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wearywinchester · 4 years ago

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Stubborn

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Even though you’re just as stubborn as Dean, you can never stay mad at each other.

Word Count: 3.8k

Requested by @flamencodiva: “You did what?”

Warnings: injury, blood, little bit of arguing, fluff, kissing

Dean Winchester

Fiercely protective of those he loves without a second thought on the matter. In fact, you’re starting to think there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to keep you safe, you knew there wasn’t. He’d go to the very ends of the earth if it meant you’d be okay, if it meant you were safe. He’d stop at nothing to keep it that way no matter what that meant for his fate. He was selfless and you knew that to be true for as long as you can remember.

With such traits came with the stubbornness should you try and do the same, came with hard stares and furrowed brows. It brought with it his reluctance to let you stray too far on a hunt; if he had it his way, you wouldn’t tag along on hunts at all. But Dean Winchester met his match when it came to you. Equally as stubborn, casting him the same narrowed stares and furrowed brows, the same determination to look out for him just as much as he did you.

It brought on a great deal of huffs and puffs, and that certainly hadn’t changed now.

When he’d caught sight of the fact that you’d been injured on a hunt he didn’t even want you on in the first place, he didn’t take too well to that. Not that you were expecting him to, nor would he ever. You had dreaded the very moment when he’d see the scarlet smeared across your cheek, knew for a fact that he’d be anything but thrilled to see you hurt no matter what it was. And you were right.

He’d pushed himself off the Impala, releasing his lip from between his teeth where he’d been biting it out of nervous habit. He came to you the moment he saw the cut grazing your cheek and the way you held your side cautiously, your face twisted partly in discomfort and partly to brace yourself for what was to come next. But he came to you immediately— always did and he always would. Yet the words that came to follow, the attitude, that was always something you could count on with all the certainty in the world. It was Dean.

The very first thing that came out of his mouth was a question of if you were okay, that was on the forefront of his mind as he’d made his way to you and Sam with quick strides. He was careful when he peeled back the bottom of your shirt, patchy blotches of crimson just barely staining through the soft cotton material to reveal a less than ideal scratch. Not deep enough to need stitches but enough for him to tense his jaw with worry. When his eyes fell on you, brow raised in anticipation of an answer, you had simply nodded in return.

“That was really stupid,” he muttered once he knew full well you’d be okay.

You rolled your eyes.

“‘M fine, Dean.”

“You’re bleeding, Y/n. And it could’ve been way worse than that, you know,” he said, voice raising a bit more than it was.

“Well it’s not,” you counter, narrowing your eyes only briefly before the action had pulled at the cut on your cheek that you’d seemed to have forgotten. Your wince, no matter how subtle, had only proved his point and only made you angrier.

“I told you to stay back on this one.”

“Well, I didn’t!”

“If you’re gonna fight with me, sweetheart, at least change up your comebacks.”

“I’ll do what I want,” you say, looking away from him only briefly to gather yourself, a huff puffing out from your nose.

You’ll do what you want.

That was the problem. You always did what you wanted, when you wanted to. It was something he loved about you more than he’d admit because it only brought with it fear. He admired your independence, your ability to handle things yourself, your stubbornness when someone tries to stop you from doing anything but that. He loved it and he hated it because he knew it all too well. It was reckless and dangerous to go off and do that on your own the way you did.

“I’ll be fine till we make it back to Bobby’s. I can patch myself up there,” you mumble, voice softer than moments ago.

He bit his tongue then, jaw tense and eyes narrowed down at you to meet an equally frustrated stare. As much as he loved how stubborn you were, as much as he admired your ability to hold your own and refuse to back down—those qualities about you had been working against him in that moment, had been pushing his buttons because now was not the time to be so stubborn.

You were hurt.

He wanted to tell you just how upset it made him that you’d gotten hurt, how guilty it made him feel that it happened on his watch because he felt it was his responsibility to protect you. He always felt that way even when he’d just been your best friend who was too oblivious to see you were the love of his life. He wanted to tell you how angry it’d made him that you went ahead and tagged along on that hunt even when he told you not to get involved. But there was no stopping you—you did what you wanted whenever you wanted and that’s one of the things he loved about you.

Though in that very moment he wished you would have listened just that once.

Even with everything running through his mind in a heap of worry and frustration, he’d left it at a tense jaw and a hard gaze but that had only lasted all of ten seconds with the way you looked at him. The argument that had been sitting on his tongue, ready to be spoken in harsh words and loud tones had melted away.

He was ready to tell you just how ridiculous you were to not let him patch you up right then and there, for thinking he’d let you do it yourself. But he didn’t. Instead, he purses his lips and clears his throat, offering a barely there not before moving around you to get in the car. He knew full well he wouldn’t let you tend to your own wounds, he would never let you do that no matter how angry he might be. But he decided not to say any more until you got back, didn’t want to argue any more than you already did.

That was where he left it the entirety of the drive back. No classic rock playing on the radio for a good while until Sam had decided the tension was far too unbearable for things to be absolutely silent. It was spent with you sulking in the backseat, your brows furrowed and the inside of your cheek between your teeth in your attempt to will away angry tears and stave off how much you wanted to give into the fact that your wounds hurt a little more than you let on.

His knuckles were white with how he’d gripped the wheel, his gaze flickering from the road ahead to the rear view in a constant pattern of glances just to see if you’re okay. And each and every time he laid eyes on your frown, at the crease between your brows all telling of your emotions— it made his stomach twist and churn.

When you got back to the house you were quick to try and disappear off to the bathroom, entering the house first as you rushed past a confused Bobby Singer without a greeting, Dean hot on your heels with just as much determination leaving the man to be doubly confused at the sight. It’s when he turns to Sam that he gets a little bit of an answer, the younger Winchester offering a shrug and an awkward smile at the ever present tension in the air.

“Will you slow down?” Dean asks when you pull the first aid kit from under that bathroom sink. You’re moments away from closing the door when he beats you to it, hand wrapping around the edge of the wood and boot stepping in the way of its closing. “I’m patching you up.”

“I can do it myself.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Your gaze shifts to him and your jaw tenses at his insistent tone, he’s got a stare to rival yours and you knew there was no changing his mind on this no matter how tough you made yourself out to be.

“De,” you exhale, your initial anger beginning to fade some but just that. “Fine.”

With a huff and an eye roll you hop up on the counter, the smile on his lips less than sincere and more so that of a teasing act in favor of getting his way before a softer look falls over his expression. One that was still a ready display of his anger but not enough for you to think that he hadn’t cared, that he wasn’t clouded with worry.

That was one thing he was terrible at—hiding his emotions. He could bite back his words and stuff them down, bottle them up for a good long while. He could leave them there to simmer in the back of his mind with the help of some beer and whiskey until it all eventually boiled over in a show of anger and frustration. But he was bad at hiding the very emotions he felt.

You could see it with the way the crease between his eyebrows hadn’t left since you insisted on going on that hunt. You could see it with the way the tension remained in his jaw, intensifying each and every time he saw the scratch on your cheek or the ruby stains on your shirt. His lips will purse till those dimples show in the corners of his mouth, and his grip will tighten on anything he touches. Dean Winchester was a terrible actor.

He sifted through the old plastic kit, pulling the peroxide from the cabinet as he grabbed more than enough cotton pads and a few too many bandages from their rightful spots. He laid everything out on the counter, soaking a pad in the clear liquid before his gaze returned to you.

“This’ll hurt a little,” he mumbled, his other hand settling on your cheek.

“Can’t hurt more than this.”

He wasn’t happy with your words, that much was obvious, the look on his face telling you just how much before his expression softened. He brushed the material over the wound, the sting you knew all too well burning atop the fresh scratch as the peroxide bubbled over the irritated area. You moved back from him only slightly, his hand on your cheek keeping you from straying too far. He was patient, though, angry with the fact that you were hurt to begin with but patient.

“He really got you good,” he murmurs, gentle as he continues to wipe away the blotches of crimson sitting smeared around the mark adorning your cheek. You could hear the frustration in his voice despite the softness of his words, the pad of his thumb swiping lightly over your skin.

“I’m fine, Dean,” you say, less defensive than the last time you’d said it but it hadn’t comforted him in that moment.

“Would you cool it with the tough guy act, sweetheart?” He huffs, dropping his hand from your face and tossing the dirtied cotton pad in the trash.

A few moments passed before he sighed, focusing his attention on opening a bandage to let his anger simmer down some more. He crinkled the wrapper in his hand and tossed it in the small garbage can, his eyes moving back to you. You give him a half smile then, the corner of your mouth quirking up only slightly as you breathe out a sigh of your own through your nose.

The simple action seemed to cool him off as his shoulders relaxed a fraction, and you even caught a glimpse of a hint of a smile. One that faded just as quickly as it’d come as he pressed the small bandage over your cheek. You rest your hand over his, the action stilling the thoughts that had been swirling around in his mind for a few moments. It was then that he looked at you again, the close proximity having given you a flurry of butterflies in your stomach as if you hadn’t already kissed the Winchester a thousand times over. But you were sure that was a feeling that would never go away.

You smile then, one he sees immediately as he flashes you an inquiring look with a simple raise of his eyebrow.

“You’re cute when you’re angry, you know,” you say, paired with a tilted of your head and your smile widening, hand squeezing his.

You barely got the words out before he rolled his eyes, turning his head away from you in favor of hiding his half smile, an effort that hadn’t worked quite as well as he’d hoped but he tried his best anyway. He even shook his head in an attempt to stave it off, running a hand over his face.

“You’re a pain, sweetheart.”

“I know.”

He gave in and smiled then, head still shaking as he moved onto the scratch across your hip. He was just as gentle as the first time he peeled back your shirt, revealing a similar situation as the one he’d just tended to and he heaved another sigh that was more than telling of just how he’d felt about it. If it was possible, you were quite sure that steam would be coming out of his ears in that very moment, his fingers brushing over the sensitive skin around the scratch as he huffed through flared nostrils.

“I’m okay, Dean, it’s okay,” you remind him, trying your best to make him realize that though you know he won’t.

“It’s not, Y/n. Quit sayin’ that,” he grumbles, “it could’ve been worse out there.”

“You said that already,” you sigh, and he’s not amused but he refuses to admit the way he feels the slightest bit better at the nonchalance of your attitude. It calms him and stresses him all the same to be perfectly honest, but he’ll keep the former a secret for the time being.

“Yeah yeah,” he mumbles quietly.

He says nothing more as he works, gentle as ever as he cleans everything the best he can. You said you were okay but he notices each time you tense up, can see when you clench your fist or suck in a sharp breath no matter how hard you try and hide it. But a simple soft glance your way, a gentle swipe of his thumb over your skin was enough to make it all the more better each of those times.

After another minute or two passes things become more bearable than they had been, and you were beginning to become less focused on the pain that ebbed away and more on the man tending to your wounds. He’s got more than enough attitude for one person, quick wit and sarcasm falling from his lips even in the scariest of moments. His words could be venomous to those he’s not too wild about, but he can also be one of the sweetest people you’ve ever known all the same.

You couldn’t help the smile trying so desperately to show, one he’d noticed the moment he pulled his gaze to you.

“What?” He asked curiously before looking down once more.

“Nothing,” you say, spotting a small grin forming as he shook his head. It was not nothing and he knew it.

But that smile soon came back to tug at the corners of your mouth, a soft laugh falling past your lips that you knew you couldn’t help even if you had tried to. You were done stifling it at this point.

“Remember that time I baited that werewolf?” You ask, biting the inside of your cheek once more in an effort to stifle your smile.

He paused what he was doing, gaze lifting to meet yours as the crease between his brows deepened at the mere thought of it. His palms rested on either side of you atop the counter for a moment, lips pursed. “You mean that ridiculously stupid thing you did on that hunt? How could I forget.”

You give up on fighting your widening smile completely now, huffing out another soft laugh instead as you shook your head at his grumpy words. “I did it to save you, you know.” He laughs softly, a bittersweet one at that. “I did it today too.”

He barely finished bandaging your hip when his stare returned to you, narrowed with bits of anger seeping in more and more with each passing second.

“You did what?”

You give him a knowing look, one he’s come to know all too well. He wanted to be in disbelief, wanted to think you wouldn’t put yourself in danger just for the sake of saving him. He didn’t feel he was worth it, not enough for you to wind up with even so much as a scratch as a result. But all you do is shrug, you shrug and you give him that smile that makes him weak in the knees every time you grace him with it. That smile that makes even his angriest moments melt away in a single second. That smile that’s getting him to soften his frown and lighten the heaviness of his glare just by the simple sweetness of it even if he wanted to hold onto that anger so you know just how much he disagreed with what you did. But he couldn’t help it.

“You don’t need to save me sweetheart, trust me you don’t,” he says, averting his gaze as he busies himself with packing up the first aid kit just as it was before.

“You’re not always the quick witted hunter you make yourself out to be, you know. Somebody’s got to do it,” you counter, your tone nothing but light and teasing as your words grab his attention just as quickly as ever.

“Very funny. I meant what I said,” he grumbles, fidgeting with the bandage on your hip before picking at the loose string dangling from the hem of your shirt.

“So did I,” you say, head tilted and smile bright as you brushed the hair away that stuck to his forehead.

“Yeah, you’re a pain.”

You puff out a sigh as your smile stays, more sincere than the teasing grin you once held mere seconds ago. The grumpy look on his face became more amused, unable to stay too angry when you keep looking at him the way you do. The way you always do and he always knows just how soft it makes him, because if there’s anyone in this world that can make him feel butterflies of all things, that can even slightly sway him with even so much as a glance in his direction—it’s you. It’s always you.

You couldn’t stay mad at each other for very long.

You reached up and pressed your hand to his jaw softly, the more than obvious tension in it melting away under your touch. Those little dimples by the very corners of his lips were still very much there, though his humor was still shining through all the same. You could see each and every freckle that dotted along his nose and cheeks at this proximity, could see the ones that were hidden by his lashes and the ones that splayed all the way over to his ears. Each one was a different size and each one even cuter than the last, all complimented by the pale pink shade in his cheeks from the anger that once had him so burned up that day.

“You’re not the only one that gets to save the ones you love, De,” you say softly, an even softer smile on your lips to go with it.

He sighed at your words, an eye roll soon after as he pulled your hand from his face and held it in his own. You could tell he disagreed with that, you knew he would, because the thought of someone he’d cared about putting their life on the line just for the sake of saving him wasn’t one that sat well with him. Especially when that person is you.

“You keep sayin’ that and I keep hating it,” he murmurs, and you laugh quietly, the action causing the corner of his mouth to quirk up.

“And I’ll keep saying it.”

He laughed then, soft as it puffs warmly against your lips. He knows there’s no convincing you otherwise, there was no changing your mind on the subject just the same as there was no changing his. You were tough as nails and he could argue till he was blue in the face but there was no chance you’d miss an opportunity to protect him just as much as he does you whether he likes it or not. He doesn’t.

He leans in a little closer, so much so his lips brush over yours with each word he speaks in that moment. “You’re stubborn, you know that?”

“I think I know someone who just might be worse than I am,” you say, his hum sounding mere centimeters from your lips as cue to keep talking as if he hadn’t known just who it was you were talking about. “You see, he’s got these pretty green eyes and he’s devilishly handsome,” you start, his smile widening. “But he’s got a mouth on him, like seriously, he just might be one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever—”

“Okay, okay c’mere,” he sighs, amusement woven around his words as he quiets you.

His lips meld with yours and cut the rest of your own words short in favor of your affection, his smile pressing into your lips and lingering there as he makes no effort to stray too far from you. His hands come up to settle on your cheeks again, the pads of his thumbs brushing lightly over your skin in the sweetest of touches as he kisses you once more before his hands fall down your arms to rest over top of your hands.

“Try and be a little more careful, sweetheart?” He asks softly, the tip of his nose bumping against yours. In other words, I love you.

You simply nod, smile sweet as your forehead rests against his. It’s not his ideal answer, because ideally, he didn’t want you in danger at all. Ideally, he’d rather you stay back when it comes to hunts. But he knows you wouldn’t go for that idea, and he knows he’s got to deal with that though he’ll always put up that fight even though he knows he won’t ever win. You’re stubborn and he loves you.

He’s got you.

—

Tags: @flamencodiva @stixnstripesworld @dean-is-sams-apple-pie @elegantbutedgy @humanmistakes

#dean winchester #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff

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ofheroesandvillains · 6 years ago

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Reassurance - Bucky Barnes

Bucky Barnes/fem!reader

Words: 2.3k Warnings: Self-doubt? Request: Anonymous: Hey! Could you do a Police AU! Chubby!Bucky x Reader where a new member of the team makes Bucky uneasy bc he is conventionally attractive and seems to get along really well with his girlfriend?

Hey everyone! Sorry I’ve been MIA, Endgame wrecked me so I took a break from writing Marvel because I knew everything would just be ANGST haha! Hope you’re all well, and thank you to the lovely reader who requested this. Hope it’s alright!

(Gif not mine! - couldn’t find a chubby one, so frowny face it is!)

“Damn. Who’s that?”

“Who? Oh! Oh my god, it’s him!”

Detective Bucky Barnes rolled his eyes with an annoyed sigh. He wouldn’t say that he hated the new interns…but god, did he hate their constant chatter. Work talk? Fine, he could deal with some brainstorming sessions. But the constant string of gossip being broadcast beside him was getting real annoying.

He didn’t know what he’d done to ensure that they were seated directly beside him, but he was one ‘Oh my god, Shelley! That shirt is sooo cute!’ away from kicking down the door to Steve’s office and demanding their relocation…and it was only day three.

“He’s so hot…”

“Right? I’m so jealous. The things I’d do to him…”

Bucky grimaced, the grip around his pen tightening uncomfortably with every word.

A familiar laugh rang out and Bucky groaned. It was a laugh that he could -and always would- pick out in a crowd. He loved that laugh, and he’d been loving it for a very long time. This paperwork wasn’t going to finish itself, but how the hell was he supposed to focus on it now that he knew you’d stepped into the room?

His pale eyes flickered away from his paperwork no matter how much he told himself he needed to concentrate. Your relationship wasn’t meant to get in the way of work, but there it goes, he thought, doing exactly that. He felt all of the tension leave his shoulders at the sight of you. You had a glowing smile on your face, the kind that made his palms sweat before he’d mustered up the courage to ask you out the first time. He couldn’t hear what you were saying, but the memory of your voice in his head chased away the sound of gossip that had been grating on his last nerve for the past hour.

Against all odds, he felt a smile tug at his lips, threatening to beat his bad mood out of him. That was until he glanced over at who you were talking to. His smile fell. At least he knew who the interns were talking about now. Steve had assigned you your own newbie a few weeks ago and Bucky wouldn’t pretend that he approved of the match.

He was a good-looking guy, that much was true. Tall, dark, and handsome, that’s what your friend Natasha would have called him…and Bucky had never felt more self-conscious in his life.

The Adonis talking to his girl had muscle on top of muscle. He didn’t have that little bit of fat under his chin like Bucky did, and the outline of his abs could easily be seen through the skin-tight tee he was wearing. You kept your eyes strictly on the man’s face, and Bucky should have felt reassured, but all he could process at the moment was his own inadequacy.

Bucky looked down at his shirt, at the way his own stomach lightly strained against the buttons when he sat down. He was aware of the way his shirts were becoming tighter and tighter around his biceps than ever before - and not because he’d been working out.

Oh man…

Maybe he’d let himself go a little, but he hadn’t realised just how much until he saw you standing there next to Mr Crossfit across the room. Bucky frowned. You were smiling politely, with a laugh bursting out here and there, whenever he said something that was apparently funny.

Bucky frowned harder.

Standing there next to him, you looked…good.

You looked good together. He was everything a girl could ever want in a guy. Charming, funny, kind, and shaped like a damn statue. Worry churned in Bucky’s gut. What if he was interested in you? He sure seemed to enjoy spending time with you. How was Bucky supposed to compete with 6+ feet of tanned muscle, the likes of which he’d never had even when he was still in shape?

More importantly, how were you supposed to resist that? What if you were interested in him?

Everyone knew that Bucky only had eyes for you. You were his world and there was nothing more beautiful to him than seeing your face first thing in the morning. You’d been together for two years now, but you’d been friends a lot longer. It was his best friend, Steve (now Captain of the precinct) who originally told him about your ‘obvious’ feelings. Apparently, he was the only one who hadn’t noticed that you looked at him with the same awe and devotion he specifically reserved for you.

Fast forward two years and he was hiding a velvet box in his sock drawer, and carrying a few extra pounds around his waist. Now his worry was if you would accept the former if he had the latter.

Before his mind could slip further down the rabbit hole, a paper bag was gently placed on his desk.

“Hi, hon! Here, I got your favourite.”

You gave him that special smile you saved just for him, and even if he didn’t have a genuine one in him at the moment, he’d force a smile for you if it was the last thing he did. And he did, even if you’d always said that a forced smile is always worse than a frown. He eyed the paper bag and tried to ignore the addictive aroma that always made his mouth water. His stomach grumbled and he almost grimaced all over again when you both looked down at it.

“Thank you…” he said, crossing his arms on top of his desk in a poor attempt at hiding it from your view.

You frowned. He was curling in on himself, and never in the whole time you’d known him, had he looked so small. Detective Barnes was a confident guy. He was the most successful detective in the precinct, hell, in the whole of New York. He was a good-looking guy, and had the personality to match. But now…he looked scared, terrified even.

“Bucky, are you oka-“

He shot up from his seat, startling both you and the interns a desk over from him. He shot you an apologetic look.

“Sorry…I uh, I just…I gotta go to the bathroom real quick.”

He didn’t wait for a response, darting away from his desk and hating himself even more for the confusion he heard in your voice when you called after him.

The door to the men’s room collided against the wall with a loud bang, and Bucky marched over to the taps. He slapped some cold water onto his face and braced his hands on either side of the basin, his head bowed between them. Deep breaths. One, two, three…

The door to the men’s room squeaked open but Bucky paid it no mind.

“Um…sir?”

Bucky’s head shot up and he looked at the intruder with wide eyes.

It was him.

Bucky felt jealousy rear its ugly head.

“What?” His voice was raspy, and he cleared his throat when Adonis flinched. He was a lot younger than Bucky first thought.

“Sorry…” Bucky gave him a small half-hearted smile.

He smiled back.

“No problem, sir.” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and Bucky almost gaped. He didn’t know that Adonis even knew what nerves were. “I uh, I was just talking to your wife…”

Bucky didn’t correct him, feeling a swell of pride replace his envy. Yes, mine. My wife.

“She’s been a huge help, really, I get a little anxious sometimes and she’s helped me keep a level head, you know?” He was rambling now, and Bucky’s eyes softened. He looked like a nervous little kid in a gigantic body.

“I’ve been trying to kinda get myself to talk to you for a little while now, but I guess I was worried about what you’d say.” He heaved a deep breath and for the first time since they’d met, Bucky shot him a genuine smile.

“I know you’ll have a spot available on your squad soon, and well, I just wanted you know that it’s been a dream of mine to be mentored by you…unless- unless you already have someone.” He added, wide eyed.

Bucky’s brows shot up in surprise. Of all the things he’d expected him to say, that hadn’t even come close to the list. This guy…he looked up to him?

“Oh, wow…uh, no. I don’t have anyone in mind.” Bucky chuckled at the spark of hope in the kid’s eyes.

“Tell you what, why don’t you get my details from my wife and we’ll schedule a meeting at, uh…at a better time.” Bucky gestured to the bathroom and they shared a laugh.

“Yeah- yes, no problem!” Adonis nodded. “I hope you feel better soon, sir!”

He shot Bucky one last grin before he left.

Bucky sighed and looked at his reflection in the mirror. In a way, he was grateful. The kid had been a distraction he didn’t know he’d needed.

“Nuh-uh, nope. I don’t think so!”

Bucky winced at the determination in your tone and he knew there was no way he was getting out of this one. Your hand grasped his elbow as soon as he left the bathroom and you dragged him into the empty break room. He’d almost forgotten about how he left you at his desk.

“Sit.” You pointed at the couch.

He did, and you sat beside him.

“Now, what’s going on?” You gnawed at your bottom lip in worry, turning to face him.

Bucky didn’t meet your eye, his mind once again trudging up all of the doubts he’d tried and failed to bury in the bathroom. God, why did he have to care about this? Why did anyone have to care about what they looked like? He got you all worked up and worried for what? His own insecurity?

“It- It doesn’t matter. It’s stupid.” He shook his head.

“Hey,” you frowned, “it’s not stupid and if it matters to you then it matters to me.”

“Come on, Buck…talk to me.” You pleaded.

His shoulders slumped in defeat. He couldn’t leave it like this. You’d be confused, your confusion would lead to sadness, and sadness was not something he liked seeing you wear.

“Do you think I’m fat?”

You blinked. That was…not what you’d expected. With the panic you’d seen on his face earlier, you’d feared that someone was sending death threats to him again or something.

“What?” You shook your head.

“I just, I see you and Adonis over there,” he jerked his head in your intern’s direction, “and he looks…well, he looks a hell of a lot better than I do.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the nickname, but it came to a quick halt the moment you noticed a small frown on his face as he eyed your intern. This really bothered him.

“Babe, look at me.” You didn’t give him much of a choice anyway, with your hand cupping his cheek.

Your heart broke at the insecurity you could see in his sad eyes.

“I love you,” you couldn’t stress it enough, “more than anything, and I’ve loved you for a long time.”

“I didn’t fall for your abs, or your biceps, or whatever it is you think makes him desirable,” you shook your head with a quiet scoff. There was a slight shift in his expression, nearly imperceptible if you didn’t know him, but you did. It was a small spark of hope that flickered over his face, a trace of that old confidence that you’d build up brick by stubborn brick if you needed to.

Your thumb gently trailed back and forth along his stubbled jaw and his lips twitched upwards.

“I fell for that smile,” you pressed a slow kiss to his lips, before pulling away and trailing your fingertips across his cheek “and these eyes…”

The reverence and warmth they held whenever he looked at you was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. Even now, when he was hurting and uncertain, he’d show you nothing but love.

“And that heart of gold you like to pretend you don’t have,” you teased with a wide grin, pleased to see that he was trying to fight back a smile at the sight. His hand gave your hip a light squeeze, a half-hearted and silent ‘behave’.

“But mostly,” your cheeky grin fell into something more genuine, something he couldn’t question or doubt, “I fell in love with your love.”

“Hm?” His brows furrowed.

“Do you love me, Bucky?”

“More than anything.” His answer was instant.

“I know, you show me every single day.” That’s exactly the point.

“There is no better feeling in the world than knowing you are loved and appreciated,” your smile fell, “and obviously I haven’t been doing a very good job of making you see that if you have these doubts…”

His eyes widened.

“No! That’s not…you’re- you’re perfect,” this time his hands were cupping your face, “I don’t doubt that you love me, I know you do…I just,” he sighed.

“I just thought that maybe you could do better,” he avoided your shocked gaze, “maybe I’m holding you back.”

Your hands came up to give his wrists a reassuring squeeze.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be, and no one I’d rather have. I’m yours, for as long as you’ll have me.”

His heart swelled in his chest and he took a deep shuddering breath. He really needed to hear that. He already knew it, but he needed to hear it.

“I love you.”

He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead before pulling you into his arms.

You smiled, “I love you, too.”

I felt like this was really rushed but I hope you liked it either way! Thanks for reading! xx

#bucky #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel #bucky barnes fanfiction #chubby!bucky #police au

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bostonboy · 5 years ago

Photo

We Both Know That Won’t Be Enough

Involving: Cooper Anderson and Jack Carrigan. Details: June 2019, Cooper’s apartment. Description: When three years come to an end. Triggers: drugs, mentions of past abuse, anxiety. Other Notes: Naked - James Arthur.

Additional Credit: @itsjackjackattack

COOPER:

"Is there anyone I can call?" "No," came the defeated voice. "There must be someone?" He hadn't wanted to put this on the other man.

Cooper knew he'd just arrived back into Los Angeles. They had a date planned for tomorrow night. Cooper just hadn't been able to make it through this night. Work was chaotic, unbearable at times. He loved it, god he fucking loved it but there was only so much one man could do.

The drive home had been long, he'd been half asleep against the cool glass of the window. Hazy street-lights glistened past in some hypnotic trance every few blocks. His body ached and all he wanted to do was curl up in bed.

He'd gone too far again.

Holding on around Jack's neck, he stumbled with him to the front door of his apartment. It was situated right across the hall from Jack's. Cooper gripped onto his shoulder tightly when he could feel himself falling unsteady. A few grumbles of frustration at the way his legs wouldn't co-operate with what he wanted to do before they made it inside his apartment.

“M'fine," he pushed Jack off, able to sense the tension in the air. This wasn't the first time Jack had picked up him, far from sober and glazed eyes. A split lip marked the fight he'd gotten into earlier that evening. "Thank you," he uttered, sinking into the comfort of the couch and shedding himself of his leather jacket

________

JACK:

Jack had just got back in LA. Three movies. Why the hell had he decided it was a good idea to film three movies, one after the other? He was exhausted. No matter how much he slept, it didn't seem to go away. Nothing made it better.

Being home used to be a comfort. The little time he had always felt like a blessing. Lately that wasn't the case.

Between his mom getting worse and worse, every visit more painful than the last one, and Cooper working himself to the ground and then getting high to deal with it all, only to crash back down after, with Jack watching them both from the distance, hands tied, he felt like he was drowning.

He'd been home, relaxing, resting, trying to settle when he got the call. It wasn't the first time, but it was just as scary, that never changed. By the time he'd gotten there, he didn't even know if he was worried, scared, angry or just a combinations of it all, but he felt like there was a lump in his throat, keeping him from breathing right. He loved Cooper. Hell he loved him more than anything. But this was killing them both. Every single time he saw him like this, all he could think about was his mother. He was a kid then, he couldn't have known, couldn't have helped and he was just as lost in his own addictions. But now things were different. Now he could help, there had to be a way to help. One thing was for sure, he couldn't just sit back and watch anymore.

"I've got you." He whispered when he felt him slip from his arms and quickly held him tighter, helping him inside. The moment he was pushed away, he closed his eyes tight and breathed in. 'Breath', he reminded himself. They couldn't just pretend everything was fine, not again. He couldn't. "You're not fine."

________

COOPER:

"I overdid it just a little, so what?" he got defensive immediately.

Cooper couldn't handle confrontation. It was all his life seemed to be full of.

If is wasn't his father holding him against a wall and telling him he was a disappointment, it had been his manager. Cooper had been lucky rid himself of those worlds but he had fallen through the other side unable to cope with himself and the world around him. "I'm fine, I- I just needed a little off the edge," he explained walking to the fridge and taking out a carton of orange juice.

"I'm- stop it, Jack," he looked back at his boyfriend of three years.

The look on his face tore him in two every time. He'd seen it before.

"What do you want from me?" Cooper switched to anger immediately to hide the overwhelming sense of fear rising up through his veins. "I didn't ask you to come- I didn't- I didn't need you to pick me up-" the frustration rose with each word and it became clear very quickly that he was rambling. Apart from the fact he barely had control of his thoughts, Cooper let his mouth run when he was frightened. Finding comfort in bracing himself against the counter, he hung his head and took a deep breath. His chest was heaving and his heart was racing as a result of the toxins he'd flooded his system with hours earlier. He was in a bad state and the anxiety from the conversation was only making it worse.

________

JACK:

"Just a little? This is just a little? What's too much Cooper? What's enough?" Jack snapped back, unable to stop himself.

He'd usually let it go, he'd try to be there, comfort him, tell him tomorrow would be better. He couldn't keep doing that. It wasn't helping. He'd been right there. Refusing to get help, to accept what was happening. He had someone snap him out of it. He could only do the same for Cooper. He had to.

He listened, trying to get in his mind, trying to understand what he'd supposed to do but he shook his head "You think that's the issue here? You think i give a fuck i had to come pick you up? That's not the problem, damn it Cooper!" he groaned as he rubbed at his temples. He was so tired.

Seeing him like that, he couldn't stay angry for long, but that didn't take the hurt away. He went over to him, slowly put his arms around him and started rubbing circles over his back "Breath" he whispered as he dropped his head against his.

________

COOPER:

Cooper shot his a glare. The last thing he wanted right now was this. Not when he could barely keep himself standing, not when his head was screaming in some agonising, drumming headache. His mouth opened to argue but he genuinely didn’t have an answer for him and that only angered the man more.

He felt Jack’s arms around him and usually he’d settle into a hug. Only now he was the problem, he was the cause for the rise in anxiety. “I don’t need you,” he pushed him away and took a few steps to distance them. Covering his mouth to cough into his sleeve, he tried to regulate his breathing. This wasn’t gaining anything, this was just another pointless argument. “Just go Jack, we’ll talk tomorrow. I can’t do this right now,” he spoke a little calmer, it seemed the best option right now. Like they always did, leave it to ignore tomorrow.

________

JACK:

Jack closed his eyes again, breathed in again. He couldn't get angry too. They wouldn't get anywhere like that. "Yes you do. That's the problem, Cooper, you do need me and you need help but you won't accept that, will you?" He leaned back against the kitchen counter. Another breath.

"We're not leaving this for tomorrow again. We're not just brushing it off again." he insisted and followed him "I hate making you feel like this, but even if we talk about it tomorrow or next week, or next month, you will be feeling the exact same you're feeling now, it won't be any different." he reached out again, touched his arm this time. "Coop... i love you so fucking much. If i don't do something, if i don't help you and something happens to you..." he trailed off and let go off him, to start pacing the room.

He couldn't even think of it. "I watched mom do this to herself. Fuck i did it to myself. I can't... i won't let you go on like this."

________

COOPER:

His face twisted into a look of hurt and anger when he heard his words.

Clenching his jaw, tears prickled in the corner of his eyes as much as he tried to swallow and contain the raw emotion wanting to spill out. He didn’t need help. Jack was right. He wouldn’t admit that he knew this was destroying him as much as an unmanageable schedule was.

It was petty and he knew it, moving his arm away from Jack. Yet he also knew he needed the space. Jack was the cause of a lot of anxiety in that moment and there wasn’t a lot keeping him from trying to bolt out the door.

“I can’t Jack,” he shook his head, “please stop,” he begged him, voice breaking as a tear escaped down his cheek. “I-“ he found himself lost for words and stood with an open mouth, only able to shake his head. “I’m fine,” he repeated.

It didn’t matter how much he was in pain. How mentally he wasn’t stable from the constant mental abuse from his father. How the years under a corrupt manager had left him overworked and aching inside and out. It had been his manager who had pushed him down this route of coping. He’d been coping for so long he forgot how it was to be okay. To not wear a smile because it was the easiest thing to do. He didn’t know another option. “I won’t, Jack,” he croaked, hanging his head as it wasn’t an easy thing to confess. “I’m okay.”

________

JACK:

Jack listened and waited and tried to stay calm and find a way around this. There had to be a way. They could get through this. But the more he listened to him the more he realized, Cooper wouldn’t listen. He wouldn’t accept help and Jack would be there, watching him destroy himself. “I’m not.” He finally said.

“I’m not okay.” It was like a weight lifted off his shoulder once the words were out. “I can’t do it. I can’t sit and watch you kill yourself. I’m far from worried about you. I’m fucking terrified.” He sighed, just watching him for a moment “It has to stop, Cooper. I need to stop.” He muttered as he finally let the tears drop

________

COOPER:

The more the other spoke, the more his head and heart ached. He was already in pain, he didn't want to hear this on top of how he was feeling. A sob broke his silence as he turned away and hid his face in his shoulder for a moment. Yet he didn't stop. "Jack just shut up, just be quiet, please" he pleaded.

Looking back at him, his hands fumbled until the found the counter behind him. Something to ground himself on, something to support his weight. "I'm not gonna- I wouldn't let it get that far," he shook his head in denial. "Jack please, can we just got to bed, can we just-" he indicated the bedroom door behind his boyfriend. He was desperate to do anything but this. "Please, Jack."

________

JACK:

Jack slowly stepped closer to him as he shook his head “You have no control over it, Coop. You can’t stop. You have no control and you don’t even know it.” He lightly touched his arm and gave it a squeeze, tears rolling down his face. He couldn’t break down now no matter how much he was hurting

“I love you.” He whispered as he watched him. All he wanted to do was hold him, tell him everything would be alright but it would be a lie “Please. Let me help you. Let me take care of you, Cooper.”

________

COOPER:

Cooper let his gaze linger on Jack. Tear stained cheeks as he leant forward and held him as though his life depended on it. An overwhelming feeling was consuming him and he was afraid to acknowledge it.

"I can't do that Jack," he shook his head. "I know that if I promise you this, I'll just find a high somewhere else," he confessed. "Jack- you're not-" he broke for a moment. He didn't want to make excuses and he knew he was being selfish, to drag him through this hurt train. "You're not here all the time Jack," he looked up at him, honesty dripping from his words. "I can't promise you that I won't take the first oppourtunity to drown out my senses because my head is spinning or my- my- I loathe the reflection in the mirror or the- how-" he stopped to breathe.

Hanging his head he didn't know how to tell him that his dreams were always flooded with nightmares, that he'd grown up in a toxic industry. That from the age of six, he'd done what he loved but this world was full of corrupt individuals who only cared about how many figures you were making.

"I- I try to manage when it gets bad again, I do- I swear I do Jack," Cooper confessed. He knew Jack knew of his past. He knew of the way his manager had treated him, he knew the emotional torment his father put him through. "I'm not..." he trailed off as he took a step back. "I'm not able to change."

________

JACK:

“I know you try, love. I know you do. I am not blaming you. That isn’t what I’m doing. I’m worrying. I’m scared.” Jack pressed his lips to his temple.

He rubbed the tears off his eyes before looking at him. He had to keep it together, he reminded himself. “I know I’m... I’m barely ever around. I’ll work less. I promise. I’ll take on less work. I’ll be here. With you.” He cupped his cheek to look at him, biting his lip hard to hold back a sob “I just... I just want you to be alright. I... want you to be safe. I don’t know... what to do. I don’t know what to do.” He said before hugging him tighter.

________

COOPER:

Cooper clenched his jaw and shut his eyes. Holding him tightly, he then let go and moved away. “I don’t know how to cope without it, Jack. Everything is so fucked up,” he felt his face twist with sadness before choking a sob.

“I can’t Jack, I can’t and I wont,” he shook his head. “I’m really- really fucking sorry,” he spoke quieter. “I just don’t want to get to three months time and you find me still using. I can’t make that promise right now, I got- I got the second round of tour, then I gotta film and do festival dates in the summer. When-“ he stopped as the idea hit him. “When it’s quiet again, when work is quiet, then I’ll try,” he offered. Yet with Cooper it never was quiet, he’d been working since he was a child and didn’t know how to stop and take a break from it all.

“Jack-“ he had so much he wanted to say but he couldn’t find any of the right words. “I- I gotta do this to keep my sanity. If-“ he took a deep breath and looked away. “I’m not gonna change it Jack.”

________

JACK:

"When will that be, love? When are you taking a break?" Jack cupped his cheek and pressed his lips to his temple "I'll be there. When you're ready to get help, when you let me be there for you. But now... now i have to go. I can't pretend everything's alright, it's eating me up, it's eating us up." he slowly took a step back and closed his eyes. Keep it together he thought as he took a deep breath, eyes blurry from the tears "I love you. Nothing will change that and if you... if you need me, i'm only a phone call away. But this... i can't do. I'm sorry Cooper. I'm so sorry." he muttered with a sob that he couldn't hold back.

________

COOPER:

Cooper’s face dropped as he heard Jack. They’d never come to this point and all he could feel was panic flood his body. “Jack-“ Cooper held onto his shoulders before pulling him into a hug and holding on. If he had to hold onto him to make him stay, then he would. He wasn’t about to lose one of the few good things in his life. However, he didn’t fight him when he moved away, mainly as he didn’t have the energy to be that selfish. He knew the ball was in his court. He could make that choice but when it was your one reliance for surviving one day to the next, he wasn’t prepared to give it up. The other side frightened him. There’d been a reason he’d resulted to that first high, there was a reason he kept using and that reason terrified him. He’d found the worst way to cope, to survive on the brink of living. Sliding down the cabinet, he couldn’t hide the tears that were tumbling down his cheeks in streams. It wasn’t often anyone saw Cooper cry. It wasn’t what a man did. A man didn’t show weakness. Or so, Richard Anderson had drummed into him from a child. Pick up, move on, internalise it all.

Yet right now there was no stopping the pain that was spilling out of him. “Just go... go,” he yelled at him before cries consumed his voice.

________

JACK:

Seeing Cooper like this, hurt too much. He was the cause of it, he'd pushed too far. But maybe this was the only way. It sure was the only way he could think of anymore. Maybe if he showed him, maybe if he could make him say how far things had gone, had bad it was, maybe Cooper would let him try to help.

Hearing him yell at him to leave, was like he suddenly standing under cold water. That wasn't supposed to happened. He had actual planned to leave, not really. He'd only wanted to show him how much this was hurting them both. He couldn't even think of his life without Cooper. He wouldn't choose the drugs over him. Right? That wouldn't happen. He was staring at him, frozen in place.

It took a lot of effort to push through the shock and react. "What..." he muttered "What?" he tried to take a step closer but he realized, too late, that he had gone too far, he had done this, he had pushed too much. He was arrogant to think Cooper would just accept help over losing him. It was that easy. Cooper was suffering and he'd only added to that suffering. He'd only made it harder for him to recover. "Cooper... i... i am sorry. I am so sorry. I didn't... i'm... i love you."

________

COOPER:

“Just shut up, Jack. Just shut.. up” he snapped at him before wiping his eyes and burying his head in his arms. He already felt alone, even with the other man still inches away from him. He’s given up on him and Cooper knew there was one person left in the world who hadn’t. He wanted to go home.

Choking on sobs, he felt consumed in grief. He’d lost someone he loved, someone he cared for deeply. He had tried to explain. To explain that it wasn’t a choice at this stage. It was a fear. It was a way to survive. It was a comfort. A siren in the water, one that tempted him in with release from the agony of living but turned around and wrapped its hand around his throat. “Just go, Jack,” he told him, voice defeated. Eyes stained red and face damp with tears. He kept his gaze on the floor, unable to look at him or say goodbye. This was the end.

________

JACK:

He'd lost him. He'd really lost him over his own stubbornness and arrogance, thinking he could make him see what he saw, by pushing him too far and now it was too late. He regretted every word, but that didn't make them any less true. He couldn't sit by and watch him kill himself, he couldn't see him take his mother's path. Maybe this was for the best, for both of them, as much as it broke his heart. He took a step back from him, tears rolling down, face red, breathing heavily as he took more steps backwards "I'm sorry Cooper..." he said quietly, not even sure he'd heard before he turned around and walked to the door. He reached to open it, waiting, hoping but deep down he knew it wouldn't happen. He opened the door and stepped out, stopping himself from looking back.

________

COOPER:

The sound of the door closing hurt more than any words could.

Pressing his palms over his eyes, he let his shoulders shake with quiet sobs as his mind tried to free itself from the fear and panic rising in him. He had lost the person he loved, there was no easy way to digest that. He knew it was his own fault, he knew that.. but he couldn’t lie to him. He couldn’t look him in the eye and tell him he’d relapsed after a month or so like he usually did.

Life just wasn’t in a right place to stop; to cut the root and leave the tree to fall. He knew that. There wasn’t time in his life to stop and deal with the mess.

Now was the time to do the most important lesson his mother had taught him.

Welcome the pain, shake its hand politely, embrace it. Pamela Anderson had seen him through many heartaches and was often a warden to help fight the anxiety that took over during his childhood years.

Next, to move back from it, inhale deeply and take a step forward.

Finding his feet, he wiped his face on his sleeve before reaching for a glass from his whiskey set. His hand hestitated before dropping. His eyes lingered on the bottles atop the upright piano before he slumped onto the stool and tapped at a few ivory keys. Music was always a comfort, especially the piano.

Jack had been right.

It had been a couple of weeks at home when his mother found him on the floor of his teenage bedroom. He’d woken up in hospital a day later.

That was the wake up call that stuck.

Brown eyes lingered over the hazy street lights of Boston harbour. He’d chosen to stay at home and attend a rehabilitation centre where his Mom could come and visit often. Six long months this place became his home.

Days were long and short, weeks dragged and months flew.

Yet his favourite view was from his room. A wide window lay just beyond the bed and he could see the harbour. It was a place he loved most. Cooper had spent many years running up and down past the heavy metal chains. He’d researched the ships that had docked there and fascinated himself with the history. If anywhere was going to ground him, then it would be here, this was home.

Hearing his phone buzz, he smiled at the goodnight text from his mother. No matter where in the world, what timezone he was in or what time it was. She always sent him a text goodnight followed by other sentiments.

That was the moment he spotted a familiar name. He’d not spoken to him in months, hell, maybe longer. His heart still ached over that night.

It took several rewrites and a burst of courage to press the first send.

Cooper Anderson @ 3:02am...

Six months.

Gonna try for a world record.

[typing]

[pause]

Hey, Jack.

#F2F #F2F: Jack Carrigan #Past Thread

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kaelinaloveslomaris · 6 years ago

Text

Whumptober 21: Laced Drink

Okay, we’re real late. But I am determined to finish these, even if I have to go into November to do it.

I rushed the ending a bit here, but it’s done, so I’m posting it.

—

Noctis hated social functions. He especially hated social functions he was forced to attend in an official capacity, because it meant he had to be visible and couldn’t slip off halfway through the party. Prompto was never allowed in to alleviate his boredom, and when Ignis and Gladio were in attendance, they were always far too focused on making sure no one tried anything with him to be good company.

He wandered away from the crowds, Gladio at his heels like an oversized shadow, and found himself a spot on the upper tier of the Caelum Via roof by the aquarium. It was a massive, multi-storied cylinder, the centerpiece of the top few levels of the hotel, and Noctis was far more interested in watching the fish than interacting with any of the politicians at the party.

They swam in lazy circles, almost hypnotic in their movements, and better choreographed than most dancers Noctis had ever seen. Each school of different species moved fluidly as one, somehow never bumping into any of the others, and small leviathans twisted elegantly around the coral structures. Noctis wondered if they were as bored as he was.

“Don’t wander too far off, Noct,” Gladio murmured to him. Noctis glanced up at him, tearing his eyes away from the fish.

“I’m not. I’m still fully in view if somebody wants to come talk to me that badly, but at least if I’m up here, people have to go out of their way to get to me. I’m just trying to make it as inconvenient for them as it is for me.” He grinned wolfishly, and Gladio rolled his eyes.

Noctis returned to leaning against the railing, his back to the party. The low hum of conversation was already becoming annoying, and he had several hours yet to endure.

He stole a glance at Gladio. He was standing just to Noctis’s left at parade rest, hands clasped loosely behind his back. He pulled off the finely tailored black suit better than Noctis ever could, even if he was sure his Shield was just as uncomfortable as he was. His eyes roamed the crowd, probably scanning for any potential threats, and Noctis sighed. How Gladio’s stress levels weren’t off the charts, he’d never understand.

“Do you ever relax?”

Gladio frowned. “I’m here to make sure you stay safe,” he said, as if that was answer enough. It was Noctis’s turn to roll his eyes.

“I’ll let you know if anyone tries to push me off the balcony.”

“Not funny.”

Noctis turned around, searching through the crowd until he found his dad. He was talking animatedly with one of his council members, his Shield nearby but also engaged in a conversation. Noctis gestured towards them. “See, Clarus is enjoying himself.”

“His Majesty can take care of himself. And my dad is paying him closer attention than it seems.”

“I can take care of myself!” Noctis protested. The look Gladio shot him said he disagreed. Noctis pouted.

“Maybe if you didn’t wander so far away from the proceedings, I would have something to do other than stand next to you.”

“You always just hover regardless of where I’m standing. And I’m making your job easier. No one can sneak up on us here,” Noctis pointed out. Gladio huffed.

Noctis watched his father laugh at something his council member said. It was a real laugh, one that had his head tilting back and his eyes half closed. Noctis smiled. His dad didn’t laugh enough these days, so it was good to see. And there was a fond smile on Clarus’s face that Noctis was pretty sure was directed at Regis.

Noctis noticed, not for the first time but more obviously now that Gladio had pointed it out, how Clarus reoriented himself every time the king shifted, always making sure his charge was in view but that his presence wasn’t stifling. There was a natural, easy flow to their dance, and Noctis wondered if he and Gladio would ever reach that sort of equilibrium.

He had never seen his dad argue with his Shield the way Noctis and Gladio did. They were completely comfortable around each other, with none of the strained tension present between their sons, and Regis never seemed to be annoyed at Clarus’s constant presence.

Of course, Noctis and Gladio had gotten off to a rough start, and he was sure they weren’t the only prince and Shield in their families’ history to not be perfectly matched, but Noctis couldn’t help the occasional sting of jealousy for what his dad and Clarus had.

“You alright?” Gladio asked, a note of concern in his voice, and Noctis shook away the thoughts. Gladio did care about him, in his own pushy, overbearing way.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” He turned around again, not wanting to watch his dad anymore, and focused his attention back on the aquarium.

Noctis looked up as a waiter approached him with a single glass of champagne on his tray. He offered it to Noctis, and he took it absentmindedly, more out of polite habit than any true interest in the drink.

Noctis swirled the pale liquid around in the delicate glass. He didn’t care much for alcohol, didn’t like having his senses dulled or impaired in any way. But a few sips of champagne was hardly going to affect him, and it might help him to not look completely bored, which was something Ignis had said he should avoid at all costs. And Noctis knew from experience that looking bored at a party was an invitation for bootlicking politicians to invade his personal space and start inane conversations.

He took a sip of the champagne. It was some of the better stuff he’d ever tasted. Unsurprisingly, considering they were the ones who had supplied it, but it still wasn’t something Noctis would seek out.

The fish continued their synchronized swimming as Noctis slowly sipped at his champagne. He was pleased that his isolating stunt appeared to be working. No one had approached him yet, and even though it wouldn’t take too long for the aquarium to get boring to stare at, it was better than having to engage in conversation.

Pain suddenly stabbed through Noctis’s head. He gasped, squeezing his eyes shut and instinctively reaching up to clutch at his head. The glass slipped from his hand, the shatter loud against the backdrop of distant conversations, and Gladio’s hands were instantly on his shoulders, steadying him.

“Noct! Are you okay?”

Noctis groaned in response, the throbbing in his head intensifying. He grabbed at Gladio’s jacket, fighting against sudden nausea as he stumbled into his Shield’s chest. Gladio caught him and guided him a few steps over to a bench, sitting him down on it. Noctis immediately hunched over, one hand pressed to his head, the other still clutching at Gladio’s lapel.

Gladio dropped to his knees in front of Noctis and grabbed his chin, forcing Noctis’s head up.

“Noct, look at me.” Noctis opened his eyes to meet Gladio’s frightened gaze, wincing at the lance of pain the dim lighting sent through his head. “Six, Noct, your pupils are huge!”

Gladio’s eyes strayed to the spilled champagne and his face paled.

“Oh no…”

Sudden fear gripped Noctis as he realized the same thing Gladio had. A wave of dizziness crashed over him, and he slumped off the bench into Gladio’s surprised arms. It was too much effort to remain upright anyways. He just wanted to curl up until the pain in his head stopped.

It was a tearing pain, sharp stabs that were nearly enough to drown out the nausea in his stomach. It was far worse than any migraine he had ever experienced and he just wanted it to stop.

Dimly, Noctis was aware of Gladio talking into his earpiece, something about poison and medical attention. Then Gladio’s hands were back on him, brushing his hair back, loosening his tie, nudging him onto his side.

“I need you to stay awake, Noct. Talk to me. How are you feeling?”

“Like crap,” Noctis managed. Even talking hurt. Moving his jaw was like someone pounding a nail into his skull.

Another brush against his face. “You’re burning up.”

Footsteps, accompanied by the distinctive tap of his dad’s cane, made Noctis curl up tighter. He didn’t want his dad to see him like this.

There was a murmur of quiet voices, then Gladio’s hands left him. Noctis whimpered at the loss of the comforting touch, but there was the scrape of his dad’s brace against the floor, and new hands replaced Gladio’s on his shoulder and face.

“Noctis?” The familiar voice sent a wash of comfort through him, even as he hated knowing how worried his dad must be. He reached out and Regis grasped his hand. Noctis took strength from it, as he had a decade ago when his dad had sat at his bedside all through his recovery. His dad meant safety, meant all would be well no matter how bad things seemed.

“Help is coming. Stay awake, son.”

He wanted to scream as his body was jostled, but even that would take too much effort, and the following comfort of being cradled in his dad’s arms helped in some small way to ward off the edge of the pain. Gentle fingers combed through his hair, magic in his touch that had nothing to do with the crystal, and Noctis found the strength to stay awake until medical help arrived.

#whumptober2019 #no.21 #noctis lucis caelum #gladio amicitia #regis lucis caelum #final fantasy xv #ffxv #my fanfiction #my writing

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richardlawson · 7 years ago

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Flying Lessons

I. I decided maybe I’d stop being scared of flying. I rode more planes in the last six weeks than I ever have in such a concentrated amount of time. There was a wedding in Alaska, rain and late light and an expansiveness that I was surprisingly happy to push an old friend off into. A true beginning on the edge of the unknown. And then there were, now strangely familiar, the annual work trips, a film festival in the mountains of Colorado and one in the downtown canyons of high-rise Toronto. It was a lot of planes almost at once, and I, gripping the armrests tightly each and every way, got exhausted by the constant tension and brace of it. I thought maybe I just don’t want to be scared of this anymore.

A woman next to me on the small-plane portion of my trip to Telluride could tell that I was nervous, so she sighed kindly and removed her reading glasses and closed her book and engaged me, so I wouldn’t be a flinching, jumping mess for the next two hours. She was excited to learn where I work, a loyal subscriber, and I was intrigued to learn that she was a neuroscientist from a wealthy corner of the city where I grew up, whose adult daughters had bought passes for the whole family to see a bunch of movies together over Labor Day Weekend. (Her adult daughters had spent thousands of dollars.) She talked to me about fear and aversion therapy, things she knows about through her work, but also about a reality show she and her daughter watch, each episode detailing some air disaster. “It’s not one thing going wrong,” she said. “It’s about three. And it’s so rare that three things would ever go wrong.”

I was comforted, and happy to impress this friendly stranger with the details of my fabulously untenable line of work. Soon enough, me still sweaty of palm, we’d landed on the flat land of Montrose, the mountains there in the gray distance, hazy with promise and the vaguest of threats. She wished me a good trip. “See you in line!” I said, which is what you say to someone else bound for this exclusive-est of exclusive film festivals, this pretense that you’re in for a weekend of weary line-waiting and work, when in fact it’s just a party of high-altitude luck.

When I was waiting for my shuttle van outside the airport, she found me again, introduced me to one of her daughters. I told the daughter, maybe 26, that her mother had been a great comfort during the bumps. “I kept thinking about that show!” the daughter said, turning to her mother. “Every time the engine noise changed.”

The engines change noise all the time. But—I’m assured, over and over again—the difference in whine and roar is just part of the intricate process of flying, of planes doing their calm and churning function. Since then, I haven’t watched the reality show that my seatmate so loves, but I have watched myriad YouTube videos, computer simulations of flights that went wrong. They’re harrowing, but they’re also soothing in their complex pathology. It’s not even three things that need to go wrong; it’s a whole collection of faults and mistakes and acts of the divine that will rip a plane from the sky and send it twirling toward the ground.

So I guess there’s cautious relief in that. Maybe enough that I find myself thinking that, with enough honest assessment, I might be able to beat this fear for good. Aiding in that is the steady drone of planes flying low-ish over my apartment, all day. I’m positioned under a flight path toward (I think?) LaGuardia, and there they all are! Plane after plane after plane, safely making their way home. How could I ever be so scared of something so regular? Of something so done, by so many people, every day?

I’m back on a plane around Halloween, so we’ll see how I do then, hurtling toward Savannah for an exciting few days. I hope I can enjoy the chance that brought me there, that I can listen to the bells and boops and groans and know it’s just the noise of things working.

II. There is this guy, who I am trying to be less afraid of too. Or rather, the idea of him, this now months-long series of sporadic dates, never quite enough to get traction, but enough to think that there might be something finally gaining under our feet, now that fall’s arrived and here we are with a little more free time on our hands. How funny to pine for this for so long, and then, when it maybe arrives in all its sweet imperfection, to feel so wary of it, so guarded against it. It’s such a nice idea, isn’t it, to give in to another person and have them offer up what they might give you in return. But what a big thing that actually is, that gift, that reliance, that work. I feel a bit silly, to have wanted something all this time without ever really knowing what it might actually mean.

I don’t want to poison it with personal essay. So I’ll shut up about it soon. But some nice things, to remind myself: A hand on a knee at a candlelit bar on a Saturday night, the casual closeness of that, the quiet confirmation. The fuzz of hair and puffy faces the morning after, the lingering of the spell before the world intervenes and common stresses and new doubts fade their way in. The laugh you get, out of generosity more than anything else, from a bad joke that will only ever be funny in that one intimate second. The little dollop of a text message, the ping of a thought he had about you, a mile away in his apartment.

It’s all good stuff. Amateur stuff, maybe, but my stuff nonetheless. Something to sift through and process and also think nothing about. It’s hard to navigate this with focused intensity that has to outwardly present itself as cool and evenhanded and, for now, ambivalent. Maybe it needn’t be any of that. The truth is, I really don’t know.

III. My mom told me over the phone this weekend that she and my dad might be relocating, leaving the only house I’ve ever known them to live in to try something else out. A retirement-friendly place in Providence—goodbye, Boston!—that will be good for my dad now, and for my mom in 20 years. I greeted the news of this potential massive change with a surprising flatness, standing in the hallway of my apartment, not sure whether to sit on the living room couch and stare out the window as she said it, or to lie on my bed and let the curtains flutter with the wind of everything moving. I creaked the floorboards with my shifting weight and asked my mom to send me a link to the place, later looking at its windowless kitchen and wide swaths of carpeting, imagining what life might be like then, after they’d leapt into something we’d never known before.

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matthillica · 4 years ago

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Pandemic - Day 355

This week marks 1 year since Covid was declared a Pandemic in the US.

As things began to shut down and the world changed before our eyes last March, I picked up this blog again thinking it would be interesting to document. At the time, although we hadn't told anyone yet, my wife was three months pregnant with our second child. My daughter was about to turn two. What better way, I thought, to show my kids what Covid was like than to document the pandemic's course as we muddled our way through daily uncertainty.

What I hadn't counted on was the duration and depth of the pandemic. I figured we'd be locked down in quarantine for three months, tops… maybe six if things were handled poorly.

As the novelty of Covid and prepping pantries and Covid memes began to wear off, we learned more about how Covid is actually transmitted. That meant aspects of our lives went back to normal while other abnormal aspects became second nature. Fear subsided, somewhat. I no longer stressed as much about grocery store trips. We still wear masks everywhere, but aren't afraid of Covid lurking behind every corner. For the most part, we understand that by taking a few simple steps, we can protect ourselves and our family from this disease.

Then in May came George Floyd, which took a world already turned on its head and lit a fire underneath it. A summer of protests against police brutality followed, then the politicization of masks, racial tension, and the most heated election cycle in my memory, all capped off by a coup attempt… the year we found ourselves living through became about so much more than just a pandemic.

The overwhelming was soon mired in disinformation and propaganda and the overwhelming-ness of it all became too overwhelming to even care about documenting, even for posterity.

I quit updating. Who gave a shit anyway? Certainly not me. I had bigger fish to fry than documenting the slow motion train wreck. I shared pics from my Instagram when I felt like it. I helped my Mom move from Kansas to Atlanta and then we packed up and moved to a new house ourselves. This was a welcome distraction from the horrible world, but Covid never really leaves your consciousness. It's always there, especially in weird, unexpected moments. This guy is trying to talk to me and he's getting too close but I don't want to offend him. I just filled up with gas and I'm all out of hand sanitizer, so I drive home reminding myself not to touch my face for the entire 15 minute ride. Mom wants to go to the salon, but I’m worried about exposure because my wife and her father are both high risk and I’m afraid to offend her by saying something. You're always thinking about it. How could you not? Covid is always there, always forcing you to adjust your life and habits around it.

With over 500,000 dead at this point in the US alone, the story of our little pandemic lives seemed so miniscule and, quite frankly, blessed. Sure, we'd lost income due to my unemployment, but our family managed to stay healthy (so far) and happy and together. We had it so much better than so many.

But then I have days like today where small things just rip me apart.

I got my car stuck in the mud in our backyard trying to unload a toolbox in our basement the other day and now I can't get it out of the goddamn grass. It's now sat there for three days while I waited for the ground to dry out so I could try again. I decided this morning to try and get it out by laying a cardboard path of old moving boxes. It was a massive failure that only succeeded in creating more muddy ruts, my car even more stuck now than it was this morning.

I sat in my driver's seat this morning… yelling at my stupid tires and two-wheel-drive, pounding on the steering wheel; the weight of all these little thoughts and worries crashing in around me. My daughter's entire second year was spent inside a fucking house. My son is already getting his first teeth and has only met six people. My hands have been cracked and bleeding for 12 months from constant hand washing. I haven't had a haircut in a year. I haven't seen some of my closest friends in over a year. I have a niece in Las Vegas who I was supposed to meet in March 2020 when she was four months old… now she's walking and talking. My friend lost her uncle and father to Covid in the same month. My other friend has been suffering with Covid for almost two months. My brother caught Covid in September shadowing home inspections to become a certified inspector because MGM’s shows were all closed. I haven't seen my father in a year and he’s 71 and lives by himself. The last time we were together (a year ago this week) he helped me buy a handgun for protection. Political division, social unrest, and America's tenuous grip on democracy. What kind of world did I just bring children into? Are we gonna make it?

I know there is light, but there are days when it still feels pretty damn dark.

And I guess that's where I'm at, mentally speaking. Exhausted. Sad. Grateful. So incredibly grateful. Even when the exhaustion takes over and guts me, I remind myself to be grateful. I'm grateful that the pandemic hasn't been worse for us as it has for so many others. I'm grateful that I've been able to cobble together an income off freelance work. I'm grateful that my kids are happy and healthy, not to mention too young to remember any of this shit once it's over. I’m grateful that I've learned to cook. I'm grateful that my wife and I still love each other. I'm grateful for family who have helped us navigate being working parents without daycare. I'm grateful that my parents and my wife's parents have been vaccinated. I'm grateful that now an end is in sight. When that end will be for us, I'm still not sure, but at least we know it's coming. And for that, I am grateful.

Now we brace for a return to "normalcy", whatever that means… and however long it takes. A regular topic of conversation in my house is what the first restaurant we eat inside will be. Or what vacation we'll take first. These all still feel very aspirational to me, but at least we're aspiring, I guess. In my mind, I'm ready to burst out of my unfinished basement office and folding table desk to tackle the world again. I'm ready to dive into another marketing department somewhere, go see a concert in the front row, take my kid to the aquarium so she can see the fish she only remembers from pictures. In my mind, I'm ready for all of these things and telling myself that attitude is everything.

But in my heart I know that it will probably be a long time before I can eat comfortably at a restaurant again, stand next to a stranger on a train, or sit in an airplane with other passengers without it doing a number on my head. In my heart I know that the first time I experience live music again, go to a museum, watch my child take in the majesty of a real shark, or feel the hug of a friend I've only seen over Zoom for 12+ months, I will be reduced to a puddle. And that's OK. I expect there are many, many others who feel exactly the same way and will be going through the same thing.

Still, if there's one thing the last year has taught me, it's that the abyss of the unknown is crossable and I'm ready to cross it, for better or for worse.

#Pandemic TheRona Covid-19 Lockdown

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thejokersenigma · 8 years ago

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Deadly Voice Part 21

Hi guys, so i haven’t really read over this much but I want to get it out, its 1am here, I’m exhausted and want to go to bed! So I apologize for any problems with it, but I wanted to get it finished tonight!

Hope you guys enjoy - I really appreciate the comments and feedback I am getting! And if you want to talk about anything not to do with fanfic then I am also here! I am happy to chat about anything, honestly!

Warning (yes this one has a warning): Suicidal themes - please don’t read if this is going to be in anyway triggering!

Masterlist

I had awoken in a cold sweat, my breathing fast like I had just been sprinting. As twisted onto my side I could still feel a weird ache in my stomach from my supposed ‘stab’ wound and I even lifted my pyjama top to check once more that it had truly all been a dream. It had.

It was still dark in my room and the clock on my phone read way too early, but there was no way I was closing my eyes again - it still felt all too real. So instead I lay awake, recapping the scenes that I could still remember until my mind seemed satisfied it had truly not happened and I was fine. Then I pulled myself up and out of bed.

I splashed my face with water to help wake me up before deciding to take another shower in an attempt to alleviate some of stress I could still feel in my body, winding me tight. The hot water and soothing massage of soap did seem to ease the tension in my muscles and I stepped out feeling relatively refreshed - though the memories of the dream still lingered in the back of my mind. And my plan. That was what now niggled in my thoughts – waiting to be acted on, promising to put an end to all of this.

I threw on my dressing gown – seeking comfort, knowing I had no need to be dressed and functioning really - and wandered through my darkened flat. The only light came from the street which shone in streaks through breaks in my curtains, illuminating strips of flooring and edges of furniture. I ran my hand over the rough area I knew a light switch would be and sought blindly before finding the plastic switch and flicking it to fill the room with the vivid artificial light that flooded the open room.

After the spots faded my vision I made my way to the kitchen area and made myself a cup of strong coffee before grabbing my laptop off the side of the counter and curling myself up the sofa, settling the laptop on my bare legs.

I spent the rest of the morning sat there researching and planning, only moving to refresh my coffee and chew on bits of dry cereal when I began to get hunger pangs. I soon felt I had looked at everything I needed at least twice and began to run out of ideas on what else to do with my time. I unfolded myself from my chair and felt my bones creak with the lack of use, my muscles stiff. Time to go for a walk, I thought and so I threw some half-decent clothes and headed out into the streets of Gotham with the idea to set everything up I needed.

As I strode out the back door of the club I walked through the alley where I had killed the two men and I was reminded of the Joker, and so sharply reminded of last night’s dream. The dream had been my mind telling me how much I needed to get out. Leave. I couldn’t stay here. I was in constant danger and anyone who I thought might actually care about me clearly didn’t. There was nothing in my life at the moment apart from uncertainty and mental torture. I didn’t want that to become physical torture either – be that by the Joker or Penguin.

The day was the usual over cast weather of Gotham as I moved through the dank streets. I still had the fear of the Joker suddenly appearing around one the streets and I would jump occasionally if I felt I saw flash of green. All were false alarms of course and I slowly began to feel more confident. By the time I returned back to the club I was far more relaxed and walking with more confidence. Besides, I was certain he had lost interest me, and therefore doubted he would want to follow me. Plus I was certain the man was nocturnal – I couldn’t imagine him strolling around Gotham in broad daylight – that would surely be a one way ticket back to Arkham.

I had wasted most of the afternoon with my stroll around the city so I didn’t have much time to kill till I needed to get ready for work. The evening was as uneventful as I could make it – not making any particular effort to attempt anything new. The whole evening I tried to avoid looking for Penguin, and, when I did notice him across the room, walking near the staff corridor, I made sure to avoid eye contact and just finish my set. I couldn’t deny I was distracted though, and I felt my whole soul wasn’t in my singing – my mind still running through the my scheduled plan for tomorrow. Maybe that was for the best – in the end it might be better really that I seemed out of sorts.

At the end of the night I made sure to dodge my way away from any conversations, narrowly avoiding Oliver who I knew would want to go over tomorrow’s schedule, never failing to make at least one criticism on tonight - whether it was my stage presence, the pitch or my outfit.

I slipped past Oliver and out of sight as he headed to the backstage area, and I moved down the staff corridor. I was nearly at the end by the staircase to that lead to my upstairs flat when I froze at a noise behind me coming from Penguin’s office. I thought better about my position and I quickly dashed for the cover of the steps. I made it out of sight of the passageway as the door of the office opened. I stole a glance around the old dark staircase barrier to see a tall business man stood halfway out of the doorway, he seemed to be shaking hands with whoever was in the room – most likely Penguin.

I didn’t loiter long, swiftly, but lightly springing up the remaining steps and then treading softly along the thin, worn carpet that led to my front door so that no one downstairs could hear me. Tonight I didn’t want to be disturbed by anyone.

I closed my front door carefully behind me and then made my way to my bedroom. I was mentally exhausted from the stress of my plan and the events of the past few weeks were still catching up on me, but I knew these same thoughts were reducing my chances of sleep tonight.

Never the less I braced myself for the hours of tossing and turning in my ever constricting bed linen, going through my usual evening routine mechanically before climbing into my bed lying wide awake, staring up at the greying ceiling above me. I was in for a long night I sighed.

And sure enough, it was after the hundredth run through of tomorrow’s plan I finally fell into a exhausted sleep.

It was time. I could put it off no longer. A nearby clock tower struck 8am. I had chosen this hour for a reason – the streets of Gotham would be busy with commuters, both pedestrians and vehicles.

I strode nonchalantly towards my destination, cars rushing past me where they could before they once again stuck in a blockade of traffic. Backstreets that I only dared to walk in the daylight offered some shelter from the chilly winds, though the cold of the morning still bit at my cheeks – the only bit of skin uncovered in the cold air.

I left the protection of the alleyways as I stepped out onto the main road, the strong winds now being tunnelled down the wide streets and whipping strands of my air across my face until I have up and scrapped it back into a messy bun. I now made my way towards one of the many bridges that crisscrossed and stitched Gotham together, my bulging coat pocket knocking against my thigh with each stride as I followed the bright brake lights of the usual morning congestion until I met the waterside. I peered over the thick stone barriers at the dark swirl of water below. It looked bleak and cold. How inviting, I thought.

I shook myself out of my thoughts and joined the crowd of people filing up the pavement and over the bridge. I was in no particular hurry and so was often shoved aside and overtaken by those running late for their early morning shifts.

I stepped out to side so I was leant against the low wall that lined the bridge, seeking refuge from the flow of foot traffic. Next to me were a few tourists taking selfies or full landscapes of the skyscraper skyline on their mobile phones and chatting in different accents and languages.

Now that I was here, staring out of the dark watery surface, I was becoming hot and bothered and I peeled my gloves off, my palms feeling clammy. I waited a bit longer - pretending to take in the view - the dark shadows of the towering offices standing out proudly against the dull, ashen sky. Eventually most of the people around me had moved off and I stood relatively alone as I glanced around, except for the steady flow of office workers and occasional vacationers that pasted by.

I took a deep breath. No reason to put this off anymore. I placed my palms on the solid stone barriers in front of me, ensuring I chose the cleanest bit, avoiding the worst areas of old chewing gum and bird droppings – I owed myself that much dignity. I put all my weight into my forearms and swung myself up so I knelt on the cold ledge, blowing out a sharp breath to calm myself as I pushed myself to a crouch, ignoring the stares I was beginning to get.

I made sure I had good balance on my feet before I pushed myself the rest of the way upright so that I stood facing out to the road and people milling before me.

The wind slapped my cheeks even sharper up here but I ignored it and the few lose strands of hair that flew in front of my face. I could see people now staring openly at me and some slowing, though not stopping, to look at the weirdo stood on the bridge. Some seem to just be confused about the situation, but I though a saw a few with concern on their faces, though still no one had stopped.

I could feel my exposed face becoming red and numb from the lashing wintery air. Damn I wish it wasn’t February – this might not be as bad if it was warmer.

The road over the bridge was heavy congested and so I could see some people the static cars looking out their windows at me as I reached into my heavy coat pocket and wrapped my hands around my gun that lay nestled in the fold of material.

I pulled the weapon out slowly, prolonging the moment as long as possible. Let everyone see. Get a good look, I thought as I brought the weapon out into the open. I heard a few gasps then, they probably feared more for their own lives then for mine in that moment. Some people who had begun to loiter did make a quick getaway then, in Gotham you rarely hung around at the sight of a weapon – random attacks being all too frequent on these streets – though I doubted many had occurred out of the cover of darkness and in the middle of a busy, crowded bridge. Though who was I to think this – there were some insane people in this city, and I was starting to believe I might be one of them.

People seemed to relax slightly about their own safety when I raised the gun toward my head. Were people talking? Was someone asking me something? I couldn’t hear over the wind and the rush of blood in my ears. I drowned everyone out. My arms were shaking from all the attention on me. I tried to keep my eyes fixed in front on me, staring unseeing at the river I could make out on the other side of the bridge. Still, out the corner of my eye, I could see a few people step out of their cars, though they didn’t make any move to come closer.

Though I couldn’t really see the gun anymore in my peripheral vision, I could feel its presence to the right of my temple. I felt tears slip down my cheeks. There were screams now; more people were getting out of their cars.

That was nice. People seemed to care. But did they care? Or did they just not want to have to own up later if they saw me do this and never tried to do anything?

People were getting closer now, but they still seem to act as though there was a 5 foot bubble in front of me. None of them dared to get closer than that and they formed a wall around this invisible boundary, their lips moving, eyes pleading. But I didn’t hear anything. It was like I was dreaming again, but I knew this was all too real.

I couldn’t let people touch me. They couldn’t stop me. This was the plan and I had to go through with it. It was the only way I could think of.

Then I noticed a new movement above all the others. Someone, a young girl around my age, was pushing through the wall of bodies. Her winter coat hung open with a scarf wrapped loosely around her neck and a woollen hat shoved quickly on her dark hair. She had come from one of the cars sat in the queue, the blue Volvo’s car door still open wide as she tried to worm her way through those who were too scared to get any closer to me. She seemed to generally care. That was nice. Gotham clearly hadn’t got to her yet. Maybe she wasn’t from around here. Maybe she was just visiting someone – a boyfriend maybe. Wouldn’t that be nice, I thought as my finger rested on the trigger.

She had cleared the crowd now - her woollen hat having been lost in the mass, but she didn’t seem to care. The gun was becoming heavy in my hand now, my arm weakening from holding it up for so long. Get on with it! I snapped at myself. She was a few feet from me now crying something indistinct to my ear amongst the noises that roared in my ears. Was she saying to stop? Don’t do it? It didn’t really matter what she was saying – it wouldn’t stop me. She didn’t know me, didn’t know my situation, and didn’t know that this was the only way I could think of to get out of everything.

I hoped her boyfriend was nice and this toxic city didn’t corrupt her as I finally pulled the trigger. I fell backwards, the chilling air rushing to meet me as I plummeted down, making my stomach drop. The sight of the bridge rushing away from me was enough to get me to shut my eyes, but not before I saw the girl’s head appear over the side of the railing. Sorry, I apologised silently, she didn’t need to experience this.

I fell for longer than I thought, wondering if somehow the world had vanished around me and I was now just falling through a void in the universe. Just as I finished this thought however, I felt the stinging slap as my back collided with the steely surface of the river.

#joker x reader #deadly voice #deadly voice part 21 #joker fanfic #joker fanfiction #jokersenigma #fanfic #fanfiction #deadly voice fanfiction #deadly voice fanfic

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