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p0orbaby · 2 days ago

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It’s Called Free Fall

summary: therapy makes you realise a lot of things

warnings: none

a/n: there’s not actually any alexia in this, but she is mentioned

word count: 2.7k

The therapist’s office feels like it’s been curated for someone far more refined than you—someone who actually takes their therapy seriously, rather than as an ironic lifestyle choice. The walls are a pale, flat grey that veers perilously close to lifeless, and there’s this overwhelming sense of emptiness, like everything here exists for display rather than use. The chairs, two narrow-backed leather things angled just slightly towards each other, appear less like furniture and more like sculptures. You imagine some recent graduate from a New York art school positioned them just so, meticulously arranging each one to make sure it induced the precise mix of discomfort and luxury.

The table between you and Dr. Vargas is another matter entirely—a sleek slab of polished mahogany, thick enough that you could lean your entire weight on it without even a squeak of protest. Its surface is bare except for a single leather-bound notebook, a fountain pen and a ceramic dish, all aligned to a degree that feels almost militaristic. There’s not a single loose thread in the rug, not a fingerprint on the glass of the one window facing out onto a garden view that’s suspiciously verdant for the middle of winter.

Even the fern, perched in the corner like it’s waiting for its close-up, seems too green, too lush. It’s ridiculous, but it’s all part of the aesthetic, this carefully curated minimalism, the kind of cultivated restraint that says, “We don’t need embellishments. We’re here for the truth.” You’re here, supposedly, for honesty and revelation. But to you, it all feels a bit too staged, like a hotel that boasts a “homely charm” but is actually cold and sterile beneath the surface. You suspect Dr. Vargas might even mist the plant herself in some sacred ritual of maintenance, a sort of last-minute grounding exercise to fill the silence between clients.

You settle back in the chair, draping one leg over the other, and make a mental note to mention it next time you’re in some magazine interview. “Austere,” you’d say, “but in a chic way. I once caught my therapist hand-polishing the leaves of a houseplant.” You let yourself savour the image for a moment, glancing at the fern, which seems to return your gaze with silent judgement.

Dr. Vargas has her pen poised in that infuriatingly neutral way, a half-smile that somehow manages to be both welcoming and utterly unreadable. She’s mastered this look; the expression that says, I’m here for you while also suggesting she’s already a step ahead, already written your entire profile out in her head, neatly categorised into sub-headings like “Avoidant Tendencies” and “Control Issues.”

You begin with a sigh, throwing a glance at the ceiling in mock contemplation. “I’ve been thinking about another place. A chalet, maybe. Something in the mountains this time.” You pause, letting the idea sit, feigning like it’s just occurred to you. “Somewhere remote, where people can’t just… get to me”

You’re fully aware that she sees right through it. This isn’t her first rodeo; you’re sure she’s dealt with hundreds like you before, masters of diversion who fill sessions with banalities rather than facing anything real. But Dr. Vargas, in all her maddening professionalism, gives nothing away. She just tilts her head, the soft scratch of her pen against her notebook barely there as she writes something down.

“A place to escape,” she offers back to you in that maddeningly placid tone.

“Yes. Escape,” you echo, knowing full well the word holds no weight here. Escape from what, exactly? You let your leg bounce a little, as if the rhythm might lend some gravity to your words. “And there’s this new project I’m in talks with—A24, actually. They want me to do something… serious. A proper rebrand. Gritty. Artistic.” You drawl out “artistic” with the faintest of smirks, like you’re amused at the thought of it all. A lifetime of playing these games, and you’re practically a pro by now.

Dr. Vargas’s face betrays not a flicker of interest or amusement. She simply nods, that little encouraging tilt of her head again, like she’s waiting for you to get to the real point, the heart of the matter. But you’re not giving in so easily.

“It could be big, you know,” you continue, lifting your chin a fraction. “And I’ve got Alexia, of course.” The name slips out, deliberately nonchalant, though you feel its weight instantly, like it’s left a mark on the air between you.

Dr. Vargas raises her eyebrows, ever so slightly. “Alexia,” she repeats, not quite a question, not quite a statement. Just… acknowledgment, and yet it still feels as if she’s plucked something out of you without you realising. You don’t like it, the way she turns your own words against you.

“Yeah,” you say, shrugging. “She’s… brilliant. On the field, off it. You know, she’s—” You trail off, allowing a smirk to play on your lips. “Not bad to look at, either”

She gives no reaction, doesn’t even break eye contact. You imagine her poker face would rival that of any seasoned card shark. But it’s her silence that presses at you, coaxing out more than you intend to reveal. It’s a trick she’s used before, and yet here you are, willingly falling into it.

“Honestly,” you continue, almost laughing as if sharing some private joke, “you should see her after a match. There’s this… intensity, this rawness. Shirt off, sweat-drenched, eyes still blazing from the game. It’s… invigorating.” You roll the word around like a fine wine, savouring it as you go. “It’s like the universe threw me a bone, just when I was getting bored”

Dr. Vargas finally moves, a slight shift of her head, her mouth curving up in a near-smile. “And yet, you’re here”

Her words drop between you like a carefully placed stone. You scoff, rolling your eyes, but there’s something in her expression—an almost imperceptible softness that somehow feels like an accusation. “Therapy’s a hobby,” you shrug, leaning back, as if the very idea of anything deeper is laughable. “I’m always in therapy, Doc. News flash”

“Yes,” she agrees smoothly, not missing a beat, “but you don’t usually bring her up”

“Come on,” you counter, with a smirk that’s designed to look careless, “I bring her up all the time”

“Not like this”

Her voice is calm, almost gentle, but her gaze sharpens, pinning you in place. You feel a spike of irritation, or maybe it’s something else. You cast a look towards the fern, now faintly silhouetted by the afternoon sun, its shadow long and narrow across the wall, an unasked-for third party in this strange little dance. The absurdity of the whole scene hits you, but before you can fully detach, she’s speaking again.

“You’re talking about her differently. More… openly.” There’s no edge to her tone, no overt judgment, yet it feels like she’s peeled back a layer, glimpsed a part of you you hadn’t meant to reveal.

In the moments that follow, you stub out your cigarette on the pristine ceramic dish Vargas keeps on the table, the one she’s claimed is “not for smoking” but never actually moved after that one session. You’ve taken it as tacit permission, though you know damn well it irritates her—just another way to test the boundaries in a room that prides itself on having none. That’s half the point of these sessions: see how far you can stretch them. How much she’ll let you say, or not say. And you’ve mastered the art of saying absolutely nothing, all while filling the space with empty words.

Dr. Vargas doesn’t speak, doesn’t press, which is almost worse than if she did. There’s just the persistent softness in her eyes, the quiet implication that she understands more than you’d prefer. You remember Alexia’s eyes looking at you like that once, right after you’d tried to make some grand point about the nature of relationships—one of those pseudo-philosophical tangents you like to go on. She’d just looked at you, with a kind of bemused patience that felt a little too genuine, a little too close to knowing you.

You roll your shoulders, shake off the memory. But it clings.

“Alright,” you say, letting the smoke spill out as you form the words. “Maybe I don’t do ‘love’ like everyone else. I’m not here for a candlelit dinner and a mortgage. I’m not,” you add with a quick laugh, “one of those people who turn into some sap over a nice couple’s holiday in Santorini”

Dr. Vargas gives a small nod, an acknowledgement rather than agreement, her expression neutral but open, giving you room to continue.

“But, yes. Fine.” You take another drag, a deliberate pause. “Maybe I… care about her. I care about her. She’s different, alright?”

“Different how?” she asks gently, with an infuriatingly patient tone.

You groan, shifting in your seat. “Come on, don’t make me quantify it. That’s your thing, not mine.” You know you’re stalling, using your usual deflections, but there’s an itch underneath it, a part of you that feels raw just acknowledging that Alexia is, in fact, ‘different.’

You can feel her eyes on you, waiting for you to take the bait you’ve laid out for yourself.

“Fine, you want specifics?” you sigh, feigning annoyance, though you know you’re the one who’s led the conversation here. “She… laughs at my worst jokes. Like, really laughs. Not in a polite way, but genuinely, like she thinks I’m the funniest person alive, even when I’m barely trying. It’s stupid, really, but it gets me”

“And how does that make you feel?” Vargas leans forward, like she’s zeroing in on something significant.

You chuckle, low and dismissive, waving the question off with your cigarette. “How do you think it makes me feel? It’s… fine. Nice. A bit strange, maybe. I’m not used to being seen like that.” You pause, the weight of that admission lingering in the air between you.

She doesn’t react, doesn’t push; she just lets the moment settle, knowing there’s more.

You sigh, smoke curling up around you, as your mind goes back to other little things—the way she has this weird ritual of picking all the green M&Ms out of the bag and tossing them to you, claiming they’re “bad luck.” How she insists on reading the morning news out loud, in that silly, exaggerated announcer voice, just to make you laugh while you pretend to read emails. Or how she makes you tea at exactly the right temperature, handing you the mug with a grin like she’s just given you a priceless gift. These are things that, on the surface, should be forgettable, the kind of mundane moments that fade. But they don’t, do they? Not with her.

Dr. Vargas’s voice interrupts your reverie, soft but insistent. “You’re smiling”

You realise she’s right; you’re smiling without even meaning to, and it’s a small, stupid smile, the kind that feels too open. You try to erase it, but it’s too late. The vulnerability’s already there, a quiet confession written across your face.

You roll your eyes, more at yourself than at her. “Alright, so what? So she’s… alright, she’s fun. She’s got that energy, you know, that lightness. It’s kind of… refreshing”

The words slip out unbidden, and you feel a pang of something resembling regret. Refreshing. A word that implies something else by omission—that most of your life, most people you’ve known, have been exhausting. The irony isn’t lost on you: someone so completely different from your own brand of detached sarcasm, from your carefully cultivated ennui, has managed to slip under the radar and wedge herself into your carefully controlled life.

Dr. Vargas watches, her silence pressing you forward.

“Look, I don’t think about it too much,” you say, trying to inject a casual note into your tone. “I don’t need to psychoanalyse every smile, every inside joke. I’m not here to have my relationship broken down into neat little psych terms”

“Maybe you should think about it,” Vargas says gently. “Maybe that’s why you’re here”

You scoff, but there’s a softness in the sound, a hint of resignation. Because she’s right, isn’t she? You came here because, as much as you don’t want to admit it, this thing with Alexia has started to matter, in a way that’s both terrifying and strangely compelling. You’ve always prided yourself on staying a step removed, on being a spectator in your own life, observing rather than fully engaging. But with her, you’re finding it harder to keep that distance.

“Fine,” you mutter, leaning back, letting your head rest against the chair, staring up at the ceiling as though the answers might be written there. “Maybe she’s… special”

The words feel strange in your mouth, too vulnerable, too open. You don’t say “special” often, especially not in this context. But there it is, a reluctant admission.

“I mean, it’s not like I’m in love with her,” you continue, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. “She’s great—don’t get me wrong. She’s amazing in bed. I can’t remember the last time someone made me cum so much. And she’s got this thing about her, you know? Like this fire, this intensity. It’s like when she looks at me, she’s looking right through me. And yeah, I guess that’s… intoxicating. But that’s all it is. Right?”

Dr. Vargas nods, a small, subtle gesture. “Why does that scare you?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you watch the smoke dancing away from your cigarette, dissipating into the air, leaving nothing behind but a faint, lingering scent. You think about what it is you’re so afraid of—because there’s something there, something you can’t quite name, a sense that if you let this thing with Alexia continue, it might change you in ways you’re not ready for.

“Because I don’t do… attachment,” you say finally, the words coming out sharper than intended. “I’ve built a life that doesn’t depend on anyone else. And she’s… she’s a complication”

You can feel Vargas watching you, sensing the weight of what you’re not saying, the unspoken truth that this isn’t just about Alexia, that it’s about something deeper, a fear of vulnerability, of losing control. She doesn’t push, though; she just waits, letting the silence do the work for her.

After a long pause, you take a breath, letting your gaze drift to the fern by the window, its leaves glossy and perfect, so meticulously maintained it almost looks fake. You wonder if it’s ever felt the strain of trying to keep everything together, to present a flawless exterior while something more fragile lurks beneath the surface.

“You know,” you say, almost to yourself, “it’s funny. For the longest time, I thought love was just a distraction, a temporary fix for people who couldn’t handle being alone.” You take another drag from your cigarette, exhaling slowly. “But with her, it’s… it’s different. It’s like she makes everything brighter, sharper, like she’s tuned into some frequency I didn’t know existed”

Dr. Vargas doesn’t respond, just nods, letting you continue.

“And the worst part?” You chuckle, a self-deprecating sound. “The worst part is that she’s getting to me. She’s in my head, even when she’s not there. I find myself thinking about her in the middle of the day, wondering what she’s up to, if she’s thinking about me too”

There’s a fragility in the admission, a crack in the armour you’ve built around yourself. And it terrifies you, this sense of letting someone in, of letting them get close enough to matter.

You stub out your cigarette, watching the last curl of smoke dissipate into the air. It feels like a metaphor for something, though you’re not sure what.

Dr. Vargas gives you a small, knowing smile. “Maybe falling in love isn’t as bad as you think it will be,” she says gently.

You shrug, trying to play it off, but there’s a part of you that knows she’s right. Because for all your detachment, all your carefully cultivated distance, there’s something about Alexia that feels like home, like she’s a part of you you didn’t realise was missing.

“Maybe,” you say, the words soft, barely audible.

Love. The word lingers like an uninvited guest. You try to dismiss it, try to laugh it off, but it keeps creeping back in.

#alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader #fcb femeni #fcb femeni x reader #espwnt #espwnt x reader #woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso community

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buckevantommy · 2 days ago

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What about all of this is real? We are.

This is not how they end.

It hasn’t even been a week but it feels like a fucking eternity. It’s not the first time Buck’s been dumped, not the first time someone has walked out on him when he wanted more, but it’s the worst heartache he’s ever felt and he knows– he knows it’s because this isn’t how things are supposed to go for them.

He’s done feeling sorry for himself. He’s not giving up on Tommy, on what they have together.

And he doesn’t think Tommy is done with them, either.

The drive to Tommy’s house isn’t fast but it passes in a blur; between the peak hour traffic and usual gridlock he has plenty of time to ruminate on everything he wants to say, and all the arguments Tommy can throw at him and all the ways Buck can rebut them.

Pulling into the drive, he doesn’t notice the unfamiliar car parked next to Tommy’s truck. He’s walking up the front path and knocking with insistent force before he even registers leaving the jeep. He’s on a mission.

Soon as the door opens Buck is barging his way inside. “You don’t get to decide what’s best for me or how I feel!”

With a resigned, if somewhat bitchy sigh, Tommy mutters, “Come on in,” and closes the door behind him.

“I know how I feel about you and it isn’t some passing infatuation, Tommy– I love you!” He goes harder than he means to, and heavier on the blame, but he thinks he gets the main points across.

Tommy stares at him for a moment, not saying anything. Buck starts getting restless again. If Tommy has nothing to say to that then Buck has plenty more. He gears up to lay the rest of his cards on the table–

When someone clears their throat behind him.

Buck whips around to find a strange man standing in Tommy’s living room, beer bottle in hand.

“Oh.” A pang of something ugly lances through Buck’s heart. “Guess you moved on faster than I did,” he mutters darkly.

The mystery man cracks a humorless laugh. “Not fucking likely.”

Buck doesn’t know what to do with that.

“Sal Deluca,” the man says, stepping forward and extending his hand. Buck takes it, incandescent jealousy and the throbbing heartache that’s made breathing difficult all week making way for a numb sort of recognition. He’s heard mentions of Sal, and the face clicks with some old photos he’s seen in Tommy’s photo albums; because Tommy’s old school like that and has printed photos in physical albums people can flip through. Sal is an old friend of his who moved away years ago. “Worked with this lug back at the 118,” he says. “And we are not boning or romancin’ each other.”

Buck catches Tommy rolling his eyes.

“In fact, I’m in town for the first time in almost a year and what do I find? This idiot throwing away the best thing that’s ever happened to him.”

“Sal.”

Sal ignores Tommy’s warning tone, trains his eyes on Buck, his voice pitched low and sincere. “I don’t even know you, but I know that much.”

He leaves with a clap to Tommy’s shoulder and something muttered that sounds like, “Don’t screw this up again,” and then he’s out the door.

“You should go,” Tommy says quietly, when it’s just the two of them standing there, too far apart.

Now that Buck gets a better look at him, Tommy looks tired. Ragged. Like he hasn’t slept in a week. Buck can relate. “No.”

“Buck–”

“Don’t you dare.” He tries sounding fierce but it just comes out broken. He’s never been ‘Buck’ to Tommy and he sure as hell doesn’t wanna start now. That name means they’re over, and he’s not letting that happen without a fight. “I said, I love you.”

“I heard you.”

“And, what? You don’t believe me? Or you think I’m too dumb to know when I’m in love with someone?”

“I never said that–”

“I’ve been in love before, Tommy– more than once. And just because they were women and you’re the first guy I fell for doesn’t make what I feel any less real!”

“But it doesn’t mean it’s going to last.”

He sounds tired, too. Like maybe he’s been up all night every night thinking about them. Maybe he leaned on Sal like Buck’s been leaning on Eddie; a good friend who lets you pour your heart out until there’s nothing left but a hollow ache in your chest, drained eyes and confusion.

But the worst part is how resigned he seems, like it’s over and there’s nothing to be done about it. There’s a lot Tommy hasn’t thought through properly.

“I may be new to being bisexual, but that doesn’t mean my heart is new. And frankly, it’s pretty insulting of you to assume I don’t know what I’m feeling, or how I’ll feel months or years from now.”

That seems to land like a blow, Tommy’s already creased brow pinching as he looks away. “You don’t have experience with men–”

And that fucking does it. “I’m not a kid, Tommy! I don’t need you to tell me what I need! And I’m not any of those guys who hurt you– doesn’t matter if they were gay, or bi, or whatever!” Buck wants to yell at him some more: call him a coward, an asshole for predicting the worst in people.

Tommy shakes his head. He still doesn’t look at Buck.

“You don’t get to just end this because you’re scared. That’s not how this works– we’re supposed to talk about it.” It’s been a constant in their relationship: talking things through. It’s the first relationship Buck’s had with such an open and honest line of communication, and there’s no way he could go back to anything else.

Tommy looks up, then, and meets Buck’s gaze. His eyes are watery and his words come out choked. “I don’t want to end this.”

“Then don’t,” Buck pleads, daring to close a bit of the distance between them.

Tommy pulls back. Not far, and not much with his feet, more with his shoulders, but it’s enough to make Buck’s heart sink.

Because Tommy is denying himself – like that night before he first kissed Buck and changed his life for the better; he was so hesitant to believe that he was part of their team, too – he’s not letting himself have something good because he doesn’t think he deserves it, doesn’t think it’s real. “We’re not too good to be true.”

“What?”

“You said that, about the parking space,” Buck recalls. He’s run the conversation over in his head a thousand times since that night.

“That’s.. not what I meant.” Tommy seems less convinced by his own words, now.

“Every other relationship I’ve had has fallen apart because I didn’t see the end coming,” Buck admits. “Because we weren’t compatible. And part of me was worried with you, at first, because I’d always been the one who ends up alone.” It’s painful to think about, to think Tommy could be just another in a long line of people Buck wore his heart on his sleeve for but who didn’t want him as much in return. “But you kept proving to me over, and over that you were there for me, and you wanted me around, and you didn’t think I was too much.” Buck has to swallow around the desperate rasp coming through in his voice now. He blinks to keep his vision clear.

There’s something there, then: a look on Tommy’s face telling him plainly that he could never be too much for him, that that’s not what this about. And there’s something else familiar, too: fear. The same glimpse of fear Buck saw that night before Tommy walked out on him. The same kind of fear Buck’s seen in the mirror his whole life.

Tommy’s afraid they won’t last.

Tommy’s afraid he’s not enough.

“Please don’t think like that,” Buck pleads again. “Like there’s an expiration date for us.”

“I can’t help it.”

“Yes, you can!” Buck erupts again, frustrated with how willing Tommy is to just roll over and let their relationship die. “Just believe in us! Tell me what I have to do to get you to believe how serious I am about you– how much I care about you, and see you for who you are, and want all of you for as long as possible.”

Tommy shakes his head, eyes downcast, and Buck can’t take it anymore– he closes the remaining distance between them. Stands toe to toe with Tommy, proximity alone silently demanding he listen to what he has to say.

“Hey,” he says softly, but with that same dogged determination that’s been distilled over the years into something less reckless and more mindful. He curls a finger under Tommy’s chin, gently nudging it up until he looks at him.

There’s armor in place, but Tommy’s peeking through. And he hasn’t moved away. He hasn’t given up, not completely. He needs Buck to fight for them, to know they’re worth fighting for. Maybe then he’ll finally believe they can make it.

“I love you. I’ve been searching my whole life for a love like this, so don’t tell me this isn’t real– I know how I feel,” Buck insists, then calms. “And I think you feel the same.”

“Evan–”

“You don’t get to end this because you’re scared. That’s not how this works. And I’m not giving up on us. So you can fight me, or you can fight for us.”

Tommy exhales a shaky breath, averting his eyes again. Buck can see the tears making them wet, tracking down his cheeks as he ducks his head. He can hear them in the way Tommy’s voice wavers. “You think too highly of me, kid.” It’s not a jab, the name. Tommy’s protecting his vulnerable underbelly.

“Do you trust me?”

Tommy takes a beat. “I want to,” he confesses, quiet in the small space where their bodies don’t touch, could touch but not yet; he’s holding his breath.

Buck braces himself. “Do you love me?” It’s a simple question, one he’s pretty sure he knows the answer to. But those few seconds before Tommy speaks are nerve wracking as hell and long enough for a thread of doubt to try to weave its way back into his mind – the same doubt he’d finally quashed before he jumped in his jeep and drove across town: what if he read this all wrong? What if Tommy doesn’t actually love him? His own breath catches painfully in his lungs; he’s on a precipice, heart balanced for a freefall that could see him plummet to the ground, or.. or spread wings, and.. fly.

Tommy lifts his head, his beautiful eyes rimmed red and making his irises that much bluer by contrast. “Evan, I’m so in love with you,” he breathes out; a sigh of anguish, like truth and painful honesty, airing grievance out into the world so that it might ease the weight sitting on his chest, the kind that makes it hard to breath, hard to exist. “You’ll be the death of me, kid.”

It’s not the first time he’s said that, although the other times were under very different circumstances. But it was always playful, and Buck can see the words for what they are now: a defense mechanism. Buck’s heart aches for him, but Tommy’s admission also sets something aglow in his own chest, something warm and pure and precious. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he promises.

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know it. We’ve both been hurt before– but we don’t need to hurt each other. And, I get it– you were trying to protect yourself when you walked out on me that night.”

Tommy moves to turn away, ends up just shuffling in place. He still wants to be close to Buck.

“Why can’t we just try? ‘Cause if you think you’re the only one who’d be heartbroken if this doesn’t work out, you’re wrong.” He’s realized some things this past week: he doesn’t adhere to whatever bullshit stereotype there is about men who are bi or people who come to terms with their queerness later in life – he doesn’t need to play the field or experiment or whatever crap Tommy tried to pass off as reason enough to justify his fears. He also realized that he loves Tommy – more than he’s ever loved anyone, more than he thought was possible to love someone but maybe always secretly hoped was in his future, even when that dark voice in his head tried to convince him no one would ever love him as much.

But Tommy does. Tommy loves him so much the thought of Buck breaking up with him scared him into ending things before he could get his own heart broken. But what he feels for Tommy isn’t some kind of puppy love or something he’ll grow out of or get bored of; it’s real, and Tommy thinking he’s not enough, that he’s not forever-kind-of-love material doesn’t dissuade Buck any; he’s intimately familiar with issues of self worth.

Whatever insecurities Tommy has about being someone’s last love doesn’t apply to Buck. “You’re enough, for me. You’re everything, actually. Everything I ever wanted and more I didn’t know I could want.”

A heavy moment passes between them where Buck sees his words sink in. They seem to weigh Tommy down, even more.

He wants so badly to reach out, to speak the words into his mouth, press them into his skin until Tommy can’t deny how real they are because he’ll feel them with every breath, every movement.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Tommy admits, voice soft and more vulnerable than Buck’s ever heard it. “I can’t lose you, Evan. If you ask me to try, and then–” he cuts himself off, shakes the thought away, tries to barricade himself back behind his armor.

Maybe Buck can’t fully understand Tommy’s fear because he hasn’t experienced what he has, but he knows what it’s like to try and fail, to love and be left. But the two of them are on the same page this time – for everything that matters – not reading from separate books like Buck and all of his exes. “Did I ever tell you about Thomas and Mitchell?”

“Um, no. I don’t think so. Friends of yours?” Buck can see Tommy’s still raw, still hiding, but he goes along with it, gives him the opening, like he’s always done.

“No, they uh.” Buck swallows, the memory still affects him even all these years later. “They were an elderly gay couple I met on a call a few years back. Well, I met Thomas. Sat with him after he watched his husband die.”

Tommy tries to look unimpressed with having to listen to a sad story – he’s more of a romcom guy; lighthearted storylines and happy endings, Buck knows – but his face crumples a bit in sympathy.

“He said, Mitchell was his heart, and that they wanted to go together. I could see how heartbroken he was, and the thought of loving someone like that and then losing them? I couldn’t imagine what that must be like.”

Tommy doesn’t say it but Buck can almost hear his gently snarky tone: we’re not dead, Evan. He can see the words held back behind the purse of Tommy’s lips.

“I told him I hoped to find a love like that some day. And he told me something I’ve carried with me ever since.” Tommy searches his face, and Buck feels the truth of Old Thomas’ words in this moment. “He said: you don’t find it, you make it.”

Tommy blinks. “Are you saying you want to grow old with me?”

Buck can’t help his smile; it’s the first real one he’s had because of Tommy all week– one not tinged in pain and regret. There’s the Tommy he knows and loves. “I’m saying, I want to make it with you. Because these past six months have been the best of my life, Tommy. And I realized it’s because I found you– my person– and I want to make a future with you.”

And there’s that tentative smile – the same one Tommy wore on their makeup coffee date all those months ago when he gave Buck a second chance.

They deserve a second chance, now. They deserve to try.

“I can’t move in with you,” Tommy settles on, and it sounds like a but, like: I can’t move in with you, but I want to be with you.

Buck shakes his head before Tommy even finishes. “That’s okay, we don’t have to live together.” He knows the unspoken yet doesn’t go unnoticed for the way Tommy’s narrowed eyes assess him. There’s no use hiding it. “I do want to live with you, some day. I want to build a life with you. But, we can take it slow.”

“I don’t think ‘slow’ is in your repertoire.” It’s a joke. Tommy’s smile is less fragile, his armor lowered.

Buck smiles again, hopeful; Tommy’s coming out of hiding.

He reaches out, fingertips grazing Tommy’s, his movements unhurried. Tommy lets him tangle their fingers together.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, “Okay.”

Buck’s falling, diving, soaring. And he’s not alone. “Would a kiss be out of the question right now?”

That crinkly smile that Buck loves so much finally makes its return, creasing around Tommy’s eyes like rays of sunshine. He didn’t realize just how much he missed the sight of Tommy’s joy until he’s faced with it head on, bright and gorgeous. He feels nourished in its presence, especially knowing he’s the cause of it. He thinks it’s okay to be a little proud of that.

Tommy kisses him. Oh– this.. he’s missed this: the press of Tommy’s lips on his, his stubble scraping against Buck’s skin– catching on Buck’s own scruff. He slides a hand up Tommy’s chest, feeling the warm, toned bulk of him. Hooks his fingers around Tommy’s neck to pull him in more, bring their bodies flush, slip his tongue into Tommy’s mouth and get a proper taste of him.

One of Tommy’s large hands fits tentatively to Buck’s hip, one last show of hesitance. Buck disentangles their fingers and covers both of Tommy’s hands, moving them to rest heavier, grip him firmly, with no room for uncertainty.

“No more running away,” Buck murmurs, nose brushing alongside Tommy’s. He feels more than sees Tommy shake his head.

“No more running,” he agrees, following with another lingering kiss that’s begging to be deepened.

Buck breaks it to add: “We’re in this together.”

Tommy nods. “I’m with you.”

It’s not how he thought their first love confessions would go, but they’ll be stronger for it, he knows that much. And he knows Tommy loves him. And Tommy knows Buck loves him in return. And that’s a pretty good starting place for a second chance.

#bucktommy #fixit #fanfiction #tevan kinkley firepilot #evantommy #the episode that shall not be named #.txt #quick note: while the breakup is recognised in this (bc i fix it) the abby bs is not. we don't recognise that shit in this house #also: yes the title is from that destiel scene :3 #i apologise for the excessive use of the em dash and italics. i was vibin.

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zyafics-recs · 1 day ago

Text

reblogging comment review by @zyafics

i’m alive i’m here (i’m fulfilling my duties bc damn a bitch went offline for 9 days and is behind on everything 😭) ⬇️

You drifted to your room, collapsing onto the small bed. The familiar scent of home did little to soothe the ache in your chest. It didn’t feel right. It never did, only when your brother was around, but now, not even that thought gave you faith as you closed your eyes, picturing Rafe’s face. His smile, his touch, his voice – they were all painfully vivid.

ugh i miss ur writing sm i love how this scene felt “slow” like u were navigating this lagged moment with her because nothing felt real

As you both settled in, the familiar warmth of his presence was a small comfort, a reminder that despite everything, you were still here together.

i don’t give a shit the one thing i love more than romance stories is sibling relationships 😭 they’re my heart n soul

"He’s facing several charges, but the severity of his sentence could depend on his cooperation. If he agrees to testify against his father, the authorities might offer him a deal."

i fear he won’t do it 😭😃

“You’re too good, y’know that? Personally, I don’t give a fuck if he dies.”

jj 😭😭😭 leave her alone 😭😭😭

"Complicated? Complicated is being stuck on an island, wondering if your sister is alive or dead. Complicated is dealing with the fact that the guy who put us through hell gets to play hero for a day and suddenly he's got your sympathy."

screaming into my pillow ur dialogues r too good

A carbon copy of your mother, your punishment.

okay pause ✋🏼 not the thematic parallel to abusive and neglectful parental figures i cannot handle this

You were just trying to find a shred of humanity in someone who had shown you a glimpse of it.

THIS LINE EATS SO HARD 😭😭😭

“Is that what you tell yourself to make you feel better?”

my jj would swing at ur jj for the way ur talking to ur sister

“Because I want to!” You screamed even though you hadn’t meant to. Tears of frustration fell as you raised your head, “And as far as I’m concerned, I’m still my own person and I can make my own decisions.”

PERIOD!!!!

“He was good to me.”

girl *I* held my breath

Sarah never pushed you to talk, never demanded explanations. Instead, she just sat with you, shared a laugh or two, and let the silence speak for itself. It was a strange comfort; one you hadn’t realized you needed until it was there.

i love ur sarah sm mines a bitchhh 🙂‍↕️✋🏼

“No. Uh, a friend, I guess—” You were about to ramble, not too certain of what to say, but settled for, “Can you tell him Maybank’s calling?”

WHY DO I FEEL LIKE HIS PUNK ASS IS GONNA BE LIKE “i don’t know a maybank”

"I’m sorry. Mr. Cameron has requested not to speak with you," she said. "Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

YOU PUNK ASS BITCH

You screamed until your throat was raw, until you had nothing left to give.

no i didn’t (personally cannot scream LOL)

Six months had passed since that day

what the actual fuck

You had spent the afternoon alone, lounging in the living room with a half-read book and a broken fan that did little to ease the stifling heat.

such good imagery god i love this

Your words caught in your throat as you saw him standing there.

my heart is pounding omg

“You had six months.”

YIKES 😬

You looked at him, searching for any sign of deceit. His eyes were clear, more focused than you had ever seen them. “Why should I believe you?”

i’m shaking rn pls give a girl some respite

Rafe looked offended, eyes zeroing in on your lips before his gaze met yours. That's when you felt it again, “I never lied to you.”

i’m throwing punches into my pillow rn biting my teeth ohmygod

Rafe’s expression softened, and he reached out tentatively, his hand stopping inches from your arm. “I’m sorry, baby.”

go away demon 👹 @ gigi

It’s only then, when your brain cleared slightly that you noticed he looked different. His hair had been buzzed, his skin looked tanner than the last time you’d seen him, he looked healthier.

oh we’re in season 3 now ok

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

i’m literally scraping my fingernails against chalkboards rn pls stop this madness 🛑🛑🛑

Rafe paused in the doorway, his back to you. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried clearly through the thick air. "I don’t regret it," he repeated, his shoulders tensing as he spoke.

gonna die ok 🪦

You had tried so hard to suppress your feelings, to deny the depth of your connection with him. But this…wasn’t something that could be easily forgotten or ignored. You had been so afraid to admit it, fearing that acknowledging would destroy you.

You were in love with Rafe Cameron.

oh my fucking god u did it again

final thoughts — ohmygod. i dont know why i kept putting off reading this? i think a part of me was scared because the literal content warning was “aka angst” and i said no. anyways, first and foremost u done it again gigi. what i was so impressed about this chapter was ur ability to create such flowing, strong and long dialogues. the one between jj and reader i read twice because i can’t believe how naturally-paced this story goes through that u don’t even realized it’s chunks on chunks of dialogues. that’s such an incredible feat and knowing now that ur from europe and english is probably a second language? the way u select the right words at the right time is an talent i strive to have. i’m like re-editing in my head being like “would i come up with that?” and being like “yeah i would’ve ended it there (bc i don’t know how to elongate a scene) but gigi knew how to keep it going.” gigi, when i tell u that’s one of the most impressive skills i’ve ever seen in my life i’m so serious. also, the way you structure and keep a consistent flow of emotions. the beginning of the story is stretched out in a way that i cinematically imagined a lagged moment. yk how in euphoria where it drags a scene from one part to the next? like that. and then the ending, when i said i was shaking, i was truly shaking. u had my heart clutched in ur hand and u just SQUEEZED IT 😭 💔 the way i felt everything and was so scared and panicking and my eyes wanted to read ahead because i wanted to know what happens but i also wanted to enjoy the writing 😭 u got me doing mental gymnastics trying to figure out how to read 😃 i thoroughly enjoyed this to the very end and ngl, i am so scared to read the next chapter i think imma hold off for a min…

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18) - five

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛"

warnings: angst <3333333 for everyone <33; might need some editing bc im too tired to check everything but yeah

word count: 7.7k

The ride back to home was a blur. The plane ride, the ferry.

Everything.

Every mile that took you further from Rafe felt like a wound being reopened. The police officers tried to engage you in conversation, but your responses were monosyllabic at best. They eventually gave up, letting you stare out the window in silence.

When you finally arrived, the sight of the familiar streets of The Cut did little to comfort you. Your house felt alien, a place you barely recognized. The officers escorted you inside, their presence a reminder of the reality you were returning to.

“Your brother and your friends were rescued from a remote island a while ago. He was informed of your whereabouts an hour ago, he’ll be here soon.”

Their words barely registered.

You nodded numbly; your mind still stuck between the events that had unfolded just two days ago.

What kind of sister had you turned into? Barely phased over the fact your little brother was thankfully alive and well? You were supposed to protect him.

Sensing your detachment, they exchanged a look before retreating to the porch, giving you some semblance of privacy.

You wandered through the house, your steps heavy. Each room felt like a snapshot from another life. The couch where you and your brother used to bicker over TV shows when Luke spent days doing God knows what, the kitchen table where meals were shared and stories were told, only between you two– they all seemed like relics of a past you could no longer touch.

Things would never be the same, you knew that.

That must be your punishment.

A soft knock on the door jolted you from your thoughts. You sat up, heart racing. Your body was still on high alert, every little noise sent shivers down your skin. The blasting of the gunshots was still deeply rooted in your brain. It hadn’t even been three days.

The old wooden door creaked open, and your brother's face appeared, bright blue eyes wide with concern. He rushed to your side, pulling you into a tight embrace nearly knocking the air out of your lungs.

"Holy shit,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “Holy shit.”

You clung to him, the dam breaking as tears streamed down your face. The sobs wracked your body as JJ held you like you used to hold him. It devastated you. It felt so disappointing. He was never supposed to be the one carrying the family burden, you were. After what felt like an eternity, you pulled back, wiping your tears. Your brother sat beside you, his eyes searching your face.

“You’re not hurt?”

You took a shaky breath, trying to find the words, but all you managed to blurt out was a small “No. You?”

“No,” JJ nodded, lips pursed into a tight line as if he was figuring out what to say next, “They told me about the shooting.”

Your heart sank further at his words. You had hoped to avoid talking about it, at least for a little while. But he was watching you like he used to when you would act as a human shield for him, you couldn't brush it aside.

“I’m fine, I promise.” You reached out and squeezed his hand. "What about you? How did you get off that island?"

JJ let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head.

“It was a mess. We were stuck there for weeks, trying to find a way out. Pope and Kie kept us sane, but it was rough. We finally managed to signal a passing boat, and they rescued us. But the whole time, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

You squeezed his hand tighter, guilt and gratitude warring within you.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm so sorry, JJ."

He shook his head vehemently. "No, don't apologize. None of this is your fault. I—I should’ve saved you on that ship, okay? It’s on me, not you.”

You’d cry again if you didn’t feel like your body was about to collapse, “You did everything you could. We both did. It's not your fault."

“The one time we changed places, and I couldn’t do it.”

"Jay—"

"I should have been there for you," He insisted, "I hated it."

It was your fault, not his. You pulled him into another hug, trying to convey with your touch what words couldn't express. The weight of your shared guilt and pain was almost suffocating, but at least you were together. You felt his body shaking, whether, from exhaustion or emotion, you couldn't tell.

When you finally let go, you took a deep breath, hoping to find some semblance of strength.

"We’re gonna be okay.”

JJ nodded, though you could see the doubt lingering in his eyes. "I know. It's just... hard."

"I get it. But we're both here, we're alive.”

A small, sad smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

The two of you sat in silence for a while, it was a fragile peace, but it was something. The familiar sound of the waves crashing against the shore outside the window was a reminder that life continued, even when it felt like your world had stopped.

"Do you think things will ever go back to normal?" JJ's voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

If he only knew. The one time you managed to close your eyes and sleep you were plagued by nightmares of JJ finding out what you’d done. About you and Rafe. It made you want to scratch your skin raw.

“Yeah.”

You could see the exhaustion in his eyes, a mirror of your own fatigue. You knew you both needed rest, but the thought of sleep was daunting. The nightmares felt too close, the darkness too suffocating.

"Let's try to get some sleep," You suggested softly, though you weren't sure you could follow your own advice. "We both need it, ‘kay?”

JJ nodded, but you could see the wariness in his eyes. He laid down next to you, the bed barely accommodating the both of you.

As you both settled in, the familiar warmth of his presence was a small comfort, a reminder that despite everything, you were still here together.

The minutes ticked by in silence, the only sound being the rhythmic crashing of the waves outside. You focused on that, letting it be your anchor. Slowly, the tension in your body started to ease, the weight of the day’s events beginning to lift, even if just a little.

"Do you remember the first time we went out on the boat alone?" JJ's voice was a whisper in the darkness, a fragile thread connecting the past to the present.

A small smile tugged at your lips. "Yeah. You insisted you knew how to steer, and we almost ended up crashing into that sandbank."

He chuckled softly. "We were so scared. But you figured it out. You always did."

The memory was a bittersweet reminder of simpler times, a time when your biggest worry was navigating the boat, not navigating the chaos your lives had become. When you weren’t a complete fuck up.

Exhaustion finally began to overtake you, your eyes growing heavy. JJ's breathing evened out beside you, a comforting rhythm that lulled you closer to sleep. You wanted to tell him everything, but you couldn’t. Not without losing him in the process.

Sleep came slowly, but when it did, it was deep and dreamless. Completely void, much like yourself these days.

Morning came too soon, sunlight filtering through the curtains and casting a warm glow over the room.

You blinked awake, disoriented for a moment before the events of the past days came rushing back. JJ was still asleep beside you, his face peaceful in repose.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, not wanting to wake him. The officer who comforted you after the shooting promised to call as soon as he got an update on Rafe’s condition. And so far? No call.

You wondered if the hospital or the police had contacted Sarah. She was Rafe’s closest family, aside from Wheezie who was still a kid, and Ward who was a sought-out criminal. It made sense that they would reach out to her.

If you rang the hospital, they wouldn’t disclose a thing, you weren’t family, and it wasn’t like you could ask Sarah. She would know something was wrong the moment you asked about Rafe. It was risky.

The kitchen felt eerily quiet, the early morning light casting long shadows on the walls. You made yourself a cup of coffee, the warmth a small comfort against the chill that had settled in your bones.

Sitting at the table, you sipped slowly, trying to come up with some sort of tangible plan. You wanted to know if he was okay, needed to know, but every option seemed fraught with risk.

Your new phone buzzed on the table, jolting you from your thoughts.

You picked it up, heart pounding as you saw an unknown number flashing on the screen. You hesitated for a moment before answering.

“Hello?”

“This is Officer Thompson. I promised I’d keep you updated on Rafe Cameron’s condition.”

You closed your eyes, thanking God for finally giving you some piece of mind, “Yes, thank you.”

“He’s stable,” Officer Thompson continued. “The surgery went well, and he’s in recovery. It’ll be a while before he’s fully back on his feet, but he’s out of immediate danger.”

The knot in your stomach loosened slightly. “Thank you for letting me know.”

There was a pause on the other end.

“I know this is difficult, but you should focus on your own recovery too. There’s a chance the feds will contact you, they’re building their case on Ward. What happened to you is, unfortunately, considered a minor crime compared to everything he’s done, so maybe you’ll get some peace. If not, you might have to testify against him.”

The idea of having to testify against Ward made you uncomfortable to no end. Reliving those moments in front of a courtroom full of strangers seemed unbearable.

“And Rafe? What are his charges?”

"He’s facing several charges, but the severity of his sentence could depend on his cooperation. If he agrees to testify against his father, the authorities might offer him a deal."

A deal. It was a slim chance, but it was something. You hated yourself for the weight that left your shoulders. He should be locked up, you knew that, back then you prayed for the day he paid for what he did and yet here you were, holding on to any possibility of freedom.

You thanked Officer Thompson again and ended the call, setting your phone down with a shaky hand. The coffee had grown cold, but you didn't have the energy to make another cup. You sat there for a long moment, staring into space, trying to gather your thoughts.

The sound of footsteps drew your attention, and you turned to see JJ standing in the doorway, his hair tousled and eyes still heavy with sleep.

“Who was that?” He asked, his voice still groggy.

“Uh—Officer Thompson. He was at the scene the other day and told me he’d keep me updated.”

JJ tilted his head, his messy bed hair following suit, “Updated on what?”

“Rafe’s condition,” You replied, the words feeling heavy on your tongue. It was a half-lie. At least you were giving him something.

JJ stopped in his tracks, “And you care because…?”

“For closure, I guess.”

JJ’s gaze softened slightly as he walked over to the table, pulling out a chair and sitting across from you.

“You’re too good, y’know that? Personally, I don’t give a fuck if he dies.”

You winced inwardly. "JJ, you can't just say stuff like that.”

He leaned back in his chair, brows furrowed. "Why not? After everything he’s done, he deserves whatever he gets."

You couldn't argue with that, but part of you still felt the need to defend Rafe. He saved your life.

“He’s still a human being, okay?”

JJ scoffed, shaking his head. "Barely.”

You didn’t know why you suddenly felt so angry, so defensive. But it made its way up your body until your lips were moving again, practically spitting the words out.

“He saved my life.”

Your brother stared at you like you were speaking another language, “Saved your life? Are you serious? It’s his fault you were there in the first place!”

“He chose to help me. And I can't just forget that."

JJ ran a hand through his hair, clearly agitated.

"This is insane. One good deed doesn't erase all the bad he's done."

You reached for his back, “I know that.”

He pulled away from your touch, your fingers only brushing against his shirt, “Do you?”

His retreat felt like a knife to your heart. JJ had always been your rock, the one person you could count on. Seeing him look at you with such disbelief and anger made you feel more isolated than ever. He looked at you like you’d imagined in your nightmares, but the real thing felt ten times worse.

"I’m not saying he’s a good person. I’m just saying… it’s complicated."

He paced around the kitchen table.

"It's not sympathy," You insisted, your voice rising despite your best efforts to stay collected. You never raised your voice at him. "It's just... I don't know. I saw a different side of him. Maybe he can change. Or at least help put Ward away."

JJ stopped and spun around to face you, his eyes blazing. "And what if he doesn't? What if this is all part of some twisted game for him? People like Rafe don't just change, okay? They manipulate, they hurt, they destroy."

“JJ—"

“You sound exactly like her.”

You didn’t have to ask to know what he meant. Suddenly your entire soul felt like it was being drained out and slashed into pieces.

You spent a lifetime hearing it, from Luke.

A carbon copy of your mother, your punishment.

“Don’t say that.”

“That’s exactly the type of bullshit she would spit out about dad, wasn’t it? And look where it got her.”

Memories of your mother flooded back. The excuses, the false hope, and the endless cycle of pain and disappointment. You weren’t her, were you? Holding out for a man who was never going to change, who would only inflict pain upon your life? It couldn’t be. You spent your entire life making sure you were nothing like her.

It wasn’t fair.

You weren’t making excuses for Rafe as your mother did for Luke. You were just trying to find a shred of humanity in someone who had shown you a glimpse of it. You stood there, feeling the weight of his accusation like a leaden cloak.

How could he think you were blind to Rafe’s faults? You knew them all too well. Standing there in the kitchen, under the harsh morning light, you felt exposed, vulnerable, and fiercely defensive.

“I’m not her,” You finally managed to say, your voice cracking, “I’m not defending him like she did.”

“Is that what you tell yourself to make you feel better?”

Your eyes narrow into slits, “I’m not doing this with you, not right now.”

You turned away, your fists clenched at your sides as you fought to regain your composure.

He followed you hot on your trail, "Don't walk away from me.”

"I'm not defending him," You insisted, your back still to him, “I’m just trying to understand, okay?”

“Understand what? Jesus, Rafe is who he is.”

"And maybe he can change," You shot back, the words spilling out despite the tightening knot in your chest. "Maybe he saved my life because he wants to change."

"He's manipulating you," JJ retorted, his jaw clenched. "Just like he always does. You went through some traumatic shit together, but that doesn't mean you owe him anything."

You stopped dead in your tracks, turning to face him again. Your head was tingling, the headache already forming itself, and you felt hot all-over.

“Some traumatic shit?” You repeated, “Are you fucking serious?”

JJ raised both his hands, tangling them in his hair in frustration, “You almost died, and now you're here defending the guy who put you in that position?"

The accusation stung. You felt the heat rise in your chest. You hated fighting with your brother. You were letting your feelings for Rafe get between the two of you.

He shook his head, disappointment oozing from him in waves, "Good luck with that. Just don't expect me to sit here and act like everything's okay."

You blinked away the dryness in your eyes, "I'm not asking you to. Can't you see that maybe things aren't as black and white as they seem?"

“All I know is what he's done to us, to you."

"And what about what he did for me?" You shot back, the words bitter on your tongue.

“And what did he do exactly?" Your lips parted to speak, but words continued to spill from his mouth, “What did you do?”

You gave no reply, unblinking, short breaths escaping you. His accusation lingered in the air, challenging you to defend the indefensible. The truth was there, clawing at your mind, but you couldn't bring yourself to voice it.

Not to JJ, not yet.

"I don't expect you to understand," You finally said, voice strained, "But I’m not turning my back on him.”

JJ's eyes narrowed; frustration etched on his face. "Why?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but the words seemed to evaporate. For a moment, the kitchen was filled with nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing and the instant regret that filled your bones.

Finally, JJ spoke, his voice low and strained. "Fine. Do what you want."

You watched as he turned away, his shoulders tense with anger or disappointment – perhaps both. His footsteps echoed loudly in the quiet kitchen as he stormed out, leaving you standing there, feeling raw and exposed. It was the first time you had ever raised your voice at him, and the aftermath left a bitter taste in your mouth.

Alone in the kitchen, you sank into your chair again, your energy completely drained. Part of you wanted to run after him, to explain, to make him understand. But he never would. None of them would.

Because unlike you, they weren’t stupid enough to sympathize with Rafe Cameron.

Sitting there, you couldn't shake the feeling that you'd crossed a line, one you might not be able to uncross. You stared at your hands, still trembling from the argument, and let out a long, shaky breath. What was it about Rafe that had such a grip on you?

You heard the front door open and close, a clear sign that JJ had left the house. Maybe it was for the best, giving you both time to cool down. You got up to pour the coffee down the sink, the sound of the liquid swirling away a tiny comfort.

You spent the entire day locked away in your room, avoiding any kind of social interaction, or the sun. Your phone buzzed again, and for a moment, you considered ignoring it.

You picked it up, expecting another call from Officer Thompson, but the name on the screen made your heart skip a beat.

Sarah.

With a deep breath, you answered. “Hey sweets.”

“Hi,” Sarah’s voice was almost unsure. “JJ and the police called earlier, told us what happened. Are you okay? I’m on the mainland with John B, we’re taking the next ferry back home.”

You closed your eyes, somewhat relieved that you wouldn’t have to face them yet.

“Yeah, I’m…Managing. I'm okay.”

“Good, that’s good,” There was a pause, and then she asked, “Have you heard anything about...Rafe?”

Had the hospital not called her? The question hung in the air. You had, but you didn’t know how much to share.

“He’s stable. The surgery went well.”

Sarah sighed, “Good. That’s good to hear I guess.”

“Sarah,” You began, hesitating. “Did the hospital call you?”

There was a long silence on the other end before she replied, “Yeah. But I…I don’t know. I just couldn’t bring myself to answer. I knew it was coming after the police called. But—Yeah, it’s just, it’s really hard.”

You didn’t know what to say, “I’m so sorry.”

“You’re the only one not giving me shit about still…caring? I guess. He’s my brother, you know? And I want to hate him, so bad, but I can’t.”

"I get it, Sarah. He's your brother. It's okay to feel conflicted."

"Yeah," She exhaled heavily, "But I don't know how to deal with it. He's done so much harm, and yet. I keep hoping there's still some good left in him. I know there's no hope for my dad, but Rafe..."

She had seen him before Ward turned him into this. She still carried the guilt of reveling in their father’s approval, the clear favoritism that she never stood against for her brother, even though she could see her father’s fingers printed on Rafe’s cheeks.

Her words echoed your inner struggle. You understood her—how love and hate could coexist in such a tangled mess when it came to family.

“He was good to me.”

There was a long pause.

You expected her to hang up on you, to call you a list of degrading names, all of which you felt you deserved. She had suffered deeply at the hands of her brother— the same brother you had come to care for, despite knowing the full extent of what he’d done.

But you underestimated her.

Caught between your own anxiety and the dread of truth being exposed, you momentarily forgot just how compassionate and noble Sarah was. She possessed a goodness that mirrored your own—loyal, forgiving, and endlessly understanding.

Both lovers and fighters.

"I know, the feds told me about the shooting," Sarah finally said, "And I think that's what makes it so hard. Picturing him as the same monster from before was a lot easier.”

You nodded even though she couldn't see you, feeling a deep ache in your chest. "Yeah."

"I don't know what to do," She confessed, her vulnerability cutting through the distance between you. "Part of me wants to see him, to talk to him. And part of me wants to never look at him again."

"I think... whatever you decide, it's okay," You offered tentatively, not entirely sure if your words were comforting or just empty platitudes.

“John B disagrees.”

“Yeah, so does JJ.”

"I appreciate you telling me about Rafe," Sarah continued, her voice softer now, more vulnerable. "I... I don't think I could have handled hearing it from anyone else."

You felt a pang of guilt. "I'm sorry you had to hear it like this, sweetheart. I wish things were different."

"We all do," she replied softly. "Thank you.”

“Of course," You said, "Take care of yourself.”

"You too. We'll see you soon, okay?"

"Yeah. See you soon."

The call ended, and you stared at your phone for a long moment, the screen dark and lifeless, much like yourself lately.

You spent the next few days in a haze, avoiding JJ and the rest of your friends as much as possible. You’d only seen Sarah. Somehow her presence didn’t make you feel as nervous as you thought. It weirdly calmed you down. You’d always been close, ever since she joined the group, but now you felt like she was the only one who understood your point of view.

You knew Pope and Kie wouldn’t, and you couldn’t blame them.

The small house felt like a prison. It wasn’t until a week later, as you sat on the beach watching the waves crash against the shore, that your phone buzzed with a message. It was the officer: "Rafe’s awake."

Your heart leaped into your throat. You still hadn’t told anyone the full extent of what had happened between you and him, and you weren’t sure you ever could. They knew he was in the hospital, that you two had gotten caught in a shooting, that he’d somehow saved your life. That was it. But now, with him awake…You didn’t know what to do.

With trembling hands, you dialed the number the officer had provided. After a few rings, someone answered.

"Hello, this is St. Michael Hospital. How can I help you?"

You snap out of your daze, "Hi, I'm calling to check on a patient, Rafe Cameron. I was told he’s awake."

There was a pause, the sound of keyboard keys clicking. "Yes, Mr. Cameron is awake. Are you a family member?"

“No. Uh, a friend, I guess—” You were about to ramble, not too certain of what to say, but settled for, “Can you tell him Maybank’s calling?”

“Okay, just a minute please.”

The hold music was the only thing keeping you centered on the moment, each note heightening your anxiety. When the nurse returned, her tone was pitiful, and you knew then that you weren’t going to like her answer.

"I’m sorry. Mr. Cameron has requested not to speak with you," she said. "Is there anything else I can assist you with?"

You wanted to hurl the phone into the ocean, plunge your head underwater, and only resurface when the ringing in your ears ceased.

What the hell?

You had spent weeks on edge, consumed by thoughts of him, hoping he would survive, praying for him despite not believing in that sort of thing. You didn't have it in you to put up a fight.

"No, that's all. Thank you." You ended the call and stared at your phone.

Rafe didn’t want to speak with you.

You felt foolish, as if you were just now glimpsing the bigger picture and recognizing that maybe he didn’t care after all. Perhaps, on the island, you were the one thing keeping him grounded, but now? Now you were back to being a nobody, just a pogue.

It felt like everything you had shared was for nothing.

Had you imagined it? No, you knew you hadn’t.

Rafe had kissed you and touched you with the tenderness of a lover, as if you were precious and any rough movement might break you.

The moments you had shared, the way he had saved your life—maybe they didn’t mean as much to him as they did to you. The bond you thought you had formed with Rafe was, perhaps, a desperate attempt to find something good in the chaos.

The waves crashed against the shore, the sound a distant roar as you sat on the sand, a storm brewing inside. You tried to hold it together, to keep the facade of normalcy for a little longer, but it was getting harder with each passing day. This felt like it was the final straw.

Without warning, a scream ripped from your throat, raw and unfiltered. It echoed across the empty beach, a primal release of everything you had been bottling up.

The anger, the confusion, the hurt—it all came pouring out in that one moment. Tears streamed down your face, mixing with the salty sea breeze.

You hadn’t cried properly in weeks.

You screamed until your throat was raw, until you had nothing left to give. The sun cast long shadows on the sand, the beach deserted except for you. Collapsing back onto the sand, you let the tears flow freely.

There was no one to judge you, no one to see you fall apart. You’d spent a lifetime pulling yourself together, it was only fair you finally got to breathe properly. When the tears subsided, you wiped your face with the back of your hand and took a shuddering breath. The tightness in your chest began to ease, replaced by a hollow ache.

You were many things, but none of them were weak and yet...It was almost unbearable, the way your mind replayed every interaction, every look, every word, searching for signs you might have missed, clues that would have warned you not to get attached.

The sound of footsteps in the sand pulled you from your thoughts.

You turned to see JJ approaching. Your heart sank; you weren’t ready to face him after the argument. He sat down next to you, silent for a moment as he followed your gaze out to the horizon.

When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you expected.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

You nodded, unsure of what to say.

“I’m sorry for what I said about Mom,” he continued, his tone filled with regret. “I shouldn’t have compared you to her. That wasn’t fair.”

You swallowed hard, the tension easing slightly from your shoulders. “It’s okay, JJ. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“I did, and I didn’t,” he admitted. “I just... I don’t want to see you get hurt. I don’t trust him, and I hate that you’ve been caught up in all this.”

“He doesn’t want to talk to me.”

He glanced at you, eyebrow raised. “What do you mean?”

“I called the hospital. They said he’s awake, but he doesn’t want to speak with me.”

Your brother frowned, his protective instincts flaring up. “That fucking asshole. After everything—”

You shook your head, cutting him off gently. “Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe he’s right.”

JJ’s expression softened, and he reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself. You did nothing wrong.”

A lump formed in your throat, but you nodded, trying to believe his words. “I just... I thought there was more to it. That maybe he could change.”

“People like Rafe... it’s hard to change.”

“Yeah.”

“But that doesn’t mean you’re wrong for wanting to see the good in him.”

He spoke with such gentleness and wisdom. You forgot he wasn’t a kid anymore. That he’d also done his fair share of growing up way too fast.

You leaned into his touch, “I know.”

“We’ll get through this,” JJ said firmly. “Together. You and me, like always.”

“Love you.”

“Love you too.”

As the sun began to set, casting a warm glow over the beach, you and JJ sat there in silence. The waves continued to crash against the shore, a reminder that life moved forward, even when it felt like everything was falling apart.

Maybe things would never go back to the way they were, but you had your brother, your friends, and a resilience you hadn’t known you possessed.

⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ⋆ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Six months had passed since that day.

Life had settled into a fragile semblance of normalcy. The days were longer now, summer heat pressing down on The Cut, making the air thick and heavy. You had spent the afternoon alone, lounging in the living room with a half-read book and a broken fan that did little to ease the stifling heat.

You were lost in your book when a loud, insistent banging on the door jolted you from your reverie. Few people would knock with such urgency.

The forceful banging on the door didn’t stop and you jolted upright.

Without thinking, you got up and flung the door open, irritation flaring. "What the f—"

Your words caught in your throat as you saw him standing there.

"Rafe?" You blurted out. You immediately tried to close the door in his face, but he was quick. His hand shot out, holding it open, "Are you kidding me?" You hissed, pushing harder against the door.

"Maybank—"

"If you don't get off my property, I swear to fucking God—"

"Wait!" Rafe's voice was strained, his hand trembling as he held the door open. "Just listen for a second."

You glared at him, every instinct telling you to push harder, to shut him out. But something in his eyes—fear, desperation, a flicker of the Rafe you once knew—gave you pause.

The last time you saw him, he was bleeding out and terrifyingly pale.

The last update you had on him was from Sarah, months ago. He had left the hospital and kept sporadic contact, reaching out to her only every few weeks.

You never asked her about his well-being or what he was doing; despite guessing that he was cooperating with the police. At least you hoped he was.

You were determined not to care anymore.

He leaned his weight against the doorframe, “You look good.”

You were going to slap the lack of common sense out of him.

You scoffed, not letting your guard down. “What are you doing here?”

He looked down, struggling to find the words as he scratched the back of his head, “I... I needed to see you. To talk.”

“And I need you to crawl back to whatever hole you just creeped out of, have a good day.”

You tried to push the door shut again, but his grip tightened. “Please, just give me a minute.”

“You had six months.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I was— It’s messed up, okay? I’m still working with the feds. I was losing it. Still am, probably. But I need to explain. Please, Maybank, just a minute.”

You hesitated the anger and hurt battling against the small, lingering part of you that still cared.

Finally, you stepped back, letting the door open just enough for him to enter.

“Talk,” you said, your voice icy.

Rafe stepped inside, looking around your small living room as if seeing it for the first time, which you now realized he'd never been in your house.

He turned to face you, his expression earnest. “I didn’t know what to say. I felt—“, He took a deep breath, cheeks puffing, “Ashamed. I don’t know.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, keeping a safe distance between you.

“Ashamed? You’ve done a lot of things to be ashamed of. You can’t just show up after six months and expect everything to be fine.”

“I know,” He admitted, taking a deliberate small step closer to you, “I wasn’t expecting that. I just... I wanted to tell you that I’m trying. I’m in therapy and rehab, trying to get clean. I’ve been going to meetings. It’s been hell, but I’m trying.”

You looked at him, searching for any sign of deceit. His eyes were clear, more focused than you had ever seen them. “Why should I believe you?”

He took a deep breath, visibly struggling to find the right words.

“Because you’re the only person who ever saw anything good in me. And I can’t forget that. I don’t deserve it, but I need you to know that your faith in me wasn’t for nothing.”

The vulnerability in his voice took you by surprise. You had expected anger, arrogance, manipulation—but this was different. Genuine. It felt like you were back in that motel room, in his arms.

You let out a scoff, focusing your gaze on the couch you were just resting on, as you shifted your weight on your feet. “Is that all?”

Rafe's eyes darted to the floor, “No, it’s not all. I just—Shit. I need to make things right. With you. I don’t know how, but I need to try.”

You took a deep breath.

Part of you wanted to believe him, to give him another chance, but the other part of you—the part that had been hurt and abandoned—was screaming not to fall for it again.

“You didn’t even want to talk to me when you woke up.”

He looked up, guilt etched across his features. “I didn’t know how to face you after everything that happened. I was a mess.”

“So you shut me out?” You snapped, “You made me feel like I meant nothing.”

“That’s not true,” He snapped back, head whipping up, then immediately softened his tone, taking another step closer. “That’s not true. You mean more to me than you’ll ever know. I was getting better for you."

“Don’t lie to me.”

Rafe looked offended, eyes zeroing in on your lips before his gaze met yours. That's when you felt it again, “I never lied to you.”

“Cameron.”

Another step closer. His eyes pleading with you to understand.

You were staring up at him now, the look on your face completely unreadable. You were waiting for an answer, but he had a feeling that no matter what answer he gave, it wouldn't make a difference.

"I never lied to you," He repeated, his voice shaking slightly. "I was scared and confused, but I never lied.”

You felt your anger rising again, every muscle in your body tensing as you tried to keep control. “Scared and confused? That’s your excuse?”

Rafe flinched at your words, but he didn't back down. “I know how it sounds. I handled it all wrong. I’m trying to fix it.”

“You think saying sorry and showing up out of the blue makes it better? It doesn't erase the months of silence.”

His hands reached out, his palms open as if he was dealing with a wounded animal. “I’m not asking for forgiveness right away. I just want a chance to make things right.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” You spat, your voice trembling with emotion, “How it felt, watching you almost die. I spent days wondering if you were going to be—”

You stopped yourself, knowing that if you continued your voice would crack and the tears would start pouring down your cheeks.

You already cried enough for him.

Rafe’s expression softened, and he reached out tentatively, his hand stopping inches from your arm. “I’m sorry, baby.”

You took a step back, putting more distance between you, needing the space to think clearly. “I needed you to be sorry six months ago.”

It’s only then, when your brain cleared slightly that you noticed he looked different. His hair had been buzzed, his skin looked tanner than the last time you’d seen him, he looked healthier.

Rafe noticed your eyes wandering to his head and ran a hand through his short hair, a hint of a self-conscious smile flickering across his lips. “Yeah, I uh, made some changes. Trying to start over, I guess.”

You nodded slightly, not quite trusting yourself to speak. Finally, you broke the silence, your voice steadier now.

“I’m happy for you, but I can’t do this.”

“Pretty—"

You sighed, rubbing your temples as you cut him off, “I feel guilty enough as it is around everyone else.”

“I told Sarah.”

His words hit you like a punch to your gut.

“What?”

“About us.”

You felt your stomach drop and your vision narrow, the world tilting sideways as the reality of what he just said sank in. “You what?”

“I told her.”

“You absolute fucking—” You hissed, your voice rising without warning, “Are you serious?!”

“I thought it was the right thing to do,” His tone faltered to one that could’ve fallen on deaf ears if not attentive enough. “I needed someone to talk to, and she’s…my sister.”

“You thought it was the right thing to do?” You were shouting now, unable to contain your anger. “You think spilling everything to Sarah was the right thing to do? Did you ever consider how that might affect me? Or her?”

Rafe flinched, taking a step back. “I didn’t think it would be this bad.”

“Of course you didn’t,” You nearly growled, pacing the small living room. “You never think about anyone but yourself, do you?”

“Listen— “ He opened his mouth undoubtedly to fire back with another half-assed apology - but you barreled forward, letting the months of bottled resentment continue to burst open.

“You’re so selfish.”

“She promised she wouldn’t tell anyone,” His throat bobbed in an audible gulp, “It’s okay.”

“You really believe that?” You stopped pacing and turned to face him, your hands clenched into fists at your sides. “This is too much for her to keep to herself. It’ll eat away at her until she tells someone. And when that happens, my life here is over.”

Rafe looked stricken, his face pale. “I just—I needed someone to understand what I’m going through.”

For the first time, he took the time to explain what was going on in his head instead of letting his frustrations take over and kissing you.

“And what about what I’m going through?” You demanded. “Did you ever stop to think about that? I’ve been trying to move on, to rebuild my life, and you just waltz back in and blow everything up.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

You spotted his sun-kissed freckles. They wouldn’t be noticeable if you hadn’t looked at him so closely before.

“Sorry doesn’t fix this,” Bitterness began to overpower the pit of your heaving chest, “Sorry doesn’t make it go away. You can’t just undo what you’ve done.”

“I know,” One shaky hand scrubbed over his face, refusing to meet your wide-eyed stare., “But I’ll do whatever it takes to make it right. I swear.”

“Make it right? You can’t make this right, Rafe.”

“I don’t know what else to do,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’m trying, pretty. I really am.”

You felt a smidge of sympathy despite your anger. You could see the pain and desperation in his eyes, the same pain and desperation you had felt for the past six months. But that didn’t change the fact that he left you hanging for so long.

“I need you to leave,” you said finally, your voice cold and distant.

You expected him to put up a fight, to lash out, hide his emotions with empty threats and petty names. But he didn’t.

Instead, he nodded, his shoulders slumping slightly as he turned to leave. You watched him go in silence.

Part of you wanted to run after him, to give him another chance, to believe that he could change. But another part—the part that had been wounded and left to heal on its own—knew that it wasn’t that simple.

You had to protect yourself, even if it meant shutting him out for good.

Rafe paused in the doorway, his back to you. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried clearly through the thick air. "I don’t regret it," he repeated, his shoulders tensing as he spoke.

You blinked, taken aback. "What?"

He turned slightly, just enough for you to see the raw honesty in his eyes. "I don’t regret what happened. Between us. I regret how I handled it, how I hurt you, but I don’t regret feeling something real for once."

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, the suffocating heat seemed to dissipate, replaced by a cold clarity. You crossed your arms tighter around yourself, trying to hold onto your anger, your resolve. But his words had hit a nerve, bringing back memories you’d tried so hard to bury.

You looked away, unable to look at him, "It doesn’t change anything."

"I know.”

With that, he turned and walked out the door, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving you standing there. The room felt emptier than it hand in months as you leaned your forehead against the cool wood over the door.

You pushed away from the door, needing something to distract yourself.

You picked up your book, but the words blurred on the page. You tossed it aside, your thoughts too chaotic to focus. Instead, you paced the small living room, replaying the conversation in your mind.

You eventually collapsed onto the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling. You did the right thing, so why did it hurt so bad?

You felt like a wound had been reopened, and you hated him for it.

But you hated yourself more for letting him get to you. The hours dragged on, the sun dipping below the horizon and casting long shadows through the windows. You tried to lose yourself in anything—TV, reading, cleaning—but nothing could shake the gnawing feeling of unresolved problems that clung to you.

You only saw Rafe's face, his desperate eyes, his trembling hands.

You remembered the feel of his skin, the sound of his voice when he was vulnerable. The memories were too real, too persistent. You couldn't bring yourself to explain it to yourself. Your eyes begin to itch, warning you to think of something else.

Anything else but Rafe.

Was this heartbreak? No—it couldn't be.

You weren't in love with Rafe Cameron.

At least, you didn't think you were.

You had never allowed yourself to consider it, to dwell on what you felt for him. But now, in the stillness of your small living room…it was different. You never had a good parental figure to teach you these things.

All you knew was destruction, violence, and heartbreak. And although you’d done pretty well for yourself, all things considered, this was new to you.

The thought hit you like a tidal wave, overwhelming and inescapable.

You were in love with Rafe Cameron.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron series #rafe cameron (by @itneverendshere)

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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 2 days ago

Text

Samba's Death by Cheese Class Notes 11/09/2024

So generally when we get these classes, Samba shares BTS info. This is what I could write down when I wasn't making the Mac.

Pic Source: Samba's Instagram of his dish

Questions:

What was the longest scene to film?

First episode of Stede going down the steps talking about "mentally devastated". They were spending a lot of time riffing and figuring out the characters. They asked everyone to make something up-- Roach said: "First you skin them alive"- each Swede - "First you keep it in side, and then you go home, and then you take it out on your loved ones"

In S2 = The torture scene took the longest to film. Samson and Roach had those clamps on their head the whole time (multiple days of shooting and it sucked) Rhys pulled his shoulder being tied to the mast. Vico and Madeline were nauseous from laying with their feet up in the air for so long. Con and Kristian were tied together, and Samba was saying how con came up to Kristians knee (affectionately)"

What was the story behind the first run of Stede being glammed up by the crew and the sexual tension (before calypsos birthday was written).

Wee John was gonna glam up Stede, add eye shadow, give him a makeover - pierced earring, wear a low cut shirt, and then Blackbeard would notice him-- but then they all decided that it would be better that Blackbeard and Stede bond over this scene of Stede coming into his pirate captainness (or the trauma from it)

More BTS:

The cast hadn't worked together before (except like Rhys and Taika, David Fane and Taika, and Sampson and Joel)

Apparently Samson almost killed them when he threw a sword up in the air. They decided after that the guys wouldn't be doing any major battle scenes or stunts. "You can do yardies that's as far as you go"

They didn't get to learn too much ship work, besides belaying, that's why it always looks like people are just like mopping or hammering in the background. Samba, Kristian, and Nathan wanted to practice throwing rope in the water to save people, Kristian threw it like Hodor, Nathan threw it "GAY" (and he has a video-- but didn't say anything about sharing it)

Talked about making the dish in New Zealand for Rhys and the cast:

He did a lot of impressions of Con, and said "Oh Con, didn't see you there" Looking at the floor "This is delicious, how much cheese is in this?" - Con "Hey! Stop kicking me!" - Samba" "15 Cups"- Samba "15 cups!?" - Con, and then Samba said he just had to pick Con up and calm him down. "Ok put him in the corner!" - Samba (All of this said affectionately)

Mermaid Jizz

People asked about Mermaid Jizz in chat, and the ASL Interpreter was being very good at interpreting things (Berto is the man!)

Funnily enough, apparently this wasn't the raunchiest chat, Felicia Day had people talking about lightning bolts coming out of their Anus, and Berto said something like "nothing can top Jewel" We need this story Berto. Please.

Silly Pronunciations:

Co-Land-Err, and Pap-Ree-cah

Dirty Jokes While Talking about the dish:

"You want it to be nice and sticky like Lucius' Sheets"

"Nice and coated, like blackbeard on calypsos birthday, and the inn happening right now"

"Gentle and easy, like the gentleman pirate"

"Moist, Lucius' favorite word"

Love being sent to all of us:

We need to band together and support each other. Thank you for supporting the LA food bank, it means a lot to Samba personally.

Love Conquers all Cast and Fans are Bonded for eternity "You and I we are like Lucius and Black Pete. Nothing can keep us apart-- or not, never mind that's too sticky".

Love to everyone, he is not leaving twitter because actors HAVE to have multiple socials-- but he'll look into if he can hop onto BlueSky

If you attended the class and shared your results, please tag Samba Schutte and Momentus on the socials!

If you all remember anything I missed please let me know or reblog with it please! I was trying to write everything down while making this monstrosity lol.

#ofmd #ofmd bts #our flag means death #samba schutte #momentus #la food bank #save ofmd #crew for life

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peterman-spideyparker · 2 days ago

Text

Babe (Matt Murdock x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! Here's the angst I was talking about! I've probably had this written for like . . . 6-8 months, but I finally feel good enough with it to post. This first part can be read as a stand-alone, but I'm gonna post a part two that can be read with it. Enjoy! :)

Summary: Matt is your great love. He is everything to you. But when Matt takes a trip to California for work and a video of Daredevil emerges doing the walk of shame, you feel like dying inside. And it marks the end for you.

Song Inspo: Babe (Taylor's Version) (From the Vault) by Taylor Swift

Warnings: ANGST, Matt and reader are married, Matt cheats on reader, they're both heartbroken at the situation, swearing

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 1,118

All you can do is replay the short videos you’ve seen in your head, the tabloid headlines—even the gifs that were made. Over and over again, all you can see is Matt, in a red and yellow suit, whistling and walking barefoot down a suburban sidewalk after leaving a house there. Your husband, your Matt. Your Matty. The man you love, the man you vowed your life to.

You turn your head when you hear footsteps shuffle at the other side of the door, keys jingling in the lock before the old door swings open.

��Hey, (Y/N),” he says with a warm smile as he moves in the entryway. The smile quickly fades when he senses your bags and the salt from your tears. “(Y/N), what’s going on?”

Matt takes a step forward, but you take a step back.

“Angel—,” he tries again. You know he knows, but he’s always had a strong poker face, even with you.

“I just want to know one thing,” you say, your voice cracking as your bottom lip trembles. “How could you do something like that?”

He looses all color from his face. He knows exactly what you’re talking about. “I . . . I don’t know. It’s a shit response, but—.”

“No. No.” A tear rolls down your cheek. “You can’t justify it. This is the consequence for what you did.”

“I don’t know why I did what I did, but angel, please understand—!”

“I’m not your angel anymore, Matt, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to understand what you did out there. I . . . I keep picturing these things, what you could’ve done, what you did—your lips on her neck. I can’t unsee that.”

“Please—.”

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be. I’ll get a lawyer, I won’t ask for anything, and it’ll be done quick. No need to drag it out.” You pick up your bags and walk past him to the door, Matt looking completely broken. “I’ll get the rest of my things when you’re not here.”

“(Y/N), please, let’s talk this through.”

You take a deep breath. “Did you flirt with her?”

His mouth opens slightly. “Yes.”

“Did you kiss her?”

He lets out a sigh. “Yes.”

“Did you sleep with her?”

He hangs his head. “Yes.”

“Did you keep your wedding ring on during the trip?”

You see tears rolling down his cheeks. “No.”

You wipe a tear of your own away. “Then I don’t see what else there is to talk through. We weren’t important enough to you. I haven’t been in a long time, I think.” You pick up your bag again. “I left my rings by the bed.”

“I can’t lose you,” he breathes.

“You lost me when you flirted with her.”

“(Y/N), please.” He sounds like broken glass being shuffled around on the ground.

“I’ll never be able to look at you the same. The man who swore to never hurt me. To love me for the rest of his life.”

“I do love you, (Y/N). I-I . . .” His eyes pinch shut, defeat setting in on his features. “I am so sorry I hurt you. I-I know there’s nothing I can do to change what I did. But let me—.”

“Try to make it up to me? Try to prove you love me? Show that it was a lapse in judgement? Matt, there’s nothing you can do. I can’t look at you the same as I did.”

“You don’t want to even fight for us?” he says, anger now creeping into his voice. “You’re just ready to throw in the towel?”

“Don’t you dare—.”

“You bet I fucking dare. I promised you through thick and thin, and right now, we’re in the thick of it. I’m not letting you leave this loft until we at least talk!”

“We did!”

“No, we didn’t. You asked me questions, but your mind was made up before I even got back in the city.”

“Matt, it’s like you’re missing the point! I love you—!”

“And I love you!”

“Matt, I have never felt wanted or treasured or loved in a relationship before, and then I met you and I felt all of that and more. You are my whole world, and you just tossed me aside for a fling because . . . because . . . because I don’t know why! And it just feels like all of that, all of what we shared, was just an act.”

“It wasn’t. I swear, it wasn’t.”

“Then why did you hurt me like that?”

Matt’s bottom lip trembled as he takes in a deep breath.

“Jen . . .” Hearing her name is like a gut punch that tears your heart in two. “She gets it. Having powers, being able to help people . . . It was nice to connect with someone like that.”

You bite the inside of the bottom of your lip, the corners of your lips pulling into a deep pout.

“And she gets what it’s like being an attorney,” you add, your voice wet with tears.

He lets out a dejected breath. “She does.”

He wants someone that’s like him, that gets it. How could I have been so stupid?

Your lip begins to tremble viciously, and Matt rushes to take your hands.

“I love that you don’t have the same job as me,” he starts. “I love that we have different interest. I love how we complement one another.”

“Matt—.”

“I love how you’ve always been my rock since we met. Since before we started dating.”

“Matt, please—.”

“I love your head, and I love your heart. I love you for everything you are and how you fill the holes in my soul.”

You’re both crying now, but you can’t look at him. If you look at him, you’re afraid you’ll stay.

“I never questioned if I was good enough for you,” you croak. “Ever since I saw . . . Ever since I saw those videos of you leaving in your suit, barefoot outside of her place, that’s all I’ve been able to do. How I failed as a partner, as a friend.”

“You didn’t—.”

“I know. This isn’t on me.” You take a step back, pulling your hands from his. “You were my great love, Matt. I’ll always appreciate that. But all my trust is gone, now. Please understand that.”

He nods, his bottom lip between his teeth. “You can leave,” he says feebly, his voice wet with tears. “I deserve it. You deserve better. But I need you to know I’m always going to love you.”

“And I’m never going to stop loving you.”

Your chest hurts. Your lungs burn and your heart shatters as you grab your bag and walk out of your home.

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger @steampowerednightvaler @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles @toozmanykids @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop @itwasthereaminuteago @peter1ismybrother @hellskitchens-whore @dpaccione @catnip987 @blackhawkfanatic

Matt Murdock Taglist: @two-unbeatable-beaters @loves0phelia

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x fem!reader angst #matt murdock x reader angst #daredevil #daredevil angst #daredevil x reader angst #daredevil x fem!reader #daredevil x fem!reader angst #marvel #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel angst #daredevil netflix #daredevil disney+

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panpanghost · 2 days ago

Text

part 2 of this thing:

Macaque heard them coming, Wukong's new friends. They were here when he first woke up, actually the strange kid was the first person he saw when he opened his eyes. The little fella looked so scared and worried about him, he even promised to find a way to save him no matter what. Such a nice kid.

But, he doesn't know who the kid is... After he left last time, Macaque asked Wukong about his identity but Wukong, strangely, just looked at him shocked and never gave him an answer, after that Macaque got the idea that he lost a part of his memories.

Macaque has been trying to get his memories back, but it's like shovelling through a mountain, he can't remember anything from the past years, he can't tell how long it's been. He tried asking Wukong about it, but, for some reason, Wukong is lying, he knows he's lying. He tells him not to think about it too much and just enjoy the present, Wukong won't answer no matter what he asks, he'd either avoid the question or lie.

But Macaque doesn't doubt Wukong, he knows he still cares about him, sure he was acting weirdly when Macaque went to sleep and shower with him, but he didn't kick him out or throw him away... he was acting strangely though... maybe... maybe they aren't that close anymore, maybe they drifted apart and haven't been together for a long time and Wukong is letting him stay because he feels bad for him-

No, no that can't be it, if it were the case then Wukong would've straight up told him to leave and he hasn't done that yet, in fact he's doing the complete opposite, he won't let Macaque leave his sight let alone the island. He's also been a lot more physical... not that Macaque is complaining about that... but still, that is not how you treat someone you want to get away from.

Maybe he can ask the kid, but would that upset Wukong? Shit... He can't stay like this.. Damn it. He'll deal with Wukong when he has to.

_"Hey Wukong, your friends are coming. Should we go greet them?" he asked playing with Wukong's hair, under the shadow of an old tree,

_"They are?!" Wukong got up from Macaque's lap dusting and putting himself together as if he was caught doing something he shouldn't. What's with him? Macaque doesn't remember Wukong being the shy type. No, Macaque is they shy one, Wukong used to have fun tormenting him in front of others.

_"Yeh, they'll be at the house any minute now."

_"Alright, thanks for telling me."

_"No problem, let's go see them, I'm actually kinda curious to know what that kid found out about the crown. All the monk said was that he felt a dark energy from it then nothing else."

_"Yeh.. about that. Why don't you just stay and rest a little more. I'll talk to them."

_"What? Why? It kind'a concerns me, don't you think I should be there?" Macaque is really starting to lose his temper,

_"Actually.." think Wukong, think! "When they first arrived here, you attacked them thinking they were enemies, and.. well... you guys don't get along that much..." would he believe that? it's not entirely a lie though..

_"oh- ok... I'll wait for you then." Macaque feels really bad, did he really attack them? but they seem so nice. It's really upsetting him, after what he'd done to them, they are still trying to help him, he should apologise, maybe make them some apology sweets, Macaque can't cook but he for sure can make killer desserts.

_"Hey, don't feel so down about it, I'll be back soon, ok?" Wukong feels a little bad for upsetting Macaque, but this is for the best, yes, it's for the best... is it?

_"ok." Macaque gave him a little smile. He should listen to Wukong, it's not like he can remember what he's apologising for. Wukong will take care of it.

#macaque #six eared macaque #sun wukong #lmk sun wukong #lmk macaque #shadowpeach #lmk

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trippinsorrows · 3 days ago

Note

How would Solana initiate sexy time with her husband? 🤭 cause we already know Roman has no problem doing it, and he's not afraid of coming out too strong 🥵 in the best way.... but what about my girl, once she gets the groove of things and plans on seducing him

roman knows his wife. knows her well. like the back of his hand. that's why he knows exactly what she wants before she even asks.

he's in his office, sitting at his desk when she walks in, wearing one of those fucking short, skimpy dresses that leaves nothing to the imagination. he loves them on her, but he loves them even more off her.

she gives him a small smile. "got the girls down."

it's a bit of a trial run they're doing. seeing if they can alternate bedtime duties, as lina and leya have fallen into a routine of wanting both of them present before falling asleep.

which is fine, except for when roman has to be out of town for business. or even when he can't make it home until late. thus, them trying out this new solo turn taking endeavor.

"how were they?"

she closes the door behind her, roman noticing the way she locks it as well. "lina was okayish. leya was the hardest."

he nods. makes sense. leya is the more sentimental of the two. sensitive, almost. she required a higher level of assurance than her sister.

"but they're sleep?"

solana nods, making her way over to him, her steps slow, almost hesitant, as if she's waiting for him to send her way.

like that would ever fucking happen.

"are you....busy?"

that smirk returns on his handsome face as he rolls back the chair. roman spreads his legs, again noticing the way her eyes dart to his crotch. the smirk deepens.

he motions her over with his index finger. "never too busy for you."

his eyes stay glued to her breast, her areolas already peppered against the thin material of her dress.

sitting on his lap at a sideways angle, roman shifts her so that her back is pressed up against his chest. she releases a shaky breath. "roman....."

"you wanna tell me the real reason you came in here?" he teases his tongue along the shell of her ear. "why you locked the door?" he moves one big hand to the side of her thigh, slowly sliding up her dress. "hmm?"

her eyes flutter shut, roman groaning as she adjusts herself on top of him, most likely due to the growing erection pressing against that juicy, fat ass of hers. "ro, you.....you know why....."

he smiles, pressing his lips to her temple before playing coy. "no, i don't." she gasps when he slides his hand between her thighs. "tell me."

a moan leaves her pretty mouth, edging him on even more as he circles his finger across her skin, gradually moving closer and closer to her cunt that he'd bet any money is already nice and wet.

just for him.

"roman, please....."

he shakes his head, his other hand moving to her chest. he easily slides his hand through the top of her dress, gently squeezing her breast.

she throws her head back, eyes still closed, roman granted a front row seat to one of the seven world wonders. she's inhumanly beautiful when she's so wanton and needy for him like this.

he shakes his head, one thumb peppering across her nipple, the other ghosting over the cotton of her underwear. "you gotta tell me first, baby......" he's a compassionate man. caring. it's why he allows his fingers to slip past the seam of her underwear, where he's met with the expected wetness that's nearly dripping.

he makes a sound, licking hips lips. her desire for him has to be about what and what with his right now for her. he'd give anything to have his face buried in her sweet cunt, and he just might.

as soon as she fulfills his one request.

"just say it, sol," he glides his fingers across her wet, velvety folds, solana gripping his wrist, writhing atop him. an effort to get him inside of her, to stop this torture. "say what you want papi to do to his sweet girl."

he's certain she almost came right then and there. the combination of his words, the play of his fingers with her nipples and her cunt resulting in borderline overstimulation.

but, it's effective.

eyes open, mouth ajar, panting with burning need, he matches her glazed eyes. "i want you to eat my pussy and f-fuck me, papi."

and not a man on this earth has ever been as blessed as him in this moment. roman practically growls, yanking back his hands and hiking her on her waist before he lays her down on his desk.

"you only have to ask once, amore mio....."

--------

not exactly what you asked for but a lil something! lol

#ari answers #ltye ask #ltye short

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legally-allowed-to-slime · 1 day ago

Note

Can’t even lie man I’ve been offline all day and i immediately went to your blog to read your takes on the session and Pearl n gem n co. after watching some wild life. Thanks for having the best takes lol

genuinely, it’s an honour. crazy to me that anyone would come to this blog for good takes, they never make any sense and i’m always suspiciously resentful towards c!scott. i’ll take this opportunity to lay out my gempearl thoughts as well

first of all, it drives me insane the way pearl usually goes along with whatever scott and cleo says, but the only thing she consistently, and has repeatedly, contradicted them on is that she’s been antagonising gem. in fact at the start of the session scott poked her about it again and she laid out a short monologue to assert that his claims were invalid. funnily enough she goes back on this a few seconds later saying that “i’ll make her have a reason to hold that grudge” which honestly is not helping her case. however if gem can make vague threats about impulse i don’t see why pearl can’t do the same. women’s wrongs and all that.

and then after that scott tells impulse and pearl to apologise to gem and joel. again, it’s a bit odd to me how they keep harping on this bit, but every time they do, all they do is scold impulse for rightfully constantly accusing gem over the cows, and then impulse apologises, yet pearl is still implicated (for NOTHING). pearl did protest this point earlier that she was “just existing”, scott counters that “i don’t know what you’ve done but you’ve annoyed her”, so “keep your distance”.

and to think that the argument only happened because scott made a throwaway comment about a “request” he had for pearl if she wanted a life from him. i feel like he meant it as a funny aside and expected pearl to just shut up and take it, but pearl never shuts up and takes it so that’s the problem there.

also, on secret life: pearl argues that she was right to ally with scar, which like, okay, fair enough, but scott says that “it takes time” and that “look we’re together” i’m not sure why he’s under the perception that GGG is in anyway functional or healthy considering he himself is trashtalking impulse and pearl with gem geminitay (ok sorry i’m just salty over him being buddy buddy with gem). at one point cleo goes “we have to be enablers” (lowkey incorrect because pearl hasn’t done anything, you can’t enable someone to just do nothing, but i appreciate the sentiment) and pearl just starts. throwing eggs at the ground. really funny out of context.

now for the actual gempearl interaction (we get like one and a half per episode i’m actually starving). they’re so obsessed with each other. trust me i said so. pearl beelining to gem to say “hi gem! :D” and gem beelining to pearl to punch her and say “go home pearl” oh they make me ill i feel like they’re just constantly on each other’s minds. the problem is that we haven’t gotten a good gempearl interaction because when they’re near each other their allies are also hanging around, so it always ends up with gem getting glazed by scott or pearl getting distracted by bigb or something like that. it’s such a pity because gem specifically went to find the 4Gs’ base but she went to the old one instead of the new one where pearl was hanging around so we could have potentially gotten a 1 on 1 shiny duo interaction this session (i’m not sure about the timeline there) but we DIDN’T because gem’s not talked to the 4Gs enough to know that they moved bases. grrr.

and then gem drops the anger for a bit to encourage pearl to kill grian. i have NO idea what that’s about, i feel like she’s just into bloodthirst in general but what it does remind me of is her trying to convince pearl to kill the ender dragon in SL, coincidentally, when pearl was impulse’s butler. and now she’s encouraging pearl to carry out what impulse wants. i don’t know. maybe her type is murderers and she’s trying to give pearl a chance. or something

anyway as for the other half an interaction where gem finds etho pearl and cleo at her base, gem reverts back to loudly disparaging pearl within earshot. i feel like she’s nailed “ex who really wants you to know that you’re exes”, and pearl getting so indignant about it she can’t even form a sentence for a few seconds is great actually. might be a reach but whether on hermitcraft or life series, pearl tends to stumble over her words a lot when directly challenged by gem, which is probably just because she’s thinking hard on what to say and is sleep deprived half the time. but i find it pretty telling that pearl doesn’t say anything back to gem and just. leaves. it’s very obvious she’s still down bad for gem in a way but gem is intentionally making it very hard for pearl to remain so.

last paragraph. when joel visits pearl at their new base, joel is happy that pearl called his build a car and said she liked it (pearl likes cars fork found in kitchen). so joel and pearl are on good terms, which i expect would lead to interesting dynamics but at the same time joel would definitely follow gem’s lead over maintain that friendship but still his perception of pearl now is positive. so that’s intriguing

song of the day is down bad by taylor swift. trust me guys they want each other so bad

#ask #wild life spoilers

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gh0stly-pages · 2 days ago

Text

Out of Our Minds (Part Four)

Ledger!Joker x Harley Quinn-esque f!reader (18+)

CW: swearing, mentions of blood

Words: 5.9k

Chapter Summary: More sessions pass and while you learn more about the Joker, the pull you feel towards him grows stronger. Yet this time, it feels like everything is starting to change...

Previous part: Part 3

Notes: We back, and things are really picking up this time. Hope this distracts everyone who might be going through a tough time right now. <3 Things really pick up in this one, and I'm already excited to drop the next part lol. Have fun with this one!

With every session your infatuation for the Joker only grows.

At first, you tell yourself it comes from your want (well, need) for him to progress, both for the sake of actually seeing him healed and for the sake of your survival. Then eventually, you think it comes from the fact that his mind truly is incomprehensible, and you want to know what’s going on inside of it, want to crack open his skull and see every gear. But now, you’re not even sure what it is exactly that keeps you feeling empty anytime you’re not in a session with the Joker. You don’t know what you’re chasing anymore. Everything is just one big mind fuck.

Slowly, the Joker becomes more and more human to you. Where others still see some kind of raving, homicidal madman, you see a person.

As your sessions carry on, you tell him more things about you, and you learn more things about him. He likes junk food. He is skilled with almost every gun known to man. He owns over thirty blades. His sleep schedule is so all over the place that he doesn’t even know what day it is ever. He prefers nights over mornings. He drinks his coffee with lots of creamer. Every fact you’ve tucked away in your mind and you’re not sure for what.

You like it when he tells you something personal about himself, but he likes when you do it even more. “I was a gymnast for a long time,” you told him once, much to his surprise. Even you hadn’t expected to get into that part of your life. “I had to stop once I started going to school, just got too busy, but I was real good at it.”

“Gymnastics, huh?” He said, grinning, and you figured he must be imagining you, usually so rigid, flying through the air. It sounded like a joke. You were surprised he wasn’t laughing. “So, you’re pretty, ah, light on your feet?”

You smiled to yourself, thinking of all the memories. It had felt so nice to throw yourself into all that hard work. When you were flipping in the air, you felt free. “Guess you could say that. Certainly hasn’t come in handy though, in my line of work.”

“It may come in handy with mine. You’d probably make a good fighter, Doctor l/n.”

The thought of you fighting anyone made you laugh out loud. Have you thought about fighting people before? Of course. All your life people have hurt you and you wanted to hurt them back. But in the end, you had decided that wouldn’t do any good. Now, however, as you kept imagining it, the Joker appeared at your side, and you were winning this fight, him laughing maniacally beside you. It sent a sort of thrill through you. You didn’t like it. “Luckily, I’m not in your line of work.”

He had winked. “You can always change your mind.”

Alongside learning bits of things about him, he also taught you a few new skills, probably antsy to test them out considering he’s strapped to a bed most of the time. He (as best as he could still cuffed to a table) tried to teach you to pick a lock, how to get a perfect shot with a gun, how to rig up TNT. It was nothing you needed to know, nor anything you thought he should be thinking about, but you went along anyway because it was best he knew you were there to support his interests. As dark as they were…. You’d work on that.

After your last session, you decided to bring something up to Mr. Dale.

“Doctor y/n, your progress has been very minimal,” he had commented as you walked up to him, before you could even open your mouth.

You frowned. “It’s the Joker, sir. It’s not going to move very fast-“

“Well, I am tired of waiting. The longer he sits in that cell I fear the worse he’ll get, and then what? He snaps and tries to kill us all?” He cleared his throat, adjusting his collar. You wanted to smack him. “Is there any way you could hurry up the process?”

Don’t rush me, was what you wanted to scream, but that wasn’t going to get you anywhere but kicked to the curb. “I do think I have an idea,” you said, trying to direct him to why you came up to him in the first place. “You need to let me bring in his makeup.”

Mr. Dale’s eyebrows shot up. And, of course, he began to laugh. If it weren’t for growing used to the Joker doing it so often, it would really piss you off. “You want to turn him back into a clown? Miss l/n, I fear that would only encourage him.”

“First off, it’s Doctor l/n,” you point out sternly. You’ve had enough of him treating you like less. If there’s another thing the Joker has taught you, it’s to not take shit from others. “And second, I want him to embrace himself. If he can be this clown persona he sees him as, we can take this persona and shape it so that it’s less… violent. Then, the makeup will no longer be something he associates with villainy. Please, Mr. Dale, I know what I’m talking about.”

You smiled wide as Mr. Dale’s face fell, absolutely shattered by your words. He wiped a few beads of sweat from his forehead. “Alright, Doctor l/n, I will allow it however if it ends badly-“

“It wont.”

“You’re getting too comfortable. It’s his fault, I’m sure. I was right, he breaks people.”

You wish you could grab him by the collar and pull him close, but instead you settle on a deadly glare, looking him right in the eye. “I’m not broken. J isn’t broken.”

“Well, you’ve changed.”

You scoffed and turned away. “See you later, Mr. Dale.”

You have changed. You’re not sure if it’s for the better or not.

—————————

For your session, you walk in with a gentle smile, the tubes of makeup in your bag clinking together. You’re going to keep it a surprise, for later in the season. You’re not really sure why you feel giddy, but you do. It sort of outweighs your exhaustion, you’d run to the store late that night to pick up the same paints the Joker was said to have used. And when the guards finally let you in through the door, your smile grows even wider at the sight of the Joker, who is already smiling back at you. Not just because of the scars, it’s an actual smile. At first, his smiles had been menacing, but now you feel they’re actually kind of… nice. “Well, hello, doll face. So lovely to see you again.”

“Hiya, Mr. J,” you respond, taking your seat. “How are you doing today?”

“You know me, Doctor l/n, your presence puts me in a much better mood.” He props his chin up on his fist. “You look beautiful today.”

The past few sessions, Joker has certainly grown more flirty. It’s not something you’re a stranger to, the other patients have tried their hand at it, usually to try and get on your good side, but it’s different coming from Joker. You know he likes to rile you up, but you can’t help but feel the words are mostly genuine. “I look like this everyday,” you point out, not wanting to show him how his words affect you.

“And you are, ah, beautiful everyday, doll.”

“Mr. J, refrain from flattery, please.”

He bows his head, pretending to be upset like a kicked puppy. “Oh, you’re no fun sometimes, Dr. l/n. You know I like to tease ya.”

“Some of the guards told me you’re allowed to roam around your cell now,” you say, trying to switch the subject before he can completely throw you off course. He’s good at that. “How are you liking that?”

“Hmmmm, well, I, ah, went from being stuck permanently standing in a small cell and now I can walk around the cell. Once you’ve walked it once you’ve, ah, seen it all.” He looks to one side of the room. “A wall there.” His head swerves to the other. “Oh, and one there too! What a surprise!” He chuckles to himself. Nothing makes Joker laugh more than his own nonsense.

“So, not much better?”

Joker shakes his head. “Nah ah ah, not one bit. Can barely even make a ruckus too, the doors conceal all my banging and kicking and laughing. The guards can’t even get annoyed with me.”

You bite your cheek. “You really like being a nuisance, huh?”

“I do like to make people tick.” He wets his lips. “Especially pretty psychiatrists with sharp minds.”

Already, you can feel your cheeks warming. Embarrassment, that’s all it is. You, once again, try and take the conversation back to what you actually need to be in there for. “How about we get started, huh?”

Joker nods, smacking his lips together. Despite how much he licks them, they’re always chapped, the skin cracking. “What am I in for today? I feel we’ve talked about everything we possibly can.”

“And yet you’re no closer to getting out of here, are you?” You smirk at him as you bring out your clipboard. “I feel like I’ve been keeping it too light these past few sessions. I’ve learned a lot about you but you still won’t let me reach past the barrier.”

“What barrier?”

“The barrier between you and whoever you were before you became the Joker.”

His lips twist into a frown. Again, his past touches a nerve. “Dolly,” he warns, “I’ve told you, whatever came before doesn’t matter. I’ve always been the Joker. You won’t find anything past that.”

Once again, Joker is being a stubborn ass. As much as you enjoy talking with him, he also drives you nuts. “You’re saying your life started once Batman came to the scene?”

“He gave me purpose. What’s a joke without the punchline? Batman is the punchline.”

“You were a child once, Joker.”

“Like most people, yes.”

“And how was your childhood?”

He ignores your question, grumbling as he stares at his cuffed wrists, rotating them as you sit there expectantly. You realize he’s not going to answer you and groan. So, he doesn’t want to dive into the past. You’re not going to force him. Prying was never the best way to go about things. You’d leave it alone again… for now. “Okay, sorry, Mr. J, we can move on. Is there anything that you’d like to talk about?”

Joker raises an eyebrow, not confused but suspicious. “You’re just gonna turn it into some kind of analysis moment, aren’t you?”

He knows me too well. “Well, that is my job. But no. Just, talk to me.” You hold your hands together, resting your chin on them. “About anything.”

“Hmmmm.” He looks like he’s having trouble thinking of something. “I’ve been thinking about Batman.”

“B-Man.” Of course. “What have you been thinking about him?”

“Those last moments I saw him, his expression. He looked so shattered.” You’re not really sure what he’s talking about, and you’re sure your face betrays this but he goes on anyway. “Oh, I’d live for a moment like that again. Seeing Batman react to my schemes, it’s so pleasing.”

“Do you consider your vendetta against Batman more for yourself or on behalf of the people of Gotham?”

He points at you. “There’s the analysis question. You can calm down there, Doc.” Joker coughs. “Behalf makes me sound like mister tall, dark, and dorky,” he snorts. “I’m trying to pull back everyone’s mask, but especially the Bat’s. I mean I, ah, already broke down Harvey Dent.”

That makes you go still. You hadn’t thought much on Harvey Dent, or how what Joker did may have affected him. You’re not sure if broken is the right word. Maybe scarred. Figures. “The explosion. Right.”

“Poor, poor Harvey Dent. Gotham’s White Knight broke right in half. All because of me!”

You frown. “Harvey Dent died a noble man, Joker. Batman killed him all because Harvey was trying to do good.”

Joker’s eyebrows shoot up. “Harvey Dent is dead? And Batsy killed him?”

Oh, fuck. You clap a hand over your mouth, shaking your head. You weren’t supposed to say anything. It was an accident, you hadn’t meant to let it slip. “I… no, I mean, yes but-�� you stumble to try and cover it up but there’s no going back. Joker knows. And, honestly, who cares? He was going to figure it all out eventually. You take a deep breath. “Yes. Harvey Dent is dead. Batman killed him and five other people. And then Batman… he disappeared.”

Joker shoots up from his chair, and it takes you aback, causing you to squeal. You instinctively push your back into the chair while Joker looms over you. You’re not sure what he’s feeling, his mouth a thin line, his nostrils fuming. “Doll, why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” he hisses.

“I… my bosses didn’t want me to. They were scared of what you’d do. That this would inspire you…”

You wait for him to yell, to react violently, but instead he laughs. This time though, it isn’t a creepy giggle or a small chuckle, it’s a full body laugh, the kind that contorts his body. It sounds like it hurts. “Batsy killing people?” he chokes out. “I don’t believe it. No, I don’t believe it-tah one bit.” He clutches his stomach. “Batman is a very hard person to break, believe me.”

“You… you don’t think he killed all those people?”

“Ha! Absolutely not. He would’ve killed me too, he had me in the perfect place to do it, multiple times. No no no, something’s wrong about this…”

Slowly, you loosen your posture, moving back closer to the table. You’ve never even thought that any of that mess could have been something made up. “I’m confused,” you admit.

“Doll, do you know how hard I tried to get Batman to kill me? He won’t do it! He just won’t. He’s got his, ah, one rule, his precious little moral code. He had me in the perfect position to kill me so many times yet he didn’t take any of those chances. Yet now he says he’s killed off five people including Gotham’s little savior? Puh-lease. There’s more to this story than they’re letting up.”

You hadn’t thought about it that way at all. Well, probably because you had no reason to. Joker knew more about Batman than any Gothamite did. You didn’t know much about him other than his attempts at stopping crime. Who were you to know Batman supposedly didn’t kill? You admit, it was strange that he had a streak of getting rid of criminals in ways that didn’t involve killing, then suddenly turned and killed a few people? “Are you sure you didn’t… break him?”

“No, if I did I’d know it. I’d feel it. The Bat is about as stubborn as me, doll. And now he’s in hiding?” He sniggers, a hand gently touching his lips. “Sounds like some kind of, ah, twisted joke. The Bat is hiding something.”

“I’m sure he’s hiding lots of things.”

“Whatever this is though I’m curious about it.”

Of course. You just ignited a flame in him. Idiot. “Curiosity killed the cat, you know.”

“Good thing they got nine lives.”

The more you think about it, the more intrigued you are. Batman has always been shrouded in mystery for you. Was he good? Was he bad? And now it turns out his story is all over the place, that it doesn’t make sense? You kind of wanted to know now too. “Do you think it has to do with Harvey?”

“Only one way to, ah, find out.”

“Which is?”

He looks at you like the answer is obvious. “Drive the Bat out of hiding, of course.”

There it is. Mr. Dale was right. You shouldn’t have told him. He was going to find out eventually but now was not the time. Shit. “J, you can’t-“

He cuts you off. “You don’t like the Bat, do you?”

“Well, no, but-“

“Then don’t you wanna know what his little secret is? It must be somethin’ real special if he’s, ah, abandoned Gotham. Doesn’t sound very heroic to me. Sounds rather dull.”

You know Joker’s dead set on getting back Batman for his own amusement, but what of you? What reason would you want to go find him for other than to expose him? He locked up Joker and left him here to rot. He killed five people plus Harvey Dent. He gets to hide away while people still root for him, safe from consequences. Everyone else suffers. Maybe Joker has a point. “I’m just a psychiatrist working Arkham asylum, Mr. J, trying to seek out the Batman is far above my pay grade,” you finally say, snorting, trying to get the idea out of your head. “B-Man can’t hide forever.”

“You’re right. Because we’ll drive him out.”

“We?”

“Well, you like to do good, don’t you? Little miss Mother Teresa, over here. You’ve already offered me friendship. So come on, help me, help Gotham, help us all!” He shows you his yellowing teeth. “Or, are you not as good as you think you are?” He reaches out with his hands suddenly, moving towards you. They only reach about halfway across the table, stopped by his cuffs, but you still jump. “What’s behind that mask, dear? Tell me what you really want. Let. It. Slip. Every dirty detail.”

You’re trembling now. Like a rabbit caught in a trap. “I… I’m not sure I’m following.”

“You’re not as good as you think you are, dolly. I can see it! I, ah, can sense the darkness looking beneath your white coat.”

What the hell was Joker going on about? That you were as rotten as he was? You weren’t. You had dark thoughts sometimes, yes, but you weren’t crazy. You weren’t crazy. You weren’t. You weren’t bad you- “I don’t know what you want from me,” you whisper.

As your voice gets quieter, Joker gets louder. “Is that it? You feel all fine and dandy in this shitty life of yours, locked up with me in this madhouse? The people out there don’t care about you, they don’t care about any of us. But you’re fine with it, huh? Like a little pet pooch nipping at their heels. You’re just being optimistic!”

“Joker-“

“Tell me,” he demands, “what you really want! I want to break Batman! I want to strip all of Gotham down to its rotting core! And you want to keep yourself beneath their boots? Dolly, please, you’re much much more than that.”

Heart thumping, you can’t take his words anymore. You stand up abruptly, slamming your hands on the table. “Fine! You wanna know what I want? I want to hurt every single person around here who has done me wrong! Every single person who ignored me or disregarded me, everyday I wish I could just rip them apart. I- I hate everyone. I hate this stupid fucking place because everyone treats me like shit and at first I was only trying so hard at this because I can harldy survive and they told me that if your sanity improved then I’d get a raise!” What is with you today? You clap your hands over your mouth, hands shaking. Fuck, Joker was going to be pissed. Oh, goddammit. “J… I- I didn’t…” You struggle to find the words, trying to keep looking him in the eyes. They give nothing away. He is silent. “Mr. J-“

Then, out of nowhere, he cackles. He throws his head back, neck exposed, and laughs into the air, the howls of his laughter echoing throughout the room. Immediately, you’re caught off guard. You can’t tell if he’s laughing because it amuses him or because he’s angry. Even when he calms down enough to look at you and smile, you still can’t tell, and you continue to shake. “Doll,” he begins through his laughs, “that’s exactly what I’m looking for.” He doubles over with howling laughter again and you’re not sure if you should be scared or confused. “This whole time you just wanted a raise! So you took on little old me?”

There’s a lump in your throat. You swallow it down. “I didn’t have much of a choice but yes… it was that or be fired. But I did really want to help you, Mr. J. Are- are you mad?”

“Mad? No! I am, ah, lovin’ this side of you. It’s so cruel.”

That certainly took a weight off your shoulders, and you finally took a long breath in. Fucking hell, Joker was confusing. Guilt still gnawed at you. “You’re right, I’m just as selfish as you say people are,” you mumble.

“Exactly,” he hisses. “But it takes guts to admit it, especially to someone who, ah, doesn’t exactly handle things very nicely.”

“I’m so sorry, J.”

“Don’t apologize. It doesn’t mean anything to me.”

“Then I don’t know what to do now. You’re set on getting Batman out of hiding, I’m going fucking crazy right now, everything feels so weird.”

Joker seems to find the utmost pleasure in your unraveling. “Doll, what’s in the bag?”

The question takes you off guard. “What?”

“When you came in, you were all giddy, and I could hear something moving in your bag I haven’t heard before. What is it?”

Ever so perceptive. “Oh… uh,” you fumble through your bag, bringing out the three tins of paint. “Your paint. They… they let me bring it for you.”

Joker’s smile falters a bit, yet he doesn’t look upset, just surprised. “My paint… You really brought it for me?”

You nod. “Y-yes.”

His voice dips low. “Put it on me then.”

Now that takes you by surprise. More than anything else that’s happened to you today.

The Joker is so guarded off, yet he’s inviting you in, allowing you to not just touch his face but apply his makeup. It feels sacred. This is a part of him that makes him not just recognizable, but feared. And here you are, being asked to put it on him. It’s so wrong it feels… right? It scares you.

“Are you sure you-?”

“Put it on me, y/n.”

If this is a test, you’re not exactly sure how to pass. But his look is unnerving and so you stand up, pulling yourself onto the table between you, a lump in your throat. You feel frazzled as you move close to him, bending your legs to the side of you as you settle on your thighs. This is the closest you’ve ever been to him. You can see every line of his scars, every wrinkle and crease on his face. “Okay,” you say, more to yourself than to him. You grab the white paint to the side of you, screwing off the lid and taking a large glob of the substance.

You loom close to him, your fingers wet with white paint, waiting for a sign that he’s okay with this. You don’t dare breathe, scared that any movement, any sound, will shut him down. But to your surprise, he doesn’t back away, he nods. Keep going. Your fingers finally land on his cheek, right beneath his eye, and you gasp at how warm his skin is. Joker shows nothing on his face to reveal how he feels except for the way his eye twitches slightly at your touch, his cheek twitching along with it. As you start to paint around his face, everywhere but his scars and lips, you wonder if his reaction stems from a disdain of being touched or from not having been touched so gently in so long.

“Mr. J,” you whisper, and you can feel your hands start to shake again but you quickly steady them. Once his face is fully white, you dig into the black paint. He notices this and closes his eyes, letting you rub the dark paint in circles until each of his eyes look like they’ve settled into two, painted voids. When he opens his eyes again, they’re still trained right on you. “What am I doing?” you ask to no one in particular.

Joker doesn’t answer your question. He doesn’t have one for you anyways other than the obvious. “The red now, doll.”

“Y-yes, of course.” Quickly, you grab the red paint and stick your fingers in, moving them towards Joker’s lips but stopping. Putting the makeup on his face had been intimate enough but… his scars? That was a whole different kind of territory. “J…”

“Do it,” he murmurs, and it’s so quick you still wait, your hand just in front of his mouth shaking. This had to be a test. Some kind of sick joke. “Doll, can you, ah, hear me? I said ‘do it’.”

You want to protest, but for what? He made it clear what he wants. So, you begin to smear the red across his lips, moving first to the scar on his right, your entire body shuddering as your fingers touch the sunken in skin where the carvings were made, the mangled flesh around it, every bump and curve. You don’t understand why anyone would ever find these scars ugly. To you, the way they healed, the way they are a part of him, there’s something hauntingly beautiful about it.

Godammit, J is beautiful.

As you continue to smear the red paint, he looms closer. “Do you wanna know,” he whispers, “how I got these scars?”

“I…” Of course you do. Everyday since you’ve met him, you go home and you can’t help but see his smile. See those scars. And you can’t help but wonder how they got there. You imagine a blade ripping across his mouth, drawing so much blood it drips down his chin. You’ve imagined him screaming in pain. You’ve imagined him uttering not a peep as the blade pierces his skin. So many possibilities. This was the barrier you’d been hoping to jump. “Yes,” you finally rasp.

“I can, ah, never get the story straight. It’s like a black hole, doll. A black hole in my mind. There’s so many ways I could’ve gottem, so many ways I think I gottem. What’s real? What’s not? Who the fuck cares?” Even with a furious growl in his voice, he laughs. “I can’t remember what it really was that did it. There was a horrible father. A wife who I tried so hard for. There was war, and violence, the mob, and so much pain. I’ve seen a lot. Maybe they’re all real memories, maybe they’re not, doesn’t matter! I hated the scars at first, I really did, but now? I embrace them because there is just so much to smile for. I’ve got so much left to do in this city. So much fun left to have. But there’s something I’ve been missing.”

You rub your thumb over his right scar, drawing in a shaky breath. “What is that?”

“I have all these plans, all these ideas and feelings over what I do and yet I’ve never thought anyone good enough to share them with. People, ah, will only be good to you for a while before runnin’ off with your secrets, it’s just human nature. I didn’t feel a kinship to anyone until you came along, Doctor l/n.” When he smiles, you feel the movement beneath your finger. “Look at you. So lonely. Letting everyone spit on you. Yet here you are, being so kind to me. I’m sure you imagined I could’ve killed you for keeping me along for a stupid paycheck, but you admitted it to me anyways. You are pulling back your own mask, right in front of me. You know you couldn’t fix me, right?”

You can feel tears welling in your eyes at his words, guilt gnawing at you. “I wanted to try at first. But now… I- I don’t want to fix you. I like what you are.”

“That,” he growls, “is exactly why I’m so drawn to you. I know, doll, that you crave something more than what you have now, this world kicking you down over and over and over again. I know the feeling. You’ve got nothing and everything to lose. Yet you manage to smile amidst the darkness. You smile in the face of pure chaos.”

“I don’t understand,” you mumble.

“I want what’s best for both of us, doll face. You were right. I do need someone by my side. As I was saying, what I’ve been missing this whole time, was you.”

Your eyes grow wide. “Me?”

He nods. “You stuck with me this long. Even for a paycheck, that’s somethin’ no one else would do. And yet the big Arkham bosses are out there now, laughing at the both of us. Ain’t that unfair?”

“Yes.”

“Doll, stick by my side, and we’ll let them all know just how corrupt they truly are.”

Your arms break out in goosebumps. Every word the Joker utters is dripping with venom, an edge to each syllable. You’ve tried to ignore him, the way he crawls into your rib cage, into your mind, finding your weaknesses, your dark desires and whims you push away. Yet here he is, getting you to reveal them, and trying to get you to go along with him. It’s working. “Let’s show them, then.”

You look down at your fingers, covered in red, and it almost looks like blood.

He grins. “That’s the spirit.” With a curl of his finger, he gestures for you to move closer. You do, and he cranes his neck towards your ear. “If you really wanna help me,” he whispers, his breath hot in your ear, “then tomorrow is the day you get me out of this place.” Every t is pronounced as sharp as a blade. “You’re smart, doll, I know you can think of something.”

Breaking Joker. Out of Arkham. A few weeks ago, you might have grabbed your remote and hit the red button but now? You think you might just take him up on that. You move back to look him in the eye. “You won’t help me think of something?”

“I’m sure you’ve got something in that, ah, pretty mind of yours.”

You huff. “J, I’m serious. This is Arkham. It’s constantly guarded and protected. And I’m just me.”

“Exactly.”

“What?”

“You’re you, sweets. No one’s gonna suspect you.”

Oh fuck. He’s right. No one gave a shit about you. You’d fly right under the radar. That part was easy. But everything else? This wasn’t exactly your forte. You didn’t know what to do. “I’ll try my best,” was all you could offer.

He reaches his hand out, and at first you think he’s trying to grab you, but instead he goes after one of the paint tins. The red paint. Agonizingly slow, he removes the cap, getting his fingers wet with paint. “Doll, you and I are gonna make something special. I always knew you had it in ya. C’mere.” You tilt your face towards him, and Joker smears the red across your lips, a mirror of his own striking smile. “Don’t forget to smile,” he says.

“Never.”

_______________

Later in the night, Joker stares at himself in the reflection of the small, grimy window of his cell door. His face is painted exactly the way he likes it, maybe just a bit different, but he could care less. This, this person he’s looking at, is the person he is, the person you have given back to him. He touches his face and he can still feel your phantom touch, the way you had run your finger over his face, his eyelids, his scars. You hadn’t backed off, or avoided them, you had touched them so softly. Soft. You were soft.

You made Joker feel soft and he hated it.

Yet, he couldn’t fathom getting rid of you. It would be easy, definitely. If things actually went well tomorrow and you managed to get him out of Arkham, he could easily kill you off. No one would look for you. And even if they did, helping him break out of Arkham would mark you a criminal, and Gotham would curse your name forever. But Joker doesn’t want to do that. Even the thought of your death makes him angry. He is used to wanting to hurt people, yet when he comes across you now, he feels… protective. He knows how the world hates him, yet somehow you showed him sympathy. No, even better, you were showing him loyalty by offering to help break him out. And if you really went and did it? God, he almost breaks into chills.

When he looks at you, he notices his body reacting strangely. His heart speeds up, his hands feel sweatier, his mind feels like it’s going to split right in half. This isn’t the kind of insanity Joker usually basks in, this is something worse. He doesn’t want to put a name to it. You were so good, and yet when you let your mask slip, Joker couldn’t help but feel pulled in even more. What lies beneath you is dark and spiteful, and Joker wants to see all of it.

You won’t let him down tomorrow, Joker is sure of it.

A voice on the intercom comes through the crack under the door, crackling through the speakers placed along the hall outside. “Shutting lights off. Everybody get to bed.”

Joker grunts, moving to plant himself down on his metal “bed”. He’s not going to sleep though, how could he? Chaos was coming, and you were bringing it straight towards him.

________________________________________________

When you get home, you stumble into the bathroom, quickly turning on the sink faucet and drenching your face in water. You let the ice cold water drip down your face, crying out as you try and get a grip on things. Your fingers are still covered in Joker’s face paint, the water hardly washing any of it off. It’s like he’s on you forever.

Why, for fucks sake, do you almost want it to never wash off?

You look at yourself in the mirror now, the makeup that Joker spread smeared down your chin. This is you now. Mr. Dale was right, you have changed. But fuck it, it was for the best. This change, this thing radiating beneath your skin, it’s something dangerous yet powerful. It moves you. You’re not crazy, you’re insane.

You can’t tell what this feeling is towards Joker. It almost feels like… love.

Love for the Joker.

The Joker. The Joker. The Joker-

He was right. He was always right. People were going to walk over you all your life. You were tired of it. Nothing was going to change if you didn’t change it first. You couldn’t stand around and watch these people, with their pockets fat and their reputations swell, walk around with such pride when you knew they were all phonies. This city, your city, you’re going to unveil it. No longer will it crush you. You’re going to crush it.

You were going to be Joker’s partner in crime. And you loved it.

Taglist: @lightsabergirl / @knoepfl / @jeffswh0re / @itsmrshamilton / @heath-ledger-jokers-wife / @lolwey / @ilovetoomanymen / @amazingzou/ @ronniesweetkisser / @emberhatesthemoon

lmk if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

#dark knight #dark knight joker #dark knight joker x reader #heath ledger joker #heath ledger joker x reader #joker x reader #ledger joker x reader #dark knight fanfic #dc joker

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gffa · 1 day ago

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I have been Processing My Feelings mostly through sleeping a lot (thanks, shark week), cleaning (so much stuff to be done, especially when you're on a budget so everything takes twice as much work), playing Pokemon Go (I SAW AN ARTICUNO, but it fled on me ): but that's okay, I know it only has like a 3% chance to get it, and if I saw one, maybe I'll see another sometime), and binging TV shows/YouTube videos. TV SHOWS THAT I HAVE HAD THOUGHTS ON: - FROM, season 3: I think it might have been a mistake to watch it week to week, because I've watched seven episodes now and it feels like hardly anything has happened this season, like, you only have ten episodes and the wait between seasons is so long! Get back to moving the plot forward! But a lot of people said the same thing about s2 and I found that one to move along great--but I binged the whole thing, so the pacing probably seemed better. I'm still invested, some emotional stuff has happened this season, but I want more answers/plot already!!!! - SHRINKING, season 2: Just as much of a comfort watch as the first season, still pulling a bunch of laughs out of me. The cast is incredible, the writing is funny (I'm a sucker for a Bill Lawrence show, though), and I have had genuine emotional reactions to some of the storylines this season, because I have come to care about the characters. It can be a light watch most of the time, one to put on when I want something to laugh at, but it can pack a punch in the way it needs to. - ENGLISH TEACHER: I think every episode got me to laugh at least once, most of them got me to laugh out loud multiple times. Some people are going to find it kind of preachy or tryhard, but I felt like it was trying to take an honest look at this one person's attempts to navigate the difficult societal elements at play (being gay in your 30s, no longer a kid, not a boomer, but not always seeing eye-to-eye with where the younger generation is, wanting to do the right thing versus not always knowing what that is, trying to be empathetic while being genuine, etc.), and if nothing else it got me with the sideswipe at Tumblr. That hurt, you guys, but also LOL. - 9-1-1, season 8: Still very much worth watching (especially every time Eddie is a hot mess and kind of a bitch, I've never loved him more), but I did not enjoy the Councilwoman Ortiz storyline (it felt more mean-spirited than I wanted) and I'm not looking forward to catching up on this week's episode (I've heard some of what happens), but overall, it's still a comfort place for batshit storylines. BEENADO WAS HILARIOUS, everything about Athena on the plane was fun (and less frustrating than her usual cop storylines, I love you, girl, but oh my god), and I even liked the Gerrard storyline by the end. Next to catch up on: Abbot Elementary, binge Squid Game s2 when it comes out, and finally watch The Devil Judge. (Watch, I'll have my schedule all planned out and then probably throw it out the window for Grotesquerie or something, SIGH.) Any other suggestions for comfort shows or just really bingeable recent shows or just tell me what you're watching, so that I can keep my brain off the doomscrolling track!

#lumi.txt #tv recs

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ellitx · 2 days ago

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Helloooow!

Your blog is like nectar to a starving hummingbird in the deseeeeert there is not enough Venti content on the fanfiction side of this fandom istg so THANK YOU for taking care of us Venti fans!

I read through quite a lot of your works (and Venti centered works in general) and I noticed a trend in all of the darlings either being reserved and shy / standoffish or being gentle and incredibly soft-spoken / naive.

No doubt about Venti actually falling for someone like that since opposites attract, but I was wondering if you could imagine him with a more confident and extroverted darling as well?

A type of darling that has a "so what if people will look on? Maybe they want to secretly join in on being silly, too!"- attitude and is non-flirtatiously playful / witty? And perhaps isn't as easily foiled or can see through people's intentions a little more clearly since she has experience with dealing with different personalities.

Someone who would pull all the other shy people into the dancing circle and is pretty good masking embarrassment / faking it until she makes it!

Would it aggravate Venti even more to get her flustered? Or is that a type of darling he wouldn't even bat an eye towards? What do you think?

Extroverted darling is the type who venti will enjoy having a drink with at the tavern

They’d get along pretty quick if darling is able to give the same energy as venti’s, though when it comes to romance, it would take some time for him to fall for them. If in a scenario, darling was the one who fell first, he’ll immediately notice but won’t say a word. He doesn’t want to presume but he does give flirtatious remarks

But if we’re speaking that he’s a yandere, he would enjoy another bright presence. He’d let you run wild and surprisingly he’s not very restrictive. He still wanted you to enjoy life and be yourself. The thing that makes it frightening for yan venti with an extroverted darling is, well, manipulating your feelings.

And if darling fell for him, he’d definitely take advantage of it. He didn’t missed you were throwing hints at him, but he’s feigning ignorance. He wants to hear you say it to him directly. Even if you joked that you love him or you want spend your life together with him, he’ll take that as a confession seriously and claiming you’re “officially” together.

What’s worse is that if you like drinking and you have low alcohol tolerance, he’ll take advantage of it as well. He puts on the bestest-best friend facade with you. Obviously he doesn’t do anything to you when you were getting to know him. Nothing of that sort you’d imagine.

If you get drunk, he’d carry you home and joked about not reaching his level. When you passed out the first time you were with him, you were on your guard. You woke up with the evening sky greeting you and jolting up immediately, you almost knocked Venti out.

He stayed with you throughout the night, accompanying you back to your home as you thanked him for watching over you. It became a norm for you both that either would pass out and the other would care for them. That’s why you prefer drinking with him. You’re guaranteed he’ll handle you if you want to get yourself drunk and have fun dancing at the tavern when he plays his music.

Everything he does are so normal you don’t even see anything malicious.

He’d bring you to the tavern for a drink, chatting on your way there. But upon entering, all seats were occupied. There must be a celebration and a lot of the knights were inside. You all searched from top to bottom for any vacant seats, but none can be found. You can’t go to cat’s tail because of his allergies, and you aren’t letting Venti steal a bottle. Otherwise, you’d be counted as his accomplice.

When one client finally left, he took the seat and you’re just there… standing. He arched his brow and asked you to sit. You’re baffled by his question until he patted his lap with an almost casual confidence, clearly unfazed by the bustling crowd around you.

You hesitated, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. His suggestion was bold, to say the least, and though you were no stranger to his antics, this felt different. You quickly denied but he just sighed and propped his chin on his palm.

Why would you be so embarrassed? You’ve been friends for a long time and frequently flirting back and forth so how was this any different? Everyone in the town already knows how close you are with him. Even Diluc knows your frequent shenanigans with this bard.

His fingers drummed lightly on the wooden table, tapping in rhythm with the music playing nearby, waiting for you to move. The packed room left little space to move, making it clear that finding another seat was out of the question. Eventually, with a resigned sigh, you took a step closer, noticing the faintest glimmer of satisfaction across his face. He shifted, making room for you as his arms rested lightly at his sides, inviting yet unassuming.

You sat on his lap, trying to keep your composure as he adjusted to ensure you were comfortable. When he called the bartender and ordered your usual drinks, you looked away to hide your red face. Usually, you’d brush it off and come up with an excuse, but your mind was running in miles you couldn’t think clearly. You could feel his breath close to your shoulder, relaxing with you there, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

The music grew louder, voices around you rising in cheer, but you found yourself catching his hand drifting over your thighs. At first you ignored it, thinking his hand was just there to rest. But when you felt his palm rubbing up and down your skin, your cheeks warmed up with your mouth agape.

You wanted to scold him, question what was he doing. As you turned to him and opened your mouth, Charles arrived with your drinks, placing the mugs on the table. Venti thanked him, leaving you a bit awkward when he grabbed his drink. You though he finally stopped, and you weren’t going to bother bringing it up to him— assuming it was just his gesture of concern for his best friend— but his hand returned between your thighs.

His fingertips brushed up against your inner thigh, gliding slowly up. You pushed his wrist, the slightest signal to stop and to avoid unnecessary commotion, but he just drank as his fingers ran close between your legs. You tugged his hand but instead he slipped his finger in yours, twining them in place. His eyes were focused straight ahead, expression completely neutral, and unfazed.

Your were so confused, trying to grasp what had gotten to him. Venti was forward, but not this forward. Maybe it’s a sort of gesture to calm you. You were pretty flustered back there when he offered his lap, and you already knew how touchy he was. But this didn’t seem like…

You grabbed your tankard and took a heavy gulp, pushing down any conflicting emotions. Sure, you like him and even joked having feelings for him, but that’s because you didn’t want to ruin your friendship.

He loves wine and jokes. He sings for every event and playfully flirts. And you? You love him. That sounds stupid but it's the truth. If only you could muster courage and confess to him. If only you could get on his good side to the extent where you two would have romantic kind of moment without the need for alcohol.

You asked Charles for another glass and you didn’t notice his hands crept under your shirt. You were too drunk to differentiate the sensations swarming over your skin. His fingers stroked along the sensitive curve of your stomach, the other arm firm around you as you glanced at him, he didn't seem bothered. His lips moved as if he was talking to you, but you couldn’t hear anything when the music was too loud and the knights were clamouring. You simply hummed, nodding along to whatever he was saying.

He offered you another glass and you accepted. The drink was stronger this time, or maybe you were finally feeling the weight of each glass catching up to you. The room swayed slightly as you raised the glass, taking another heavy gulp, the world beginning to blur.

You weren’t sure if it was the alcohol or the emotions you’d been trying so hard to drown that made the warmth creep into your cheeks, a sensation almost too intense to ignore. Somewhere deep down, you knew you were pushing past your limit, but here, with Venti’s laughter echoing somewhere beside you, it didn’t feel so bad.

He watched you carefully, concern crossing his usually carefree face as you reached for the next drink. His smile lingered, as he subtly moved closer, reaching out a steadying hand as you swayed again. The tavern lights glimmering above in dizzying patterns. You tried to flash him a reassuring smile, but a small giggle left your lips as you felt something ticklish on your stomach.

You were vaguely aware of his fingers brushing against you, grounding you just enough to stop the world from spinning. The voices in the tavern grew more distant, their laughter fading off. Somewhere along the way, you lost count of how many times you’d tried to quiet your thoughts. You leaned your head against his shoulder, watching his lips move, his voice softer, almost soothing, though you couldn’t make out the words. His breath brushed against your ear and you nodded absentmindedly.

The last thing you felt was Venti’s arms wrapping around you, his voice a quiet murmur lost to the noise as he carried you out of the tavern.

#ellianswers #anon ask #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #venti x reader #genshin impact venti #elliwrites #yandere venti x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader

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garciaasfluffypen · 16 hours ago

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take care of me (like i take care of you) pt. 3

pairing: jemily x reader word count: 2.4k warnings: SURPRISE i finished part three and wanted to post it so i could get this cross posted to ao3 hehe. its time to talk(tm) about everything that happened! y/n's rejection sensitive dysphoria episode is a prominent aspect of this part. poor emily doesn't really know what to do except comfort her girlfriends, jj has some issues she's working through, y/n feels absolutely horrible about everything that conspired

after everything that had happened in the past two hours, you were drained. you barely made it to the bedroom before bursting out into tears. this was it. this was the big kablooey. jj hated you now, there was no doubt about it. considering the way she reacted when you had let the term slip past your lips… you never should have done it. you pushed too hard, and this was the end. you’d have to change your name and move to timbuktu so nobody could find you ever again and you’d never be able to embarrass yourself in front of jj and emily anymore. the harsh what did you just call me? reverberated through your mind as you let the sobs take over your body, practically doubling over with the sheer force of guilt. you couldn’t believe yourself. how could you let it get that bad? it hadn’t even been three months and you already fucked up. but that was just it, wasn’t it? the three month curse you were stuck with. nothing romantic ever lasted past three months. it was only time that this one ended, giving you a chance to reset and find something new. your exes were right, you were never good enough. you always did something wrong. it was bound to happen sooner rather than later, and you needed to expect the worst.

peeling off the clothes you had worn to the zoo, you blindly felt in what had been dubbed your drawer for your jammies. you had gotten the shirt from an online store and it was the perfect shirt for when you were having bad days or sensory overloads. and a bonus, it was long enough to cover your butt and go halfway down your thighs. you had gotten it big on purpose, and you were glad you did. once you felt the fabric, you pulled it on and stumbled back to the bed, grabbing a pillow and holding it close to your chest as you continued to try and calm yourself down. logically, you knew you were over reacting, but the fact you were tired mixed with the immense guilt you felt for making jj feel bad… everything piled up and you found yourself trying not to spiral more than you already had.

the door opened and a figure stood there for a second before coming over and pulling you into the biggest hug they could muster. after a second, the scent of emily flew through your senses and slowly but surely you started to calm down as you curled into her arms.

“oh, lovey…”

this was one of the downsides to how bad your adhd and rejection sensitive dysphoria was- when you cried, you cried hard. you had gotten good at bottling up your feelings into a little corner of your mind that barely got touched unless you had a whole weekend carved out to mope around. those weekends were far and few between these days, seeing as the budget increase the bau got gave them more opportunities to take cases. it wasn’t too bad, until this happened and you cried so hard you felt like you might throw up.

you curled into emily’s chest, barely registering the door opening. a red eyed jj stood in the doorframe, hands wringing together as she looked for you. jj looked worse for wear, emily noted. the last time she had seen jj like this was when they were at the fertility doctor earlier in the year, when they talked about the possibility of emily carrying a viable pregnancy. but that wasn’t anything they could talk about right now. the puffiness around her eyes was evident, tear marks showing where she had piled on concealer earlier that morning. she sniffled, gaining your attention. your head perked up and you felt your heart drop when you saw how upset jj was. wordlessly, you shifted on the bed to make room for jj, letting her crawl in, curling herself up between the gap you had created. she wrapped her arms around you, squeezing you tight as she could as a single tear fell down her face. you wiped it away with the pad of your thumb, shooting her a small smile.

“i’m sorry i reacted that way, baby.”

her words were muffled into the palm of your hand, her breath dancing across your skin as you put your cheek on top of your head. your logical thinking skills slowly started to poke through the barriers your rejection sensitive dysphoria always put up during these moments, the realization that it also upset jj hitting you like a ton of bricks. you hated seeing her so upset, especially when you knew you caused some of the upset. granted, everything was still so new and you all were getting used to the idea of the three of you being together, but it still hurt you more than you could ever put into words.

“no, it’s my fault.” you started. “i pushed you too hard. i should have asked before assuming i could just call you mommy and get away with it. do you…?” you trailed off, hoping that jj knew what you were trying to ask.

“i’m not sure how i feel about the use of mommy.” jj said, quieter than normal. “it didn’t make me feel… i didn’t like it.”

emily raised her eyebrow, slightly shocked that jj didn’t give you the full truth. while she knew what seemingly the true reason jj didn’t like being called mommy, she knew that it would be something she revealed to you in due time. hell, jj was still figuring it out herself. the dislike of the feminine terms was something that had started within the past year and a half. yes, jj was very feminine presenting and loved dressing up when given the opportunity, yet she had begun to start hating when she was perceived in a feminine matter. it was an interesting late life dilemma to have, and she wasn’t sure how to go about it. she had been so secure in her identity for years, and to start questioning everything? it had started to send jj into a spiral of thoughts she frankly wasn’t ready to think about yet.

the only other person who knew about her dilemma was tara. it had come out one night while the two were having wine after a long case and emily was stuck at the office filling out more paperwork than intended due to her having shot the unsub. the two of them were a bottle and a half deep into pinot gritiot, and jj had blurted out “do you ever just… not want to feel like a girl?” and now here they were, with emily being the second person to know that jj had started to despise the feminine terms of endearment she had been taught to love growing up. it scared her. but not as much as the thought of you thinking you lost her.

“emmy?” you looked to emily. “do you like being called mommy? because for some reason it felt very natural and i don’t know why.”

“we can toy around with it.” emily squeezed your hand. “thank you for asking.”

“i’m sorry i was super bratty earlier, too. i let it go too far.”

“i thought it was hot, actually,” jj started to blush. “i do think we need to play around with different dynamics and what we’re okay and not okay with. nothing has to be set in stone, but if i’m being honest… it was…”

“i liked it when you got all controlling.” you finished jj’s thought. “i really did.”

“would you want to play around with that more? me being more… in charge sometimes?”

you nodded. “i’d like that. because i like listening to emmy but…”

“it’s very easy for you to listen to me, i know.” emily smirked. “and it’s very endearing.”

“is that something you’re okay with?” you looked over to emily.

“if you’re comfortable with it, then yes.”

“color system applies to everything we try.” jj stated. “any time, you can tell us to stop and we will. or call yellow and we can talk it out. and it applies to you, too. if there’s anything that we don’t like, we’ll tell you.”

you nodded. “is there anything else that i’ve done? have i made either of you uncomfortable?”

emily couldn’t help but clock the nervous look in your eye, seeing the fidgeting start in her peripheral vision. it was sad for her, seeing you like this. she hated when you got sad. you felt certain emotions more than others, and when you did feel them they hit you like a ton of bricks. emily most likely would never know how that truly felt, but she could only imagine the thoughts flowing around in your mind that would make you feel less than. she couldn’t control herself, searching your eyes for any emotion other than guilt. it pained you knowing that you thought you were the reason the conversation was happening. she wanted to grab you by the shoulders and scream at you that it was not your fault and would most likely never be your fault, but she knew that would be counter productive. the three of you were all adults, you could talk about it like adults.

jj on the other hand, felt horrible. her reaction was the reason you felt as if you were the reason the problem persisted. guilt plagued her as she stared at you, her hand coming up to gently brush back some of the strands that had fallen from your braid. she knew her own insecurities were the reason everything was going the way it was, and the main reason the three of you were sat here in various stages of emotional distress, but it was something she knew taking the blame for would just make you feel worse. she didn’t fully understand how your brain always made you think that you were the problem, but it was something you had been fighting for years. even penelope couldn’t get it through your brain that nothing was ever your fault. and that was saying something, since you and penelope had been friends for ten years leading up to when you joined the bau. both emily and jj knew it would take a while to get past the walls you had put up, but they didn’t realize how tough it would be. but it was a fight they were going to get through together, no matter what it meant.

“nothing you’ve done could make us uncomfortable, y/n.” jj’s voice softened. “i know this is new, and it’s making you react in ways that you normally wouldn’t react, right?”

you nodded. “i’m trying to be better, promise. i guess i just want to be taken care of?” you questioned. “but i have a hard time accepting it. like… i just want someone to take care of me like i take care of you. i’m just… i’m getting used to it.”

“is that why you were pushing today?” jj looked at you. “because you wanted to feel taken care of?”

you sheepishly nodded. “a little bit. i liked it when you told me we were leaving and got all bossy.”

jj smiled. “i can do that more. do you want to have a certain phrase or word to let me know when you want it?”

“um… maybe like… a shoulder tap to start? i don’t want to say anything out loud, especially if it happens in front of the team.”

“how about three taps left shoulder?” you nodded, a small smile forming on your face. “and if there’s anything we do when we’re out that you don’t like?”

“i’m not sure of that one yet.” you swallowed. “i’m sorry we didn’t have this conversation earlier. we could have avoided this.”

“lovey, having these conversations is one of the things we need to do to ensure we’re all happy. we can’t necessarily schedule them.”

“i still feel guilty." you sniffled. “i made jj feel bad.”

“oh baby,” jj pulled you back closer to her as the guilt washed over you again. “i’m not mad at you at all. if anything, i over reacted to that. i promise you i’m not mad. i’m not mad at all.”

“you promise?”

“i promise.” jj placed a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “i’m sorry i made you feel like you hurt me.”

“i’m sorry i didn’t ask you if i could call you mommy and made you upset.” you looked down at your hands, which were fidgeting with your shirt.

jj lifted your chin up with her finger. “hey hey, none of that now. no more feeling bad.”

you chuckled. “okay. i’ll try.”

“how about i draw us a bath?” emily smiled at the two of you. “with the epsom salt for your sore muscles?”

“that sounds really nice.” you smiled. “can we light the candle i like too?”

“vanilla swirl or the one that smells like disney?”

you pursed your lips, thinking. “the one that smells like disney.”

“i’ll go grab it.” emily placed a kiss to the top of your head. “you feeling better?”

“a little bit.” you nodded. “i’ll be better soon.”

“good.” she squeezed your hand. “i’ll go get everything and let you know when the bath is ready.”

emily slipped out of the bed and went to go get your candle, leaving you and jj sitting on the bed together. she placed her forehead against yours, her hand going to cup your cheek as you sat in the silence.

“i-”

“if you say i’m sorry i’m pushing you off this bed.”

you chuckled lightly. “i do feel bad.”

“and i’m telling you that you don’t have to. promise. every relationship is going to have it's issues. we’re just able to talk them out because we’re adults.”

“yeah, you’re right.” you put your head in the crook of jj’s shoulder. “thank you for not being mad.”

jj smiled. “thank you for listening and not freaking out when i told you i didn’t like it.”

“i mean i freaked out a little bit.”

“but not a lot.” jj chuckled. “you’re adorable.”

“you are too. like, a lot.”

you snuggled into jj’s arms, curling into her side. it made you feel a lot better knowing that she wasn’t super mad at you like you thought. while you still felt guilty for making her feel bad, it made you feel better knowing that jj didn’t think of you any differently.

and that she still deeply cared about you.

taglist: @jayden-prentiss @idkwhatever580 @multifandomlesbianic @softestqueeen

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winchestersisterimaginessss · 17 hours ago

Text

Request: If you want can you write one about shapeshifters confusing the sister? She doesn't know who is real and breaks down not knowing who she should trust and who to kill?

Sam and Dean Winchester x Sister!Reader

A/N: I just kept writing and writing about this one lol oops. I also didn’t proofread so my bad. Requests are open and I’m working hard on getting to everyone’s! Hope you like this:))

Lately, you were on edge and completely weighed down by the constant pressure of trying to save the world. It felt like the world was resting on your shoulders, and in many ways, it was. It left you anxious and overwhelmed, constantly worrying, no matter what you were doing. Your brothers could see how much it was affecting you, especially since you were only 16, and they wanted to do everything they could to protect you from the mental toll it was taking on you. You had just woken up when you heard a gentle knock on your door.

“Yeah?” You asked groggily, rubbing your eyes.

Sam pushed the door open and sent you a soft smile before walking to sit on the edge of your bed. You immediatly pushed yourself up in a sitting position and looked at him with worry.

“What?” You asked slightly panicking, hoping nothing bad happened. You knew he was about to get touchy feely and you were anxious to know why. Did something happen? Is someone hurt? Did someone die? Where’s Dean? Your thoughts were cut off by Sam placing a hand on your knee.

“Hey, it’s alright, everything’s okay.” He reassured, examining your worried face. He knew how anxious you’ve been lately so he sent you a pained smile before he continued, “Dean and I were talking and we thought it would be best if you stayed back instead of going on the hunt today.” He said, already knowing this conversation could go one of two ways.

“But-“ You started before he cut you off.

“Take a rest day bug, it’s okay. We can see the toll this has been taking on you and you need a mental reset.” He said softly.

“But, I-I’m okay.” You smiled, but your voice cracked and betrayed you.

“No, you’re not bug and that’s alright. I know it feels heavy right now and it’s okay to not be okay. Me and Dean have been through it, but you’re so young and no one should have to carry the weight of what you've been through. It’s important to take a day off to take care of yourself alright?” Sam said with his eyes looking deep into yours.

“Okay, yeah.” You said softly, nodding. Sam got up and pulled you into a hug.

“Love you bud.” He said before he kissed you on the side of the head.

“Love you too, be safe please.” You said, already feeling stressed out at the fact that your brothers are throwing themselves at danger once again and you won’t be there to immediately know the outcome of it.

“Always.” Sam reassured, sending out a wink and walking out of your room. You had five minutes of peace before you heard another knock on the door.

“Yeah?” You asked.

Dean stuck his head into the room and sent you a smile.

“Hey kid, I got you a bagel and a chocolate chip muffin and I already have Legally Blonde up on the tv for you.” He said already knowing how to start your self care day off right.

“Thank you!” You smiled and started to get out of bed to start your day.

“Call me if you need anything. We’re heading out now, okay?” He asked.

“Yes, please be careful.” You said shooting him a concerned look.

“Uh I am always careful.” He said matter of factly.

“Mhm.” You chuckled, going in to hug him.

“Love you kid, we should be back by tonight.” He said and ruffled your hair.

“Okay, love you.” You said, pulling away and watching him walk out.

It was around 7pm when you heard some noise outside of your room. You quietly opened the door and saw Dean in the hallway. He didn’t notice you as he walked into his own room. You decided to go to the kitchen to grab one of the cookies you baked earlier to give him one to try. As you walked towards the kitchen the front door opened and in walked Dean.

“Hey Y/N/N!” He said when he saw you. He was making his way down the steps as you froze.

“I-I-I-“ You were confused for about 15 seconds before your heart dropped. This wasn’t Dean. Dean was just down the hall. But what if that wasn’t Dean and this is actually the real Dean. Your thoughts were wild and your heart was pounding.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, seeming concerned.

“No.” You whispered and began to back up away from him.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s the matter?” He asked, now on high alert.

“Get away from me!” You shouted in fear.

“What the fuck?” He said to himself as he put his hands up in defense.

“Where’s Sam?” You asked forcibly, still back away from Dean.

“He’s picking up some food. What’s going on kid?” He asked.

“You were just in your room.” You stated aggressively.

“No I wasn’t.” He responded, confused.

“Exactly.” You sucked in a breath of terror before you bolted out of the room, ready to fight for your life.

“What the hell?” You heard him say as you sprinted into your room. You grabbed your gun and bolted back out towards Dean’s room where you saw him enter just moments before the other Dean walked through the front door. Just as you were about to reach his room, he walked out. You jumped in fear and put the gun behind your back.

“Oh hey kiddo I was just about to come check on you. Sammy ran out to grab us some food.” He finished just as the other Dean rounded the corner to the hallway to find out what was going on with you.

“What the fuck?” They both said at the same time. You brought your gun out from behind your back and shakily held it in front of you, frantically switching between the two Dean’s unsure of who was who.

“Hey Y/N, I need you to trust me and walk towards me right now.” Dean 2, the one that just walked up, said calmly, but urgently. You immediately turned the gun to Dean 1.

“Alright, hey, take it easy, okay?” Dean 1 said with his hands out in front of him, his eyes not leaving yours. “I need you to be smart about this kid. You know me. Shoot him!” He shouted.

You let out a frustrated cry and turned the gun onto Dean 2. You didn’t know who was who and you were freaking out.

“I’m Dean alright?! I’m Dean. You’ve gotta help me out here kid and walk towards me because that’s the shapeshifter, not me.” He said urgently. You were so overwhelmed and tears started to pour down your cheeks as you flipped the gun back onto Dean 1.

“SHOOT HIM Y/N!” Dean 1 yelled at you, but you didn’t falter your gun. “SHOOT HIM!” He screamed at you again. You jumped in freight, but continued to point the gun at him. Dean 1 was so persistent on you killing Dean 2 while Dean 2 seemed like his only goal was to protect you. Your thoughts were interrupted by Dean 1 shouting once more.

“SHOOT HIM, SHOOT HIM, SHOOT HIM, SHOOT HIM!” His demand boomed through the halls making you panic and freeze. He started charging towards you and thats all it took to for you to snap out of it and shoot him twice. He fell to the floor dead.

“Oh thank God.” You heard the real Dean sigh in relief from behind you, but you felt anything but relief. You were left in a trance staring at dead fake Dean, but he looked so real to you. All of your emotions were threatening to spill over. You were so worked up over saving the world while also worrying about your brothers safety. You were scared that you could lose one of them in an instant and now seeing dead fake Dean was too much for you to handle. He was identical to your brother and though he wasn’t really your brother it didn’t leave much up to the imagination if you ever really did lose him. You sunk to the floor staring at the shapeshifter with tears now trailing down your cheeks.

“Dean?” You whispered weakly staring at your brother’s lifeless body knowing that it wasn’t actually him, but not able to shake the emotions you felt. Suddenly your vision was cut off by someone standing in front of you.

“Hey, it’s me, it Dean. It’s okay.” Dean said kneeling down in front of you, but you couldn’t focus on anything as you stared blankly ahead stuck in your own mind. It felt as though nothing around you was real and you were unable to move or speak.

“Hey kiddo you with me?” He asked getting increasingly more worried as he lightly tapped your face with no reaction from you.

“Alright you’re in shock, that’s alright, that’s okay, just know I’m here sweetheart, alright? You’re safe, I’m okay. Everything’s okay, I promise.” He soothed trying to get you to a safe mental space. He started rubbing his hands up and down your arms to try and ground you which worked. You blinked hard before opening your eyes again. Your eyes met Dean’s who were already boring into yours and your flood gates opened. You started sobbing and felt Dean take you into his arms. You gripped onto his shirt tight and clung to him.

“De.” You whimpered into his chest.

“Hey, yeah, I got you. It’s me, I’m alright, I’m here.” He said softly understanding that with your recent emotions seeing him lifeless was too much for you to handle. He gripped you tighter as sobs wracked through your body.

“Shhhh, shh, shh, everything’s alright kid.” He said.

“I’m just so scared to lose you.” You whimpered, feeling your body start to shake.

“You’re not ever going to lose me.” He reassured you and rubbed your back to calm your trembles.

“I- just- the body looks identical to you.” You stuttered trying to find the words to get it out. You felt Dean nod.

“I know kid, I know. It’s alright.” He said softly, understanding exactly where your mental breakdown came from. You pulled away and wiped your tears.

“Okay we should um we should probably do something about this body then.” You mumbled glancing at the shapeshifter, still feeling uneasy.

“Don’t worry about it, I got it. Sam should be here any minute with dinner so go wait for him in the other room alright?” Dean asked, staring down at you.

“Um yeah alright.” You said and walked towards the kitchen. Just as you sat down, Sam walked through the door with bags in hand.

“Hey bug!” He smiled. “How was your day?” He asked before setting the food on the table and getting a good look at you. As soon as he did his face fell.

“What’s wrong?” He asked worriedly seeing your tear stained face. You immediately got up and hugged him, still slightly shaking from earlier.

“Hey, what’s going on?” You felt his chest rumble as he asked you.

“There was a shapeshifter.” You mumbled, gripping onto his shirt tighter.

“What?” Sam asked in confusion pulling you away from him to look you in the eyes.

“There was a shapeshifter who looked like Dean and I couldn’t tell who was who, but I killed the shapeshifter and it just scared me.” You spoke slowly.

“Okay.” Sam shook his head, but still was in absolute confusion on what happened and how it had happened.

“Where’s Dean now?” He asked, trying to understand more.

“Dealing with the body.” You said and went back into his arms, needing comfort once more.

“Okay, alright.” He said and held you close to him.

“Just freaked me out a little bit.” You whispered.

“l understand bug, it’s alright.” He reassured you, rubbing your back. After a couple minutes you pulled away from him and sent him a soft smile.

“You okay?” He asked, still concerned with your mental state.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m alright.” You responded and sent him one of your cheesy thumbs up. He chuckled and shook his head.

“Alright do you wanna get our dinner out of the bag and put it on the table while I go talk to Dean?” He asked, motioning to the diner bags he had placed on the table.

“Yeah sure.” You responded as he sent you a quick nod and left the room.

You got the table ready and put the food out on the table. Your eyes caught the cookies you totally forgot you baked and got them ready to put on the table also for your brothers to try. As you were walking towards the table with the plate your brothers both walked in.

“I baked cookies today!” You said enthusiastically.

“Your scrumptious secret recipe cookies?” Dean asked hopefully.

“Duh.” You chuckled and shook your head yes. He immediately snagged one off the plate. You looked back at him after you placed the rest on the table and noticed it was already gone.

“Damn you’re the real Dean all right.” You laughed. He sent you a wink and you all sat down at the table to eat. As you opened up your to go box you couldn’t help, but notice the exchanges your brothers were making.

“What?” You asked.

“How was your day?” Sam asked.

“It was actually pretty good!” You said before looking down at the table. “The shapeshifter stuff just threw me off a little bit, but other than that I had a really good day.” You finished.

“Alright well tomorrow we’re all having an off day together kiddo just me you and Sammy.” Dean grinned, knowing you needed to spend time with them.

“Good thing I have three face masks left still.” You smirked, looking between your brothers.

“Good thing Sammy loves to be pampered.” Dean smirked.

“Dean give me a break, you pamper yourself more than Y/N pampers herself.” Sam scoffed.

“That’s actually true.” You laughed.

“Oh be quiet you two.” Dean said in a high pitched girly voice making you all laugh.

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emeritusemeritus · 1 day ago

Note

Hi love! Could I request a Fred Weasley x Sirius Black's daughter? Like low key goth, full of attitude, and overly confident reader, maybe they're in a meeting for the order and she's giving full attitude or something?? I just need more confident/bitchy reader bro T-T I'm tired of all the 'not like other girls' and shy readers like brother I speak my mind. anywho I love you and you're writing your amazing <3

Hello dear Anon! I hope it’s okay that I tweaked this just a little because I’ve been reading OOTP and it’s a crime that this scene wasn’t included because Fred vs Sirius?! I’d initially planned something much different but ended up 4k words deep here 😂 I love writing a fiery reader and would love to do more of this OC. Hope you enjoy! 🖤

Warnings: mentions of injury, Arthur’s attack, general unrest, drinking, brief mention of potential alcohol addiction, sadness and anger. Fred has big emotions. Mentions of Umbitch. Brief nod to the reader potentially being a seer? Secret relationship that gets revealed.

Word count: 4k words (I got sucked in)

The eye of the snake.

"But professor," you protested weakly, actually considering the implications of your actions for once.

"I hardly think now is the time for propriety Miss Black," Professor McGonagall says as she ushers you through the common room and up the stairs towards the boys dormitories, whilst she heads towards the girls to retrieve Ginny. An odd night all around, you thought.

With shaking hands you held your illuminated wand out in front of you as a beacon, though you hardly needed a guide having made this walk so many times before, though never this quickly and without watching out for every creaking floorboard. You reached out for the door handle and slid it open, trying to stay quiet as to not disturb Lee. George was snoring as usual, surprisingly in rhythm with Lee's slight nose whistle which briefly made you ponder how the hell Fred was able to sleep through this crescendo of noise.

You creep towards Fred's bed first, knowing that time was of the essence and gave him a quick shake on his shoulder whilst whispering his name. You felt almost guilty for waking him, seeing him so peaceful in his sleep, knowing that Dumbledore's immediately summoning of yourself and the Weasley children was an ominous and foreboding sign. He looked so handsome, so relaxed and for the briefest of moments you forgot your assignment, wanting nothing more than to just climb in and cuddle up to him, feeling his warmth and softness.

You'd felt it all night, sleep evading you and your eventual dreams disturbed, the sense of something bad occurring pulling at the edge of your mind like a summoning charm. You'd felt the unease, the disquiet all night but couldn't sense anything beyond that, with no details making theirselves known, no visions of what lay ahead beyond the general sense of impending doom.

"Freddie!" You say a little louder, giving him a harder shake, watching as he stirs and eventually opens his eyes, immediately squinting at the light your wand is emitting. "Get up, it's important." You hoped that your blunt tone was enough to drag him out of his slumber and shuffled off towards George's bed where to attempted to wake him too.

"George," you say, giving him a harsh nudge on his shoulder, knowing that he'd be sleeping much deeper than Fred ever did. "George wake up!"

He groans, throwing his arm over his face but you don't pay him any mind, reaching for his dressing gown on the chair beside him and throwing it directly at his face.

"What's happening?" Fred groans, voice deep and thick with sleep.

"Dumbledore's called for us, McGonagall's getting Ginny, somethings happened."

He was out of bed in a flash, recognising your tone of voice enough to know that you were far from joking. George took a bit more corralling but he was quickly roused as you walked out of their dorm, followed closely by both twins who were every inch as disheveled physically as you felt internally. You met Ginny and Professor McGonagall at the top of the stairs and walked quickly and silently behind her, allowing Ginny to walk ahead with her brothers.

"There's been an... incident," McGonagall says, her words carefully considered to give little away of the situation, another ominous sign. "Your father has been injured, though we don't know how serious it is at this time. Professor Dumbledore is doing all he can with Potter's guidance."

"Harry? What's he got to do with this?" Ginny asks quickly, naturally hanging on every word that the professor said. She looked frightened and you could hardly blame her, considering the news. The twins remained uncharacteristically quiet as you walked quickly through the corridors until you were outside the headmasters office.

"Fizzing whizbee."

McGonagall turns to Ginny, casting a glance to the rest of you out of curtesy as the spiralling staircase presents itself at the correct password.

"It appears Mr Potter saw the attack take place."

"We've located your father and he's been taken to St Mungo's Hospital for maladies and Injuries. I'll be sending you all to Sirius' house, it's much more convenient than the Burrow. You'll be meeting your mother there," Dumbledore explains. At the mention of your father, your eyes shoot up to Dumbledore and it suddenly becomes clear why you have been sent for in addition to the Weasley family. Your dad, the safe house, the order of the Phoenix. Arthur must have been injured during Order business.

"How are we going?" Fred asks, his voice sounding as sullen as his face. He sounds unnerved, shaken, and you fight the natural instinct to reach for his hand. "Floo powder?"

"No." Dumbledore says with a slightly shake of his head, "the Floo Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey,"

He indicates to an old kettle lying innocently on his desk, the inanimate object having missed your notice upon entering. "We are waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back... I want to be sure that the coast is clear before sending you on your way."

His gaze slips to you upon mention of your great-great-great grandfather but you avert your eyes, hardly knowing your place in that moment. Usually you had no trouble expressing your opinion, regardless of the situation, but right now you felt the best thing was to stay quiet and offer a supportive presence.

You thought of your own father, the both of you having spent so long forced apart and of his current predicament, essentially forced under house arrest by the Order. It was safer that way, but your heart still ached for how lonely he would be. You felt conflicted and impossibly guilty at the slight excitement you felt at seeing your dad again in respect of what your boyfriend and the others would be feeling at their own father's fate. Mr Weasley had been a surrogate dad to you whilst your own father was locked away and had been a constant presence in your life, making you feel even guiltier for the hopeful feeling you had about your own dad.

Your eyes suddenly whip around to the flash of a flame from the centre of the office, watching as a golden feather emerges from the combustion, your eyes trailing it downwards as it floats right to the floor.

'"Fawkes's warning," Dumbledore half-explains, eyes flickering between the golden feather and then towards McGonagall.

"Professor Umbridge must know you're out of your beds. Minerva, go and head her off - tell her any story."

Professor McGonagall was gone within seconds, her messy braid whipping behind her as she exits the office in a flash.

"He says he'll be delighted," an all too familiar voice suddenly says in a grumbling, bored voice. Your eyes trail up to the portrait of your ancestor, the Slytherin banner proudly waving behind him, his face as sour as you remember.

"My great-great-grandson has always had an odd taste in house-guests," he adds with a particular distaste before his eyes meet yours for only a moment, recognising instantly who you are. "As does his daughter."

"What a lovely reunion," you snark, fighting back a roll of your eyes as the familiar anger simmers deep in your gut at his choice of words, not even bothering to conceal the archaic values of your ancestors that belong in the past with them.

"You have all used a Portkey before?" asks Dumbledore, waiting for confirmation from you all as you huddle around the old black teapot, each of you nervous for different reasons of what will be waiting for you on the other side.

"Good. On the count of three then... one... two..."

"Back again, the blood-traitor brats. Is it true their father's dying?" You barely had time to register the creaky voice, never mind distinguish his words as you recovered from the nausea of travelling by portkey. Your stomach still felt tingly, the pulling sensation behind your navel and the wind ringing past your ears as you trapsed through space and time was never a comfortable feeling, having ended up in your dad's gloomy kitchen only moments later.

"Mistress Black returns with her blood traitor friends." You're about to curse into the horrible little elf when you hear a second voice shout loudly from the sidelines, rendering you speechless.

'OUT!'

Fred from beside you helps you up, knowing even in his time of need that Portkey travel did not agree with you and gives you a little nudge towards where your dad leans on the doorframe awaiting your arrival.

"Dad!" You scrambled, running off to hug your father who welcomed you with open arms, chuckling heartily as you barged into him with a slam. You felt awful doing this in front of the Weasley children but you'd allow this for yourself now and apologise later. You looked over your dads shoulder through the wild brown ringlets of his hair and saw that a single place had been set at the table, with a single lit candle and the remains of a solitary supper that made your heart clench. He smelt like stale drink, your stomach roiling nervously at the thought. Was that how he was occupying himself?

You suddenly pulled away, knowing that it wasn't the right time for a long, drawn out reunion and stepped back in line, in between Fred and George.

"What's going on?" He asks, turning to look upon the Weasley siblings. "Phineas Nigellus said Arthur's been badly injured —"

"Ask Harry," says Fred, particularly bluntly, no doubt frustrated that he wasn't getting a solid answer. You watch as your dad turns to Harry, pulling him into a warm embrace, trying to get him to open up.

"Yeah, I want to hear this for myself," adds George.

"It was, I had a - a kind of - vision," he stutters, beginning to explain the vision in great detail. Throughout the retelling, you have to stop yourself for reaching out for Fred's hand multiple times, knowing that you can't in front of everyone.

"Is Mum here?" Fred asks, turning to your dad once Harry had explained everything. You watch as George's face fills with dread, apparently having not realised up to now that she wasn't present amongst you.

"She probably doesn't even know what's happened yet," explains your dad. "The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledores letting Molly know now."

"We've got to go to St Mungo's," says Ginny with a sense of urgency. You watch as she pauses, looking around all of you who are still dressed in your nightwear having been ripped from your beds not an hour before. 'Sirius, can you lend us cloaks or anything? Y/n?"

"Hang on, you can't go tearing off to St Mungo's!" Your dad says suddenly, eyes ablaze as if he's personally affronted by the suggestion. Your mouth opens immediately to protest but Fred manages to find the words first, his face stern.

"Course we can go to St Mungo's if we want, he's our dad!'" You can see how physically tense he's gotten, not taking very well to being told no by someone he didn't see as an authoritative figure, even if it was his girlfriend's dad.

"And how are you going to explain how you knew Arthur was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?"

"What does that matter?" Adds George hotly, clearly thinking along the same lines as Fred, outraged at your dad's block.

"It matters because we don't want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!" Your dad replies angrily. "Have you any idea what the Ministry would make of that information?"

You reach out suddenly for Fred's hand, trying to ground him. The physical contact seems to pull him back to earth, preventing him from saying something he'd inevitably regret... or maybe not knowing Fred.

Ginny instead tries to offer alternatives in a much more grounded way, "Somebody else could have told us... we could have heard it somewhere other than Harry."

"Like who?" Your dad says impatiently with a sigh. "Listen, your dad's been hurt while on duty for the Order and the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage the Order's-"

"We don't care about the dumb Order!'" Fred shouts, breaking away from your grip, as if it was holding him back. You're suddenly acutely aware that you are stuck in this awkward position, trapped between your dad and your secret boyfriend, hardly able to say anything to diffuse the situation. Your mouth physically hurts as you bite the inside of your cheek, finding it near impossible to keep out of it.

"It's our dad dying we're talking about!" George yells, mere seconds later.

"Your father knew what he was getting into and he won't thank you for messing things up for the Order!" Your dad replies with as much force as he was receiving, "This is how it is - this is why you're not in the Order - you don't understand - there are things worth dying for!'

You're a second away from physically pulling Fred away, knowing that whatever the next words would be that came out of his mouth, they'd be harsh and venom-filled.

"Easy for you to say, stuck here!' bellows Fred. "I don't see you risking your neck!"

You watch in horror as your dad pales, the look in his eyes darkening and you know in that moment that he'd quite like to hit Fred, something you would not be allowing. You'd been quiet too long, allowed them both to get out their frustrations but you'd had enough of that. You wouldn't choose sides, wouldn't force either of them to comply or get along but for your sake you hoped they could at least be cordial. You'd take the brunt of their frustrations if you had to, just to diffuse the situation.

"Right that's enough," you say, finding the words escaping you before you could really think about what you're saying. "Dad get the kettle on," you say with a nod of your head, a small and very false smile playing on your lips. You turn to the twins, names Fred who looks positively mutinous, trying a much softer approach on them. You know if you reach for Fred right now he'll reject you and you couldn't deal with that so you fold your arms over your chest, looking up towards the towering twins.

"We need to wait for your mum, we'll all set up in the lounge to wait or Gin you can have my bedroom if you want," you offer, casting a glance at the youngest Weasley who looks sullen, shaking her head slightly, as you expected. "Just wait to hear from your mum and then we'll work out our next move okay?"

Fred doesn't relent as easy as George who nods after a few moments in understanding. Instead, Fred is still shooting daggers at your dad over your shoulder and you sigh, knowing he's stubborn as a mule. A few tense moments pass and you watch as his eyes suddenly flicker to yours and soften considerably before he nods in agreement.

"No milk," your dad says suddenly from behind, a look on his face somewhere between disgust and shame.

"Right, butterbeer it is then," you say, trying to redeem the situation, "it's in my bedroom." You shoot a look to your dad, knowing you can't do magic here and you were hardly ready to leave Fred and your dad alone again.

"Accio Butterbeer!" Your dad says, taking the lead. Immediately the bottles of butterbeer float across the room and your dad placed them into the table as you reach and distribute the drinks.

You all take your seats in the lounge surrounding the fire that had dwindled slightly since your arrival but with a single flick of his wand, your dad refreshes it.

Ginny takes the old armchair closest to the fire and curls herself up within it.

Harry and Ron take the two seater, the most uncomfortable seat you'd ever had the displeasure of experiencing and you watch with a barely concealed grin as Ron's face immediately conveys his regret as he takes a seat upon the torture device. You reach for a cushion and throw it towards him; hitting him square in the face but for once he doesn't care but instead smiles thankfully for the cushion, not that it would do much. George throws himself down into the sofa closest to Ginny's chair and Fred follows not far behind. You stay standing, feeling suddenly uncomfortable at intruding and begin to back away from the room until the fire suddenly crackles dangerously. There's a burst of light and you frown, hearing the round of gasps as a scroll of parchment flies out, accompanied by a familiar feather.

"Fawkes!" Your dad says, quickly marching into the room at the sudden disturbance, snatching up the parchment and pulling it close to his face. "That's not Dumbledore's writing - it must be a message from your mother - here."

He thrusts the letter into George's hand, who had jumped up anxiously at the sudden intrusion. George then ripped it open and read aloud for everyone to hear.

"Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St Mungo's now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can. Mum."

There's a dead silence that follows Molly's communication, each of you thinking the same thing.

"Still alive..." George says slowly. "But that makes it sound..."

Fred pulls the parchment out of George's hands and read it for himself, then looks up at Harry for a moment, before he looks back to the parchment.

"You should all go to bed and deal with it properly in the morning," your dad suggests and before you can deal with the inevitable onslaught from the Weasley kids, you pull your dad away back into the kitchen, feeling the hot stare of Fred burning a hole in your back.

"They're worried about their dad," you say, keeping your voice down so that they wouldn't hear you. "We'll just hole up in the lounge for the night."

"Y/n," your dad sighs but for some reason his attempt to disagree with you seems to anger you instantly.

"What would you do? Just go to bed and pretend nothings wrong?"

"Well I didn't care very much for my father," your dad begins to snark, forcing you to roll your eyes.

"Right, so maybe just pretend you can imagine what they're going through and just accept that they're hurting and need each other right now."

Your dad's eyes widen a little at your outburst but you don't back down, "you don't have to host us, go to bed if that's what you're concerned about, or back to your drink."

"Y/n Black!" Your father shouts but you don't flinch, knowing that you'd simply touched a nerve.

"I care about every single one of them in there, is it not just enough that I want them not to hurt? I care about Arthur too! Can you simply not understand that some people might actually be horrified at the thought of their father dying?"

His eye twitches at your words and you can tell he's considering the possible hidden meanings behind your words.

"Perhaps you care a little more for one of them," he snarks, unable to hold himself back. You see red immediately, only to be fuelled by your dad's following words. "Seems that you've absorbed his anger."

"He's not angry he's terrified!" You can't help it, the volume of your voice raising to match his. "Anyone would be in their situation! I'm sorry we're such a burden to you but the second we hear from Molly we'll be at St Mungo's out of your way."

"I didn't mean."

"No you never do," you say, averting your eyes and turning your body to walk back to the lounge.

"Y/n," your dad says, his tone suddenly back to normal if not sounding a little bit regretful. You sigh, tired and on edge, wanting nothing more than to just sit with your boyfriend and friends.

"You're a good friend to them," he says, trying to find words for the situation. Your nod slowly, the anger fading now as exhaustion washes over you.

"They're all I've had for a long time," you say, trying to avoid the sensitive topic of his imprisonment. "You're right about caring for them, and Fred above most. You're just seeing him on a bad night," you pause. "You know him and George stole the Marauders map from Filch's office in our first year?”

You watch as your dad's eyes light up in surprise, apparently never having been told this particular story.

"If you gave him a chance, on any normal day, I'm certain you'd love him."

"Do you?" Your dad asks gently, big brown eyes imploring your own. You frown, casting a look to the closed door that stood between you and the lounge, as if you'd see Fred through it.

You nod, getting more assured with every gentle movement of your head.

"I should get back," you say quietly, immediately feeling regret at the raised voices, not having expected your reunion to go like this.

When you step into the lounge, it's obvious that they had heard everything, though they all attempt to divert their eyes and look away to avoid making it too obvious but fail miserably. Fred's hand beckons you over and he pulls you into his lap, your head immediately resting on his shoulder, ignoring the shocked looks from Ron at the outward affection.

"Don't say anything," you whisper, looking at the flames of the fire instead of his face.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Fred says gently, making you look towards his face, seeing his tired eyes and the tiny hint of a smile upon his face.

"You're comfy," you say, pressing your head into the curve of his shoulder and you can feel the movement of his little chuckle. Arthur stays at the forefront of your mind and you're certain that there's not a moment he's forgotten amongst his children as you look at them throughout the night.

At some point Fred falls asleep, his breathing evening out as his head lolls onto your shoulder with the new position. His hand is entwined with yours, acting like an anchor so he wouldn't float away with his spiralling thoughts, your legs resting over his much longer ones. George is asleep the other side of Fred, emitting quiet snores and jerking every now and then. Ginny doesn't sleep, you can see the reflection of the flames in her eyes as she stares blankly into nothing and you're unable to tell if Ron is asleep due to his head being in his hands, slumped over. You settle down, snuggling into Fred as the tiredness overtakes you and you hope that when you wake there will be better news.

You don't see or hear your dad step into the room an hour later, pausing as he looks upon his daughter cuddling up to who he assumes is her boyfriend. Instead of being angry or protective as he expected to feel, he feels a sense of calm as seeing her look peaceful in her sleep. He may not have had the best interaction with the Weasley boy but he knows Arthur and Molly, they seemed incapable of raising a bad one

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