line of his jaw, violent violet bruises starting to turn a painful shade of black and green. “Celebrating. I fuckin’ won tonight! Knockout within a minute,” he crows, looking proud. “And our usual place was closed.” 

And John’s words come back to you - some fucking fight just let out and Sal’s is closed tonight so we got their usual folks too. “Congratulations,” you say softly, realizing who the people at the table must be, realizing why Benny had been absent that afternoon.

Normally he told you when you had a fight but you don’t remember him saying anything about this one. He always made a point to invite you, even if he knew you’d say no.

Embarrassment pools in your belly, realizing how long you’ve been letting him hold you, how you’ve only looked into his eyes, his grip so comfortable to you that you hadn’t noticed.  

You frown as Benny finally releases you to sit down beside the man who looked familiar to you before. You suppose he looks familiar because he is. He can be no one else but Benny’s brother, Will. “I take it you’re who Benny’s been spending every minute with.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” you try to joke, trying not to bolt away from the lot of them, as the careful separation in your mind between your Benny and Benny’s real life crashes down. “Ben’s got so many friends.” 

“Not friends like you though,” says the man with those dark eyes, something unreadable brewing in his expression, his voice like ice. Benny shoots him a look that says fuck off. 

Ben introduces you by name and then says, “My brother, Will.” He slaps the blond man he’d slid into the booth next to on the back. “Santiago,” he points to the salt and pepper haired man and then the man with the baseball cap pulled low over his eyes, “and Frankie. Better known as Pope and Fish.” 

“Nice to meet you,” you manage to say. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

“So have we,” Santiago says, his tone still crisp. “Nice to know Ben hasn’t been hallucinating you these past few months.” 

You suddenly feel like a mouse caught in a trap as you glance at each of them, the hardness in their gazes as they look back at you. 

Of course they wouldn’t be keen on you. Benny is like their little brother and you’ve been avoiding what is essentially his family for months, for no good reason at all, at least not in a way that made sense to anyone but you, though Benny had tried to understand. 

Your throat tightens and you open your mouth to respond when Benny cuts in, loud and gruff as he always is, “Fuck off, Pope. Leave her alone. Tell her what you want so she can get back to it.” 

You glance at them apologetically, avoiding looking at Ben, ignoring his outburst. “Beers? First round is on me.” 

“You don’t haveta do that, sweetheart-,” Benny starts, his voice infinitely gentler when he addresses you. 

“Yeah, I do,” you interrupt him. “Anything else?” 

A chorus of no’s resound and you nod without looking at any of them before briskly walking away. Your hands are shaking as you pour the beers, deciding at the last second to put in for a plate of nachos too. You’d hoped to avoid them, but you should have known better, that in a town so small you’d be bound to run into them at one point or another. 

You just don’t want it to hurt when Benny moves on, or for it to at least be as painless as possible.

But that’s not what it looked like to them, not what it looked like to Benny.

Fuck, he must think you don’t give a shit about him, not really. 

It wasn't like it fucking mattered anyways, the hurt is coming for you whether you let the closest parts of his life sink into yours or not. 

Benny has charmed his way inside you, his friendship like the serrated edge of a knife, cutting deeper and deeper until removing it would be to sentence you to death. 

You swipe at your eyes though you aren't in danger of tears and shuffle the beers over on your tray for the nachos before starting back across the bar. You’ve halfway there, paused near one of the wooden support beams so a large group can pass you on the crowded floor when Victor stops by you, awkwardly leaning against the pole and blocking your way. When the group has passed, drunkenly shouting their way out of the bar you grit out, “What do you want?” You're irritated that you’ve had to spend so much time with him today, and that he’s still bothering you.

“Miller’s here,” he says, an accusation in his voice, like you personally invited Benny just to piss him off. Jealousy drips off him. “And you got his table.” Like you'd plotted that too.

“Yep. Won his match. They’re here to celebrate,” you start to move away when Victor leans into your free arm and forces your shoulder back against the beam. 

Your breath flutters in your chest as you look up to meet his eyes. “What’s your problem, huh? Why do you hate me so much?” 

“You know why. You talk shit about my best friend,” you snarl up at him, something feral rising up in you and chasing away the calm you were known for.

But Victor has pushed you to your limit over the last couple months and you can see the glee in his eyes at getting a rise out of you. You were rapidly approaching your breaking point with him.

He barks out a loud laugh, and it's not pleasant the way Benny’s is. A couple of people turn to look at you but quickly go back to their own conversations. You squirm, trying to get your shoulder out from under his weight. An ache has started to creep up your arm. 

“Best friend. Right. Like Miller wants anything but to fuck you. You’re just a conquest, sweetheart.” 

“Fuck you,” you say lowly, not willing to admit how that bites at you, how that is exactly what you’re afraid of. 

Victor clocks it though, sees the break in your expression that confirms his accusation. “Haven’t put out yet have you? He’ll get bored eventually,” he says, finally pulling his weight off of yours, an ache twisting down to your wrist. “He’s always been that way. I know you’re new to this town but trust me, he tricks everyone with the golden retriever act. Hell, just fucking look at him. Military, Special Ops, can’t stop fighting to save his life. Always in trouble and looks to his brother to tell him up from down.” 

You can’t help it, you glance over at their table, Victor’s breath hot on your cheek when he leans in to whisper. “Not exactly stable. Never has been. How long til he does something like that to you?” 

Benny and his friends are staring at you across the dark bar. Will has a hand on Benny’s arm, keeping him in place, his fingers white with the effort.

“See, even now he’s itching for blood.” 

You wrinkle your nose and turn your face into his, refusing to look away from Victor’s beady eyes. You’re so close your noses almost touch, but you refuse to back down. You bare your teeth at him and grit out, “Another word. One more word against him, and Ben will be the least of your problems. You think Benny’s temper is bad? You’ve been fuckin' trying me all day and I got nothin’ to lose.”

You step closer and grip your tray in both hands to shove into his stomach hard. The glasses rattle but don’t fall. He makes a soft oof sound but doesn't look away, doesn’t back down.  

It takes a minute but his eyes drop and he steps back. “You’ll find out the hard way what kind of fucking people they are. All of them.” 

The fucker can’t even look you in the eyes as he says it. 

You roll your eyes and move away. “Fuck you, coward.” 

Your hands are shaking again, but for a completely different reason as you approach the table. 

Victor’s starting to get bold, and it's starting to worry you. How long until his obsession with you and your relationship to Benny becomes unhinged? It already kind of is, the way he follows you and watches you, the way he’s been trying to turn you against Ben for months now, the touches and the passing remarks - it's all headed to something unsafe. 

For all Victor’s talk, Benny has never made your shoulder ache, has never crowded you or tried to intimidate you or made you uncomfortable. 

No, it's not Benny you have to worry about. 

You pass the beers out, the plate of nachos, when you stop at the boy’s table. “All on me,” you say more cheerfully than you feel, unconsciously stepping closer to Benny where he sits at the end of the booth, pressing the back of your hand into his bicep, reassuring yourself that he’s there and real. “Yell if you need something else, okay?” 

“Hey,” It's Will’s voice that stops you from pulling away. “You okay?” 

You glance around as Benny covers your hand with one of his and squeezes your fingers reassuringly, gaze turned toward the bar, eyes tracking something.

“Yeah,” you confirm. “What, Victor? He’s a piece of shit but he’s harmless,” you say with more conviction than you feel. 

“Hell of a stare you got,” Santiago says, sounding impressed.

Frankie chuckles and meets your eyes, “Yeah, wouldn’t want you lookin’ at me like that.”

And fuck, you wonder if they heard. If Victor’s voice could have traveled that far. You pull away from Benny’s hand when he tries to tangle your fingers together and say, “Well, I just get protective sometimes.” 

You tuck your tray under your arm and turn to walk away when Benny tugs you back, “Sure you’re okay?” 

“Golden,” you answer with a smile but he doesn’t look convinced.

And when you glance at the others, you know they overheard you and Victor, because all hostility is gone. They watched you go toe to toe with an asshole for Benny, and now they know they’re missing some vital piece of the picture as to why you hadn't been around, the thing that really kept you away from them and Benny’s matches. 

And they’re too skilled, too observant, not to pinpoint exactly what it is. 

Benny might not know you’re in love with him, but his buddies suddenly do. 

~

Victor continues to bother you throughout the night but you try not to let it affect you, you try to stay calm despite your earlier threat, if only so there won’t be a scene and Benny can enjoy his win. 

The boys, when you stop by their table, have warmed to you entirely. They joke with you, rib you just like Benny does, and the fold you’ve been trying to avoid being dragged into has engulfed you in seconds. 

So when the bar finally clears out and their table is the only one left, Frankie gestures you in. “Sit down here for a minute, you’ve been workin' your ass off.” 

“Wasn’t too bad,” you say, slipping into the booth next to Benny and Will. “But it's definitely the busiest this place has ever been.” 

“So how come you don’t come to the fights?” Santiago asks.  

“Pope-,” 

“Maybe you guys intimidate me,” you say with a shrug of your shoulder. “I know how important you are to Benny.” You nudge an elbow into Ben’s ribs, “I’m just some waitress.” 

They laugh and you feel better, like maybe they might even like you. Benny scoffs loudly at your declaration, and you kick yourself for never meeting them before. Even if you lost Benny, you don’t want to hurt him now. “Just some waitress?” Benny rolls his eyes. “Honey, fuck off,” he says fondly. 

“So tell us how you ended up in this shithole town,” Will says. “And how you got this one so whipped,” he locks an arm around Benny’s shoulders. 

Benny doesn’t try to deny it, looks a little bit smug, almost happy at the accusation.

“I’m from a small town, different one, did the big city thing, fucking hated it. Ended up here.” You ignore the other question, not really sure how to answer it anyways, but you don’t comment when Ben drapes his arm across the top of the booth behind you.  

“Not back home?” Frankie asks you. 

“No one at home to go back to,” you say, revealing more than maybe you should. “Found I liked the company here anyways.” 

The conversation rolls along easily from there. They’re funny and loud and affectionate with each other in a way that makes your heart hurt. There’s a closeness there that makes you happy, and jealous that you're witnessing so rare a love and bond.  

And it makes you feel stupid, because they’re so welcoming to you, they tug you into the center of them and it feels like you’ve always belonged.

Eventually, John calls you away from the boys, wiping his hands on a dish towel - the exact opposite of his son, cordial and funny and kind. 

You aren’t sure what happened to Victor to make him so bitter, if he really just has a problem with you and Benny in particular.

“We should be heading out anyways,” Frankie says, laboring to his feet after Santi stands. 

You get hugs from all of them, a kiss to your brow from Benny. “We still on for tomorrow?” 

Saturday morning fishing, you would never miss it. “‘Course, always.” 

“And we aren’t invited?” 

“How about beers at Sal’s tomorrow instead?” you offer, not willing to give away your morning alone with Benny.

Santi and Will share a look that Ben doesn’t see, too busy examining the ridge of your shoulder where a bruise is forming from being locked against the beam.

“Sure, we can get you back for the beers tonight,” Will says, one big hand pressing between your shoulder blades briefly. 

“No-,” 

“Yeah, we are,” Santi says. “We’ll see you tomorrow.” 

You watch them file out, Benny turning to hug you hard, breath pressed out of your lungs at the intensity. “Fuck. Thank you,” he says. “For putting up with them.” 

“They’re nice.” 

“Glad you met ‘em? They’re meatheads but they mean well.” 

“They do and I am.”

~

Benny is almost to his jeep when he decides to wait for you. He wants to be with you, to ride along to your place and sleep on your couch like he has so many times before - so he can see you grouchy and soft in the morning sunshine before you get ready, drink coffee with you at your kitchen table. 

God, he’s going fucking soft. 

Domestic. 

It feels weird but right.

He waits along the side of the building where the back deck of the bar wraps around to the front stairs, the lights that normally line the walkway already out. 

He watches John leave, entrusting closing to you and Victor. 

Quiet descends, the chirp of the crickets loud and sweet, the sounds of safety and home, when he hears a crash. 

Then -

“-fucking stupid. What do you see in him?” 

“Why the fuck do you care, Vic? It’s not like I would want you, if I didn’t want Ben.” 

His brain statics, not sure he heard right. You want him? Is that what you implied?

“And what’s so fucking wrong with me, huh?” 

You snarl back, “Fuck. Really? You’re an asshole and judgemental.” 

“It’s not judgement if it's right. Call it like I see it. Ben Miller is -,”  

He doesn’t get to hear what he is. “You’re crazy,” he hears you shriek. “Fucking crazy! Even if he was everything you claim, I still wouldn’t want you!”  

A rage builds in Benny, and he’s about to move, to come to your aid, when Victor starts muttering lowly again - the conversation seems to peter out into something civil. 

Then - the sound of something slamming, a rattling of drink glasses, and low talking. “Fuck off,” you growl suddenly. “You know how fucking brilliant you have to be to make it to where he did? Where all of them did?” 

“Luck. And brawn and brother that would do anything for him.” 

You let out a disbelieving laugh, “I quit. You can finish closing alone. If your dad asks why I fucking quit, you can explain it to him.” 

The front door flies open, smacking back into the wood paneled wall as you go trudging down the steps and across the gravel of the lot. 

Victor follows you, catches up to you and jerks you to a halt. “Just give me a chance,” he pleads with you. “One chance. I can make you forget about him. You’ll see what you’re missing.” 

“No,” you say. “You couldn’t. No one can.” 

Benny’s vision goes red as the hand around your arm tightens, but he freezes when Victor continues, speaking something that Benny is afraid is almost uncomfortably close to the truth of his life. 

“He’s a fuck up and a loser and would have been in jail for something stupid years ago if he didn’t have his brother trailing him around and forcing him to make something of himself. It’s a good thing that kid got shoved into the military because he never would have made it otherwise. You’re just going to let him drag you down too.” 

“Shut up.” 

“I’m serious, you’re pining away after someone that’s never gonna measure up to you. You’re brilliant. He could barely fucking read in high school.” 

You jerk out of Victor’s grip, shaking your head and stalking across the parking lot, but he follows you.

Under normal circumstances, Benny would have been across the lot and in that motherfucker’s face in 5 seconds flat, but he can’t move, he’s frozen, watching the tension in your shoulders knot up. 

God, he’s waiting for you to agree, to turn and say that he’s right.

But you don’t, you keep moving. And when Victor touches you again, snags at your elbow, every bit of restraint he has dries up. 

He lurches away from the wall and stalks after the pair of you. He saw the bruise on your shoulder, he knows that Victor is the worst kind of dangerous to you - that and you’re his fucking girl. 

No one is gonna do fuckin’ shit to you without reprecussions. 

He’s nearly reached you when -

You turn and land an elbow into Victor’s stomach, he crumbles, curves at the waist and you bring a knee up to crack into his face. He goes sprawling backwards onto his ass as you tower over him with your shoulders thrown back. 

God, that was fucking hot.

He’s so proud of you, impressed with the absolute fury contorting your features. 

His girl, a fighter. 

Of course you fucking are. You’re his. 

And he likes this mean streak in you, likes the feral protectiveness that bubbled up. 

“Fuck you,” you say and he’s never heard such venom in your voice, such protective laced violence. You glance at him suddenly, looking startled to find him standing there before you lean over Victor’s crumpled, prone form. “I warned you Ben’s temper wasn’t the one you had to worry about, didn’t I? You don’t know a goddamn thing about him. Or me. And if you ever say another word against him in my presence, you’ll get much worse than a bloody nose. Understand?” 

“What’s your fuckin’ problem, bitch?” Victor’s back is still to Benny, has no idea that he’s there. 

Benny reaches down and hauls him up by the back of his shirt, gets the satisfaction of seeing him go white with fear, of hearing a squeak pass his lips in surprise. “Just makin’ sure you’re listening to the lady,” he says, jerking him roughly into place before smoothing Victor’s shirt out carefully. He gestures to you and crosses his arms, “Go on, sweetheart. Tell him.”

You grit your teeth at him, and Benny decides yeah, he really likes you mean. “I'm a bitch, huh? Because I won’t fuck you? Fuck off. I asked you a question - do you fuckin’ understand or don’t you?” 

“Yeah, shit, I got it. You want to be Miller’s special girl so bad it makes you look stupid. He’s not the settling type, babe.” He snaps at you, refusing to acknowledge Benny. 

“Damn, so much fucking confidence for someone who’s about to have his ass handed to him,” Benny growls. 

“Fuck you, Miller, like you even need the excuse. You aren’t gonna do shit. Neutered after all these years, huh? Contained to a cage.” 

Victor yanks out of his grasp and spits at your feet before turning to walk away. But he couldn’t have really expected to do something like that and get away with it.

Running on autopilot and adrenaline and rage - Benny yanks him back by the collar of his shirt and breaks his knuckles against his teeth, breaks the nose that you weakened with your knee. Victor falls again and Benny picks him up by the front of his shirt, slams him into the nearest car.

He brings his mouth to Victor’s ear, feels the tremble and shake of fear. “Ever touch her again, speak to her again - hell, even look at her - I’ll fucking kill you. Got it?” And then lowly, barely a whisper, "She's mine."  

He drops Vic to the ground, watches him stumble back and skitter away. 

As soon as he’s rounded the corner to the back deck of the bar, Benny turns and wraps his arms around you in a crushing hug, and doesn’t let go even when you tap your fingers against his spine. 

“Benny, easy,” you breathe out but you cling onto him harder, and Benny realizes how shaken you are, how scary it must have been to have a man follow you across a dark parking lot. “What are you still doing here?” 

“Waitin’ on you, honey. Good thing too, though I think you had it handled. Hell of a swing you got.” 

He finally lets you go, your eyes going to his bloody hand and you sigh. “God, we’re both gonna have assault charges," you murmur, tracing your thumb over the broken skin.

“He ain’t gonna say shit. He’s gonna tell everybody he fucked you and went toe to toe with me over it. He’s a liar and little bitch,” Benny says, curling his arm around your waist, his blood settling when you lean into him, hand against his chest. “He’s not going to fuck with you anymore.” 

You peer up at him, your gaze still holding a lingering fear, “Thanks for having my back. You coming home with me?”

He nods and you gesture him around the side of your SUV.

When you’re both settled, you turn your keys in the ignition and the engine rumbles to life, but you don’t pull out. You turn and stare at him through the dark, the AC wafting his hair gently. “What?”

“Did you mean that?” 

“What?” 

“You said - you said she’s mine. Was that just some macho bullshit or did you mean it?”

Fuck.

He licks his lips, thinks about lying, when he shakes his head, looks down, and sniffs. He’s tired of pretending. “Yeah. I meant it.” 

It immediately feels like a mistake to say it, and the now familiar icy clutch of panic closes a fist over his lungs, like he can’t breathe, like you are going to tell him to fuck right off. 

Like you’re going to yank the rug right out from under him. 

He’s done losing constants. He’s done losing the world around him for nothing. 

His lungs seize and he feels that familiar stupidity, what a stupid fucking thing to panic over - not killing, not gun shots, not fighting - but losing people. 

“Hey,” you say, pressing a steadying hand to his arm. “It’s okay. What’s got you bothered?” 

He reminds himself that you already know about the panic even if it’s never been directly addressed, and it hasn’t been too much for you yet. 

“You’ve -,” it comes out in a gasp and so he stops, takes a minute to breathe, to ground himself against your fingers when they tangle with his. “You keep batting me back, honey. It’s okay. Just don’t leave. I meant it but it doesn't have to mean anything to you.” 

“You think I’m gonna leave?” You ask quietly, “Why? I’m always thinkin’ the same thing about you, Benny.”

His head thumps back against the headrest. “Something’s wrong with me,” he says. “Don’t know what.” One hand rubbing at his chest like it might help the ache ease. 

~

You give Benny a moment to collect himself, for his breathing to even out, for the shake in his hands that he normally tries not to let you see to stop. 

“When did it start?” 

“We - fucked up mission in - we lost someone. Ever since it's like - I start thinkin’ I’m gonna lose everyone, everything. Got better since I met you.” He glances at you, shakes his head. “Comes and goes, I guess. But anytime it feels like something’s changing or someone is pulling back it’s like - fuck - it’s like I can’t stop seeing blood.” 

“You think you’re gonna lose me?” 

Benny laughs, his hyena-like wild laugh that you’ve come to love more than anything, “Yeah. Yeah, all the time,” he says. “You have a way of just - you keep knocking me back. You don’t want anything to do with what’s important to me - like you don’t really want anything to do with me and -,” 

“Benny you aren’t exactly…you aren’t someone who stays. But you stay with your friends.” You squeeze his fingers, “I would rather be your friend - so I can keep you.” 

He stares at you, wide blue eyes tracking your every minute move, adding up what you just said in his mind. You look away from his eyes. “You have a couple things you keep close - I don’t fit into that. And I’ve lost people before. I’m alone and I don’t want to keep being that way. I would rather keep you like this.”

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he says. “And what if that’s bullshit? You fit in just fine. Too well maybe. You never said shit because you thought what? I’m feeling casual about you?” He huffs out a sigh. “I spend every goddamn free second I have with you, or thinking about you. Not just anyone I’d start reading for. You know what it took for me to find that fucking book for you? God it was worse than chasing down fugitives.” 

You scoff dismissively, not willing to believe yourself special. You’ve heard that one before. “Yeah, I know how guys like you are, hon. I know.”

“The fuck’s that mean?” He says, not really a question, turning fully to you, pushing you back into your seat, hands lifting to frame your face, large and hot and calloused against your skin. “Lemme tell you something, honey, it only took me a couple hours to know you weren’t something I’d be able to forget.” His eyes flick over your face, “Nah. Never. You are one of my constants.” 

“Oh yeah? And what makes me so special?” You say with a roll of your eyes. 

“Well for one you just punched the shit out of someone for me,” he says. “And just about everything else. Everything we get up to. We compliment each other. You understand me. We have fun together and you never tell me to be quiet even when I probably fuckin’ should be. You’re my best friend too.” 

You reach up and hook one hand against his wrist, trace your thumb over the veins there, softening a bit. “Serious?”

“Yeah. Fuck, yes.” 

You nod and move your other hand to his chest. “You punched the shit out of someone for me too.” 

“Shoulda happened a long time ago.” 

You smile at that and then frown. “You should talk to Will. About the panic attacks. It’s okay that you’re going through something. We’re here for you. But no one’s going anywhere. Not me, not anyone.” 

“I’m not either,” he says, ignoring your suggestion for the moment, clearly not wanting to think about the panic attacks or his brother. “I’m not going anywhere either. Trust that.” 

And you do. 

Benny’s never lied to you and he certainly isn’t cruel. You tug him closer, press your forehead to his and breathe him in until he seems like he’s back to himself. 

The closeness is familiar. It doesn’t feel strange to be wrapped up in him like this, you and Benny are this close all the time and it���s always felt right, natural. 

“You want me, babe,” he says suddenly, only ruining the moment slightly, and you hear the grin in his voice.

“Fuck off.”

“I heard you. I know you do. S’okay, I want you too.”

When his breath ghosts over your lips and your breathing hitches hard, he surges forward to kiss you roughly. 

Its a desperate kiss, one that sears into you, that lights your veins on fire. You push your hands into silky wheat hair, tugging at the strands until Benny shoves back the center console and drags you into his lap, presses you close and tight, his heartbeat matching yours. It’s a little awkward, your jaw smacking into his nose, Benny grunting before you find a good position, giggling the whole time before he’s kissing you again, the heat of him so good around you. 

Broad hands splay over your back, trace the line of your spine as you push your hand inside the collar of his worn shirt. 

But just as quickly it softens and Benny Miller is smiling into you so hard he can’t really kiss you properly. 

“Been waitin’ for this so long,” he says, his mouth brushing yours with every word. You jerk him forward by the back of his neck, pressing him as close as you can, laughing into him. 

“Have ya?”

“Fuck yeah,” he murmurs, hissing when you press your thumb into one of his bruises, a bad habit you don't want to quit. “Yeah, shit, I have been. Stupid gorgeous and puts up with my shit.”  

You grin, “Sure do, pretty boy.” 

He doesn’t correct you, just fastens those cornflower blue eyes on you and asks, “So you’ll be at my next match?”

“‘Course. Can’t wait to see you get your ass handed to you.” You pull back to stroke his cheek, trace a thumb over his bottom lip. 

He kisses you again and this time it’s deep and controlled and so good, familiar and unexpected rolled into one. 

Feels like home, like there’s solid ground beneath you for once. 

#ben miller x reader #ben miller x you #benny miller x reader #benny miller x you #ben miller #benny miller #triple frontier x reader #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #triple frontier fic

[unicornjoking1111]

POWER (the nine fundamental aspects)

(Appearance,money,personality,social group/connections,physical health,mental health,popularity/fame,education,rich parents)

The information i am about to share with you is based on my views and its up-to you to whether take it in or not.

I know its irrelevant to talk about these things in this loa/void community but idk i felt like posting it PLUS i moslty have followers from this community (this is based on 3d as it has nothing to do with loa/void)

These things are there in "real" life and we are aware of it.. but i wish someone have told me these things

The things i am gonna share with you might hurt to some since i am gonna share you the "reality" of life

Please excuse me for my bad english...

In this fundamental aspects if you have more than 2 or 3 you have reached your goal in achieving your power

This post is like an introduction but i will add only about the topic appearance here and will be making new posts about other stuff

1) Appearance

I think pretty privilege is the right word for it! we have seen on social media that appearance has a huge role in making our life more easier and get away with things much easier and faster!

Appearance also correlates with other fundamental aspects such as social group/connections,money,popularity/fame and personality

In the topic of power appearance is one of the top 3!

pretty privilege as google says "a concept used to examine the economic, social, and political advantages or benefits that are made to both men and women solely based on their physical appearance."

when your pretty life gets easier! u will have more friends, people will treat you better,people will start to respect you and think you in a positive light which leads to greater social connections, even marry a rich guy/girl,brings you fame,get away with anything even if you did something wrong (please don't take advantage of your pretty privilege :D)

being pretty does not bring you genuine connection as there are disadvantages of its own!

pretty is subjective due to the cultural aspects of what is deemed attractive in society!

in terms of 2000's the beauty standard is skinny and blond but now we are in 2024 the beauty standard has changed in terms of accepting other aspects of beauty and the skinny and blond still remains beautiful up to this point!

is it unfair to keep this "beauty" standard? yes

is it necessary to change our self to fit into the standard? no

you can choose what you want to look like and how you want to look like there is nothing like i have be this to be accepted

dont be delusional into thinking "i love the way i am" when your really not! its like forcing yourself to like something which you actually dont like

beauty is real and we are humans after all! we choose this because that's what is pleasing to the eye

you can change how you look like! its not like you will be stuck with the way you are forever and our human body is always changing! so do what you gotta do! give it some love and don't be harsh with it!

you want to use your pretty privilege by becoming a model,social media influencer,be a pretty wife etc... do it! (mind you there will be negatives of its own)

The Standard

ok this part of the section is gonna be really sensitive and not a lot of people talk about this.. i dont even wanna express my views here cause this is the reality i faced... idk if yall bash me for it but atleast there gotta be someone who has to be honest..

Skinny

so.. being skinny gives you privilege! let me tell you why! i am a skinny person myself and my parents tell me to eat more cause i am "skinny" but the truth is being skinny is a privilege and a standard! i know a friend of mine who is so beautiful and her body is goals! but she told me she is fat and want to be skinny.. it makes me sad that someone so beautiful wants to be skinny.. its really hard but its the truth! even models and the social media influencers are skinny and it is accepted.. i get complimented by people who tells me that they want to be skinny like me.. it was a shock!

if i tell this to anyone who are not skinny they look at me with a weird face saying "you dont know how its like being fat and no one wants that except if you have big private part that's why people compliment you for being skinny". i am sorry for the people who calls themselves fat i just hate it man...

colurism

godddd! if your an asian i am so sorry! but a lot of Asians might relate to this one! its about being "white".

yes us Asians are so obsessed with white skin tone but the more shocking part is western people wants to be tan!!!!

idk bro i am so shocked i have no words honestly! for gods sake we are in 2024 and this colurism part sucks!!! like sucks sucks -.-

colurism is the part which hit me like bomb and ruined my childhood! i had black skin tone but i had to force myself to get rid of my shade and i did.. i went from black to white brown kinda combo... i had a lot of trauma with it.. my mom who used to beat me more for my appearance loves me now when i changed my color and now more "beautiful" to my mothers eye... this is one of the disgusting things i had to face when deep down i am hurt to the core..

but somehow being white is like the safe zone and an advantage apart from the tan or black color.. i think in 2024 people start to notice brownish or tan color to be attractive and more accepted.. but the black skin tone is never accepted and no change unless you have features (featurism such as eyes,nose etc..) which are considered attractive and accepted.. so the only way for people with black skin tone to get away with things is to have features which are accepted which sucks!!! i mean not only for black even for brownish/tan skintone.. idk about for people who have white skin tone.. i think you can have any features u want if your skinny..

i hate to write this part cause i am disgusted!!! i hate it so much but this is the privilege and this is the reality we are living in...

featurism

idk a lot about features and what is the standard nowadays.. i think having a small nose and plumpy lips are attractive..? idk man..

i think people with normal features are considered a pretty privilege..? like for example if you have (eye misalignment or anything which stands apart.?) its most likely not accepted as far as i have seen in real life but in modeling industry u can get away with it as they want unique features.

ya the "normal" features are considered beautiful? not much educated in this matter.

Final

yes this is the final part.. i think i have given you much awareness of whats considered a pretty privilege? choose what you want to do.. but i beg you to be gentle and don't be harsh with yourself.. change is ok but you need to have your own permission to allow to change and that's the first priority if you want to gain pretty privilege!

if you want.. i can tell you tips for a good self care routine (comment down if you want)? comment down on your views on this! negatives or positives its accepted.

#neville goddard #loa success #loa #manifestation #the void state #void success #void state #law of assumption #power #real world #society

[bitchsister]

fell in love with your PONY AU and then didnt see any more of it. theres a tragic + beautiful love there that I need you to write more of… please

Okay, fine. I’ll take a break from writing dp and daddy kink to write something HEARTBREAKING.

Thanks a lot.

🚩 mentions of mental health issues, alcoholism, general instability.

where this AU came from

Curt's absence had stretched on, the reasons behind it buried deep within him. Dwelling on them was a luxury he couldn't afford, not when John provided such a welcome escape.

But, as curious glances morphed into persistent interrogation, the facade began to crumble.

"I don't need you houndin' me like this," Curt grimaced as the harsh liquor burned its way down his throat, a sensation he almost welcomed for its ability to distract. "It was just some bullshit that happened, it don't matter any."

Bucky's gaze fixed on the angry bruise marring the delicate skin of Curt's right cheek, a stark contrast to the usual rosy hue. A scabbed-over gash above his eyebrow added to the image of a boy he hardly recognized. "I haven't seen you in three months, Curtis," Bucky's voice was laden with concern and a frustrated accusation, "And the first time I do, you look like this." He leaned closer, his tone hardening, "Three months."

It begged the question — what had Curt been doing for money?

"I had shit goin' on," Curt retorted, his brows furrowing as he glared at Bucky. "You don't own me, John. Can't buy your possession of me. This ain't layaway." He appeared pale and agitated, a far cry from the self-assured Curtis that Bucky thought he knew. "Or some rent to own shit."

Bucky's gaze fell to his lap, then rose again to meet Curt's eyes. "I know I don't own you," he said softly, never intending to imply otherwise. He understood Curt's lifestyle, or at least the parts he had chosen to reveal, and knew there were probably plenty other men who blocked out days in their travels to spend with Curtis.

“Stop actin’ like I’m your property, then.”

"I'm not," Bucky pressed, refusing to let Curt deflect without some explanation. Possessiveness aside, three months of missed rendezvous and silence deserved at least a few questions. "I thought something bad had happened to you, Curt."

By the looks of it, nothing good had happened either.

“I already told you.” Curt turned to look at him again after another sip from his manhattan. “Nothin’ bad can happen to me.” What a complete lie. He could hardly say it with a straight face. “I’m good. You ain’t gotta worry about that.”

Silence descended, heavy and thick, leaving Bucky to contemplate whether this was the beginning of the end, or perhaps the end had already arrived three months prior.

He had allowed himself to get too close, drawn to the warmth of Curtis until it became an inferno. He had basked in it, absorbed it into his very being.

He had indulged, consumed, and perhaps, ultimately, overstayed his welcome.

Bucky cleared his throat, his fingers nervously tracing the edges of the cocktail menu. "You know what last month was?" he asked, his voice catching slightly as he swallowed. His gaze, though hesitant, eventually met Curt's.

"What?" Curt's voice was clipped, his knuckles turning white as he clenched his fists, his jaw tightening under the strain.

"Been two years since I met you," Bucky revealed, well aware of Curt's aversion to sentimentality. Yet, the growing distance between them fueled an urgency to express his feelings, to try and bridge the gap that seemed to widen with each passing moment.

Three months. Three long, agonizing months.

As his flight touched down and the cabin doors prepared to open, Bucky's fingers would instinctively reach for his phone to send another desperate Hail Mary into the void.

I hope you're safe, Curt.

I'm in the city if you feel like a visit.

You know where to find me.

“Do you remember it?” Bucky nudged Curt’s knee with his own, ignoring the strain of his jaw or how his fingers gripped tightly the coat draped around his shoulders. “I took you to Washington Square,” his voice was musing as he recalled it — Curt was a little softer then, but still just as stubborn. “We talked until sunrise.”

Bucky didn’t sleep for two days after. Something had hit his bloodstream like a white hot surge of adrenaline and while he knew he was towing the line, even then, he couldn’t wait until the next day came around that he’d see Curtis again.

He’d get a hit, he’d relish in the high and then he’d fester in the harrowing withdrawal until the cycle would yet again repeat itself.

He had almost resigned himself to a life without Curtis, a life he hadn't known for two years, but one he was forced to accept after three months of silence. Now, sitting at their usual spot in the bar he had frequented daily in the hope of finding Curt, the gash that had begun to heal was ripped open once more, salt packed into the wound.

"Yeah," Curt slid off the barstool, shrugging into his coat and smoothing his palms over the front with a sigh. "Imma have to dip."

Bucky turned, a silent nod the only response he could muster. His throat constricted, as if an invisible hand had tightened its grip, a sensation he had endured for years. He bit his tongue, tasting the metallic tang of blood. Words failed him, despite the torrent of emotions swirling within. "Will I see you again?" he finally choked out.

Curt's lips twisted into a semblance of a frown as he stood before Bucky, a faded echo of the boy he had shared ice cream cones and intimate secrets with. The man who had guided him through uncharted territories of pleasure, and what it meant to love something foolishly. The boy he felt inexplicably connected to, as if their souls had intertwined in a past life. "Don't think so.” Curt's words were a final blow, leaving Bucky blindsided in their wake.

And as quick as Curt came into his life, he left it.

In the space where Curtis once resided, a void opened up, vast and consuming.

Bucky had never experienced such difficulty in healing from a loss. Not the passing of his father, nor the gradual drifting apart from childhood friends due to distance or life changes. Even his first heartbreak paled in comparison to this gaping wound.

This, perhaps, was the first true crack in his foundation, a fissure that threatened to dismantle it all.

His life unfolded before him like a film starring a low budget version of himself, the scenes blurring into a montage of what once was, and the bleakness of what is. And as if orchestrated by some cruel twist of fate, Bucky was served divorce papers at his office one morning, delivered by his own receptionist. It was a low blow, even for Alison, but Bucky took it on the chin.

Sorry to do this, John.

S’alright, I saw it comin’.

All three seasons passed.

Bucky sought refuge in a small apartment on Waverley Place in Greenwich Village. Gradually, he stopped searching for Curtis in every face that passed, but only after scouring obituaries and the internet for any trace of him.

The days blurred into a monotonous routine of solitude. Shopping for one, cooking for one, existing for one.

He picked up a few hobbies.

He gave them up.

He distracted himself until he couldn’t anymore.

Alcohol became his primary coping mechanism, a temporary anesthetic that numbed the ache in his chest. It was a vicious cycle of filling the Curt-shaped void, only to have it reappear, demanding more.

One evening, following a particularly heavy bout of drinking in the city, Bucky lay sprawled on his living room floor, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, his mind adrift. The persistent buzzing in his back pocket eventually pierced through his stupor, pulling him back down to earth.

“Christ, Gale.” Bucky murmured once he’d pressed his phone to his ear without giving it another glance. “I share my location with y’so you don’t do this.”

There was a silence on the other end, nothing but a shallow breath.

“Gale?”

Bucky held his phone before his eyes instead, squinting at the unfamiliar number displayed on the screen. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath before pressing the phone to his ear again. "Who's this?"

Silence met his question, and his heart pounded against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat of anticipation.

Then, a voice, sweet and familiar, broke through the quiet. "I lost your number, Bucky," it said, a tremor of vulnerability in its tone. "I - I had no way of findin’ it. My phone was jacked."

Perhaps that would explain all of Bucky’s texts that never delivered.

"I been livin' in Queens. I got my own place, Bucky. I stopped turnin' tricks. I have a cat," Curt's voice poured through the receiver, each word a revelation, a glimpse into a life Bucky had yearned to know about. These were the things Curt had desperately wanted to share, but every attempt to reach Bucky had been met with a dead end. "I named her Judy," he added, his voice softening.

Bucky’s buzz had been knocked right out of him like a stick to a hornets nest, crashing viciously into the grass and exploding into clouds of confused and tormented insects who had worked so hard to build what they had — just to be knocked back down yet again.

"Bucky?" Curt's pressed his phone closer to his ear, as if to pull Bucky to him. "You there?"

Oh, the nights he’d spent. A grown man. He had cried until his lungs bled, he’d drank himself sober. He hid behind closed blinds, a locked door. Do not disturb, offline, last seen 2 months ago, his own radio silence, his own self-imposed exile — after a while, he hardly looked like himself until Gale intervened and forced him back out into society.

It took so much work to get here, and yet he still had so much more healing to do.

Daily affirmations, meditation, individual therapy, group therapy, psychotherapy, body, mind, soul. The three pillars of sobriety; ten days sober, twenty days sober, five days sober, zero. Piano, guitar, knitting, baking. SSRI, SNRI, MAOI, treatment resistant.

The number you have dialed is unavailable. Try again later.

Try again later.

Try again later.

Later.

Rebuild, destroy, rebuild, destroy.

"Yeah," Bucky croaked, his voice raspy and uncertain. His mind raced, questioning the reality of the situation. Was this another cruel trick of his imagination? Should he call Gale to confirm his sanity? Had he drunk too much? When was the last time he had slept? "I'm here.” he finally managed.

Curt, on the other end of the line, drew his knees to his chest, clutching the phone as if it were a lifeline connecting him to Bucky. "I got a lotta regrets in this life, Bucky," he confessed. Despite his youth, he felt the burden of countless lifetimes. "Biggest regret I got is walkin' away from you."

#felt like being emo tn ig #yoyo writes #💌 #I still rlly enjoy this au tho #this curt is interesting #Bucky is soft as ever #curtbucky

[blackberry-gingham]

For mental health reasons, I'm going back to my roots and doing imagines again, but this time with my new fixation: the xmen (doesn't mean I won't do fics btw, just that it's not my main content anymore).

Here's X-men with a human s/o

Cyclops

Very chill about it, as with most things

He's one of the biggest believers of "humans and mutants are equal", so he really doesn't even think about the difference between you two

Well, ok, he does in times of danger and crisis tho

He's the type to try and explain that he doesn't think you're weak, per say...

It's just that there are some things and people out here that you simply can't defend yourself against

Scott is naturally protective, but he's just a little more alert for trouble when he's with you

Gambit

Actually, sometimes I feel like he doesn't really consciously identify as a "mutant" tbh

By that I mean, he considers himself to be just like anyone else, rather then being a Mutant First(tm), human second type

He's a "Can't we all get along" type, until someone starts causing trouble for mutants

....Which happens rather often, it seems

He doesn't hate humans, but he's a little suspicious at times

He'll flirt with you easy, but when things start getting serious he may start to lay off a little

It's not personal, you just need to earn his trust a little first

Thankfully, he's a good judge of character and will come around in his own time

Jean

You guys get along so well!

Unsurprisingly, Jean has the same mindset as Scott as far as human and mutant relations

It's a little easier for her to blend into human society then it is for Scott however

That, and her lighter personality make it so that you wouldn't even know she's with the X-men at all

She's nothing if not transparent tho, and as long as she trusts you, will be pretty forthcoming about it all

Jean does feel a bit of responsibility in keeping you safe from harm, but she's not as inadvertently condescending about it as Scott can sometimes be

But don't be fooled, just because she's a little more tactful about it doesn't mean she's going to let you anywhere near danger tho

Nightcrawler

Interestingly, Kurt also holds the mutants and humans are equals ideology too, even with all he's been through at the hands of humans

The two are both created equally after all, and the sins of the few do not mean the sins of all as far as he's concerned

He is, however, very aware of his appearance meaning it's quite impossible for him to go the gambit route and act as though he too is "just like everyone else", despite how he feels

He's probably just more surprised that you actually want to be with him then anything specifically about you being a human or something tbh

I could see him trying to use an image inducer around you a lot, at least for the first little while

Don't worry tho, after a while and with some reassurance, he'll get used to going about in his natural form

Kurt's power is extremely passive rather then aggressive, just like his personality, so while I defiantly see him being protective of you...

He's more likely to just teleport you both away and stay out of dodge rather then fight for your honor or anything lol

Rogue

If you think being with Jean is a cool time, just go ahead and crank that up to 11 with Rogue

She honestly doesn't give a shit about whether you're a fellow mutant or not, and once she knows, she doesn't think about it

Well, sometimes in a moment of insecurity she might... But never does she think about you in a bad way

She's probably the most relatable in a sense, because as a mutant who looks fully human, she also wants nothing more then to be human too

Maybe you two can work out a way to get in quick moments of contact without it being to dangerous for you

She'll protest this, of course, but who knows? Maybe it's possible to build a little resistance

Because if such a thing is possible...

Gosh, you better get ready, because she'd never leave your side after all you've done to try and get closer to her

Sabretooth

Ok ok, I know that like basically ever since the 80s or so Sabretooth has been portrayed as little more then a bloodthirsty, human hating, killing machine...

But in his earlier debuts, at least once he's expressed a genuine sense of loneliness and desire to acquire a partner for himself

Sure to get there he basically kidnapped a human woman and held her hostage down in the tunnels where he was living, but you wouldn't be reading this if you didn't want to know how this could possibly work out would you?

I'll also have you know that in that very same comic, he's described by said woman as having been surprisingly nice to her and showing no signs of aggression, so there's that

Personally I kind of... don't like "smart sabretooth", if you will, but in a world where he can speak in complete sentences and use technology without smashing it in a fit of frustrated rage:

He will never let you forget that you are an itty bitty human and will tease you for it a lot

Don't take this as him not caring about you though, he's easily the most protective mf-er on this list and would, quite literally, both kill and die for you

No one gets to touch his frail

Storm

Another one for the humans and mutants are equal lot

She does, however, acknowledge that there are more often then not, notable differences between the two tho

Storm admires human resilience as well as their capacity for good, despite what some of the masses may get up to

As a result, she tends to see that trait in you and appreciates your support for mutant rights and freedoms

She can be a little intense and seem stern at times, but that's really only when she's been on missions

It can be difficult for her to relax because of how her emotions tie into her powers, but she says that simply being able to enjoy your company helps

If you two really get to know each other, you might catch her growing a little more playful with her powers around you

A gust of wind to tussle your hair, a splash of rain to cool you off, stuff like that

Times like these are rare admittedly, but knowing she's this comfortable around you is a reward all in it's own

Toad

Sabretooth is a special case, so he's excluded here, but Toad definably has the hardest time of all the others here getting on with a human s/o

It may have something to do with his feral nature, but while Vic still expresses the desire to "find a mate", be them human or mutant, despite what he too went through at the hands of humans as a kid...

Toad has no such designs, neither to go with his mutation nor to simply help him push past his childhood hatred for humans

Kurt may think he knows how it feels to be mocked, feared, and shunned, but even he eventually found some peace in his little monastery

Mort has had no such luck. Even his fellow mutants belittle him

Any advance from a human, even just friendly ones, will be instantly rejected

...However. He won't go so far as to completely keep distance from you

He may hate humans, but... Well... Maybe there is a little piece of him that's still holding on for acceptance

He's EXTREMELY slow to trust you, but once it's earned, you'll find he's actually very sweet and caring

Unfortunately tho, I don't really see him being able to drop the inferiority complex he's had ingrained into him anytime soon

Wolverine

Are you kidding? This guy has had so many human relationships, it's almost a joke

He never really talks about it, but there have been a few rare times where wolverine, like Rogue, has also expressed a desire to just be human instead of a mutant

Unlike Rogue, he will never discuss this with you however and assuming you don't somehow know he's a mutant before hand, he will most likely do his best to make sure things stay that way

Especially if he reeeeeally likes you

He more so hates what was done to him rather then his actual powers tbh, so while he's not particularly ashamed of being a mutant or anything like that...

He'd just rather you didn't know unless if you have to

Regardless of if you know or not, he's a close second to Sabre for most over protective mf-er on this list lol

In fact, this trait of his is most likely how you end up finding out he's a mutant

Damn it Logan. just can't keep those claws sheathed, huh?

#mwahahaah time to go back to the old days #xmen x reader #gosh this about to be is a long tagging section #idk if I should tag them by their names or their callsigns tbh #so i'll do a mix of whatever I want ig #names are boring but some of their callsigns can be confused with other media so #scott summers x reader #anna marie x reader #wolverine x reader #sabretooth x reader #mortimer toynbee x reader #ororo munroe x reader #gambit x reader #nightcrawler x reader #jean grey x reader

[ctheathy]

Lost Chances Face Consequences

Kennith Simmons x Reader

Yandere Oneshot

Author’s note: I'm not even kidding when I say that I was utterly destroyed for months after finding out about his homosexuality. Pain.

Allow me to clear something up real quick, as a certain person got frustrated with me because I made a ‘gay male x female’ oneshot. It's not. This story is supposed to represent one brainwashing themselves into “liking” somebody due to their internal loneliness. It's like children who get many “crushes” when it's really just them wanting friends to fill that void.

Kennith/Reader [“Romantic Tendencies”]

[Gender-neutral Darling|Female Darling|Male Darling]

Potential ⚠️TWs⚠️ :

!Female Reader! as it's the point of the entire oneshot • Manipulation • Emotional dependency [from Kennith] • Rejection • Non consensual holding • Needle mention • Drugging

“___ ... I love you! Please ... Go out with me?”

Your eyebrows furrowed a little at the boy infront of you as you scrunched your nose in disgust ever so slightly, raising an eyebrow in confusion at his audacity for even asking the question right now.

Kennith Simmons. He's been a good friend of yours ever since highschool... You've both always been the loners among the school, automatically making your bond with one another grow immensely after noticing eachother's isolation and awkward nature. And you might be confused at your current revulsion towards a simple confession coming from the male. Well. It wasn't like you were frustrated with him... But you certainly weren't happy either. The whole scene that was currently playing out just filled you with a massive sense of embarrassment. And perhaps even disappointment?

Why, you may ask?

Because the scene was playing out exactly as it did a few months ago when the roles were reversed. The nervous look on his face, the sweet yet awkward smile plastered on his lips, the many gifts and flowers resting in his sweaty palms, the mere hope in his eyes only for it to be shattered an instant later. It was exactly like yours... The whole scenery was just a direct copy of what happened to you about half a year ago, filling you with complete deja vu. You were always aware of the high risk of falling in love with a close friend... But you couldn't help your foolish self back then.

Bad... Bad mistake.

You still remember his empathetic yet blunt and straightforward statement like a core memory, the first time you've been informed on his romantic preference for men and men only. You're cried yourself to sleep for over twenty times as much as you can remember. Countless of restless nights and stess filled days eating away at your emotional state for God knows how long. And that simple fact messed up your mental health for literal months. And yet... You allowed yourself to let him go. To move on from a crush on somebody you could never have. You improved yourself and you managed to mature in perspective. Time heals a person, is something you learned. And yet, that improvement might be crumbled to bits by his stupid gesture alone. Returning the exact same confession you had given him and behaving as if he didn't reject you.

You just narrowed your eyes a little as you couldn't help but feel slightly weirded out over the entire situation. This wasn't supposed to happen at all and you felt as if he was about to drag you through the mud.

“Kennith... With all due respect, did you get hit on the head and happen to forget about your homosexuality, or...?” you sarcastically spoke with slight snark, this scenario starting to piss you off more than you expected it to. In fact, you would have been on cloud nine if he said this to you about six months ago. But now? You felt as if you were being played with like a fiddle. It was as if you were being deceived for a fool and you weren't having it in the slightest. You managed to move on from your puppy crush on him ... And now he was trying to get you to like him again?

You crossed your arms as he noticeably gulped at your statement. You both knew you were right no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, he confirmed it himself for goodness sake! You just let out a small sigh, trying to cover up the overwhelming confusion you were feeling at the moment. Your eye was twitching a little that to hide the current anger that was starting to fill your veins. Why were you having this ‘heart-to-heart’ chitchat in the first place?

“You’re right. I only like men but... I can't help but feel like I love you” he spoke out without a single hint of shame, making you cringe a little in the process. You just blinked a few times, trying to take in his words and how foolish it all sounded. “Kennith...” you calmly exclaimed. “You like men. I'm a woman.” you bluntly spoke as you raised an eyebrow once more, trying to make him see the ridicule of his own words. Surely this had to click?

Nope.

“___... I love you ...” he spoke out with a blank tone and facial expression, making you take a step back in the process. It sounded as if he was brainwashed of some sorts... The sentence didn't even sound genuine, it reminded you of auto repeat if you were bluntly honest with yourself. You couldn't help but facepalm, muttering out an ‘you're stubborn...’ under your breath before you went back to stare at him with concern in your eyes. It went back and forth like that for a while. You tried to get your point across how unfair this entire situation was to you and how irrational he was behaving. That you didn't even want to like him as a romantic interest anymore for the sake of your own wellbeing, but Kennith didn't seem to take no as an answer. And you would be lying if you said that this argument wasn't getting the worst out of you. It felt like you were arguing with a child. No matter how neatly you tried to word out your thoughts, he wouldn't listen. And the whole situation was starting to take a toll on you too, your emotions all over the place due to this sudden accusation that he liked you like you liked him all this time. Which was a ridiculous thought on its own already. Eventually, you just snapped.

“damn it-! What will it take for you to open your eyes for once in a lifetime-!?” you hissed back as you could feel tears prickling in your eyes. You had made peace with the fact that he would never like you back, but you could feel all of that resentment slowly returning to where it originally was. All that pain from one simple past rejection crashing back down on you like an asteroid would.

You glared daggers at your the boy you once considered a friend. The boy you were once in love with. “... You don't like me at all. You just feel obligated to because you have nobody else...” you silently muttering out to yourself, looking to the side as you wiped your eye that was currently tearing up. “That’s not love. That's manipulation.” you spat as you directly spelled out the truth right infront of his nose. You shook your head as you bit your lip, trying to keep it from quivering and yourself from bawling your eyes out on the spot.

“You’re manipulating yourself too, get a grip.”

You coldly spoke out before turning around, ready to leave this mess of a conversation behind. But Kennith’s brown eyes couldn't help but widen as soon as you seemed determined to take your leave. And something that caught you even further off guard was his his hand having a tight grip on your arm in an instant, bruising your limb in the process and making you yelp out in pain. You tried to rip your arm from his grasp, but he wouldn't budge in the slightest, making you grow paranoid and even more emotional than before. You warned for him to let go, resistance and slight hostility in your once gentle voice. But he just continued to stare, piercing right through your soul with those blank features. You grew hesitant.

But you felt like your heart was about to burst out of your chest as he suddenly pulled you in, wrapping his arms around you in a tight grip as if you were a stress toy, his ‘embrace’ only growing more uncomfortable as time went on. You were just frozen in place, not expecting such a death grip from a fragile boy such as Kennith. He was holding onto you as if he would die if he didn't have you close for a mere second.What happened in those six months when you two grew apart? You couldn't help but shiver slightly as his hands caressed all over your back, seemingly trying to comfort you. But if anything, it only stressed you out even further and you swore you were on the verge of a panic attack. Your blood ran cold as soon as you felt a tiny sting on the side on your arm, getting one last glance of an injection needle and his last words managing to reach your ears.

“A label will not stop me from having you”

#kennith simmons #kennith #kennith simmons x reader #kennith x reader #colorbars #case 2 #communications by ghost #communications #communications case 2 #broadcast illusion #communications x reader #ghost and pals x reader #ghost and pals vocaloid #ghost and pals #ghost #vocaloid fukase #vocaloid x reader #yandere vocaloid #yandere fukase x reader #fukase x reader #ghost n pals #ghost n pals x reader #The Colorbars Broadcast of 1987

[brasiliangp]

The Race for Mental Health Awareness

In the fast-paced world of Formula 1, there's another race that George Russell is also focusing on - the race for mental health awareness. "I wanted to go on a bit of a journey to find how mental health can affect us and those around us," George explains. "It's something that affects us all, including myself, and there have been times when I didn't have the courage to speak up about it and talk to someone."

"At the start of the year, I saw it as an opportunity to make a fresh start," he reflects. "But making that step isn't always easy. While many of us focus on our physical health, our mental well-being can often be overlooked. That's why last year I promised to educate myself more on the subject."

Despite a busy racing schedule, George made time to meet with industry professionals to discuss the importance of mental well-being, sharing these meetings with his followers on Instagram. "During the year, I've spoken to people who volunteer their time to help those who are struggling, with the aim of raising awareness of the resources available. I hope people take away from it the courage to speak up if they are struggling with anything." One highlight was his visit to Self Space in London, the UK's first mental health drop-in center on the high street.

George describes it as one of the most enlightening and humbling experiences that he can remember. "Visiting Self Space was really special, and I learned so much that day." His biggest takeaway? "The importance of speaking up in the early stages if you're struggling. So many people leave it very late to seek help, particularly men, but by removing the stigma around how mental health is perceived, we can enable others to get the support they need."

George also sat down with footballer Harry Kane, England's captain and record goalscorer, to discuss their experiences so far. They also discussed what more can be done by those in the public eye to raise further awareness about mental wellbeing.

"I hugely admire Harry as an athlete and as an individual. It was a special experience, speaking with Harry so candidly about our perspectives on mental health and wellness."

Sharing these conversations and being so open has garnered a hugely positive reaction from fans, fellow athletes and from those close to him. "The reaction has been very positive." he notes "It's such an important topic and I'm really pleased to see what we're doing having a positive impact in enabling many people, including myself, to better educate themselves.

"Purpose is a term that is being used more and more recently. How important are each of these causes to you personally?

George - I think for some people, speaking up on mental health is seen as a weakness.

I don't think it matters what you do, who you are, or what walk of life you come from, everyone is going to have struggles at some point. I think finding ways to deal with these emotions is so important, you can't let it stay inside and let that pressure build up. That's why I encourage people to speak up and seek help when it's needed. Even having conversations like this help me.

How important has Instagram been in supporting you this year?

George- It's been great working with the Instagram team throughout the year. When we first discussed things at the start of the year, I saw it as an opportunity to educate myself on a subject that meant a lot to me.

It's proven to be just that - a real learning experience, one that has helped me understand much more than I did before, but also shown how much I still have to learn. Having this relationship with Instagram has given me a lot of opportunities, and I hope that, together, we've used them well to have a positive impact on other users.

What has the reaction been like to your content throughout the year?

George- Incredible. I've had family, friends and teammates sending me messages after each piece of work with Instagram, saying how much it means that I am speaking up about mental health. I'm pleased to see what we're doing having a positive impact in enabling many people, including myself, to better educate themselves. I've had comments from fans around the world who are now discovering more about their own mental health, which means the world to me.

What advice would you give to others based on your own experiences and what have you learned this year?

George- The one bit of advice I would give someone who may be struggling with their mental health is not to be ashamed of speaking up. Whether it's a friend, family member, a colleague, or even a professional. We all have our moments of feeling low, but it doesn't need to just be in those moments that we seek help. Mental maintenance and keeping things in that positive space is so important. Opening up is only a good thing, I'd recommend everyone to reach out for help.

You've each used your Instagram presence this year as a key way to raise awareness for each of these causes - is this something that you'll continue to do in the future?

George - Definitely. Maintaining good mental health is so important at all stages of life and I intend to continue educating myself over the years, sharing the lessons as I go. I enjoy sharing the ups and downs of life, both on and off the track, and bringing fans on the journey with me.

Mental health and wellness will always be something that I speak up about as part of that journey.

Finally, how important is it that more athletes use their social platforms to speak up on causes that they care about?

George - Very important. As professional athletes, the amount of people that see and engage with our posts is something we mustn't take for granted. There are quite a few other athletes speaking up in recent times. I really admire their courage and I'm always keeping an eye on Instagram to see what others are saying and joining in the conversations when I can.

#george russell

[immunologies]

look at my land developer dawg i’m going to jail 😫

lmao hiiii everyone! i’m anwar (not hadid) + always writing for underused model fcs but anywhooo — thank god for reopening bc i was supposed to app during the first launch but i was on vacation so my activity would’ve flopped real bad BUT… I’M HERE NOW… a lil jet lagged still but fuck it we ball :’) i present to you: iida!

navigate: general info / about / pinterest

sparknotes!

tw / suicide

okawara yosuke, 33 (proud twink death survivor btw he left that long haired era behind in his mid 20s), born and raised in fukuoka prefecture so you know he’s a bearer of the masculinized stereotype that kyushu men have but surprisingly his ego isn’t as fragile as i would expect it to be — i wonder why?

lower middle class to middle class financial status for the entirety of his childhood / it’s one of those things where as a kid you’re like “well, this is it” because you’re not fully aware that your family doesn’t have money on top of being surrounded by other kids who, in return, also come from families without bands so it is what it is / it can’t be that bad when your necessities have always been met

tbh there’s not much to write home about in terms of his childhood as in it was fortunately(?) uneventful for the most part despite starting off rocky: his mom was barely twenty when she birthed him, two freshly married young adults rushed into the hard-bitten chaos of childrearing, do they resent bro in absence of trying to enjoy the beginnings of their married life? probably, but it doesn’t matter by the time his younger brother is born, soo la voo or whatever the french be saying (tiktok reference btw if ur uncool)

yosuke is your average kyushu boy growing up: he spends his time outside rather than inside with his head in the books (it’s the same shit his teachers would always say about his lack of potential, ie: he’s lazy), has boyish fights with his younger and complete opposite of a younger brother, tries his best not to piss off his stay-at-home mom and stay away from his chronically emotionally constipated aviation mechanic drunk for a dad, you get the idea

…UNTIL the voices started to become apparent more than ever and he tells his mother who dismisses it but is reminded of her grandfather who unalived himself from alleged schizophrenia but nobody in her family knows if he ever got tested for it (y’know, if it was a genetic hereditary thing) or if it was just the aftermath of unresolved trauma/ptsd because grandpa fought in the war (you know which war) NOBODY KNOWS A GODDAMN THING. except yosuke as a child hated going to see his relatives in the far village/countryside on his mom’s hick side

lmao but when yosuke told his mom “yeah girly pop dad’s gonna have a shitty liver if he doesn’t stop drinking so much in the next couple years or so” is when she drops his ass off at a mental health facility so she definitely prioritizes her man over a kid that she wasted her 20s raising! (she’s definitely an unevolved libra no shade to yall sorry) but anywho! he’s diagnosed at 17, life is looking brighter(?), but his “schizophrenia” isn’t something talked about much at home because let’s be serious. it’s fucking abe shinzo’s japan at the time, we do not talk about shit like this

yosuke goes on to carry two jobs after high school because his parents didn’t save a college tuition fund for his lazy, non-academically inclined ass so it’s up to him to be the architect of his future / he’s psyched about entering the aviation department of kyoto university after working his ass off by trying to build a humble living but somebody’s bored and filthy rich daughter from a zainichi korean family comes into his life and what does he do? say goodbye to the ol’ pilot dream and traps this woman so he won’t ever have to worry about money like his family did

mind you he actually had love for the old girl! but he’s a gemini and gemini men get bored when you’re not their outstanding type or half as witty or clever as he may be. he knows that he’s settling for what poor lee jiyoung can do for him so after dating in college, yosuke goes on to marry the woman but never goes on to tell her about his “schizophrenia” because he’s scared that it’ll ruin his marriage (spoiler alert: it did)

so uh *scratches head and turns the page* they end up divorcing because his condition worsened as a result of his body becoming “immune” to the medications because he never had schizophrenia in the first place (ie: iida canon) — and he tried saving the relationship for the sake of his position at tk group, he really did, but at the end of the day he’s just some penniless, opportunistic man who failed to completely use up his wife’s beneficiaries. but again, he’s a gemini man who’s good at playing the part of using his “mental health” as a crutch of their failed marriage instead of being exposed for taking advantage of his ex-wife financially

(trust me he’d rather be that Type of Shitty instead of portrayed as the Exploitative Type of Shitty because it gets some pity points on his end. believe the scheme!)

so now? okawara yosuke takes up the tk group’s little passion project proposal with goero because it’s a chance at redemption. he needs to prove one way or another that he’s worthy of his job, that he’s the right man for it, his undying loyalty to the corp (questionable :3), and he’s taken the more political and diplomatic approach of gravitating/winning the trust or appeal to goero’s inhabitants instead of the founding families ‘cause his coworker’s already doing that anyways — he understands his shortcomings as a foreigner (more so as a japanese guy telling yall what to do with the land so goero can prosper financially and commodity-speaking for trade.. and commerce..) so if he can strengthen his morale to the people even if it doesn’t mean the quota won’t be met — yosuke would prefer that for the sake of ethics. he will promise the residents of goero that much: business or not.

that is all. i think. :-) i’ll be yapping for specifics on discord if needed be

personality!

likes to think of himself as an ambivert over being written off as an extrovert which is kinda true? despite being a professional yapper with those he’s suuuuper comfortable with, he finds that people who don’t match or vibe with him tire him out very quickly / genuinely a very friendly person and is emotionally inhibited probably as a result of his career where logic/numbers/analytics are concerned so yosuke prefers to focus on reason over the “possibilities” … even tho he would like to be that optimistic / isn’t one to have an extreme temper, but can be prone to outbursts if incompetence is in question / really. really. hates the notion of being black-or-white on many matters as life usually puts him in the grey area so. u know. atm doesn’t have any ulterior motives because he doesn’t have it in him anymore to be evil or whatever. he ran out of plans. just trying do the right thing from here on out, so, let him help you! bro’s probably a lawful neutral man i know i’m sorry for being boring :/ c’est la vie

connections!

i prefer brainstorming over anything and i’m down for just about everything so hit me

#trrors:int

[heavenly-garden]

I recently learned something.

Those who have been oppressed often oppress others. Not always is the case but more often than not it seems to happen. There are those who want to be oppressed so they can claim victimhood and say they've been oppressed too so they can fit in with even more oppressed groups. When oppressed upon harshly and over long term it causes hatred, bigotry, racism etc. People who don't realize they went from being oppressed to the oppressor means they can still claim oppression and cruelty while also being oppressive and cruel to others. It's a nasty cycle way too many people perpetuate. I was oppressed by a cruel step father for 12 years, he was a pedophile and he forced horrible things upon me against my will and as time went on I developed serious anger problems. I was angry at everything and everyone from the system, to men, to the police, to my community I also hated myself. I hated so deeply that I needed anger management because I was concerned I'd become a liability to the safety and wellbeing of others, myself included. I never thought about how my oppression was causing me to oppress others, I never took into account that I had been a part of a cycle of violence and hate. However, after my step father was gone for good I finally had time to begin healing, taking years of therapy, going to anger management, keeping drugs qnd liquor at bay so I didn't begin addictive habits which were all around me as soon as I stepped outside my door I had accessed to everything from ocean, weed, meth, heroine, pills, free liquor. I lived surrounded by a couple of native reserves where my friends did drugs and drank just to pass the time. Boredom, fear, anger, oppression, these things lead towards a very dark path if you don't become aware of how it effects us. The oppressed feel helpless so they begin to oppress in order to feel powerful over others, and the cycle goes on and on. I witnessed it on reserves where my friends lived and they were miserable and bored most of the time, sneaking their parents liquor and drugs with ease. The accessibility of drugs and liquor is far too easy for minors. People learn disrespect and distrust because of begin oppressed. My step dads mother oppressed him, she had bipolar and borderline personality disorder, she refused medication for a long time because she was in denial and he didn't know he had inherited her mental health issues until many years after and it was far too late by then the damage had been done. His mental illness had nothing to do with him being a pedo though that was all on him but his outbursts of rage, verbal, mental and physical abuse had taken its toll on me and my mom. In anycase I realized I don't want to be an oppressor. I don't want to feel this hate qnd contempt for everyone. No one did anything to me but in my mind once long ago I blamed everyone else but didn't take into account my own oppressive thoughts. I did not wish to be like that so it took over 10 years of work on myself to overcome toxic habits and intrusive thoughts. Don't get me wrong I still get intrusive thoughts but now I stop to analyze those thoughts and question them. No longer a slave to my mind, I seek to only coexist as best I can with the world no, no more buzzing in my head to go out and cause trouble I'm freeeee. I take time for myself when I need it and I've learned to enjoy being on my own instead of feeling alone and unhappy when I'm by myself, I'm finally at peace and became my own best friend, I went from hating myself to loving myself (not in a narcissistic way though) but i've learned to accept I can't control everything, I can't control what others do, I can't control what others think or feel about me, I can't control society. I had to learn to let go and accept it is what it is, time to move on. All praise be to God for helping me through the darkest days of my life. I used to hate so deeply man...it felt like it was becoming a part of my DNA lol. Anyway that's all I had to say, thank you for reading. Have a good day. 💖

#thoughts #oppression #life #pain #my thoughts

[dean-winchester-is-a-warrior]

The Scrappy Huntress

Pairings: No romantic pairing. Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, and The Scrappy Huntress. 😉

Summary: The Winchesters might end up with a new member of Team Free Will.

Warnings: None. Only fluff. Figurative and literal fluff. Very brief mentions of blood.

Word Count: 1.5k+

A/N: So, I've been struggling with my mental health a bit lately and I've been having a hard time finding inspiration to write my next chapters for my series.

So, chatting with my daughter, I told her I wanted to write something super fluffy for Dean and she suggested Dean and a kitten, and this idea grew almost immediately, so I wrote it.

Hoping that getting out smaller drabbles like this will kick start inspiration! I'm sorry to those waiting for chapter updates!! They're coming, I promise. ❤️

The beautiful dividers here and below were created by @talesmaniac89 . 💓

Masterlist || Tag Lists

"Just leave it, Sam! If you pay attention to it, it's never gonna go away." Dean scowled down at his giant baby brother, who'd compressed his massive 6'4 frame down into a crouch in order to pet the scrawny kitten that had taken up residence just outside their motel room door.

Sam shook his head and looked up at Dean. "It's been outside since we got here yesterday, Dean. I don't think it's being fed. It's obviously a stray, let me bring him in and give him a bit of food and water."

"No!" Dean said vehemently. "I know you, Sammy. You bring that damn thing in, and before you know it, we'll be putting up lost posters and spending the next week searching for owners."

Sam just let his eyes plead for him and Dean was quickly outdone by a skinny black cat and big puppy dog eyes.

"Ugh!" He growled angrily. "Fine, bring it in, give it some milk, then back out it goes."

Sam scooped up the kitten quickly before Dean could change his mind and walked into their motel room.

"Most cats are lactose intolerant, milk might upset his stomach," he argued.

"How do you know it's a he?" Dean asked as he followed Sam into the room, closing the door behind him.

"Huh." Sam said, contemplating. "I don't actually know."

He turned the kitten upside down to check and the fluffy feline let out several long mewls at the undignified treatment.

"I was wrong, it's a girl." Sam corrected himself. Turning the kitten right side up, he scratched her ears for a moment as compensation for his rude behavior.

"Who's a pretty little girl?" He questioned nonsensically as he nuzzled her soft fur.

Dean rolled his eyes and plopped down on the bed, leaning his shoulders against the headboard, still dressed in his big brown leather coat and boots.

"Feed her and put her back outside so we can get back to figuring out why two perfectly healthy men have dropped dead out of nowhere in this town in the last week. I'd like to finish up and get back to my very comfortable bed."

He slapped his hand down against the lumpy motel mattress aware that he'd gone soft ever since they'd found the bunker a few years ago.

"You know, I was thinking..." Sam began and Dean rolled his eyes.

"No." He answered curtly.

"You don't even know what I was gonna say!" Sam protested.

But Dean was already shaking his head. "I know exactly what you were going to say, and there's absolutely no way we're taking that flea infested thing home with us."

"She's not flea-infested." Sam defended her. "And she could make sure we don't see any more mice scurrying down our hallways."

"No, instead we'd just see a little runt kitten running around that we'd have to feed and take care of. We're not exactly home-bodies, Sam. Who'd look after the thing when we're on the road?" He shook his head again. "We're not taking it home."

Sam pouted slightly. "She's a 'she' not an it."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Whatever. So if SHE can't drink milk, what are you going to feed her with?"

"I'm gonna run over to that little corner store down the street. They probably have cans of cat food." Sam answered as he brought the kitten over to Dean.

Sam tried to pass the kitten to him, but Dean held his hands up, palms out. "No way, I'm not holding that thing, it's gonna pee on me, or scratch the shit outta me."

"SHE is not going to pee on you, and dude, are you telling me you're seriously afraid of the world's tiniest claws? Man, you fight werewolves!" Sam said, incredulously.

Dean frowned and lowered his hands allowing Sam to set the tiny ball of fluff there.

"Yeah, well I shoot werewolves. You telling me I can silver-bullet her if she starts scratching?"

Sam shot him a look and Dean huffed out a sigh. "Kidding, kidding. Sheesh."

"I'll be fifteen minutes, tops. I bet you can keep her from attacking til I'm back." Sam said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

"Yeah, yeah." Dean said waving his brother out the door.

As the door closed behind Sam, Dean looked over the tiny black cotton ball that he had gripped in his hand.

He adjusted the kitten slightly, not wanting to squeeze too hard. He could feel it's tiny little ribs beneath his fingers, and it's heartbeat slamming fast against them.

Dean's face softened slightly. "Its okay, I won't really shoot you, promise." He said quietly.

He readjusted again so the kitten could sit fully in his palm, and he could hold it in place with his other hand.

"Man, you really are a runty little thing, aren't you?"

The kitten blinked up at him with wide blue eyes. "I thought cats had green eyes." Dean said out loud, unable to stop the compulsion to rub his thumb over the cat's tiny head.

As he did, a sudden rumbling purr started up and when Dean petted her again, the kitten chased his thumb, rubbing up against it and then nibbling on the end.

Dean snorted with humor as she rolled onto her back in his hand, batting at his fingers with all four feet.

"Ooh, you're a scrapper." He moved his fingers forward to pet her black and white speckled belly and chuckled in spite of himself as she spread her four paws wide before closing them tight around his hand and "attacking".

He ferocious bites turned quickly into licks, her rough tongue scraping across his callused fingers. She let him pet her belly for real, and soon she was purring very loudly and falling asleep on her back, outstretched in his hand.

Dean continued to stroke her belly and found himself relaxing deeply as he listened to the, soothing rumble coming out of the tiny little creature.

He held her like that until Sam came back with the cat food and woke her up so she could eat and drink.

The brothers chuckled together as the kitten scarfed the wet food, emitting endless "threatening" growls while she ate.

When she was finished, Dean merely rolled his eyes as Sam pulled out the small tray and bag of litter he'd bought, "just in case" Dean agreed to let the kitten stay in the room over night.

"It looks like it's gonna rain, she'll drown out there." Sam reasoned. "Look, we'll keep her safe tonight and then bring her to an animal shelter tomorrow, okay?"

Dean was still frowning, although both of them knew he was going to let the kitten stay.

"Fine." He said with a sigh.

They spent a couple hours working on the case. They thought maybe they were hunting down a crossroads demon, collecting early on demon deals, but they needed more info. They just knew both victims had been newly wealthy and died very suddenly under strange circumstances.

As they looked things over, they were occasionally distracted by the little furball tearing around the room, attacking their shoelaces and puffing up to hiss at the "other cat" in the floor length mirror that hung on the outside of the bathroom door.

Despite his reluctance to encourage his brother, Dean couldn't help but laugh when the kitten's fur stood on end, and she arched her back, jumping sideways and then bouncing around on her back legs.

Finally deciding to call it a night, the boys took their turns in the bathroom getting ready for bed. Dean called dibs and bounded in there before Sam could complain that two grown men shouldn't be relying on dibs to decide things.

When it was Sam's turn he decided to jump in the shower, taking a bit longer, since there was no one waiting on him. Going second had its perks.

When he finally came out, clicking the bathroom light off, he chuckled softly to himself at the picture in front of him.

Dean was sprawled out on his stomach, lightly snoring. One knee was bent, and his arms were wrapped around the pillow he was laying his head on. Curled up in the crook of his elbow, the little kitten was fast asleep as well, no doubt enjoying the warmth of the soft breaths Dean was emitting.

Sam shook his head. He knew Dean would cave, they were definitely taking that little fluff ball home with them.

***

Hours later Dean woke up to the sound of loud scratching and he moaned and buried his face further into his pillow.

"Sam, make that stupid cat stop scratching!" He mumbled out sleepily to his brother. There was no response and the scratching continued.

Finally he sat up, angrily turning to Sam, planning on waking him from his comfortable sleep and forcing him to deal with the misbehaving kitten.

But as he looked over at his brother's bed, his blood ran cold. Sam lay, seemingly paralyzed, his eyes the only part of him that was moving, shooting around the room, panic-stricken while blood seeped from his nose and mouth.

"Sammy!" Dean cried out as he leapt from his bed. He grabbed his brother by the shoulders and shook him uselessly before jumping up, throwing on the lights and starting to search for a hex bag; this had to be witchcraft.

As he started looking through all the cupboards and under the bed, he began to feel himself stumble. It felt as though all his muscles were stiffening up and he crashed to the floor, the coppery taste of blood filling his mouth.

He looked over to where the kitten was still scratching at the cheap wood paneling in the room. He tried to pull himself over, but he felt his arms become wooden and he couldn't move.

All he could do was watch as the kitten scratched a hole in the worn paneling, and batted at something inside. With a growing sense of disbelief, Dean blinked slowly as she snagged her claw in the top of a hex bag and then tossed it into the air as she shook it free of her claw.

She then pounced on it, batting it back and forth. Finally she attacked it fully, wrapping it up in her paws and kicking it hard with her back feet.

As she gave a particularly hard kick, the bag tore open and the contents spilled out.

Suddenly the sensation zoomed back into Dean's arms and legs and he coughed up and spit out the last of the blood that was in his mouth. He crawled quickly to the hole and pulled out a second hex bag, whipping out his lighter and burning it. He stood up and tossed the burning pouch into the bathroom sink as he heard Sam coughing and shifting around in his bed.

Dean leaned against the bathroom doorframe, sagging slightly, his muscles still a bit weak.

"You good, Sammy?"

Sam nodded and gave a thumbs up.

Dean wiped away the blood that had dribbled down his chin, watching as the kitten batted at some of the bones that had spilled out of the hex bag, seemingly disappointed that her fun toy had popped.

He shook his head and turned to Sam with a grin. "Told you taking that kitten in was a good idea."

***

Late the next night, they were getting ready to head out. They'd dispatched a mother-daughter witch team that had been grifting rich guys and taking all their money before slipping them a hex bag and a slow death. Apparently they'd figured out there were hunters in town and decided to do away with them the same way.

As they packed up the room, Sam scooped up the kitten. They'd been too busy all day to get her to a shelter, so she'd just stayed in the room and had seemed to make herself very at home.

Sam set her down on Dean's bed and she bounced over to his green duffle bag and climbed inside. As Dean turned back to shove in another pair of jeans, she circled around two or three times before snuggling into one of his plaid flannels, half tucking herself into the pocket.

Dean let out a sigh and carefully tucked the jeans in beside her.

"So..." Sam prompted. "Shelter?"

Dean shot him an unimpressed look. "You know I'm not sending the cat that saved our lives to a..." he lowered his voice to a whisper, "...an uncertain future."

He let out a put upon sigh. "Nah, this scrappy little huntress is just coming home with us I guess."

Sam beamed. "But what about when we're away?"

Dean shrugged into his leather jacket and carefully picked up the sleeping kitten before he answered.

"Well, who knows, maybe she'll like car rides. I'll make her cozy and see what she thinks." With that he tucked her into one of the upper, inside pockets of his thick jacket.

She let out a small mewl. "Whatcha think, Huntress?" Dean asked, petting her head and smiling as she yawned and then nibbled his finger.

"She says she's a badass panther, and she's good."

Sam chuckled. "Does she?"

Dean nodded as he shouldered his duffle bag, careful not to jostle the sleeping kitten in his pocket.

"Yep, and when we can't take her with us, Cas can cat-sit."

1. Jensen RPF + Any/All characters Jensen plays.

@lyarr24

@siospins2

@impalaslytherin

@akshi8278

@maggiegirl17

@candy-coated-misery0731

@nt-multi-fandom

@slytherinlyn314

2. Dean Winchester Fics Only.

@saikoswritings

@lgranger67

@carryonwaywardgirl

3. Any/All Fics (regardless of fandom/character.)

@sunshineandwings86

@kazsrm67

@sexyvixen7

4. Everything (includes fan vid/DOOL edits as well)

@unabashed-lover-of-fictional-men

@awkward-and-indecisive

@maliburenee

@supernatural4life2022

@spn730015

@b3autyfuldisast3r

@kickingitwithkirk

@waywardbaby

@foxyjwls007

@deanwanddamons

@deandreamernp

@deanwithscissors

@myloversgone

@snowlovespie

@leigh70

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@fangirlxwritesx67

@charred-angelwings

@hopefuldreamers-world

@mysherlock221b

@jensensgotyoudean

@stixnstripesworld

@thoughts-and-funnies

@magssteenkamp

@norman1967

@princessmisery666

@eevvvaa

@mishkatelwarriorgoddess

@deepsketchsupernaturalcowboy

@b-i-t-c-h-i-e

@twirpbunwarrior

@mysweetlittledesire

@waynes-multiverse

@mrsjenniferwinchester

@bernasaurus

@jensenslady79

#dean winchester #spn fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff #sam winchester

[collarximagines]

I was so excited to write this since I got this ask in my inbox!

This was so much fun to write, so I hope it will also be fun to read!

Adolphe and Yves had been at the orphanage with Mother when they had received a request from Scien asking for their help with something.

“Don't do it. I absolutely refuse to let you do anything for that despicable old man” She huffed as she looked at the two kind men, with such strong desperation in her eyes.

Despite the woman's feelings, neither Adolphe or Yves wanted to refuse the request. Perhaps out of curiosity. Both men were interested in what the supposedly God-like scientist could need their services for.

Besides, surely Scien must have had quite the important job for them.

Perhaps he needed their opinion on something? That one seemed unlikely, but still possible.

Perhaps he needed strong men like them to do some heavy lifting for him. He may have been intelligent, but it didn't mean he had strength.

Or perhaps he wanted to experiment on the unaware men. But surely that was a worst case scenario, right?

Regardless of the reason, the two men promptly made their way to Scien’s laboratory. Both of them walked faster than usual, even if they wouldn't admit to ever being eager to see Scien.

But who could blame them? It was a curious thing to be asked for assistance from Scien and they'd be damned if they weren't going to get their answers as fast as their legs could possibly carry them.

Standing outside of Scien's office door, Yves looked at Adolphe. Adolphe looked at Yves as they both mentally steeled themselves.

Their hearts pounded heavily in their chest.

Were they nervous? Scared even?

Maybe. After all, Scien didn't have the kindest reputation….

After a few moments longer, Yves finally knocked on the door.

No response….

Once again, Yves looked at Adolphe. Adolphe looked back at Yves. And finally they decided to enter the room for themselves, despite not being told to do so.

Maybe he was busy?

Eyes widened the instant they saw the room.

It was an absolute state. And that was even an understatement.

Books were carelessly strewn around everywhere and anywhere. Lab coats had also been tossed haphazardly and some looked rather stained to make matters worse.

Adolphe and Yves couldn't help but to be worried that the room may have even been classed as a hazard to their health.

“Ah, you're here. Took you long enough” a lethargic voice suddenly spoke.

Adolphe and Yves jumped back, surprised to hear a voice and not able to see a face to match that voice.

That was until they saw a body suddenly appear from behind one of the biggest messes in the room. Could it be? Was that where Scien's desk had been before?

There was no way to even tell that there was still a desk in the room.

“Yes…. You needed our help with something?” Adolphe asked, being the first one to overcome the surprise of Scien being actually in the room and being the first one who was able to gain the confidence to finally ask Scien about the thing they were both curious about.

Scien nodded as he began walking over to the door of the office.

“Dahut is gone for a week so I called the two of you here to clean my room. Now I don't imagine that either of you are capable of cleaning up to my standards. However, I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt, against my better judgment. So try not to let me down too much” Scien explained, without even so much as glancing at the two men in the room.

He soon left the room entirely, leaving behind two very surprised and confused men with their thoughts.

It took a while for them to get their heads round the request from the scientist.

It then took a much longer time for them to get the room even slightly clean.

It was only when they realised the sky was getting darker and Scien entered the room again, that they became aware of how long they had been cleaning the room for.

Speaking of Scien re-entering his office.

Let's just say, Adolphe and Scien had apparently been unable to meet even a fragment of Scien's expectations.

And that lead to quite the unwanted earful from Scien and a lesson learned; never agree to do a job for Scien.

I would definitely be happy to do any scenario type requests along with the usual headcanons and stuff.

Again, this was so much fun to write!

,Neko

#otome imagines #otome headcanon #virche evermore #shuuen no virche #adolphe #yves #Scien Brofiise #omg this was fun