#i spend a lot of therapy time talking about you because youre hurting me too much and then i cant talk about anything else | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

literaryavenger · 6 months

Text

Broken - bonus part

Summary: It's been a year since Bucky moved in and now it's his turn to help you, only problem is you won't let him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: No use of Y/N. Language. A lot of fluff. Eating disorder. Angst.

Word Count: 7.8K

A/N: I made this bonus part to explore more about the eating disorder that was hinted in the first couple of chapters. I had plans to incorporated in the story when I was planning on making it longer, but with how it went it didn't feel like there was a place for it. I'd like to thank @ordelixx for giving me the idea for this additional part. Hope you enjoy it, I'm always open to more ideas so feel free to spam in my inbox or messages, know I always appreciate it! also sorry it took me so long to finish this but I started it and then kind of lost inspiration :(

Masterlist

It’s been a year since Bucky arrived at the tower and about 11 months since his hearing.

As conditioned by his pardon he’s been going to therapy, he’s been training with the team and has been doing more and more missions, on probation, but still he’s been doing better than ever.

Even Tony had to admit that the more time he spent with Bucky the more the super soldier grew on him.

If a few months ago he begrudgingly spent time with the super soldier at your request, if anything to spend time with you too since you’re still inseparable, now Tony actively seeks him out; wanting to study his new vibranium arm, testing his gadgets since he got hurt less easily than the others. Or sometimes simply to talk about things like astronomy after Tony found out about Bucky’s interest in the subject.

They’ve even had a few conversations on Howard and his friendship with the sergeant back in the 40s.

You're proud of all the progress Bucky’s made, and you appreciate the fact that getting more comfortable in the 21st century and becoming more confident didn’t make him pull away from you.

It's a fear you had, that maybe Bucky stuck to you because you were the first person after Steve that made him feel safe, that the more people he got familiar with the more he was gonna pull away from you, not needing you as much anymore.

But, to your delight, Bucky’s still as touchy and clingy towards you as ever, if anything he's grown even more affectionate.

He never lets a day go by without telling you how much he loves you and appreciates you, kissing you any chance he gets and holding you tight every night in the room the two of you have been officially sharing the last few weeks since you’ve all moved to the new Avengers Compound upstate.

You love Bucky’s attention and you’re just as affectionate towards him as he is towards you. Everything was going great.

Until it wasn’t.

You’re on your way to your room, looking forward to seeing Bucky after a full morning of mission reports with Steve and then training with Natasha.

She obviously kicked your ass and you're exhausted, wanting nothing more than to be in his warm embrace for the rest of the day.

Thankfully, it’s friday afternoon and you have no new missions which means your weekend is wide open.

You stop on your tracks when you hear your name being mentioned in a conversation right around the corner.

You recognize one of the voices as Sharon Carter, one of the agents of Shield that lives and works at the compound the Avengers now reside in.

You don’t know why you stop to listen in on the conversation, you’re not really one to eavesdrop, but something about her tone makes your legs refuse to move towards her direction. Which just so happens to be the way towards the Avengers only part of the building.

Your stomach drops when you hear the other girl’s next sentence.

"And can you believe she got Sergeant Barnes to date her?" Sharon groans before answering.

"Of course she did, he was all broken and vulnerable and she was like the first person he met at the tower. He obviously got attached to the first person that was nice to him, otherwise how do you think a girl like her could ever have a chance with him?" she says matter-of-factly.

"You’re right, I mean he’s probably still with her just out of habit. He’s too nice to hurt her feelings." the other girl says, giggling.

"Exactly." Sharon agrees, laughing with her friend. "I mean, he’d never go for her if he met her today. He’d probably be flirting his way through the actually pretty girls that live around here, like you and me."

You can hear their laughter growing louder as they get closer to where you are frozen on your spot and feel yourself starting to panic.

You can’t face them right now, the only thing on your mind is finding a place to hide in.

You see a door behind you and you sprint to it, reaching it, running inside and closing the door softly in record time. You press your ear up against it and can hear the muffled laughter and some more comments on you and Bucky.

When they’re finally far enough that you can’t hear them, you let yourself relax, pressing your back against the door and looking into the dark closet you’re hiding in while you let their words really sink in, your brain working overtime to make sure you didn’t misheard or misinterpreted anything.

Once you’re sure you indeed heard everything correctly, tears start to form in your eyes.

Is that really what people think? That Bucky’s just with you because he pities you?

You’ve always known Bucky was beautiful, definitely the hottest guy you’ve ever seen in your life, and you’ve always known he was out of your league.

You know you’re by no means thin, but you also don’t consider yourself fat, especially not after all the work that it took you to get to a place where you have a healthy relationship with your body.

Yes, you still have your doubts and insecurities, but that’s just in your head.

Although here you are, hiding in a supply closet, tears streaming down your face, because there are actual people outside of your head that see your flaws too.

One thing is to wonder about this stuff in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep, the voices in your head taking over, but to hear those same thoughts coming out of someone else’s mouth hit you hard.

You don’t even know how long you stay hidden, but at some point you snap out of it and dry your tears, opening the door and making the way to your room.

It feels like only a second passes and then you’re opening the door of yours and Bucky’s room. You make a beeline for the bathroom, barely acknowledging your boyfriend when he greets you as you lock the bathroom door behind you.

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow at your cold shoulder, immediately getting worried. He gets up from the bed and knocks on the door of the bathroom calling out for you. "Everything okay?"

You can hear the concern in his voice and it only makes you feel worse as you find yourself wondering if he’s actually worried or just that good at pretending.

You look at your reflection in the mirror and all of a sudden you feel nauseous but you barely have time to realize it’s not just in your head when you’re suddenly throwing up in the toilet.

Bucky’s more worried than ever as he hears you be sick from the other side of the door. "Doll, I need you to talk to me or I will break down the door."

He knows it may not be the ideal thing to say, but his concern outweighs his rational thinking when you stop making sounds as he still hasn't heard your voice and is worried you might’ve passed out.

"I’m okay." your voice is quiet, but at least you’re conscious.

"Can you open the door for me, doll?" He can hear you sigh and shuffle a bit, probably getting up. Then he hears the faucet of the sink being turned on as you splash some water on your face.

He’s a little calmer now, patiently waiting for you and he lets out a little breath of relief when he hears the lock click.

You open it reluctantly, trying your best to look normal, but Bucky can see right through you.

"What’s wrong, baby?" he brings his hands to your cheeks and you can’t help but lean into them for a second before you grab his wrists and gently lower his hands, his face more worried than before.

"I’m fine, Bucky." you say, your voice almost emotionless.

"You were just throwing up. You’re not fine." it takes all of him not to reach for you again, not wanting to cross your boundaries.

"It’s nothing. Maybe I’m just sick. I’ll take a shower, it’ll make me feel better." You don’t give him time to respond as you close the door and lock it again, starting the shower.

Bucky feels like he can barely breathe, your behavior making him more worried than he’s been since the 40s and he had to take care of sickly little Steve.

Youìve never acted like this with him, when you were sick or even grumpy from your period you usually became clingy and wanted him around even more than you usually do. But he gives you the benefit of the doubt.

If you were sick this wasn’t the moment to think about himself. He has to take care of you first and he can ask more later you when you're feeling better.

With new resolve he heads towards the kitchen, determined to get everything you might need to make you feel better.

You stay in the shower for over an hour, trying to avoid Bucky as much as you can, but you know you had to get out and face him eventually.

When you come out of the bathroom you find him sitting in the desk chair, the desk full of things you’re pretty sure weren’t there when you entered the room.

Bucky's on his feet and coming towards you in a second, your favorite pair of pajamas in his hand.

"Are you feeling better?" he asks you softly, worry still present on his features.

You can’t bring yourself to look at him, taking the clothes and changing as fast as you can, a small ‘I’m fine’ leaving your lips.

"What's all of this?" you ask, stepping around him and walking towards the desk.

"Oh, I just brought you some things to make you feel better." He can't help himself as he wraps his arms around you from behind while you look through the things he brought you.

He got you all sorts of pain meds, your favorite snacks and drinks, your heating pad and your favorite comfort book.

You want to cry at the sight, but part of you can't help but doubt Bucky, even with how sweet he’s being.

You snap out of it when you feel Bucky give you a kiss on the shoulder and, suddenly, it all feels fake and it’s too much for you.

You place your hands on his and move his arms away from you, then start heading towards the bed.

"I’m not hungry. I just want to sleep for a bit." That's all you say as you lay down and turn your back on him, tears threatening to fall down again.

You hear him sigh behind you. Then he moves around and you feel him lay a kiss on your head before he walks out the room shutting the lights on his way, wanting to give you the space you clearly want.

You aren't sure if you're glad you can cry yourself to sleep freely or worried that him walking out solidifies the voices in your head that are telling you that maybe Bucky really doesn’t love you.

When you wake up the next morning Bucky’s arms were wrapped around you from behind.

Usually being in his hold makes you feel safe but right now all you can concentrate on is the feeling of his hands on your belly and how disgusted he would be if he woke up and realized the position you were in, no matter how many times you've been like this.

You slip away from his embrace and go to change into work out clothes. You went to sleep pretty early yesterday so it was still early in the morning when you woke up.

You aren’t expecting to meet anyone yet but, once again, you're proven wrong by the shuffling coming from the kitchen as you make your way to grab a bottle of water.

You approach carefully without making a sound and when you peak around the corner you see Steve, probably back from a morning run, in front of the counter with his back to you and a water bottle in his hand.

You try to move as quietly as possible, even with enhanced hearing your skills have gotten so good you're able to sneak around the super soldiers when needed.

You decide to use the stairs to get to the gym, the door leading to them squeaking lightly. Steve turns around at the sound but seems to decide it was nothing as he shrugs and makes his way to his room.

You’ve been at the gym for a couple of hours, stopping only to grab water from the mini fridge, when the door opens and you hear Bucky’s voice.

"Hey doll, I’ve been looking for you everywhere." His voice sounds genuinely concerned. You have to give him props on his acting skills.

"Yeah, couldn’t sleep." You say without looking at him, barely stopping your punching of the bag in front of you.

"I thought you were sick." he’s slowly getting closer, you’d almost think he was trying to corner a scared animal.

"Clearly I feel better." you shrug, trying to end this conversation as fast as possible.

You feel his hand on your shoulder and finally stop, taking a deep breath before turning to face him.

His face looks more worried than you’ve ever seen it and it almost makes you forget your own concerns about the reality of your relationship.

Almost.

"Maybe you should go visit Bruce, make sure everything’s okay." his eyes never leave your face and you try your best to hide any emotion but it’s always been too easy for him to read you so you shrug his hand from your shoulder, trying to put a little distance between you.

He looks genuinely hurt, but, again, what would you expect from a trained assassin? Pretending comes as naturally to him as breathing.

"I’m fine, Bucky." you turn back to the bag and resume your punching. You’re so lost in your own thoughts you don’t even notice him walking out of the gym.

You work out some more before deciding it’s enough and go back to your room, thankful for the first time that Bucky’s not there.

After you shower and change again you find yourself with nothing to do and, for once, you wish you had paperwork to keep you occupied and give you an excuse to avoid everybody.

You grab your purse and make your way out, mumbling something about having errands to run in the city when you come across some people in the living room, basically running out of there so fast you can’t even tell who’s actually there watching tv.

You spend the whole day running around the city, not really having a destination but when the sun starts coming down you decide to head back.

When you enter the living room you can see everyone sitting at the kitchen table.

"Finally, you’re here! We can eat now." Sam shouts happily and you know you can’t escape this.

"Sorry, didn’t realize you were waiting on me." You say quietly while sitting down in the only free chair that’s unfortunately next to Bucky.

"It’s okay, koala bear." Steve smiles from your other side. "Bucky said you weren’t feeling great, so Wanda made your favorite."

You try to look excited while smiling and thanking Wanda as she and Vision place the food on the table. If she notices something is off, she doesn't say anything, just giving you a smile of her own in return.

"Where were you all day?" Tony asks you.

"The city." you simply say, trying to sound as casual as possible while making no attempt to look at him, or make eye contact with anyone else for that matter.

But Tony seems satisfied with your answer, taking your lack of conversation for tiredness and going back to talking to Clint.

You manage to avoid all conversations with nods and hums and you can feel Bucky’s gaze on you almost as it burns but you can’t find it in yourself to look back at him.

When you feel his hand coming to rest on top of yours on the table you feel like something inside you snaps and you get up abruptly, making everybody stop as they give you confused looks.

"Excuse me, I still don’t feel well. I think I’m gonna go to my room and rest." and, without giving anyone the chance to say anything, you walk away.

There’s a second of silence before the team seems to dismiss your behavior as grumpiness from feeling sick, after all the rare times that you do get sick you get very irritable.

Bucky seems to be the only one to notice your untouched food.

After less than five minutes the door to your room opens and Bucky comes in, finding you sitting on the bed staring at nothing while being clearly lost in your head.

He makes his way to you and kneels down in front of you.

"What’s going on, doll?" He tries his luck again, putting a hand on your knee. He hopes that giving space all day allowed you to come around and now you’ll talk to him.

You prove him wrong by getting up, not even sparing him a glance, and making your way to the closet to try and busy yourself so you won’t have to look at him.

"Nothing." You offer nothing more and Bucky starts getting frustrated with you.

"What is wrong with you today?" He knows something’s wrong. He knows you better than anyone, and he’s trying to be patient with you but you’ve never acted this cold towards him and it scares him.

"Nothing is wrong." You know you’re pushing it. You know you’re doing nothing to alleviate his worries, but you can’t help the feeling that he’s the one in the wrong.

He’s the one out of line, he’s the one that betrayed your trust and hurt you and toyed with your feelings and lied to you about his own. You had every right to be short with him.

Right?

"Something is obviously wrong, why won’t you just talk to me?!" He almost whines and you roll your eyes, your own unjustified irritation coming out.

"Oh, for the love of God, just give it a rest!" you almost yell, and the surprise you find in yourself is nothing compared to the one on Bucky’s face.

"What?" he’s almost whispering and the hurt in his voice for some reason just infuriates you more.

"Stop treating me like I’m made of glass! Not everyone is as needy as you, you know. I’m a grown ass adult and I don’t need you!" You can’t stop shouting, knowing full well you don’t mean a word you’re saying. But you want to hurt him as much as you’re hurting, as wrong as that is.

"Don’t you think I know that you don’t need me?!" He’s yelling too now, and you know you pushed the right button "I know damn well how strong you are, but that doesn’t mean I can’t still worry about you!"

"I don’t need you to worry about me!"

"Well, that’s too damn bad for you, because I love you and I want you to be okay!" God, even shouting he’s still being nice to you.

"Well, that’s too damn bad for you, because it’s none of your business if I’m okay!" Not the best response, but at this point you honestly have no idea of even control of what’s coming out of your mouth anymore.

"God, why are you being such a child about this?!" Bucky barely understands what’s going on right.

The two of you have never fought before, not so much as an argument, and now here you are in a yelling match that started because he's concerned about you.

"Oh boo freaking hoo, poor Bucky having to deal with a child! If you don’t like me just say so!"

"What the hell are you talking about?!" He’s beyond confused now.

"If you don’t want this," you gesture between the two of you "just leave! Go and find someone you actually like! Don’t stay with me just because you feel like you have to!"

"When did I ever say that? Are you out of your mind?!"

"Yes, I’m crazy! Now just leave me the fuck alone!" you yell at the top of your lungs and Bucky seems to freeze in his spot.

Assuming this is over, you turn around and climb into bed, your back to Bucky once again.

When you hear him sigh and start moving you feel like you’re reliving yesterday, except this time you don’t expect him to kiss you but just leave.

He turns off the lights, but you frown when you don’t hear the door, instead you feel the bed dip behind you. You tense up when Bucky’s arms wrap around you from behind, bringing you closer to him with your back pressed against his chest.

"I will choose you over everyone. Even on the days where we don’t understand each other." He whispers in your ear after a moment of silence and you can’t do anything to stop the tears that start coming out as you feel Bucky holding you tighter without saying another word.

You want to believe him, you really do. But Sharon’s voice in your head is like a net, not allowing you to fall fully into Bucky, not being able to accept that someone like him truly loves you.

So you start spending your days by yourself, avoiding people as much as possible.

Everytime you're in a room with someone all you can think about is how they're probably judging you, making just want to run away and hide.

But isolating yourself does nothing to ease your worries as you now spend all your time overthinking and hating on yourself.

You start pulling away from Bucky too and it's killing him.

You still won't talk to him, everytime you're together you pretend that everything's fine.

You put on a smile he knows is fake, really doing the bare minimum to keep a conversation going and when he touches you he always gets the feeling that you wanted nothing more than to slap his hands away.

But you always try to be discreet as you inch away from him with any excuse that comes to mind.

It's the change in your relationship with Bucky that starts to clue the team in on your behavior.

As much as they have fun giving you shit for it, they all admire your closeness and were happy that you found each other.

So they start paying more attention to you. Everybody can see something's wrong, but if you wouldn’t talk to Bucky about it, really what chance do they have?

It doesn't stop them from worrying though, seeing how you seem to waste away.

You spend too much time in the gym, losing weight at an alarming rate and not getting enough sleep to function, sometimes resulting in you falling asleep during meetings or on the mat at the gym.

But you refuse to let Bruce look at you. You refuse any help really, your temper shorter than ever as you end up snapping at people more often than not.

You try to keep it together, but it's obviously not working. The only thing you manage to do is avoiding meals without anyone noticing.

After weeks on end of this, the team decides to do something to try and cheer you up, taking the opportunity of your birthday coming up.

Steve manages to convince Tony to have a small party, just the team and agents of Shield, instead of one of his big parties full of strangers.

They're careful when they approach you with the subject, having taken to walking on eggshells around you. You can’t help feeling bad for the way you’ve been treating them, so you decide to be cool about the party, even knowing deep down you’ll regret it.

Natasha and Wanda offer to go shopping with you for a new dress for the occasion, but you decline their invitation.

You know they're trying to be nice, but just the thought of going from store to store, seeing all those beautiful, skinny women trying on pretty dresses you’d never be able to fit into, together with the two gorgeous redheads, it sounds like hell to you.

Which is why you ask the team to have a more informal dress code than usual, allowing you to dress as comfortable as you can be at the moment with loose fitting pants and a large hoodie.

You arrive at the party in the ballroom of the compound that Tony just had to have and are thankful to see everyone dress casually, most of the girls not even wearing dresses.

But you still try not to linger too long on their looks, not wanting to feel worse than you already do about your own appearance.

Arms wrap around your body and you hear Bucky wish you a happy birthday.

You give him a few seconds before you wiggle away from the embrace and turn around. You give Bucky your best fake smile and thank him before kissing him quickly on the cheek and walking away towards the bar to get some water.

You don't need to be getting drunk and throwing up more than you already do every time your stomach forces you to eat anything.

You spend the whole night going from person to person, trying not to talk to anyone too long and making sure to always keep moving to avoid too many questions.

You know it's only a matter of time before they start coming. Even Fury is present, worried about you ever since he had to take you off missions for passing out on the field.

Soon came the moment you’d been dreading most: Wanda comes toward you with your favorite cake with candles lit and everybody starts singing.

You know that with being the center of attention you won't be able to get away with not eating and the team would piece things together if you try, having already gone through this years ago.

Honestly, you're a little disappointed nobody had figured it out yet, but not entirely surprised as you told yourself everyone just didn’t care enough.

And why should they when you look the way you do?

Everyone cheers as you blow on the candles, fake smile still going strong. The cake is cut and everyone is enjoying Wanda’s culinary talent. You even manage to eat yours and keep it down without looking disgusted with yourself.

Everything was going great.

You're behind the bar now taking another water bottle from the mini fridge when you accidentally knock over a glass full of straws that was thankfully made of plastic so it didn’t break.

While you're picking up straws you hear footsteps getting close to the bar that hid your kneeling figure and stop what you're doing when you hear Sharon talking about you. Again.

"And did you see how she’s dressed to her own party? No wonder Bucky’s been staying as far away as possible all night." she's basically whispering, but it's still loud enough for you to hear.

"I know, he’s probably ashamed of her. Wouldn’t surprise me if he dumped her tonight." the two girls giggle the sound seems to snap you out of your trance.

You get up so fast you scare Sharon and the other girl, their startled squeals drawing the attention of the rest of the party as everybody prepares for any danger.

But there is no danger, all everybody can see is two mortified looking agents and you with tears in your eyes that you don't even feel starting to fall.

The whole team is worried sick, everybody getting closer to the bar, but Bucky is the one that's at your side before you can even think about blinking the tears away.

"What’s wrong, baby?" he looks so worried, almost like he himself is about to cry at the mere thought of you being in pain.

But that can't be it, that's not what you're seeing.

He's probably just embarrassed you're being overly emotional for no apparent reason, and that look in his eyes is him getting ready to break up with you right here and now.

At that thought you can literally feel the cake you just ate coming back up and all you can do is run as fast as you could towards the nearest bathroom with a very concerned Bucky running after you after silently agreeing with Steve with a single look that he’ll be the one to check on you.

You make it to the toilet just in time to unload, barely registering two hands taking your hair and holding it away from your face.

You finish vomiting and clean your mouth with some toilet paper before throwing it in and flushing it, shuffling your body backwards until your back hits the tub and you close your eyes while resting your head back against it.

You feel your hair falling back down on your shoulders and can make out the sound of the faucet running for a few seconds before you feel a wet towel gently brushing your cheeks and mouth.

You open your eyes and are met with Bucky kneeling in front of you, seemingly examining every inch of your face to try and understand what’s going on.

Before he can ask you for what felt like the thousandth time though, you can't hold yourself back anymore.

"Please don’t leave me." your voice is weak enough already from all the vomiting and the sobs that start coming in certainly don't help.

Tears start to fall like waterfalls but you don't let any of that stop you from going on. "I know I said I didn’t need you, but I do. I need you so much more than you could ever know."

Bucky wraps his arms around you and he's more than relieved when you don't pull away for the first time in weeks.

Instead, you cling to him as you keep pleading with him not to leave you in between broken sobs while he moves you to sit curling on his lap.

Bucky’s heart breaks for you and he wonders if this was how you felt everytime you comforted him, feeling even more in awe of you now that he knows how hard it was to see the person you love like this.

All he wants is to make you feel better and take away all your pain, but he had no idea how.

When you show no signs of calming down after several minutes he decides to try to talk you down, hoping not to make things worse.

"Doll, I need you to calm down." he tries to pull away just enough to look you in the eyes, but you just hug him tighter, almost terrified that he's just gonna get up and leave forever if you let go and you start getting more agitated by the second.

!Baby, please try to take deep breaths." he's trying really hard not to panic himself now. "I’m not leaving, I promise. I’m staying right here with you, but you need to calm down, please."

Maybe it's because he's basically begging you, maybe it's because of the panic and concern you think you can hear in his voice or maybe it's his grip getting impossibly tight on you that grounds you, but your brain seems to clear just enough to give your body the command and you start trying to take deep breaths.

When you loosen your hold on Bucky he grabs one of your hands and puts it on his chest right over his heart, the steady beating giving you something to concentrate on as you try your best to copy his breathing.

It takes a few more minutes but you calm down, tears still falling silently down your cheeks while Bucky rubs your back with his metal hand, his other warm hand still over yours on his chest.

"I’m sorry I’m such a mess…" Your voice sounds foreign to your own ears, quiet, full of sadness and desperation.

This isn’t you.

This isn’t the confident, strong woman that kicked ass and defended Bucky even to your own family from day one.

What happened to you?

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky's asking himself the same question.

What happened to the sweet, bright girl that offered him a hug after five seconds of knowing him? The girl that calmed him down from a panic attack and kept him company through the night even after knowing about his past?

The girl that let him hang onto her like a koala and allowed him to let it all out? The girl that was patient with him, understanding and never once judged him, no matter how broken she’d seen him?

He really can't think of anything that could've happened to break you this much, to bring you to basically have a meltdown on a bathroom floor.

But whatever it was he needs to know now, and he's more determined than ever to find out.

"Doll, you’re not a mess. You’re hurting, I can see it. We all can. And I know you’re strong, but everybody needs help once in a while. Whatever’s been happening, you don’t have to go through it alone. Just like you didn’t let me go through anything alone. You were always there for me, you’re always there for everybody." he pauses and you take the moment to spiral further.

This is the only reason why he’s still with you. You were there for him, you cared and comforted him. So he feels the need to stay with you because Bucky’s loyal, no matter what his feelings actually are.

But he’s gonna fall in love one day with someone, and what is that gonna mean for you? He’s gonna leave you to be with the person he actually wants, loyalty or not. Your fall down the rabbit hole is stopped by Bucky’s voice.

"Please let me be there for you. This is killing me, watching you do this to yourself. Please tell me what’s going on, baby, because you’re scaring me so fucking much. Please." he finishes in a whisper.

Before you can even properly process his words, you feel a tear that's not yours fall on your cheek, making your eyes widen and you look up to see Bucky already looking down at you with tears rolling down his cheeks.

Your hand goes up to his face automatically and you feel him lean into it. You sit up straighter on his lap, leaning in to rest your forehead against his and closing your eyes while willing yourself to stop the tears long enough so you can talk.

Bucky doesn't push you, finding comfort in your touch after having missed it for what, in his opinion, is too damn long.

"I’m sorry… I just…" you don't even know how to start to explain it.

Bucky can see you're having a hard time finding the words, so he tries to help by saying "You don’t need to rush it, doll. I don’t want to push you to talk about something you clearly don’t want to... But I’ve just been so worried. You’ve been pushing everyone away, and you don’t sleep and stay at the gym until you almost pass out. You think that I don’t hear you throwing up, but I do. And, even with all your oversized clothes, I can see how much weight you’ve been losing. It’s killing me, baby, I hate to see you like this. I just want to know why." he kisses the side of your head and you're on the verge of tears again.

Trying hard to hold them back, you force yourself to speak. "I heard some people talking about me…" you start, your voice still quiet, and you go on to tell him everything.

The conversation you overheard, the insecurities that it brought to the surface, the issues you had in the past and the struggle you’ve been having the last few weeks.

By the end of it Bucky he doesn't know what to feel. He's enraged, worried sick, sad at how miserable you’ve been. Just to name a few.

But more than anything he's heartbroken at how much you’ve been questioning your relationship with him and his love for you. He's devastated to think that everytime he told you how much he loves you, you doubted him and convinced yourself he was lying.

And the worst part is he has no idea how to change your mind.

Is there anything he can say that you won’t doubt? Anything he can do to show you how much you mean to him? Probably not, but he has to try and make you understand.

Your eyes are still closed, not daring to see the disappointment in Bucky’s face.

"Baby, look at me." he says firmly but gently enough to not make you think he was in any way mad at you.

He waits patiently until you look at him which, after taking a deep breath, you do and only then he continues while taking your face in his hands "There are so many things I want to tell you right now... but I’ll start with I love you, doll. I love you so much it actually hurts. Maybe we got close because you were nice and patient with me, but that’s not why I love you. I love you because you’re kind and smart and strong and dedicated. You can kick ass like no one else and you’re still the sweetest person I’ve ever met. And I’m almost 100, I’ve met a lot of people." he smiles when he finally gets you to giggle, the first real laugh he’s heard from you in weeks.

"You’re compassionate and understanding and loyal and beautiful beyond compare. I fell in love with you because of who you are, not what you look like. But that doesn’t mean I don’t think you’re pretty, I think you’re gorgeous and I love your body. I love everything about you. Every. Single. Thing." he punctuates every word with a kiss to each of your cheeks and then your nose, making you giggle more. "You think I’d ever leave you? I could never even consider being with someone else. God, you were never even supposed to mean this much to me! I was never supposed to fall so hard... But you know what? I did and that’s the truth, and that’s what keeps me holding on because it hurts like hell to let you go."

You're obviously in tears, not being able to look away from Bucky’s eyes even if you wanted because of his hold on your face, not that you're trying that hard to get away.

You have no words to describe the way you feel, not even being sure if you fully believe him. The look on his face, though, makes you want to believe. Makes you want to tell all the voices in your head to fuck off until the only one left is Bucky’s saying all the things he just said, over and over again.

But can you really let go of them that easily?

"You don’t have to carry this by yourself, doll." Bucky can see your internal struggle. "Lean on me. Let me help you make this easier."

There's nothing but sincerity in his eyes, he can't possibly be that good of an actor to be faking it, right?

So you decide to trust him.

You trust him with your life, why can’t you believe that he really loves you?

You can. You do.

You will...

"Okay…" You’re basically whispering, still a little worried he’s just pretending and is gonna rip the rug from under you any second now. "I love you, so much. And I want to believe you love me… but it may take me a little while to accept that completely. I’m sorry…"

"You don’t need to apologize, baby. It doesn’t matter how much time it takes, I’m here for all of it. I want nothing more than to help you feel better, starting with helping you love yourself as much as I love you." he wipes your tears with his thumbs before he gives you a soft kiss on the lips. "And not worrying what jealous, unimportant, random people think of you. You’re beautiful inside AND out, don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise. Not even this." He taps the side of your head.

You wrap your arms around his neck and hug him tightly, neither one of you needing to say more at the moment. After a few minutes like this, you’re both done crying and you let go just enough to look at each other.

"Can we go to our room?" you ask him and he nods, letting you get off his lap and then getting up with you.

He doesn’t let you get too far from him while you go to the sink to try and make yourself look decent as he follows you so closely you might think you’re glued to each other.

Your eyes meet in the mirror and he smiles at you, wrapping his arms around your waist, he gives you a kiss on the shoulder before resting his head on it.

You successfully wash off all the makeup you put on for the party, your efforts now ruined by all the crying.

"You’re so pretty." Bucky tells you, his eyes never leaving yours and you smile a real smile this time, turning your head to give him a kiss on the cheek that makes him smile even more.

You get out of the bathroom and you tense up seeing everybody still at the party, your breath hitching in your throat as embarrassment crawls up on you.

You can see the team’s worried looks and the last thing you want right now is to go through the last 40 minutes all over again, in front of everybody.

You just want to go to your room and cuddle up with Bucky, but the super soldier had other plans.

"Can I have everybody’s attention?" you look at him with a frown, but he simply smiled at you and keeps going once the whole room is looking at you two. "It’s been brought to my attention that some of you have some misconceptions about our relationship."

You didn’t tell Bucky who you heard the conversation from, only that it was two agents just in case he might think it was someone on the team, and it almost looks like he's scanning every agent’s face to try and figure out who it was, but he continues nonetheless.

"I’d just like to make it clear for everyone that not only I love this woman more than life itself, but I, and everyone who knows her for that matter, think she’s the best, most caring person I’ve ever met. Not to mention the most attractive, in my ever so humble opinion." he wraps his metal arm around your waist and brings you closer as your face gets redder, and you can see the team chuckling and grinning at Bucky’s possessiveness and your flustered form. "And it’s also absolutely none of your business what happens in our relationship. But, since you’re all here I might as well give you something real to gossip about."

To say you're confused is an understatement. You turn back to him when Bucky’s arm disappear from around you just in time to see him reach into his back pocket, pulling out a ring box and getting down on one knee.

You hear gasps around the room, your own being muffled by your hand in front of your mouth as your eyes grow wide.

"Bucky..." It's barely a whisper to begin with, your hand almost not letting it escape at all.

"Baby, I meant every single thing I’ve said today. I love you so much. I’ve been carrying this around for a couple of months, looking for the right time to do this. But when you started pushing me away I thought maybe you were changing your mind about me. I was terrified and decided to wait, but I realize now if I had done this when I first wanted to, the last few weeks probably wouldn’t have happened. I could’ve saved you so much pain... I don’t know if this is the right time, but I do know that I’ve been ready for a while and right now I honestly can’t think of a better way to show you just how much you really mean to me. So…" he opens the box to reveal a rose gold ring with one big diamond at the center and two smaller ones on each side of it, then he takes your free hand on his. "Doll, will you marry me?"

He can feel you trembling, tears forming in your eyes once more as the whole room seems to hold their breath.

"Yes!" you're finally able to get out and Bucky feels like he can breathe again, happiness spreading throughout his whole body.

You basically throw yourself on him and he catches you with ease, getting up on his feet while you wraps your legs around his waist like a koala.

There's a chorus of cheers, the team immediately gathering around you to congratulate you both.

It feels like too little time when you finally detach from Bucky as he gently put you on the ground before slipping the ring on your finger and kissing it, his eyes never leaving yours, silently telling you he belongs to you and only you.

You’re about to lean in for a kiss when two strong arms pick you up making you squeal, Steve’s laughter in your ear as he says something about finally having a sister-in-law and making everybody laugh.

After a good 15 minutes of hugs left and right, Bucky intervenes.

"Okay, okay, can you please not smother my future wife?" your heart skips a beat when he says that and you're sure you're smiling like an idiot as he makes his way through the team to get to you.

"You know, he actually asked me for my blessing. I told you he cares very much about you." Tony whispers to you while he passes, giving you one last squeeze and a wink before everybody gives you and Bucky a moment.

He wraps his arms around your waist and finally kisses you.

When you pull away you both have big, goofy grins, never wanting this moment to end.

There's no separating you, and now everybody knows it.

Requested taglist: @aesthetic0cherryblossom @buchi91 @sapphirebarnes

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes imagine #sebastian stan #marvel fanfiction #bucky x reader #bucky x you #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x f!reader #avengers x reader #avengers x platonic reader #avengers x platonic!reader

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cuubism · 3 months

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physical therapy, part 6.

Hob's been wavering on things like timeline with Dream because, well, he doesn't want to push, but he does obviously want more. There's a lot that he wants, and he thinks Dream wants it too. But Hob can be patient. Definitely. For sure. He's the epitome of patience.

In any case, after a few more dates which are oh so very patient, and in which Dream seems to be gradually coming more and more out of his shell, Hob finally takes the plunge and texts him:

If you want, come over to my place this weekend and I'll cook for you, and adds his address.

He paces nervously while waiting for a response. Dream coming over... he doesn't know how that would end. Well, it would hopefully at least end in Dream eating a proper meal, but other than that...

It's really not so long before he gets a response, though it feels like an eternity.

Okay, writes Dream, with a smile. 🙂 Should I bring anything?

Just yourself, writes Hob.

A shame, for I was planning to arrive incorporeally.

Hob smiles to himself at the comment. Dream is so much brighter once he decides he’s allowed to be.

On the agreed-upon date, Hob spends a truly excessive amount of time getting ready. He’s not even cooking anything elaborate, as he felt convinced he’d wind up fucking it up out of nerves if he did. But really, the quality of his food isn’t the wild card. What he’s nervous about is Dream’s response to being in his home. To being alone. Whether he’ll be okay with it. He doesn’t want to make Dream nervous.

But Dream arrives on time, and he’s smiling when Hob opens the door. He’s also carrying a huge canvas.

Oh!” Hob says, distracted from even kissing him hello. “What have you got there?”

“It is for you,” Dream says, and turns the canvas around so Hob can see it.

It’s a large painting of a rather clever-looking cat, bright colors and bold swathes of paint. It reminds Hob of Dream’s finger paintings, actually, but far more precise in technique. It’s lovely. It’s so cute. And much more playful than Dream’s older art, the pieces he had shown Hob from before his injury.

“Oh, it’s gorgeous,” he says, and Dream smiles shyly. “I take it your grip’s been feeling steadier, then?”

“Somewhat,” Dream says, following Hob deeper into the flat, as Hob takes the painting and sets it on top of a low bookshelf, propped against the wall. Later he’ll have to hang it up properly. “I am. Enjoying painting again. I think.”

It’s so good to hear. Each time Hob sees Dream he seems incrementally better. Less frozen. More outgoing. And it always makes Hob realize that he’s only gotten to see a fraction of the life that truly exists inside of him.

“I’m so glad to hear that, darling,” he says.

It hurts to think of the version of Dream that might have been there before being hurt. But Hob likes the Dream that he gets to know now.

He leads Dream into the kitchen and bids him to sit down at the table while Hob serves their food, which is staying warm on the stove. Normally, when he invites someone over, he’d offer them wine, but he doesn’t want Dream to get the wrong idea. God, he’s probably massively overthinking things. He’s being totally paranoid, he knows it. But it feels so important that it be right. He’d never forgive himself if he made Dream feel unsafe around him, even if it was by accident.

“I am curious what you’ve prepared to attempt to persuade me to change my habits,” Dream says, after taking a sip of the water Hob’s handed him.

“Something with a lot of butter,” Hob says, and Dream laughs softly. Dream needs it, though. He needs something that’ll stick to his bones.

What he has is tarragon chicken—fried in, truly, an excessive amount of butter—served over rice with string beans. If this can’t encourage Dream to eat real meals, nothing can.

And, gratifyingly, he’s right. Dream devours it, and has seconds. As he eats his own serving more sedately Hob wonders when the last time was that somebody actually cooked for him.

They barely even talk, but Hob doesn’t mind. He just wants Dream to eat.

“You can cook,” Dream says, and Hob laughs.

“Was that in question?”

A light blush graces Dream’s cheeks. “When you first mentioned cooking for me, I had the thought that you were a catch. For that reason among others.”

Hob can’t help himself from smiling—and perhaps blushing a bit, too. “I’ll have to keep it up, and maybe you’ll keep me.”

Dream looks down at his food, but murmurs, “I would like to.”

So Hob takes his hand on the table and squeezes it.

Later in the evening, when they’ve been ensconced on the couch for a while watching mindless telly, Dream’s head on his shoulder, Hob says, “You can stay over if you want. No expectations. Just don’t want you walking home in the dark.”

He’ll walk Dream home if that’s what he really wants, but it’s already midnight and it really might be easier to just stay put.

“Am I allowed to stay over in your bed?” Dream asks, and Hob’s pulse jumps.

“That’s what you want?”

Dream nods.

So, heart still beating hard, Hob says, “Alright. Come on, then.”

And Dream takes his hand as Hob draws him up.

He gets Dream situated with some of his pajamas, which are far too large on him, and with a spare toothbrush and so on, and when they’re finally ready he tries not to be too awkward or nervous as he climbs into bed and gestures Dream to follow, saying, “Come on, love.”

He expects Dream might hesitate, but he doesn’t, just crawls into bed after him and presses himself all up against Hob’s body, laying his head on Hob’s chest. And— God. He’s really decided that he trusts Hob. It puts a lump in Hob’s throat.

He feels like a fucking teenager again, stomach all fluttery just at the feeling of Dream lying against him. In past relationships, Hob had mostly jumped in sex-first, questions-later. But maybe there are more benefits to taking things slow than he thought. It makes every tiny thing feel monumental.

“Comfortable?” he asks, and Dream nods, hair brushing Hob’s chin.

“Yes, thank you.”

Hob pulls the blankets up over them, pets his hair. Dream lets out a long, happy sigh, and snuggles closer.

I’m going to keep you, Hob thinks. “Goodnight, Dream,” he says.

#a nice moment before ANGST #you didn't think we were done with angst did you XD #physical therapy fic #dreamling #my writing #tarragon chicken is a family recipe--thin chicken cutlets breaded and fried in butter with white wine wash and tons of chopped tarragon #i recommend

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brighteyedbushybrowed · 10 months

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𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐕𝐞𝐫𝐠𝐢𝐥 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

It's Verging time *heads your canons*. I used to wonder why DMC3, 4, and 5 were my favourites in the series and then I remembered it's because I'm a Vergil hoe and those are all games you can play as him in (special editions for 4 and 5 obviously). As always, spicy headcanons under the cut so minors DNI please and thank you

Most important thing to keep in mind while dating him is that he is a work in progress and has a lot of shit to work through, but he will always make time for you

Wasn't very tactile at first due to his own personal traumas

It's only after he's comfortable enough with you and has been going to therapy for a while that he'll start holding hands or putting an arm around you, though he's still a little hesitant to do that out in public

Loves to spend time with you by reading poems or books to you while you're curled up beside him on the sofa

You kind of had to explain to him when you start giving him gifts that it's not expected that he give you something in return or vice versa. Now he'll give you small gifts when you've been apart for a while because of devil hunting or other commitments

Tries to spend at least one night a week going to ballroom dancing classes as a new hobby to focus on, so expect him to ask you to practice with him somewhat regularly

Will also invite you to come to classes with him to watch or even take part if you feel up to it

He's not much of a flower giving guy. He prefers to give you things that will last longer

Expect to see the day and time for your dates scheduled in his diary or on his calendar

Insists you go on a date at least once a week, even if one or both of you are having a hectic week

Not insistent in a controlling way though. More of a "I don't want to neglect us or our relationship and having it written down somewhere stops Dante from trying to drag me out somewhere with him on that day" kind of way

Dante absolutely gave you the "don't hurt my brother" talk but was way more chill with it than Vergil would be if someone was dating his younger twin

The man is so inexperienced - you're gonna need to be patient with him and take your time

He's always gentle when you have sex. Partly because of his inexperience but also because he worries about hurting you if he doesn't hold back

His favourite position with your would probably be with you riding him. He gets to look up at you while still making you feel good? Go for it

On occasions where he trusts himself enough to be more rough with you, you'll probably be walking funny the next day because he just can't get enough of you

Unlike V, he has mad stamina and is more than happy to go multiple rounds with you

Public sex is an absolute no go, but that doesn't mean that he won't tease you under the table when he gets in one of his moods

You hold hands the most when you're having sex, especially when he's being especially gentle and wants to make love rather than fucking

If you want him and his doppelganger to fuck you at the same time, you're gonna need to catch Vergil in the right mood at the right time

Has definitely blurted out "I love you" in the middle of cumming. Was very grateful for your reassurances and saying you love him too afterwards

#spicy content #devil may cry #vergil #vergil x reader #gaming #headcanons #devil may cry headcanons

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millionancientbees · 14 days

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Something I think a lot of ppl forget when they’re dealing with suicidal people is that a lot of us are suicidal because we can’t afford or access basic needs, let alone creature comforts.

Before sending your suicidal friend to the mental hospital to maybe be severely traumatized by even less autonomy and also potentially lose their jobs and housing, have you:

-spent time with them so they’re not alone with their thoughts and organized a care group of their friends to help take care of tasks that are overwhelming?

-made a post or group chat to raise funds for bills that are looming and making them feel like they’ll never be able to succeed at life? Tried to help connect them with resources? Offered to sit down with them while they make calls? Offered to take a look at their debt and see if it can be refinanced? Etc, based on your skills, who you know, what you have the resources and comfort and closeness with the person to allow

-taken them to do some fun things? Gotten them out of their house and into the sun?

-gotten them something sweet or comforting or good smelling or whatever? A simple $5 candle can be a reason for someone to smile and feel cared about.

-gotten them tools to manage their sensory needs? Are they over or under stimulated? I will become immediately suicidal if I hear too many sounds while hungry or tired or upset or overheated or or or

I’m not saying the hospital is never the answer. I’m not saying don’t take people who are immediately in danger. I’m not saying you have to do this for people who are behaving in a way that will hurt you. But if you care about someone who is suicidal, this is something to think about.

I have literally been suicidal for as long as I can remember (and I remember a lot of my very early childhood) and some of the small things that have legitimately kept me alive over the years include:

-my friends buying me noise canceling headphones

-my friends taking me on a vacation

-my partner letting me read out loud to them when they were playing video games every night

-my friends buying my art or sending me money to help pay bills, get my car fixed, etc

-my sister giving me rides to my doctor appointments and buying me a little treat afterwards

-my friends sharing their audible/netflix/hulu/libby accounts with me so i had something to focus on other than wanting to die

-friends taking me out to dinner and letting me talk about my special interests

-my friend giving me houseplants and teaching me how to keep them alive, which required spending quality time together whenever I needed to learn something new and gave them an excuse to bully me into leaving my depression nest when nobody else could

-my friend buying me a vape when I was breaking apart and had nothing to do with my hands and nothing to calm my very upset nervous system and $2 in the bank and also I was going through withdrawals

-my friend teaching me how to drive and helping me get my license so I could have some autonomy

Like it really can be that simple. We sometimes forget that therapy and meds can only do so much at a time, and some people get treatment for their entire lives and still struggle a lot even when they do everything right, especially when they’re dealing with complicated issues like other disabilities, chronic pain, poverty, abusive situations/ongoing trauma, etc.

#mental health #tw sui ideation

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possibilistfanfiction · 1 year

Note

avatrice + kiss on the back of the hand?

[ava + some friends, more outside pov (in the future!) for @unicyclehippo]

despite the fact that physical therapy is boring, and not at all your favorite activity, you like your therapist, brian, and at least you’ve gotten to consistently schedule it early enough in the morning you don’t miss your bridge group. and you’ve been compliant — mostly; you did spend more time on your feet last week than you were supposed to, but your grandson was visiting and you would never let him leave without having his favorite brisket and matzoh ball soup — and have done the exercises brian gives you to do at home every day.

the physical therapy gym is mostly boring, more — and you hate to say it — old people, like you, recovering from total knee or total hip replacements, and a few young athletes. your son, ezra, drops you off and picks you up twice a week; sometimes his husband, marcus, fills in and he always takes you to get donuts afterward, your little secret. today you sit at the table you always start at, your walker steady and almost unnecessary at this point, and a young woman, exhausted-looking and the kind of pretty that could easily belong in a party when you were young, sitting in a sleek wheelchair by the table, smiles gently across you. you’re early by a few minutes — ezra is wonderful, but he’s a bit wound up all the time — so you smile back. ‘i’m ruth,’ you say.

‘hi.’ the young woman seems happy to talk, cheerful. ‘i’m ava.’

‘very exciting beginning to your morning, it seems like.’

she groans. ‘ugh, tell me about it. my partner barely woke up in time to drive me here.’

you laugh. ‘not a morning person?’

ava rolls her eyes. ‘no, not at all. i love mornings though, even if they’re at physical therapy.’

‘it’s not so bad,’ you tell her. ‘have you done it before?’

‘not really.’ she shrugs. ‘i have some chronic spine stuff from a car accident when i was younger, and my doctors have tried… a lot, so we’re hoping this helps everything.’

‘i hope it’ll help.’ you gesture to your walker. ‘total hip replacement. from being old.’

ava’s smile is bright. ‘kinda cool, to get old, though, huh? and to have as cool of clothes as you do? i can only hope the same for myself, one day.’

it’s sweet, and sincere, and aching under the surface. ‘it is wonderful, to get to grow old. and —‘ you wink — ‘to get to be better dressed than everyone around you.’

‘hell yeah.’ she looks at her own hoodie and joggers. ‘i usually am better dressed than this, or, at least, more fun; i just had surgery last week.’

‘well, when you’re feeling better, i’m sure i’ll be very impressed.’

‘i don’t know about that.’ ava blushes a little, and you’re delighted. ‘i think my partner is probably the better dressed of the two of us; she’s very chic. but i’m fun!’

‘fun is the most important part. especially when you’re an old lady.’

she laughs and then brian walks up, says hi to you, and you wave. ‘good luck, ava. i’ll talk to you soon.’

‘for sure,’ she tells you enthusiastically.

you’re waiting on a bench in front of the physical therapy gym in the warm sunshine — not too hot, not too cold, perfect — when ava walks toward you, slowly and with a cane, but walking.

‘is this seat taken?’

‘for a pretty girl like you? absolutely not.’

she laughs, bright and warm. ‘ruth, you flirt.’

‘i’m old.’ she sits gingerly and it makes you hurt for her, just a little — not that she needs any mobility aids, but because it’s clear she’s in pain. ‘i get to flirt whenever i want.’

‘oh, is that how it works?’

‘absolutely,’ you tell her sagely.

‘well, other than me, of course, let me know if there are any crushes i should know about? i love drama, and my life is, both tragically and fortunately, drama free right now.’

‘well, sean in my bridge group, and david from shul. oh, and lee from my favorite cafe i go to for lunch.’

‘hmm, pros and cons? or are we playing the field?’

you laugh, and you tell her about sean’s clever hands, the beautiful way david reads scripture, how lee always offers you half his reuben. ava listens attentively, like she really cares, and, after she asks a thoughtful series of questions about how to play bridge — my girlfriend would probably demolish at this game, honestly — you understand that she really does care; she really does want to know you. so you ask her questions too; her partner’s name is beatrice, and she is, according to ava, beautiful and kind and exacting; ava grew up mostly in spain and is a bartender, which she loves, and they live in a house on the beach because beatrice, apparently, works in consulting all over europe, and also enjoys teaching aikido. ‘she has four black belts,’ ava says, and fans herself. it makes you laugh, and when marcus drives up in his practical, nice bmw hybrid, you pat her hand.

‘see you tuesday, ruth.’

‘enjoy your weekend, ava.’

ava’s walking better on tuesday, and she sits next to you without asking this time, after you’re both finished. she fishes around in her crossbody bag and then holds out her hand, some candy with wrappers in mandarin on her palm. ‘they’re plum candies. they’re beatrice’s favorites, so i thought i was being sweet, but, i kinda went overboard and ordered, like, enough for a small army.’

you laugh but take one — you would never turn down an offered sweet; something of a communion — and open it while ava does the same. it’s wonderful: flavorful and sweet and a little sour, and you tell ava that.

‘ugh, i know,’ she says. ‘i don’t think bea had had them for a really long time; she cried the other day.’ ava smiles, like she’s trying not to laugh. ‘it was very sweet. a little dramatic, but i get it. i kind of go crazy for panellets.’

‘well, i’m making babka tomorrow, how about i bring you both some thursday?’

‘ruth, that’s too much.’

‘i love to share food,’ you say. ‘really, it’s part of the job description of a bubbe. they only let you in if you share your babka.’

ava rolls her eyes but then she nods. ‘i would really love that.’

ezra drives up, and you stand — easily, now, without pain and much stiffness — and wave.

your babka turns out as good as it always does — the best at shul, despite the fact that yael claims hers is better — and you place a few carefully in a tupperware to bring to ava, who seems a little wilted when she sits next to you. she waves you off when you look concerned.

’no big deal,’ she says. ‘just didn’t sleep too well last night. but! now i’m going to eat the world’s best babka and nap after bea drops me off. do you think i could convince her to nap with me?’

‘depends on why you didn’t sleep well last night.’

it takes ava a minute but then she laughs, brightening immediately. ‘ruth!’

‘you’re young, you should be having fun.’

‘oh, we have fun.’ ava grins. ‘don’t worry.’

‘well, speaking of fun,’ you say, ‘a few of my friends and i go to this water aerobics class at the country club together, every wednesday. i’m sorry if i was eavesdropping, but i heard kayvon tell you that some water therapy might be helpful? it’s really quite fun.’

‘that sounds awesome, honestly. i just got cleared to drive myself next week, so i would love that!’

you don’t bother to mention that everyone in the class is over seventy, mostly because you don’t really care, but, also, ava doesn’t seem to care, at all, that you’re at least fifty years older than her: you’re friends, and she’s kind, and bright.

once again, marcus is there to pick her up before her ride, but you give her your number — and you add her on facebook, because that’s easier for you sometimes — before you leave. you send her the details later that day, and she responds with a few emojis you don’t understand, but that your grandson laughs at when you show him. good enough.

‘i didn’t know, really, what to wear to water aerobics,’ ava says, happily sitting on the edge of the pool with you. she has on a simple red one-piece, her hair tied up in a bun, although short pieces escape. the back dips low and you see multiple scars, some faded and one new, and painful looking; ava’s light often makes you forget why you first met.

‘this is great,’ you tell her. you gesture to your brightly colored, polka dotted tankini. ‘you can spice it up however much you want. just wait until you meet angela.’

as if on cue, angela, tall and Black and striking, walks in, with her perpetually perfect close cropped hair, in a pair of heels and draped in an elegant silk coverup over a royal blue bikini. ‘whoa,’ ava says, and it’s so earnest it makes you laugh.

‘listen,’ ava says, ‘i’m bi, queer, and, yeah, i have a partner who is so so so beautiful, like, god, this morning she came home from surfing and used our outdoor shower — thank god for her trust fund, am i right? — but… ruth, i have eyes.’ she looks over to you. ‘you have eyes too, right? like, no offense to sean and david and lee, but… angela is stunning, okay?’

‘she is,’ you grant her, mostly because you’re amused. angela walks over and smiles, gracious and perfect, and you gesture to ava, who gulps. ‘angela, ava. ava, angela.’

‘hello, ava,’ angela says. ‘ruth says that she’s quite fond of you from physical therapy.’

‘yeah,’ ava says, a little stunned. ‘that’s — that’s really kind, ruth.’

‘we don’t invite just anyone to water aerobics. it’s an exclusive club.’

‘other than courtney,’ angela grumbles.

’well, true,’ you admit. ‘but she’s not part of lunch. ava, next week, you should come join us.’

‘i would love that,’ she says. ‘beatrice will too, i’ll make sure of it.’

you laugh, and angela waves to rosa and farha when she sees them. class goes great; ava seems, when you look over at her a few times, to enjoy it a lot. even though you hadn’t really worried that ava would feel out of place, any nagging feelings are assuaged when she gets out of the pool and wraps a towel around her shoulders, carefully moves on the wet floor with a cane.

‘i told bea i’d be home soon,’ she says, ‘and she gets kinda nervous when i’m late. but! i’ll see you at therapy tomorrow, and i’ll definitely plan on lunch next week.’ she hesitates for a moment and then gives you a hug, which fills you with a very particular kind of warmth. ‘thank you, for inviting me.’

‘of course, ava. see you tomorrow.’

you see ava at therapy and you think, for the most part, she’s improving: you haven’t seen her wheelchair in months, and she still uses her cane, but you think it’s mostly because it feels safer, especially if she’s sore. you start going once a week but it doesn’t really matter, because she comes to water aerobics in increasingly fun swimsuits, including a purple stripped bikini that makes even angela whistle. ‘oh, to be young again,’ she had said, and ava had blushed.

‘so, how did you meet beatrice?’ margot asks, back from her annual trip to florida.

ava puts down her fork and smiles, so soft. ‘work, in spain. a job i didn’t even want, even. but, even from when we first met, she’s always just been so kind. we spent a sabbatical together, one summer, and that’s when i really fell in love with her.’

‘love at first sight, then?’ angela grins.

‘maybe not quite,’ ava says, then laughs. ‘i was… difficult, back then. obviously, i’m a total angel now.’

you roll your eyes and farha says, ‘oh, sure.’

‘we’ve been through a lot,’ ava says, softer and very sincere. ‘she’s — she’s the best person i know.’

‘well we need to meet her,’ you decide, even though you’ve been meaning to ask them both to shabbat soon anyway. ‘bring her to lunch friday?’

‘if that’s okay with everyone? i guarantee she has exceedingly good manners, much much better than mine.’

‘low bar,’ rosa says.

‘ha ha, very funny.’ ava tries her best not to smile but then does anyway, brighter than the noon sun overhead outside.

you’re just sitting down at the table, one extra seat this week, when ava perks up and then stands, steady and even, and you see who you know, from pictures ava has shown you, is beatrice, smiling a little nervously. ‘hi, baby,’ ava says, and beatrice takes ava’s hand and gently places a kiss to her knuckles, like a genuine knight.

‘absurd,’ angela whispers from next to you, and you try not to laugh loud enough for them to hear you, because they’re young but they’re not that young: they have a home together, and you know, from the few things ava has mentioned privately, usually on days that are too, too bright, things have been hard, and they’ve had to spend time apart in the past, and ava is thankful.

‘hello, everyone,’ beatrice says, her accent and posture extremely formal, in contrast to her casual but still, somehow, smart black hoodie and white sweatshorts and birkenstocks. her hair is in a messy bun, a few strands escaping that ava happily pushes behind her ears, and a big tattoo sitting above her left knee; she’s muscular and strong, but there are freckles spread across her cheeks and, when ava smiles at her, she softens, entirely. they are young, and, even though ava has shown you pictures, you’re still struck, in the moment, by how much they fit.

there’s a chorus of hi, beatrice and it’s so good to meet you and ava talks about you all the time, but beatrice takes it all in stride, a happy little smile on her face. you understand, quickly, that they fit, the same way you and aaron had, so long ago: ava is loud and overwhelmingly bright, enthusiastic and generous with all of her affection, and beatrice is quietly funny, whip smart, and thoughtfully attentive to ava. she turns and listens, fully, to whoever is talking, and knows about rosa’s birding, and the shrine farha talks about in lahore, and the new podcast angela is listening to. she’s impressive, as a person, and ava seems distinctly aware of it, basking, a little, in being chosen by someone so special.

‘sorry i’m underdressed,’ beatrice says after you order. ‘i was surfing this morning, and then had to jump on a work call, and i didn’t want to be late.’

‘everything okay?’ ava checks.

‘yes,’ beatrice says, soothes a hand along ava’s thigh and then squeezes her knee. ‘nothing of concern.’

ava squints. ’were you just asleep? you wouldn’t lie to me, right?’

beatrice pauses. ‘i was — well, catching up on some sleep, when camila called.’

ava barks a laugh. ‘bea is the sleepiest person i know.’

‘sleep is one of the great pleasures of life,’ angela says, regal and finite in her statement, ‘among other things in bed.’

beatrice grins while ava blushes. ‘now i know why you like coming to these classes and lunches so much,’ beatrice says, shooting angela a wink. ‘you do have a type.’

‘ah, and what a type it is,’ ava says, sighing for effect, seemingly recovered from her momentary emabrassment.

at the end of lunch, you do invite them to shabbat, and beatrice asks your favorite kind of kosher wine.

‘okay, you are all sworn to secrecy,’ ava says, leaning forward at the table. it’s not particularly quiet, because farha’s hearing aides can only do so much, and rosa flat out refuses to wear any, but there’s no on important around you anyway.

‘wonderful,’ angela says.

‘i love a secret,’ you agree.

‘well.’ ava lets out a big breath. ‘beatrice and i are going to switzerland, next week, to the alps, where we spent our first summer together, and i —‘ she shakes her head — ‘this feels so crazy, but i’m going to propose.’

it sends the whole table into a flurry of excitement, asking about ava’s plan — a hike, the one they would go on every tuesday together, slowly and for fun — and the ring ava had picked out — beautiful, and elegant, and perfect, you think — and, ‘do you think she’ll say yes?’

ava gulps. ‘i know she wants to spend her life with me.’ she sounds sure, and calm, despite her fingers nervously fidgeting with her napkin. ‘she was… very religious, for a long time, so, like, she’s always been really accepting of other same sex marriages, but i think it’s taken her a minute to get her to feel ready for, like, our own very queer marriage. sacrament, and all that, i guess.’ she shakes her head. ‘but anyway, yes! i think she’s ready. i think she really wants to get married.’

her smile is gentle, serene, and you had watched beatrice — in neat linen, her hair long and swept over her shoulder, fight her way through eating multiple bites of gefilte fish last friday, even though it was clear she hated it, and say prayers in hebrew, quietly. ava had been in her chair; you hadn’t asked, and neither had anyone from shul or your family, but beatrice had made sure that she had everything she needed, unobtrusive and practiced. ava had been, unexpectedly, the life of the party, charming everyone with her laugh and her silly puns and a very spirited debate with your granddaughter about women’s soccer. they’re a pair, you understood, very clearly: at the end of the night, ava had encouraged beatrice, gently, to take extra kugel along with the challah and chicken you’d already put in tupperware for them; beatrice had gotten their sweaters from the closet and handed ava’s to hers with a kiss to her forehead, tender and private, a moment that had belonged just to them.

‘we’ll all be eagerly awaiting the engagement photographs,’ angela says with sure gravitas.

‘post them on facebook,’ you tell her, and ava laughs, but she promises, later, when you give her a hug, that she will.

‘thank you, for inviting us,’ you tell ava, a bit in awe, if you’re being honest, of their house. she bounces around happily, and angela just looks at you with a raised brow for a moment. there are bright red and gold decorations everywhere, and beatrice walks over with a neat bun and beautiful jacket, embroidered so elegantly even angela seems a little in love with it.

’happy new year,’ she says, and you both give her a hug as you return the sentiment, then shows you to their kitchen, with a spread of chinese food that smell so, so good, and then gestures out to the open-air doors and patio that overlooks the ocean. ‘help yourselves to whatever you want. ruth, there are plenty of dishes that i made sure meet all kosher standards; they should be labeled. and there’s plenty of seating, and come find me if you need anything.’ she pauses. ‘or ava, but she gets a little… activated when we have a lot of people over.’

‘so, did we know how rich they were?’ angela says, loading her plate with everything she can after beatrice walks away to greet more guests.

‘not this rich.’

you both wait a beat and then laugh, and you find seats by the railing; your hip doesn’t hurt at all anymore. ava finds you both eventually and steals an egg roll from your plate with a laugh. ‘i’ll get you another one,’ she promises. ‘and, i just wanted to say, thanks for being my friends. i know it’s silly, but the water aerobics have really helped me feel better — and much less bored — when my mobility has been limited. and i love hearing about your lives, and sharing mine. i just —’ she scrubs her hand along the back of her neck, her hair neatly trimmed to her chin, fluttering in the breeze. ‘i went a long time without great role models.’

it’s so sincere and so touching. angela sniffles and you fish a hanky from your purse and hand it to her; she dabs her eyes.

‘don’t call us old,’ she says, voice breaking, and ava laughs.

‘i could’ve called you my adoptive grandmothers, so count your blessings.’

you roll your eyes when she takes a big, smiling bite of her (your) egg roll. ‘you are a blessing,’ you tell her.

ava swallows her bite and then leans to hug you, tight and sincere. ‘thank you,’ she whispers.

‘happy new year, ava.’

‘yeah,’ she says, a little teary but with a huge smile. ‘happy new year.’

#we have been talking abt ava & her bubbe for... Months !! lol #finally got to it #ava & the gals #ft sleepy bea #wn #warrior nun fic #avatrice #avatrice fic #prompts #also happy lunar new year!!!! this is the new year they're attending fyi if that isn't clear lol #also yes ava's type rly is like exacting smartly dressed women who are in fact taller than her

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lotomber · 7 months

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Hello! I really love you work it’s really interesting to read! (I’m not going to lie you’re one of the reasons I started writing) but could you maybe do a chuuya x gn!reader? Like the Reader is struggling with self harm and chuuya is helping Reader through it, with going out on fun dates, cuddling etc to get reader’s mind off it? Feel free to ignore! (It could be scenarios or headcanons! :3

Hello! I am really glad to know that you like my work.❤Actually I just couldn't find time to write due to studies but I'll still be working on the requests. Sorry for the delay. Btw what do you write about if you don't mind me asking ?👀

Healing🩵

Pairing: Chuuya x gn!reader

T/W : self harm, mentions of cuts

W.C : ~480

It all started when Chuuya noticed how you were wearing full length clothes, then he noticed the cuts on your wrist and arms.

He was mad as hell thinking someone tried to harm he instantly wanted to rip apart the person who did this to you.

But when you told him that you did this yourself he was just so heartbroken, he just couldn't understand why you would do this to you.

He asked you why you did this to yourself was it because of him or did someone say something to you?

"No Chuuya it's not because of you or someone else. It's just too complicated. I...I mean i just get these sudden urges and everything just feels too blurry and indifferent around me and I don't even know how to explain this. I'm sorry" you sobbed as you told him.

He hugged you tightly telling you that you have nothing to be sorry for and that instead he's sorry for not noticing earlier.

He didn't asked you anymore after that, he didn't want to push you away.

After that he started spending more and more time you to make sure you won't do something like this again.

He would come to pick you up from your college/ work. And takes you out to romantic dinner.

He even got many board and card games to play with you when you don't want to go out or he arranges a perfect movie night , as you both cuddle and watch a wholesome rom-com.

He even cooks your favorite meals for you to make sure you eat properly. He just loves to spoil you.

Gives you lots of kisses and hugs, tells you how glad he is to have you in his life and just how beautiful and perfect you are for him.

He would always be considerate and encourage you to talk to him about anything and that he would try his best to understand and help you.

He would even take you out on dates to cheer you up like to a cozy cafe, beaches, a picnic besides a lake or your any favorite place.

On dates he make make sure you have fun time, makes silly jokes just to make you laugh.

Once you both went to a amusement park and chuuya was denied on a ride because of his height, he got pissed at the guard but you started laughing as you saw him bickering with the guard.

Seeing you laugh like that made all his anger fade out in an instant.

Chuuya may act as arrogant, rude and short tempered but he is someone who wears his heart on his sleeves and for you he would do anything, so being denied on a ride did hurt his pride a bit but he won't say anything cause he got to see you laugh so heartily.

And if you decided to take therapy he would encourage you and go with you to show how much he supports you and your decision.

#bungou stray dogs chuuya #chuya nakahara #chuuya nakahara #bsd #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs #chuuya fluff #chuuya x reader #bsd chuuya

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kurooo-is-here · 6 months

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Hey I really I like the how the Drayton and Lacey x Elesa’s kid turned out, thanks! I wanted to ask if you could do an expansion on that.

What if the reader started to get eating disorders or unhealthy eating habits trying to live up to their’s mom’s legacy (maybe excessive battling too.)

Also how would they react around their partner pokemon, Zebstrika. How would react if Elesa came for a surprise visit (I headcanon elesa as a good mom since she helped out Bianca in Pokémon black and white)

Oooo, it's been awhile since I wrote about any heavy topics like this. I will go ahead and say though, massive trigger warning for eating disorders. This is all fiction of course, but stay safe out there!

Being Elesa's kid, part 2:

Content Warning: Eating Disorders

Lacey is the first to notice your discomfort. She asks why you're not eating your food, and you respond that you're just not hungry. She lets it go at first, but then she notices that you start to skip even more meals and spend more time training your Pokemon.

Days go by and you haven't eaten anything. One day you mention to her that maybe you're eating too many calories for the day, and she finally has enough. She drags you aside and demands to weigh you, despite your protests.

You've lost... a lot of weight. Too much. Lacey pales as she looks between you and the scale.

"Y/N... We need to get you some help." She says quietly. "This isn't right."

You have an argument with her. You keep insisting you don't need help, that you're perfectly fine-- but Lacey knows you better than that. She points out that your Zebstrika has been looking tired from exhaustion (from excessive training), and that she's worried you've developed an eating disorder. She urges you to get help. You yell at her that she's been ignoring you lately, so maybe she should just mind her own business, because she's much prettier than you anyway.

...There's silence.

"Y/N, is that what this is about?" She asks finally. "What's going on?"

Apparently you had been bullied online after posting pictures of yourself with Lacey and Drayton. They would comment that someone like you didn't deserve to be friends with the likes of them-- they were important people, and you were just some nobody. They made fun of you for being Elesa's kid, saying they couldn't even tell because you looked nothing like your mom.

You had a mental breakdown after showing all of this to Lacey. Drayton came in just then because he heard shouting, and Lacey caught him up on the situation.

Drayton comforts you patiently as you sob into his shoulder, but his blood is boiling on the inside. Those bullies hurt you like this, they tore you apart... He would find them and give them hell.

Using his connections in the school as well as talking to Director Cyrano, he tracks down the bullies. He breaks their spirits in battle, strips them of their ranks, and leaves the rest of their punishment to the director.

Lacey is by your side the entire time, making sure you're taken care of physically and mentally. She wants to scold you, but she decides it can wait. Right now, your health is more important.

When Drayton gets back, he showers you with affection-- kisses, hugs, and cuddling. You fall asleep next to him, exhausted from such a long day.

Drayton swears to protect you. You're his only treasure, after all. He'll guard you with his life.

Elesa visits a week later after she hears the news. She's worried sick, asking you questions and checking your vitals. When you tell her you'll be fine, she starts crying a bit and hugs you.

"Oh darling... You don't need to hide around me. I'm always here for you. You will always be good enough for me." She whispers. You end up crying too, and Elesa makes sure you get the help you need before she departs. She even pays for your therapy.

Your Zebstrika has a bit of trouble trusting you, even after you start getting help. It wore itself out to exhaustion because of your training.

You tell Zebstrika with a heavy heart that if it wants to be with another trainer, you would be more than willing to release it or trade it away. To your surprise though, your Pokemon forgives you.

Zebstrika saw the pain you endured. It heard you cry yourself to sleep at night reading comments online. It wants to stay by your side, just this once.

#pokemon #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon drayton #pokemon lacey #pokemon drayton x reader #lacey is your adoptive sister #kuro writes

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sh1-n0bu · 2 years

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Hey God it's me again. Back by nobody's request once again: Me, 🦝.

Can we talk about Heizou?

Trick question. I WILL talk about Heizou and YOU WILL listen.

I like him so much the little skrunkly Mr canon daddy issues. Mr I want my father to be proud of me and it hurts. Mr I need to be the best and I'll still not be enough.

I love him a lot. I know I'm usually here to be horny but tbh today I'm not. I just feel bad for him. We all talk about Kazuha's my-best-friend-died-in-my-arms story but Heizou's is completely ignored. It's the ptsd for me. It's the family issues for me. It's the other people have a false image of the nature of his being for me. It's the hidden insecurities, the silent overthinking for me. Like bro did anyone ever pay attention to how careful he is with the traveler because he doesn't want to scare them off. It's the no friends (only mildly derogatory) for me.

It's the everything for me. My brain pointed at this little dude and went "that one" and now I think about him. All the time. I just want to hold him. Like bestie is u good? Do you need a hug? Some comfort? Some therapy? I will smooch him very lovingly mwah mwah

✿ 𝙨𝙖𝙛𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙨 ✿

characters: heizou x nb!reader

warnings: angst, fluff, PTSD, reverse comfort, insecurity, heizou’s just having a very very bad day😢reader and heizou’s not in a relationship yet

notes: SAME 🦝 NONNIE! i’ve reached friendship lvl10 with heizou and i read all stories of the characters whether i like them or not and heizou’s just made me cry😭😭😭 his only friend died out in public, in his arms, saying “i… i came to see you too”. i just cosnfijdnfjsjf

also i wrote this while listening to mitski and shed good few tears here and there 🦝 anon😔👍

detective shikanoin heizou of the tenryou commission is a name that’s widely known for it’s incredible intelligence, witty remarks and boy-ish charms. however that’s not all there is of heizou.

at 2 in the morning, when someone knocks on your door and wakes you up from your nice dreams, it’s safe to say that you’re ready to throw hands unless it’s an emergency. but then again almost every time you’re awoken at an unholy hours is because it’s an emergency.

‘this better be something good ‘cause i have a long day of commissions tomorrow’ throwing on a haori on top of your loose yukata, stumbling to the front door of your little house, the least person you expected to wake you up was the renowned detective of the tenryou commission.

immediately thinking of what you did that could’ve been considered law-breaking, one came into mind. but hey, you had to sock that guy because he was troubling the traveler when they were on the brink of collapsing!

“…hey, sorry to wake you up so late” heizou’s voice snapped you out of your little mind-ramble.

“oh no, it’s fine. would you like to come in?” nodding and quietly shuffling into your house, heizou seemed just so… quiet. most of the times he would spend time with you, he would be rambling about the newest case he got, how the criminals are getting dumber and dumber everyday or just about things in general.

asking him if he would like something to drink and sitting in your kitchen at 2am with the detective just silently staring at his glass of water was concerning. moreover there were dry tear tracks on his face and his clothes seemed half-heartedly thrown on.

after a while of just sitting in a deafening silence, heizou started to talk. about how he wants to be seen as the perfect reliable detective, how he wants his dad to be proud of him, about how his only childhood friend was a fraud and a thief, how after a year of staying out of contact, he met his friend again only for them to be bleeding out on the side of the road of the festival.

when recalling how his only friend had told him he wanted to see him as well, while holding a bloodied green pebble from his wallet which had no mora, only the pebble, the tears that filled his eyes fell. choking on his words, trying to apologize for dumping all of his problems on you, this was also heizou.

the same shikanoin heizou that throws around flirty remarks with you. the same shikanoin heizou that catches criminals left and right like they were just passing by him in the streets. the same shikanoin heizou who proudly declared he wanted to stop evil.

“i-i’m sorry hic i didn’t mean to dump-oomf!” being held close to your chest and telling him it was okay and that you understand was the last breaking point for him. sobbing out loudly like a child and clinging to you like a lifeline, this was also shikanoin heizou. your heizou.

after exhausting all his strength, you simply carried him to your bed for him to rest.

to heizou he felt like he was being gently cradled by the sun. so soft, warm and inviting.

to heizou, you were the only one to truly see who he was and not run away.

to heizou, you are the one he fell for and damn did he fell for the perfect person.

to heizou, your arms felt like home.

#nobu.writes #shikanoin heizou #heizou x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader angst #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x reader fluff #heizou x reader fluff #heizou x reader reverse comfort #no beta we die like rex lapis #🦝 anon

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ghoststyles · 11 months

Text

Fairway to Heaven - Part 6

WC: 8.8K

Part 1| Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

_________________________________________________________________

Instead of hurt, betrayal or disgust, Briar feels heartbroken. Heartbroken Harry had to endure that. She moves closer, embracing him in a hug.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he violently cries into her shoulder. She rubs circles on his back, letting him get out his upset and frustration.

“You didn’t deserve that. At all,” Briar says softly. Harry nods, just thankful she’s not upset at him. It took him years of therapy to be able to openly speak about his situation.

“Do you know his name?”

“Oliver,” Harry rasps.

“That’s beautiful. I bet he looks so much like you. I bet he has your kind eyes. Your charm. Your ability to make anyone feel special. I bet he’s clumsy like you. And I bet he’d like to meet you, too,” Briar says slowly.

Harry cries harder, the sobs wracking his body.

They sit there for over an hour before Harry finally calms down. He musters up the courage to look at her. His eyes are so puffy and red, and snot is dripping from his nose.

“I understand if you’re upset with me, and if you never want to see me again,” he sighs in defeat.

“Harry, look at me,” Briar grabs his face and runs her thumb along his cheek. “I’m absolutely not mad. I wouldn’t wish this situation on anyone. I want to help you deal with this, whatever way you need to.”

“Thank you,” he whispers. “I think I want to sleep for a while.”

“Of course, let’s go up.”

“Harry, baby. Wake up,” Briar whispers, gently waking Harry from his sleep. It’s well past 11AM. She called Niall to let him know Harry isn’t feeling well.

Harry stirs, the memories of last night flooding his mind. He’s not even sure if he slept. Briar runs her finger nails along his back, gently soothing him.

“I called us both out of work today, so we’re going to spend it how you want to.”

Harry exhales. He can’t even think of the last time he took a day off. Or the last time he had a panic attack. The two probably coincide.

When Camille left him, he buried himself in work. He quickly rose to the top as an associate, eventually becoming a manager. Now that his predecessors are retiring, Harry sometimes works from 6AM until 8PM. Even on Christmas Day.

He takes some labored deep breaths.

“Can we go get breakfast?”

Briar scrunches her eyebrows, not expecting his answer.

“Of course. Take your time getting dressed.”

Briar leaves the room, already having been up and dressed for hours. She tossed and turned wondering how anyone could treat him that way. Harry loves so strongly and so deeply. She already knows he’d be an incredible father, based on his love for Gus. But, she didn’t know him in his 20’s and 30’s. Maybe he wasn’t as mature as he his now.

Her heart broke again watching him sleep. He looked sad, even when unconscious.

Harry eventually comes downstairs, slowly and solemnly. He pets Gus, reveling in his fluff. He is truly their emotional support dog.

“C-can we go to this place to get a full English? You’ve had it before, right?”

“Yes, when I went to London in high school. Will you eat my beans?”

Harry laughs softly, “Yes, I’ll eat your beans.”

She guides him out to her car, knowing he’s probably not in a state to drive. She’s too nervous to drive his nice car. It’s a beautiful day, so she took the top of her jeep off. She can’t wait to see his hair flying in the wind.

They pull up to his requested breakfast spot. The parking lot is a little deserted. She is relieved, because if he needs to cry a little he can do so without judgement.

The waitress greets them with a chipper tone, but quickly adjusts based on their sad demeanor. Briar orders them both a coffee and full English breakfasts.

They sit in silence for a while.

“I know I don’t know her, but, should you call your mom? Is this something you’d talk to her about?”

“I did in the beginning; my sister, too. But then it just became a cycle of discussing the same thing over and over. So I just stopped bringing it up.”

Briar nods, knowing the feeling. After her dad died, she was enrolled in therapy. As a 6 year old, she didn’t have much else to talk about.

“I saw a therapist for a while. I was a little unwilling to talk about any of my other issues, so after a while they just gave me a prescription and sent me on my way. I felt like I got kicked out.”

Briar grabs his hand across the table, squeezing it. “That’s the tough part of it; they give you the tools and you’re supposed to just figure out how to use them. There were so many times I just wished my therapist had told me what to do and what to say.”

Harry hums. The food arrives a few minutes later. He gently breaks his egg yolk, “I’d really like you to meet my mum and sister.”

She smiles, “Aw, yes, I’d love to. It didn’t even cross my mind since you met mine so early on. Well, not my mom, I guess.”

“When was the last time you saw her?” He asks, happy to move onto a different topic.

Briar blows air out of her mouth as she tries to recall the last time she saw her mother.

“Christmas, I guess.”

“Can I meet her? Or do you just want to wait until it happens organically?”

“No, no. I should call her soon, anyway. I’ll try and set something up,” Briar says, pushing her food around. She supposes they're both facing their demons head-on today. “Do you mind if my brothers come? They usually need to be coerced into seeing her.”

“Of course not. Whatever is most comfortable for you guys.”

They eat in silence, only speaking up when the waitress returns to the table every so often.

“I send him birthday cards,” Harry says, staring at his hands.

Briar lifts her head, giving him a look to continue his thought.

“Every year around Christmas time. I’m not even really sure when his birthday is. I’ve never written a note, or anything. I just sign my name ‘Harry’. For all I know, she’s never even told him about me. Or even given him the cards.”

Briar’s sadness returns, evident in her facial expression.

“H-have you tried contacting your mutual friend? The one that introduced you?”

“I did, years ago. Everything was kind of fresh at that point, and I definitely think he took sides. I’m pretty sure they’re together now. His parents own an art gallery and are involved in high-society over there,” he coughs. “I just look like a schmuck in comparison. The craziest part of it all, I don’t know what I did to deserve no contact. I’m scared I’ll die never knowing.”

Briar closes her eyes, willing herself not to cry, “Did you ever fly to France to try and find her? Or her family?”

“I did. Once. I’d say about 6 months later. I drank whiskey the entire flight to Paris. I didn’t even have any luggage with me. I just marched off the plane and went to where I last knew she lived. I should’ve known her keeping her Paris apartment meant something.”

“You couldn’t have known,” Briar says softly.

“I knocked on the door. She opened it so quickly. I think she was expecting someone else. Her jaw dropped, and she tried to close the door on me. I was able to get inside, but she started throwing bottles at me. Then she threatened to get a restraining order against me. She was really showing at that point, so I didn’t want it the police to get involved.”

Briar is horrified the more he tells her.

“I went home to my mum’s for a while. Then flew back to the US and just went back to work. I can’t say I’ve done anything substantial since then.”

“Oh, stop. You renovated a gorgeous house. You started going back to Wynnewood. You’ve become your own boss,” Briar rattles off his accomplishments.

“I just thought I’d be married by now,” Harry chokes up a bit. She moves to his side of the table, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“I know this is ironic coming from a 23 year old; but, there’s no timeline on life, baby. You faced adversity and are moving on from it. That takes a lot of courage.”

Harry chuckles, wiping away a stray tear. Briar is so emotionally intelligent for a 23 year old.

They leave the café, opting to go back to Harry’s house. They grab books from his shelf and read them outside on his comfy lounge chair under the cabana, hoping the sunshine heals them both. Harry eventually dozes off, finally achieving deep sleep after a rocky 24 hours.

Briar massages his head, twirling his curls in between her fingers. As much as she wants to comfort him, she can’t help her tendencies to meddle.

She visits Niall’s Instagram, immediately checking his following list. She scrolls, closely examining every profile to find even a tiny breadcrumb that could lead her to Camille. Harry never said her last name, so she’ll have to pull out the big guns of internet stalking.

Nothing stands out tremendously; He doesn’t follow many people. Just a few OnlyFans models, golf companies and Barstool Sports. She spots a familiar name, Lydia…Where does she know that name from?

Briar’s thumb gives one last ditch effort scroll, when she lands on an account: @Fingermonkey

She clicks on it, and her heart immediately stops. Camille. The woman who made her boyfriend lose sight of who he was. The account is public, so she cautiously proceeds.

She’s a striking woman; she can see why Harry fell for her. She exudes beauty and class. It’s almost palpable.

Briar shudders, unsure if she should continue. She’s on her page for selfish reasons; to see Harry’s son. Her curiosity gets the best of her. She scrolls some more, before stopping at a photo of a tiny hand. Briar bites her lip, staring back down at Harry.

“No going back,” she whispers to herself.

After another few scrolls, she finds what she’s looking for. It’s from around 5 years ago. Camille is holding a tiny boy with dark brown curls and green eyes, bright as day. They’re on the swings, bright smiles adorning their faces.

Briar feels like she’s been sucker punched in the stomach. He’s a beautiful little boy. A boy Harry never even got the chance to love and help raise. She takes several deep breaths and scrolls back even further to 8 years prior.

Another blow. The engagement photos.

Briar winces, zooming in. They seem to be taken in California, just as the sun is setting. Camille is holding Harry’s face as she kisses him, the ring being the main focal point. She reads the caption:

J'ai trouvé mon éternité.

I found my forever.

She clicks off Camille’s page, rolling her eyes. She clears the search history, knowing she’s been caught stalking in the past.

Briar has so many questions.

Does she want Harry to find her? Why is Niall still following her?

Briar is physically at Wynnewood, but mentally elsewhere. After her stalking session, Harry woke up feeling better, so they decided she should go home. As much as he loves her company, he always needs alone time to process things. She was happy to oblige, needing her own time to breathe.

Briar is taking inventory after her shift when she spots Niall on the practice green. A lump forms in her throat, but she knows she needs to confide in him. He smiles, waving her over.

“Hey, Briar. I heard about the other day. I was up in the clubhouse already when everything went down. How’re you doing?” He asks, pulling her in for a hug.

“I’m good, thanks for asking. Everything was taken care of, so I just needed some time to shake it off.”

He nods, fiddling with his putter. Niall looks around, not really sure what else to say.

“Hey, Niall, can I ask you something?”

His eyes go wide, clearing his throat, “Listen, if it’s about Lydia and I…”

Finally, it clicks. Lydia from the party. Lydia who told her she’s also dating someone from the club. Briar gasps, “I, uh, what?”

“Fuck.”

Briar crosses her arms in front of herself, “Um, I was just going to tell you that Harry told me about Camille, and about the baby.”

“Fuuuuck,” Niall scratches the back of his head. “Can you ignore what I said before?”

Briar laughs, “For now. We can talk about that later. I just wanted to see if you had other insight. It was obviously a very emotionally charged conversation.”

“Yeah. Are you off now? Do you want to go inside for a drink?”

She nods and waits for him to clean up his stuff. They walk back to the clubhouse in silence, so Briar grabs a table outside while Niall changes in the locker room. The club is empty enough, so she’s not worried about members seeing them together.

He sits down, sighing, “I-I don’t really know how to proceed. Do you just want to tell me what he’s told you?”

“Sure,” she says quietly. Briar begins filling him in about their dinner at Ashmont and Jonathan revealing more than Harry was willing to share. Her heart races as she shares more details.

“That’s tough, darling. I know he was going to tell you eventually. The situation absolutely wrecked him. It took years to feel like I had my friend back.”

She nods, biting her lip, staring down at her shoes. Harry bought her a pair of lavender and white New Balances; her initials stitched in the tongue.

“You’re a very rational person, even at your age,” he smiles, leaning to put his elbows on his knees. “So, I know you’ll both work through it. But, what are your feelings?”

Briar sucks in a breath. “I’m not angry, and I want to support him, of course. But, I can’t help but have this sinking feeling in my stomach. I did some Instagram stalking.”

“You found Camille on there?”

“Yeah, through your account,” she waits for Niall to look back up at her.

He meets her eyes, “I keep a distance. I don’t speak to her or our mutual friends from study abroad. But I like to keep tabs. He’s my mate and I want to protect him.”

Briar nods, picking the skin at her cuticles.

“He’s a cute kid, isn’t he?” Niall smiles.

“Yeah, he is. Harry didn’t deserve that. At all,” she says, sitting back in her seat. “Should I meddle? Or just stay out of it?”

“I would hate to see this kid get any older without meeting his father. And, if you think you’ll be,” he trails off, smiling to himself. “Sticking around for a while, I think you have the influence on him to face it head on.”

“I hope I’ll be sticking around for a while,” she smiles.

Briar feels slightly better after talking to Niall. She has to remember to ask Harry if he knew about Lydia.

Briar was in need of some cathartic release. If Harry was willing to face this obstacle, she’s willing to face hers. She sits in the driver’s seat of her Jeep and scrolls her list of contacts before landing on Catherine Barlowe.

She dials, going through several cycles before finally being answered on the final ring.

“Hi, Bri. How are you, sweetheart?”

“Hi, Mom. I’m good, how are you?”

“I’m so good, honey. I’m so happy to hear from you. Dean and I are actually getting ready to move in a few weeks.”

“Oh? Where are you going?” Briar scrunches her eyebrows. That means her mom is selling the house she bought with her dad. The house she lived her first 9 years in before her mother’s addiction led to the 5 of them being placed with her aunt and uncle.

“I thought your brother may have told you. We’re going to California, honey.”

“Who? I thought the last time we all saw you was at Christmas time? And why California?”

“Jasper. He comes to see me. A lot more recently. The other boys only contact me when you do. I don’t think I’ll ever hear from Welles on his own,” Catherine sighs. “Dean is from California. He has young daughters, so we’re moving there to be closer to them. You remember? I told you about them.”

Tears begin welling in Briar’s eyes. Her mother, now 4 years sober and remarried gets to go play house with Dean’s young children. Instead of tending to her own.

“Yeah, I remember. There’s three of them, right? But they weren’t at the wedding,” Briar says quietly, remembering the rushed ceremony that took place the week after they finished their program together. Welles was furious, Jasper and Callum didn’t say a word, and Cormac cried the entire time. Patrick couldn’t bear to go. Meredith went in support of the siblings.

“Yes, he didn’t have custody rights at the time. But, that’s all settled now. We’re so happy, Bri.”

“I’m glad, Mom. Listen, I have to go, but I wanted to see if you’d be interested in going out to lunch soon. I’d like you to meet my boyfriend,” she rasps out.

“That sounds great, honey. Just text me the details. Talk soon.”

“Bye,” Briar chokes, throwing her phone into the passenger seat. She takes a few deep breaths to regulate her breathing. The tears continue to fall as she pulls out of the parking lot of Wynnewood.

Her phone begins to buzz, seeing Harry’s contact photo pop up.

“Hi,” she says solemnly before placing the phone between her shoulder and ear.

“Hi, Birdie. Are you okay?” He asks, sensing her tone.

“Yeah, yep, I’m good. What’s up?”

“Nothing, I figured you’re leaving Wynnewood. Was gonna see if you want to grab Gus and come over. I can make us dinner.”

“Um, I’m kind of tired. Think I’m just gonna go home, if that’s alright.”

“No, yeah, of course, love. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, I promise. I’ll text you when I get home, okay?”

“Okay,” he says softly. “Bye.”

She hangs up, not even bothering to say bye. Briar knows she shouldn’t take it out on Harry, but she’s struggling to hold herself together. She hears a crack of thunder before feeling thick rain drops hit her face.

“Fuck!”

Briar never put her Wrangler’s roof back on the other day. The droplets get more intense as she nears her apartment. Pulling into her spot, she frantically runs to her storage area to grab her roof parts.

It’s down pouring now, but she charges forward with her parts, lining them against the car. Her biceps are burning trying to lift the piece on top of the car. Tears are starting to roll down her face, her hair beginning to stick to her neck.

Briar squeezes her eyes closed, defeated as she feels two arms wrap around her. She whips her head around, startled by her boyfriend.

“What’s going on, love? Let me help,” Harry says, pulling her down from the step of her Jeep. She steps to the side under her apartment’s overhang, watching him effortlessly put the roof of her Jeep back together. He’s absolutely soaked, his gray sweatpants now a charcoal color. She watches the way his back muscles move under his white t-shirt.

He fastens the parts from the inside of the car before grabbing her backpack in one hand, and her hand in the other. He guides her to her apartment while fumbling with her keys. Gus greets them at the door, unsure who to go to first.

Harry sits Briar down on her ottoman before grabbing the fuzzy blanket from her sofa.

“What’s going on? I’m a little scared,” Harry says, his eyes full of concern.

She takes a shaky breath before sobs take over her whole body. She folds in on herself, burrowing into the blanket.

“I-I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she wails. Harry is stunned, unsure what she’s apologizing for.

“I should be supporting you and here I am getting so overwhelmed and then trying to deal with my own bullshit,” Briar cries. He places his hand gently on her back.

“Baby, I’m lost. Did something happen today?”

“I called my mom. She’s moving to California to raise her new husband’s kids,” Briar cries, snot pouring from her nose. “I should’ve fucking known. I don’t even know why I called.”

Harry can’t help but feel a little guilty. He mentioned it at their breakfast to get himself out of the hot seat. She took his bait.

“And because I can’t stop meddling, I looked up Camille online,” she confesses. “I even talked to Niall about it all.”

Harry freezes. He figured she would confide in Niall. But he didn’t think she’d look Camille up. He’s too afraid to ask what she found.

Harry guides her to sit up. He grabs her cheeks with one hand and makes her face him, “Hey. Hey. I need you to breathe, Briar.”

Briar cries harder at his use of her name. She can feel herself start to hyperventilate. He wraps himself around her tight. He holds her until she stops shaking. Gus has brought them 5 of his toys to try and lighten the mood.

“Gus, go to your bed,” Harry commands, voice deep. Briar flinches.

She lifts her head, taking in a deep breath.

“I hurt my own feelings today. I went looking for information I shouldn’t’ve,” she admits quietly.

“I think we all do that sometimes. Which part do you want to talk about first?”

Briar loves how diplomatic Harry is. Even when they have their spats, he always makes her feel like an equal partner. She also loves when he completely dominates her in the bed right after.

“W-we can talk about my mom,” she says, assuming that’s the easier of the two. “Her husband has 3 young daughters. So, now my mom gets a do-over. Poof. Our family is just out of the picture.”

Harry sighs. His father did something similar after his parents divorced. It stung for years, and took time to mend. Now they’re very close.

“That’s awful, Birdie. I’m so sorry. Are you going to see her before she leaves?”

She nods, wiping her nose on his chest, “Yeah, told her about you. Apparently my brother has been visiting her in secret. I’m so angry.”

He smiles lightly, “I’m happy to come along. Or not. Whichever makes you more comfortable. Don’t hold it against him. You all have to deal with things differently.”

“Thank you,” she says.

“Of course, baby. Now, do you want to tell me about the other situation?”

“Only if you want to. I crossed a line,” she starts to cry again.

She wraps her hand within his, squeezing tightly. Comfortable silence is usually never an issue for them, but the tension could be cut with a knife.

“Well, social media is public information, baby. I could’ve done it years ago, but never did.”

“I saw him,” Briar blurts out. It was now or never.

Harry closes his eyes, feeling nauseous. He takes a deep breath through his nostrils, “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. He’s gorgeous, Harry. Really,” she sniffles. “You shouldn’t give up. She’s wrong for what she did. And I want to help you fight for this.”

He can’t help but feel his heart swell with pride. His tough girl is ready to sit in the trenches with him. To fight the biggest demon holding him back from his happiness.

“I wrote a letter years ago,” Harry starts. “Let’s send it.”

Briar gasps, sitting up to face him, “I don’t want you to feel pressured by me.”

“I’m not. I’m not sure if this is too soon, but I already know I want to keep you around for a long, long time. This will help me get over my last hurdle.”

Briar cradles his face, kissing him gently.

“I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

They huddle together.

Briar starts to snicker, “Did you have any idea that Niall and Lydia, the server from the club, are dating?”

Harry’s head shoots up, “Huh?”

“Okay, good. I would’ve been pissed if you hid that from me."

“How’d you find out?”

Briar laughs, “I said, ‘Hey, Niall, can I ask you something?’ And he confessed immediately.”

Harry throws his head back laughing.

Harry is in his study, silently reading his letter from years ago. His tears are falling onto the paper, dotting and blurring the ink. He was 32 when he wrote this. It sounds old, but he was a kid. It was hard to keep him at home. He had access to disposable income, so he used it to its fullest.

Camille lived a simple life, finding pleasure in gardening, reading and going to cafés. Her job always came first, which kept her busy traveling around the world. Harry was restless; always chasing the next big thing, and partying until his body physically shut down.

It didn’t help that he was a touchy person. Even though Camille had his whole heart, he shamelessly flirted with other women. He let them hang on him at bars, on yachts, and anywhere he could get attention. People in their circle talk; leaving Harry in the hot seat more than once.

He’d be naïve to blame it on Camille’s attachment style. She was generally cold, not showing him much affection. But, nonetheless he pursued her, absolutely enamored by her beauty and grace.

He was dumb enough to suggest an open relationship one time; about 6 years into the relationship. His needs in bed became too much for Camille. She didn’t understand his need to get off and dominate her. He slept at a hotel every night that week. She gave him an out, but he couldn’t take it.

When Camille left, he started hooking up with women more regularly. His heart hurt so bad, but he was finally getting his physical needs met. None of them lasted, until Briar.

Over the course of 8 years, his heart slowly healed. It’s not ideal that Briar is so much younger, and an employee of his country club. There’s a strange power dynamic there. He loved how flustered she got when he looked at her; she still does sometimes, but he can feel the difference.

They bring encourage each other’s confidence. They drive each other to be a better version of themselves. They feed each other’s deepest desires; scratching every itch that had been culminating over several years.

Harry begins rewriting the letter; changing the tone from blinding rage, to one of neutrality. He wishes her well. He hopes she’s healed.

From what? He’s not sure. He hopes she understands his point of view, and will consider letting Harry meet his child. He’d do anything at this point.

He seals up the letter, addressing it to Camille. Not even sure she still lives at this address, he walks it out to his mailbox anyway, lifting the red flag to signal the post man.

He feels weight lift from his chest that had been there since the day he met Camille.

Briar and Harry are sitting at a nice restaurant on the water. She sips gingerly at her mojito while they wait for her mother to arrive. Briar extended the invite to her brothers, but received radio silence from them all.

She’s anxiously bouncing her leg, to which Harry firmly grasps her thigh as he locks his jaw. She inhales sharply, closing her eyes. After the emotional turmoil they’ve experienced over the last few weeks, their sex life has toned down immensely. She misses his hand around her neck and his dirty whispers.

“Relax. I’m right here,” Harry whispers in her ear lowly.

Briar gasps when three of her brothers appear from the restaurant’s entryway. Jasper must’ve picked up Callum and Cormac from Patrick’s.

Briar stands to hug her older brothers, while Harry pulls Cormac in for a hug.

“Where’s Welles?”

“Not sure. I haven’t heard from him,” Callum says simply.

She rolls her eyes. He’s 28, but he is the most immature out of all of them.

They sit, easing into a conversation with Harry. She’s grateful she can entertain them while she’s somewhere else in her head. He reaches over to lock pinkies.

Her mother walks in, looking stunning. That’s one thing that Briar has always been jealous of. It’s why her addiction flew under the radar for so long. She was always put together and exuding happiness. But in secret, she was struggling.

Her strawberry blonde hair is longer than when she saw her last, loose waves falling over her shoulders. She’s in a floor length floral gown, a sweater over her shoulders to fight the chill of the restaurant.

She spots them after speaking with the hostess, her smile lighting up the room.

“Hi, my babies!”

Jasper stands to greet her, while her other brothers hold in a groan. She walks around the circular table to press a kiss to Briar’s head, before turning her attention to Harry.

“And who’s this? Don’t think I popped him out,” she laughs, waiting for Harry to stand up.

“Mom, seriously?” Briar grimaces.

“Hi, I’m Harry. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” Harry says smiling, pulling out the chair for her.

“Pleasure is all mine, Harry. I’m Catherine. Isn’t my daughter incredible?”

Harry smiles, nodding. He can sense Briar’s discomfort. He assumes this praise is just for show.

Her mother brings up every topic under the sun, effectively avoiding topics regarding Briar’s father, the move, and her new husband.

They eat, letting Cormac talk about school, Callum talk about grad school and his new girlfriend, and Jasper about his new job. Briar realizes she’s done a shit job at talking to her brothers lately. She doesn’t know any of this.

“Where’s Wellie, Briar? Didn’t you invite him?”

“I did. Didn’t hear from him.”

“It would’ve been nice for you to follow up with him,” Catherine snipes. “It’s not everyday I get to see all five of you.”

“Really? How about you? When was the last time you talked to him?” Briar crosses her arms at her mother.

“It doesn’t matter. This is family time,” Catherine raises her eyebrows, waiting for Briar to snap.

“You know all about that, don’t you mom? Just counting down the minutes until you can go play house with Dean’s kids in California.”

Callum and Cormac look between the two women, stunned. Jasper’s eyes widen.

“California?” Callum questions. “Mom, what is she talking about?”

Catherine looks around, “I thought Jasper would’ve filled you all in. I’m moving to California with Dean to be closer to his kids. They’re younger.”

Jasper looks down, pushing the vegetables around on his plate. Callum shakes his head, throwing his napkin on the table before storming off. Cormac starts to cry, to which Harry puts a hand on his back.

“Mom, how can you leave?” Cormac asks, his lip quivering.

“Baby, you’re all adults. You don’t need me anymore.”

“I’m only 17, Mom,” Cormac chokes.

Briar has tears streaking down her face. Briar hasn’t needed her mother since she was 12 years old, hoping and praying for her to come back. Cormac barely knew her; only fantasizing what their relationship could’ve been.

Harry pays the bill before suggesting Catherine leaves. She nods, standing to grab her purse. She silently looks each of her children in the eye before walking out of the restaurant.

“I’m sorry, Bri. I thought she changed,” Jasper says solemnly.

“It’s okay. You deserve to handle your relationship with her however you want.”

Harry and Briar walk out hand in hand after spending 20 minutes consoling her brothers.

They climb into Harry’s car, silently staring ahead. Harry grabs her hand again.

“That was rough, pup. I’m sorry,” Harry says softly.

“Can we just go home? I miss you, Daddy.”

Harry clears his throat as his cock twitches.

“You have me, Birdie. Let’s go home.”

“Be rough with me,” Briar pleads from the bed. “I want it so bad.”

Harry chuckles as he pulls his belt from the loops on his pants. She’s completely bare, her wrists fastened to each corner of the bed. He opts to leave her feet out of the restraints, hoping he can toss her around a bit.

“Daddy’s been taking it easy on his Birdie for the last couple weeks,” Harry says, trailing his knuckle along her rib cage. She keens, shivering from the light touch. “But don’t think I forgot about your stunt at Ashmont.”

Briar freezes, remembering their escapades. She taunted him, removing her panties in the stall, waiting for him to come after her. It’s a shame the night turned into a disaster soon after. She whines, not sure what else to do.

“Hm? Remember that, Birdie? Words,” he stares straight into her eyes.

“Yes, Daddy. I was naughty,” she bites her lip.

He doesn’t like that. He shoves his middle and ring fingers into her mouth, choking her a little. “Leave that lip alone. I bite that.”

She purrs around his digits, goosebumps rising on her skin. He removes them from her mouth before sticking them at her core. He barely grazes her folds, seeing how she’ll react. She jerks around, slightly moving her pelvis to meet his hand.

“Ah, ah. No. You’ll be taken care of how I decide.”

She nods, swallowing thickly. She’s eating up everything he throws at her.

“Think I’m gonna take my time tonight,” Harry let’s out an exaggerated sigh. Briar whines, pushing her face into her shoulder. “Mm-mm. None of that.”

Harry pushes Briar’s legs in the air, holding her ankles together, so the lips of her vagina are peaking out between her thighs. He growls at the sight.

“This little pussy is so used to getting what she wants. What does she want tonight, Birdie?”

“Your mouth, Daddy! Please!” Briar balls her fists, wiggling slightly.

Harry spits, watching the liquid drip down her thighs and cunt, “Nah, I’m good.”

Briar’s jaw locks in frustration. She watches as he walks to his closet grabbing her plug and vibrator. He generously applies lube to the plug, gently circling her ass. Briar closes her eyes, laying her head back.

He gently pushes the plug in past the tight muscle, moving it in and out a little.

“Oh my godddd,” Briar exhales. Her chest is rising and dropping fast.

“I think tonight’s the night, baby.”

Briar whines, half out of horniness and the other out of nervousness. He flicks the vibrator on, pressing it firmly on her clit. She throws her head to the side.

“Look at me. Don’t look over there,” Harry threatens, increasing the speed.

She wills her eyes open, staring into his, her mouth opening slightly. The tension is building in her pelvis. She’s sure to come once he starts circling the vibrator on her clit; his signature move. Within seconds of him doing that, she’s crumbling.

Harry shuts off the vibrator and adjusts her leg position so her legs are open wide, one resting on his shoulder.

“Wanna see your pretty face when I fuck your ass,” He says, peppering kisses on her face and neck.

“Please,” Briar whispers.

Harry reaches between them and pulls the plug out and tosses it on the floor. He’ll clean it later. He extends his hand to rest in front of her face.

“Spit.”

She spits on his fingertips, a line of spit connecting them to her lips. He lowers his hand to lightly touch her hole before inserting his middle finger. Briar groans, pulling on her restraints. He quickly inserts another, rocking them in and out of her gently.

Harry’s cock is neglected, standing tall and proud, nearly touching the tip to his torso. Briar begins to panic, unsure if his girth will fit in there.

“Relax, baby. I got you. Do you remember your word?” He says, petting her cheek.

“Bogey,” she says softly.

“Good girl,” he kisses her again. Harry has never withheld kisses, even in her worst punishments. “One more and then we’ll go for it, okay?”

“Mhm,” she nods, a single tear escaping her eye. She trusts her boyfriend with her entire being, but her heart rate is skyrocketing.

The third digit enters her, eliciting a whine. Harry flexes his fingers, giving her a delicious stretch. A thick layer of sweat has formed behind her knees and on her forehead.

Harry kisses her forehead, licking the saltiness from his lips, “All good, Birdie. Doing so well for me.”

After a few more minutes of stretching her out, Harry pulls his fingers out and lowers himself to be eye level with her ass. He licks a long stripe over the now open hole. Briar shivers, pulling on the restraints.

Harry rises from his spot on the bed to pull his underwear all the way off, his cock bobbing as he moves. He grips his length firmly, giving himself a few generous pumps. He kneels over her, undoing her right hand’s restraint. She looks at him curiously, but understands when he entwines their hands.

He uses his right hand to line himself up at her delicate center. Briar sucks in a breath in anticipation. Harry presses the bulbous head of his dick in, groaning as he moves. His pace is painstaking, taking in every facial expression from the angel below him.

“Such a good girl. Letting Daddy be the only one to fuck this little hole,” he pants, nostrils flaring. His forehead is starting to drip with sweat.

“Only you,” she whines as he pushes in little by little.

“Let me know if you need me to stop and take a break, lovie.”

She furiously shakes her head, still holding in a breath. Harry is finally working his way up to full thrusts.

“Breathe with me,” Harry pleads. “1,2,3, exhale.”

Briar feels high. That breath sent her senses all the way to her pussy.

“Daddy,” Briar breathes heavily.

“What do you need, baby?”

“Fingers. I-In my pussy,” she cries. “Please.”

“Okay, baby. I know y’empty in there,” he smiles down at her lovingly as he untangles their fingers so he can stick them inside. “So wet f’me.”

The sensations are too much once he starts petting her g-spot with his fingers.

“Coming, Daddy,” she babbles.

“Go ahead, Birdie. So fucking proud of you.”

She squeezes her eyes closed, letting out a cry of relief as she hits her wall.

Harry chuckles at her babbling. She is fucked out to high heaven. He wants one more out of her before he comes. He alternates thrusting into her ass and fingering her pussy. He releases her other hand from the restraint. She’s too distracted, so her hand remains in the same spot.

“Rub your little clit, baby. One more f’me.”

“Ugggghnnnn,” Briar whines, drool coming out of her mouth. She circles her clit three more times before she’s clenching hard on his fingers and cock.

The squeeze of her ass pushes Harry into his own orgasm, a ringing forming in his ear. He gives two last lazy thrusts, emptying himself into her. He closes his eyes and hangs his head low before slowly pulling out.

Briar squawks, so he shushes her gently. Harry could come again at the sight in front of him. His come is leaking out of her ass hole, dripping onto the sheets below. He picks some up with his finger, smearing it on her pussy. She mewls, her head lolling to the side.

“So fucking good for me. Gorgeous, baby.”

Harry takes a mental image before hustling to the bathroom. He starts the bath, making sure to throw some epsom salt and lavender oil in there. He wets a towel with warm water for Briar, and throws two towels into his towel warmer.

He reenters the bedroom to find his girl curled up, her back to him. He runs his knuckles down her protruding spine. Harry gently dabs the towel along her labias and ass to clean up.

“Birdie, I ran us a bath. Gonna lift you,” Harry coos. Her eyelashes flutter as she looks up at him with moony eyes.

Harry lifts her from her armpits and knees, and swiftly carries her to the tub. Her eyes are shut, but she rests her head on his chest. He’s become a pro at maneuvering themselves into the tub.

Harry positions Briar at the front of the tub, before finding his seat at the back. He leans forward to pull her body to his chest. Harry closes his eyes and rolls his neck along the edge of the porcelain tub, listening to their uneven breaths.

He plays with Briar’s hair; twirling the long pieces between his fingers. She hasn’t said a word, but he knows she’s elsewhere right now. He moves his fingertips to her scalp, gently scratching around the nape of her neck, hoping she’ll come back to him soon.

“Mmmmm,” Briar hums, smiling to herself.

Harry smiles, increasing the pressure and speed like he’s petting Gus.

“Stop,” Briar whines, her hair now in her face.

“Sorry, Birdie. How do you feel?”

“Good. Sleepy,” Briar yawns.

“Hungry? I can order us something,” Harry taps her sides.

“Can we have Caesar salads and Diet Cokes?” She cranes her neck to look back at him.

Harry laughs, “Sure, baby.”

“And french fries.”

“You got it,” Harry leans down and kisses her.

Briar is staying at Harry’s while he’s in the city for a few in-person meetings. It’s been nice; she does yoga outside in the mornings, takes Gus for walks around the picturesque neighborhood, and cooks using his expensive appliances.

🦊: Hi, Birdie.

🐥: Hi Daddy

🦊: Miss me yet?

🐥: I like being able to lay sideways in your bed

🦊: You can do that when I’m there.

🐥: You’re too hard

🦊: How’d you know? Send me a picture.

🐥: It’s 10AM. Pay attention to your meeting

🦊: I’m not asking.

Though Harry isn’t home, Briar still walks around his house scantily clad. An idea to terrorize her boyfriend pops into her head. Bolting up the stairs, Briar grabs her plug from Harry’s special area in his closet. She smirks to herself, feeling the cool metal in her hand. She walks outside, peering over Maureen’s fence to ensure no one will witness what she’s about to do.

She gathers spit in her mouth before lubricating the plug. She places one foot on the lounge chair for leverage, before nudging the plug past her entrance. Waddling around, she moves two lounge chairs to face one another. Propping her phone up on one, she shuffles to the other to get into position. She removes her sleep tank top and silk shorts, staring up into the sky to get some sun on her face.

She kneels, making sure to pop her ass out more. The phone is set to video so she can take screen shots of the poses she likes best. Or just send the whole damn video to him.

She makes sure to twist her body to fake some curves, looking over her shoulder and touching her hair. She fiddles with the plug, making her whine.

Yup, she’s sending the video.

After a few minutes, she gets up from the lounge chair, being sure to flash the camera. She grabs the phone, scanning it over her body before blowing a kiss.

Delivered

Looking around again, she quickly throws her clothes back on, opting to leave the plug in for the day. Gus joins her outside, laying on the chair opposite hers. She has an urge to shut her phone off completely, just to push Harry’s buttons a little more.

Her quiet morning is interrupted by her ringtone blaring. She picks up without saying anything.

“Do you think you’re funny?”

“Who is this?” Briar is holding back laughter.

“I am in a meeting, little girl. You sent that video when all I told you to send was a photo.”

“So are you jerking yourself in the bathroom?”

“What a fucking mouth on you, huh? And yeah, your little video is causing a problem,” Harry grits.

Briar whines, “Don’t you wish it was my little hand, Daddy? Or my mouth?”

Harry slams his fist against the bathroom stall. His neck vein is protruding as he growls.

Briar is full on smiling to herself. She’s not particularly horny right now, but she’s happy to aid Harry with his issue. She can hear his panting increase before a clattering of the phone.

“Harry?”

“Fuck, I dropped my phone,” he laughs incredulously.

“Oh my, well, maybe I should let you go,” Briar trails off.

“No, baby. Almost done. Just tell Daddy how much you love,” he groans. “Love him.”

“I love you, Daddy. So much. Come for me,” Briar says, leaning into her chair.

Harry releases into the toilet with a strangled moan. He prays to God the conference room walls are thick. He grabs a wad of toilet paper to wipe down his misfires before flushing.

“Thanks, Birdie. You’re in so much trouble when I’m home. Love you.”

“Okay, bye.”

She hangs up, shaking her head. She looks over her shoulder to see Maureen standing at the fence, watering her plants. Briar gives her a tight smile and wave, to which Maureen grimaces in response.

Briar lounges for a few hours before feeling intense boredom. She cleans a little bit, making sure to dust Harry’s various trinkets from his travels. She lightly wipes a ceramic elephant he got in Thailand, a Russian nesting doll from his time in St. Petersburg, and a clay shark from South Africa. While Harry has been all over the globe, the two share a desire to one day back back in South America. She hopes a llama trinket will one day sit on this shelf.

It’s been a few weeks since the lunch with Briar’s mom and since Harry sent the letter to Camille. While she’s happy Harry is attempting to get to know his son, Briar can’t help but feel extreme anxiety. Why hasn’t Camille responded?

The shrill sound of the doorbell and Gus’s subsequent bark breaks Briar’s train of thought. She can see a figure through the frosted glass of Harry’s front door, lingering at the table of snacks designated for delivery drivers.

Briar can see the UPS logo on the man’s shirt, so she lets him pick his goodies before opening the door. She waved to him as he drives away, looking down at the package at her feet. She wonders if Harry sent her something for when he returns.

Bending over, she’s surprised at the package’s weight. If it were new lingerie, it’d be light. She bends at the knees, inhaling when she lifts the package. Shooing Gus away, she manages to get the package to Harry’s long kitchen table.

She’s wracking her brain what it could be. The entire package is wrapped in brown paper. She flips it over to see the label. Harry’s name written in cursive letters using a Sharpie. Her eyes are drawn to the left hand side; the sender.

C. Rowe 4 Rue Dupetit-Thouars Paris, France 75003

A lump forms in Briar’s throat. It’s been a few hours since she talked to Harry this morning. Her fingers start to dial his number.

“If you’re calling for a follow-up to this morning, I have to let you know that Niall is right next to me.”

She hears Niall groan in the background. When she doesn’t laugh or respond, Harry tries again. “Birdie?”

“Hi, I-I wanted to tell you that a package came f-for you,” Briar chokes out.

Harry scrunches his eyebrows, “Okay, just leave it with the others. Anything else?”

He wants to be sweet with her, but she knows not to call about random things while he’s in meetings.

“I-it’s from Camille.”

Silence. Briar closes her eyes.

Harry sighs, “I see. Okay, thanks for letting me know, pup. I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon. Are you going to be okay until then?”

“Y-yes, I’ll be fine. I’m sorry. I’m not sure why I’m so nervous.”

“It’s okay. This whole thing is a little odd. Just try to take your mind off it. Throw it in my office if you don’t feel like seeing it.”

“Okay, I will. I’ll talk to you later. Love you.”

“Love you.”

Harry sighs. Niall looks over at him empathetically.

“So when were you gonna tell me you’re dating one of the servers?”

Niall’s eyes go wide before rubbing his temples, “She told you?”

“What? Why wouldn’t she? She’s my girlfriend.”

“We’re not dating. We hooked up once...twice.”

“Mhm,” Harry laughs. “Better nip that in the bud, then.”

Niall groans again just as their next meeting begins.

The anticipation is killing Briar. Harry is due home any minute, so she’s pacing between his kitchen and living room. Sitting on the sofa, sitting on the stool, sitting on the chair, standing by the window. She can’t keep still.

She joins Gus in his outburst of barking and running from window to window when they hear Harry’s car pull into the garage. She pokes her head into the garage to see Harry unloading his bags from the back.

She walks over to him, pressing her hands into his chest.

“Hi, Birdie. Missed you,” Harry says, pressing a kiss to her mouth.

“Welcome home,” she smiles back at him.

She grabs the wheeled suitcase, lifting it over the threshold of the door.

“Let me change and we can open it,” Harry says simply. Briar’s stomach drops.

“Okay.”

Briar corrals Gus to the sofa, the two of them perching in the corner seat. Harry changed into colorful sweatpants and a t-shirt that says ‘vote vote vote’. He grabbed the package from his office on his way back into the main living room.

He places the package on the coffee table. The two of them stare at it silently.

“Are you sure you don’t want to do this alone?”

“Mm, no, it’s okay. If there’s a letter, then I’ll read that on my own.”

Briar nods, waiting for him to open the box.

Harry peels the brown paper from the edges, tearing straight through his and Camille’s names.

He removes the paper in its entirety, examining the oversized shoe box before pulling the lid off. He places it off to the side while peering at the contents. From first glance, it looks like junk.

He scrunches his eyebrows when he spots one of his old shirts. Did Camille really use this as an opportunity to send his shit back?

He moves the shirt to reveal a few envelopes, a baby rattle, a small pair of vans, a stuffed dog, and drawings.

Harry opens one of the envelopes to find a stack of Polaroid pictures. He can feel his eyes start to sting. They’re in chronological order, showing his son grow from a tiny baby to an excited 7 year old. Briar has her head on his shoulder, silently viewing the photos. The birth photo has words scribbled in Sharpie at the bottom.

Oliver Styles Rowe 18-11-2016 3.3kgs | 53 cm

Harry is crying now. Briar rubs his back, trying to encourage him to keep going.

He flips through the photo, feeling vomit bubble up his throat. This kid looks like a lot of fun. Fun that’s killing him to not have been a part of. Camille keeps him well travelled; there are photos from Tokyo, Australia and Mexico.

Unlike most babies, Harry’s had his signature curls from the start. Briar gasps at the photos as they get closer to present day. Oliver is Harry’s twin.

Oliver receives great marks in school; he’s pictured with several certificates and trophies. He even seems to be a footballer.

Harry puts the stack on the coffee table, turning to face Briar.

“Wow,” Harry says, wiping a tear from his eye.

“What’re you thinking?”

“Just heartbroken all over again.”

Harry went into his office to read the letter. He stops at his bar cart to pour himself some tequila.

It’s short, but gives Harry some closure. Over the last 8 years, Camille embraced motherhood by focusing less on work. She meditates, volunteers regularly, and is extremely involved at school activities.

She and Theo, their mutual friend from study abroad, have been together since she moved back. That sends a pang to Harry’s heart. They got married about 5 years ago, and have a little girl named Amélie. She only talks a little about Oliver, saying how much he reminds her of Harry.

Camille apologizes, which Harry didn’t expect. She recognizes cutting him off from his son was wrong. She also left her contact information, followed by the last line.

He would love to meet you. I think it’s time.

Tears are fully falling on Harry’s cheeks as the heaviness of the last 8 years hits him. His son has Styles in his name. He smiles to himself, feeling the butterflies in his stomach.

He shoves the letter in his desk drawer before wiping his eyes. He joins Briar and Gus back in the living room cozied up by the fire.

____________________________________________________________________

OHM YGOD. SOMEONE PLZ TALK TO ME AB BIRDIE AND HARRY I AM LIVINGGGGG

Taglist:

@daphnesutton @pandeebearstyles @anxiouswaterss @gem1712 @stylesfever @awesomenavy @crazygirlinthisworld @butdaddyilovehim-hs @luxiorchive @alchemxx @narry-heart

#harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #Harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #fairway to heaven #dom!harry #dom!h #daddy!harry #daddy!h

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polarisbibliotheque · 28 days

Note

Are you into MBTI? If yes, may I ask for your idea on DMC characters types? If no then feel free to skip this ask, sorry for bothering you.

First things first, my beloved: DON’T APOLOGIZE. None of you are EVER bothering me by sending an ask – unless, of course, you’re completely crass, deranged, borderline criminal (or full criminal) with your words or just gratuitously rude. Those types are bothersome and will get blocked and ignored.

Unless I’m on an Axl Rose like rampage and want to burn and fistfight people along my way, then I’ll use the stupid being in question to pour all my anger and have a good reason to spend hours in therapy :)

But you are NOT one of those, my dear. That’s a very fun question and do feel free to ask me random things like that, I enjoy answering!

Now, I’m not really big on MBTI – I know enough about mine and my family’s so I can make things work between me and them. I also like to know my friends MBTI’s because the memes are usually freakishly accurate with all our personalities xD

I am an INTP! Quite proud, if I might say so hahahaha I like the weird vibes and I have adopted in my heart Sherlock Holmes as an INTP ‘cause he was my role model when I was a teen (I know, HORRIBLE role model, but it is what it is) – and that’s how I got into MBTI.

(more under the cut, this answer is LONG)

Big introduction for me to say: VERGIL, THIS LITTLE SHIT. INTJ. I DON’T EVEN HAVE TO THINK ABOUT IT.

I’ll start with him and then Dante. I won’t share my 2 cents on the rest of the crew because either they aren’t that much developed as the twins or I’m not really trusting my MBTI judging abilities here.

Without further ado…

Vergil

I debated quite a WHILE on Vergil, to be honest, because we all know INTJ is the typical villain archetype used everywhere on media because heaven forbid a villain is not calculating and devoided of emotions.

And there’s where I got a little stuck: emotions.

Vergil does have emotions, and I dare to say his run even deeper than Dante’s, so I got a little sidetracked. But then I took my own personality, INTP, and thought about it for a while. I have the same problem as Vergil: my emotions do run deep and I’m always guarding them in a dark, secret place inside of me so I won’t get hurt, opting for a more thinking, analytical and practical approach rather than the feeling approach. And oh boy does my life get difficult with feeling types like my aunt, my mom and even my sister.

I got to the conclusion, then, it’s not how you feel, but rather how you present yourself. I took the test as if I was Dante (I needed that to figure him out, not sorry) and a lot of questions are more leaning on that. It’s not that you don’t feel or don’t understand feelings, it’s more like you have a different approach when doing things and processing all of that – because it can be quite overwhelming.

So, there we go, Vergil is BLATANTLY Introverted and Thinking. The Introverted I got from what I heard some people saying that it’s not that “oh I like talking to people/I don’t like talking to people”, it’s energy: at the end of the day, do you prefer being alone to recharge or around people to recharge?

Me and my sister are opposites on that. My sister was always quieter and shy when she was a kid, and I was expansive and always came back with a new friend. Lo and behold, I’m an Introvert and she is an Extrovert. How? I HAVE and I NEED time alone, completely for myself, with NO ONE around at certain times of the day and I do get AWFULLY tired when I’m being social for too long, needing some me time with tea and a good book. My sister NEEDS to be around her friends after a long, tiring week at work, famously going to 3 parties in a row, in 3 different days, different groups, outfits and all, exiting one party to go to the other, and then BAM going to work on a Monday completely replenished. I’m an Introvert. She is an Extrovert.

Dante and Vergil seal of approval here hahahahaha

His Intuitive part, though, comes from the art – poetry, philosophy, reading, education. Vergil is obviously BIG on that, loving poetry since he was a child and always being found in libraries, we can all picture him going to art galleries, concerts, operas and such. But, particularly, I extend that to his thirst for knowledge: everyone who enjoys reading the dense stuff he does, tends to fall for philosophy, sociology, the metaphysical part of physics, mathematics, all that. There was a reason why great mathematicians of the past were also philosophers: knowledge walks together.

Loving that deeply, Vergil has to be quite Intuitive. Yes, he will do things with discipline and how they should be done to achieve the result – but he will rebel and do things his own way if the knowledge he acquired so far points him to another direction; he will follow his intuition. He’s not one to dismiss the big questions in life: quite the contrary, I think one of his favorite past-times would be drinking wine along his s/o while talking about philosophy into the wee hours of the night as if they are the only people in the world.

Vergil is an open minded, curious and always searching for the meaning of things kind of person, and I will die on this hill. There is no way a guy who likes learning so much would be against challenging his own point of views: to learn, you have to first be a novice; and to improve, you have to admit there’s much you still don’t know and keep an open mind to fail and do it again, and again, and again, until you master what you are learning. Just the way he fights tells me he is very much like that and I’m still dying on this hill.

And lastly, Judging. No, not because he’s the judgy bitch of the series who’s always side-eying someone and sighing while saying “pathetic” just because they got scared by their own shadow. I have to say I wasn’t too sure on this one when I realized Vergil could end up as an INTP and that bitch can’t be an INTP like me, I claimed it.

Jokes aside, Vergil can be quite Perceiving at times, because, wanting or not, he has had his moments of needing to improvise and spot opportunities that weren’t quite on his schedule… But, I do have to admit, INTPs are a mess and Vergil is FAR from being a mess – and when I say a mess, we are everywhere: reading 5 books at the same time, leaving them scattered all around the house, laying upside down in bed to think and come up with a great idea for something… INTPs aren’t pragmatic or schedule oriented. And Vergil would DIE in an environment like this, I think.

So, my conclusion was: his ability to survive does come from his Perceiving characteristics, but his pragmaticism comes from his Judging – and the second is a lot stronger in him. He would like the schedule, he would do things as he has programmed and, if you interrupt him, he’s counting the minutes to go back to his schedule or else everything he has carefully programmed for the week will be delayed and his plans are all but GONE (read: Verge at the Temen-ni-gru screaming “WHY ISN’T THIS WORKING?!” when ALL the plans he carefully executed for WEEKS so he could get to THAT moment and open the gates of Hell just went down the drain ‘cause he missed something in his calculations. Man is in excruciating pain he missed something and ALL was for NOTHING and he’d have to TRY again).

Verdict: Vergil is an INTJ. Expected, annoyingly villainous personality, but it does fit him wonderfully.

Plus, we are the 'we don't have feelings' types :D

Dante

Oh, Dante. My beloved. My red devil. The man who haunts my dreams.

Seriously, I had a REALLY hard time pinpointing his MBTI.

Remember I said I took the test as him? Yes. I did. To check some things and argue against others hahahahaa

I don’t think Dante is as black and white as Vergil. The blue devil is almost textbook INTJ, but Dante…? I have my doubts on SO many parts of his personality, because, unlike Vergil, Dante does a LOT just for show.

Starting with the Extroverted/Introverted. Most people won’t even think before saying Dante is an Extrovert, but I had my doubts when taking things in consideration. What we usually see is that, yes, he does love being around people – but Dante spends most of his time alone, without electricity, reading his old magazines at his shop, sleeping or eating pizza by himself.

Depression? Yes. YES. This man is more depressed than the San Andreas Fault. This can make people behave differently from their personalities, so I had to think a little more about it. Dante doesn’t really go out of his way to be around people, to party with his friends or just have a nice time with them around. Dante wants to be alone, because he thinks he doesn’t deserve to be with people – and that they are better off without him, safer. He puts them in danger, at least that’s what’s on his mind. So, he isolates himself and prefers to spend time on his own, away from everything and everyone.

That’s where the energy thing comes into play! What gives Dante energy? Honestly, my man looks drained and just the dust of his being whenever they get to his shop and he’s been living in that condition for months. During the games AND after the games, though? He looks a lot better – even if he has been beaten up by a bunch of demons. And that’s because, I think, Dante gets energized by being around people – friends, family, loved ones. Just like my sister, he can conquer the world after going to 5 parties in a row. Vergil, in the other hand, would be drained and dying by the second one, just like Dante is when he hasn’t been around people too much, always isolating himself.

So, despite his depression that makes him behave differently, Dante is an Extrovert in my book.

One that I don’t even think too much about him is the Perceiving trait. Dante is like that, 10/10. He can’t thrive on a schedule, things in his life are Everything Everywhere All At Once, and my man is in his lane with that. Try to fit Dante in a box with a set routine and too many rules, he’s dying. Aside from that, he has a knack for improvising and finding the best opportunities in unexpected situations.

Hence why he has so many freaking weapons and is just using all of them and all of his fighting styles at the same time, taunting demons and dancing Macarena right after – and making it all look like it makes the most absolute fucking sense. No one can pull that off like Dante, king of winging it.

Now, I do believe he is Intuitive. Dante might not be the art and poetry type like Vergil, but he is well educated. He has to be, to do what he does. And I do believe his thing for philosophy shows when Dante is lecturing demons: that WHOLE answer he gives Agnus about what demons lack compared to humans, that is VERY much philosophy. Dante doesn’t just go and takes everything at face value, because, if he did, he would very much say the obvious: demons are, objectively, stronger than humans. But all the heart, all the internal things that make humans stronger than demons… That’s philosophy.

I can see Dante enjoying movies – blockbusters, yes, packed with action and special effects, but let’s remember… Titanic is a blockbuster. And there’s so much heart in that movie, so much philosophy, so much about choosing your own fate and not being tied to the one that was handed to you… Titanic can pack one hell of an existential punch and make you think about so much in your life – you just have to be open to it.

Differently from Vergil, Dante wasn’t the library and heavy books sort of guy. But he was the guy to go to the movies, to watch all of that. To go back home (wherever his home was at the moment, even if just a place for him to crash for a while) and think about everything he watched in the silent darkness of his room. To think about the things Eva taught him – and see the value of all that.

He’s not the type to go to an art gallery, or read philosophy, or go to the opera. But he will go if he is invited, he will discuss things the way he learned them, and he will enjoy it. He’d be more than willing to talk about what makes humans so precious and spend hours doing so, as he would be open to listen to his s/o explaining what makes him so human despite his demonic heritage. And he would spend days thinking about it, always willing to discuss those topics if his s/o wanted to.

He's not textbook Intuitive like Vergil, I think, but he still is, in his very own way. I’d say Vergil is academically Intuitive, while Dante learned his Intuitive trait on the streets – we all say Dante is a safespace for everything, and a man like has to be open minded and curious. If he wasn’t, he would have never welcomed Trish and given her a chance to be human: he would’ve killed her right away for being a demon. And that isn’t our red devil.

Last but not least, Dante is a Feeling. I’m always dying on this hill, even if that one ALSO made me have some doubts.

Because you see, Dante just pretends to be a goof, but he isn’t. He is very intelligent and cunning, very perceiving and observing, but wrapped in a reckless rockstar package. It’s his own way of coping, but that is what makes him SUCH a great devil hunter (sorry, Nero). Even if we might disagree on this, I do believe Dante has his emotions very much controlled.

Which is a little evidenced by the lyrics on his theme song in DMC V, Subhuman (I know we ALL love Bury The Light and Devil Trigger but OH MY GOD, I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY ABOUT HOW SUBHUMAN IS AWESOME AND FITTING FOR DANTE). The song is VERY explicit how Dante is always controlling his rage and keeping his demon on a very tight leash so he has control over it all the fucking time. That isn’t very Feeling in my book – it’s quite Thinking, like Vergil.

That’s what made me think a little about Vergil’s as well. I have what might be an unpopular opinion about the twins after thinking so much about them and seeing how they react and act in all of the games: Vergil has a tendency to loose control and overkill, while Dante has a tendency to let his rage burn at the exact moment he needs it and use his power just as much as he needs to get the job done. Dante is more controlled with his emotions than Vergil – and in my opinion, it’s because Vergil bottles up and ignores his emotions until they become a storm that can’t be stopped (cough cough personal experience cough cough) while Dante controls things so he can use his emotions and let them be expressed/gets them off his system in “safe” environments for him, which would be killing demons.

So, why the heck is Dante a Feeling in my book? Precisely why Vergil is a Thinking. It has to do with how they present themselves – and that is the point that makes them so different and butt heads almost every game.

The devil on Dante’s leash is his rage, the feeling he allows and wants to run amok and uncontrolled is his love. Dante controls his bursts of anger and the demonic blood who craves for mayhem – but he doesn’t control his human heart that does everything out of empathy and love. He will run to the rescue when his loved ones are in danger, he will protect weak people against the powerful ones, he will lecture corrupted humans who see nothing but power in front of them, he will cry and he will do everything in his power to keep love alive and thriving. He will react immediately, he will understand, he will feel the pain of those who are injured and begging for help – he will let his heart melt and do everything for them.

Therefore, Dante is a Feeling. And I think that’s what makes him and Vergil opposites and always fighting: Vergil wants power and puts logic over feelings, avoiding them like the plague, while Dante wants love and puts feelings over logic, embracing them and acting out of what his human heart tells him is the right thing to do. The whole series is based on this – at least in my opinion.

Verdict: Dante is an ENFP. Didn’t really expect it, but after analyzing with care, it makes a lot of sense to me.

Also, all the memes with ENFP x INTJ relationship dynamics I just checked are basically Dante and Vergil in a nutshell - I’ll leave some of them below and you guys will HAVE to forgive me not really crediting the people who created these memes, I honestly just found on google and wanted to share so you can have an idea of what I’m talking about.

But I honestly have been wheezing for the past hour and I thank you SO MUCH anon for this ask – I hope you enjoyed this little TED Talk about the Sparda Twins’ personalities please Capcom hire me to write official canon about them

If this isn't Dante and Vergil, I dunno what is

And last but not least:

That's all the games in a nutshell, really.

#polaris speaks #polaris answers #answered asks #anon ask #devil may cry #dante sparad #vergil sparda #dmc dante #dmc vergil #mbti types #mbti personality types #seriously the last meme when I saw it #I was on the floor laughing like a madwoman #it's precisely Vergil being a competitive bitch and Dante just being chill #ending up traumatized by his twin brother's shenanigans #while said little bitch is on his way to fight god even #(in this case Mundus the king of hell but you get what I mean)

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jasntodds · 10 months

Text

Petrichor [7]

Pairing: Jason Todd x Fem!Powered!Reader (little bit of fwb)

Words: 14,007

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of scars, mentions of a panic attack, manipulation, canon drug use, comic book science? Titans science? (author's note at the end lol), canon violence, blood, bruises, gore, breaking bones, mentions of nightmares, canon character death (I'm so sorry)

Summary: ❝Pylades: I’ll take care of you. Orestes: It’s rotten work.Pylades: Not to me. Not if it’s you.❞

Gotham is home, not just for Jason but for you, too. And now that you’re both finally back home, together, you’re ready to see where this next chapter brings the two of you. He’s your best friend and you’re his. And you both might want a little something more with being back home, the place you both feel most comfortable. Surely, nothing could possibly go wrong now.

A/N: Happy birthday to Jason Todd!! So, sorry I did this for his birthday lmao I lied, this is longer than I thought it would be lol But I'm so sorry. I don't have anything else to say for myself besides canon made me do it and so did the comics lol I hope you guys like it!! If you want context from book 1, let me know and I’ll tell you!! You can add yourself to the tag list below, ask me to be tagged, or you can follow my library blog @jasntoddslibrary and turn on notifications if you prefer that!! I love feedback, I swear it keeps me posting on a weekly basis 😭

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Over the next couple of weeks, Jason continues to go to therapy as directed by Bruce. To his surprise, it actually seems to be helping a little bit. He’s still having nightmares but they aren’t every night anymore. His hands aren’t shaking as badly either. He just feels a little bit better. Maybe Bruce and you were right about Leslie.

You and Jason are doing better, too. There have been moments where he’s gotten a little too frustrated but he remembers your talk and you give him a little bit of space until he’s ready to talk. It works for the both of you. You go on dates at least once a week and you both actually feel normal during the day. It’s not about being a vigilante and figuring out how to survive.

You go out on patrol three days a week instead of six. This is Jason’s thing and you know it bothers him. You can wait to patrol every night until he gets Robin back. It doesn’t bother you that much. And this way, you get to spend more time together and exist in a normal way that you desperately craved. You are a normal couple for once.

Above all of that, it’s been good. Things have been good. And while that is terrifying, you and Jason stick it out anyway. You don’t run or push. You both want to sometimes because it’s easier but you’re both fucking happy. So, you don’t. You don’t do it because losing each other is worse than anything the other could ever dish out. Running and pushing wouldn’t do either of you any good for the first time in your lives. So, you both enjoy the happiness together. Until things come to a screeching halt.

You're in the living room, having a FaceTime TV marathon with Gar when Bruce comes home. He offers a quick hello before trying to walk off but you call him anyway. He’s home a lot later than he should be since he went to pick up Jason. It was his request you stay back this time.

“Where’s Jason?” You question.

In all fairness, you wouldn’t be asking him normally but you also haven’t heard much from Jason since his therapy session ended. He said Bruce was taking him somewhere so he would be home later. And that was kind of the end of it. He’s been doing quite a bit better so you haven’t been as worried when he doesn’t text you back right away. But now Bruce is here without him.

“In the city.” Bruce answers plainly.

“Why? You went to pick him up?” You raise a brow and something happened. Jason texted you in the car. He was fine and with Bruce.

You look at the time and see that was a few hours ago.

“He’s upset. I’m giving him space. You should, too.” Bruce states.

“What did you do?” You deadpan, pulling up the text thread with Jason.

“I did not do anything.” Bruce defends. “He’ll be home soon.” Bruce states before he walks off.

“Everything okay?” Gar asks.

“Nope.” You shake your head. “I assume they got into some sort of fight again.” You roll your eyes. “Did he text you by chance?” You ask seeing the read receipt from a few hours ago.

Gar checks his phone and the last he heard from Jason was that morning. “No, he hasn’t texted me since this morning. What’s going on?”

You: you okay? Bruce said you’re upset what happened?

“I have no idea. He was fine earlier.” You let out a sigh, looking back at Gar through the tablet screen.

“You said he’s been better, right? Maybe he’s just blowing off steam from Bruce.” Gar suggests. Jason has shared some of the stuff that's happened and has complained a little about Bruce.

“Yeah, but if that’s the case, he usually comes to me to bitch about Bruce because I always agree with him.” You give Gar a grin just as your phone goes off.

Jaybird 🥰: fuck bruce I’m fine don’t worry

You: what happened? Do you want me to come get you?

“Well he texted me back and I was right, fight with Bruce.” You roll your eyes.

They fight sometimes, usually about Robin-related things or Jason wanting to do something reckless and Bruce putting a stop to it. Jason’s usually only a mad an hour or so before he’s fine and over it. Jason doesn’t hold very many grudges.

“Did he say about what?” Gar asks.

“Nope. Just said, fuck Bruce.”

Jaybird 🥰: no just wanna be alone still you and me love you ❤️

You: call or text every so often so I know you’re okay please I love you, too 🥰

“What’d he say?” Gar asks. He worries enough for the both of you/

“He wants to be alone and when Jason wants to be alone that is never good. But we have this thing where I let him be alone and then he tells me about it later. So, I guess I have to wait. If he isn’t home or texting me in a few hours, I’ll go look for him.” You reluctantly put your phone down. Giving Jason space is never easy.

“Think he’ll be alright?” Gar asks with worry in his voice.

“Yeah, him and Bruce fight sometimes. I’m sure it’s nothing too bad, Bruce probably just said something stupid and Jason was already in a mood.” You let out a sigh as the worry feeling gnaws at your stomach.

“Did you want to still—“

“Yeah, yeah, no. We can keep watching. He said he’ll text me.” You offer a soft smile while the two of you continue your show.

It’s not fair. It’s utter bullshit. Jason can’t help the way his blood is boiling and fuming while his hands shake. Bruce doesn’t think he’s good enough to be Robin. Bruce gave up on him. Jason is supposed to be his son and Bruce gave up on him anyway but he never gave up on Dick. If Jason weren’t so weak, this whole thing never would have happened. But he’s gonna prove to Bruce he can be Robin. He can be the best Robin and he can be a better Batman, too. He just needs a little help in the fear department.

He’s desperate. He tells himself this is a one-time thing. Fear creeps in his throat, grasping to be let out in the damp air. It’s a one-time thing, he tells himself. He’s out of options if he wants to be Robin. He’s out of options if he wants to keep the most important thing in his life. All he needs is a quick fix to fear and he’ll be back out there, better than he has ever been. He’ll prove it to Bruce. Bruce is wrong about him.

Bruce thinks he’s a mistake. He thinks Jason isn't worth the trouble just like everyone else. Bruce thinks Jason is weak. He thought Jason could replace Dick and he couldn’t. Not as Robin and not as Bruce’s son. But if he can get rid of his fear, he can show him how wrong he is. He isn’t just another mistake. He isn’t weak and he’s better than Dick. He swears this will be it. It won’t be bad. He can handle this. He swears it’ll all be fine. So, he hangs up on Leslie and heads inside the gates of Arkham Asylum as rain patters around him.

He’s a master manipulator. Jason knows that. It’s one of the things he’s best at. But the desperation for a cure to fear clouds every aspect of that. The desperation doesn’t let him see why Crane wants information for the cure. He can’t see Crane’s angel in his state of paralyzed desperation. And Jason has been manipulated before. He swears he’ll know if Crane is manipulating him because he knows what to look out for this time. But, desperation and the fear of being scared forever, go hand in hand. Fear and desperation cloud everything. He tosses his loyalty from the window as he gets closer to the formula. Crane gives him a piece of it with every piece of information Jason gives him.

“Tell me about the first Robin.” Crane offers this grin that sends a chill down Jason’s spine.

“Like what?” Jason huffs.

“His name, where he is, everything you know.”

“Dick Grayson. He’s in San Francisco and goes by Nightwing.” Jason explains, throwing Dick completely under the bus. He has a problem with Dick now anyway. Dick Grayson has always been the goody two shoes and Bruce’s favorite. Jason only got to be Robin because Dick abandoned Bruce. Jason was a filler. “He’s with the Titans. He got Deathstroke’s son killed and dropped me from a skyscraper.” Jason lets out a scoff.

“Interesting. Doesn’t seem to be the golden boy Bruce portrayed him as.” Crane grins and this is easier than he thought it would be. Jason has no problems rolling, apparently and Crane knows he’s going to use that to his advantage.

He’s broken. He’s desperate and Crane has the cure he wants. This is going to be easy and Crane gets all benefits. Jason lets him take down the Bat but in the best way. Crane is going to get the Bat’s son to turn on him and get rid of him. To break him. And then Dick Grayson and all of Gotham will follow. Crane finds the whole thing a little poetic. He can use him. And Jason will never see through it once he figures out the formula.

“Yep.” Jason answers simply, wanting to get this over with and Crane offers him a piece of the formula.

“The Titans. Who are they?” Crane asks, hiding the malicious intent behind curiosity.

Jason looks up to him and he doesn’t like to throw some of the others under the bus. But Crane is here. He can’t do anything. And most of them thought he was just Dick’s weaker replacement anyway. They gave up, too.

“Rachel Roth, Raven. Hank Hall, Hawk. Dawn Granger, Dove. Kory Anders, Starfire. Conner Kent, Superboy. Gar Logan, Beast Boy.” Jason pauses, waiting to see if Crane knows more.

Of course, he does. He’s in Arkham, not living under a rock. The Bat gains a new sidekick and everyone knows about it. Crane is only taking a guess the new sidekick also was a Titan based on when you showed up and your close proximity with Robin, himself. He saw Jason’s hesitance on his face. The fear.

Crane chuckles softly. “Aren’t you missing someone, pal?” Crane asks, almost a little too warmly. “Could have sworn there was one more.”

Jason grits his teeth and he’s so sorry.

When he came up with this plan, he had a feeling Crane would want information. He came prepared for it. Part of that preparation was leaving you the hell out of it. Not you. Crane can’t know about you. Anyone but you. But he does know. He already knows you're a Titan and he already knows you work for Bruce. Jason has no choice if he wants the formula. And he is so sorry.

Jason says your name with bitterness on his tongue. “Bluejay. She doesn't really like the name thing though.” Jason answers.

Crane has a soft smile. “She’s the new bird. So many of you are birds.” Crane chuckles. “I do find it interesting you would try to leave her out of it. She’s the new edition to Batman. Let me guess,” Crane boasts around his cell. “Your girlfriend.”

Not you. You've done everything you can to save him and help him. He loves you. Not you. Anyone but you.

“No.” Jason answers. “Just friends.” He bites the words because maybe Crane doesn’t know for sure you’re together and he wants you at arm's length.

“If you want the formula, you really shouldn’t lie to me.” Crane has a sinister smile. “You wouldn’t leave her out of it if you were just friends.” Crane lets the words fall with ease.

He’s so fucking sorry.

“Yeah, okay fine. Girlfriend.” Jason spits.

He knows you’ll never forgive him if you find out. You can’t tell Molly anything but he’s here telling Crane everything. You're going to hate him. But he needs a cure. He can’t feel this way forever. He can’t do it. He doesn't think he’ll be able to live like this anymore.

“Ah, young love.” Crane smiles with that shrug of his shoulders. You're going to be an interesting obstacle in this one. He’s already trying to protect you from this. Crane knows he needs to break that bond as fast as he can if he wants this plan to work. “I want to know about her.” There’s this look that crosses Crane’s eyes and Jason almost turns around.

But he doesn’t.

“Why? She’s not with the fucking Titans and she hates Bruce. She works with him because of me. That’s it. She got a suit out of it and a place to stay.”

“I’m a bit of a romantic, myself. Love stories are cute. Always having someone on your side, through thick and thin. It is quite romantic, don’t you think? If we’re going to work together, I want to know why she’s so important to you.” Crane grins. “You can trust me, boy. We want the same things and the way the Bat has treated you…it’s so cruel. But I, I believe in you. That’s why I’m helping you. You trust me, don’t you?”

You're going to kill him. Guilt chews at his limbs. His jaw squares and he thinks swallowing his own teeth would be easier than this. But he has to. Maybe Crane is being sincere. Jason thinks he is. At least enough. Maybe if Jason tells him enough, Crane will see you aren’t a problem. Maybe he’ll see you would side with them. You want Gotham to be better, you don’t agree with Bruce’s ways. Maybe Crane will understand. He’s helping Jason, maybe he can help you. You're scared, too.

“Dick found her.” Jason answers reluctantly. “She joined the Titans. We went after Deathstroke together. Got kidnapped and dropped from the skyscraper. Dick saved her. CADMUS attacked her, Gar, and Conner when I was gone. Dick left them alone when shit hit the fan. CADMUS left her for dead. So, she came back to Gotham.” Jason explains.

“She was there with Deathstroke.” Crane lets out a sigh and like Bruce, in a way, he can always tell when someone could need him. Someone who’s been traumatized. His intentions aren’t as pure as Bruce’s. “But Dick saved her and not you. Did you save her?”

“It wasn’t like that.” Jason shakes his head. “Dick tried to save me first and dropped me. Then he saved her. But yeah,” Jason nods. “I protected her and she did the same shit for me.”

“The two of you went through something so traumatic together. That really must have brought you closer. It’s not as romantic as I was hoping for but it is quite nice.” Crane grins. “She has powers, doesn’t she?”

“Acid generation.” Jason stares, leaving out the combat clairvoyance and the possibility of you having sharp shooting abilities. Two things Crane can’t prove Jason lied about.

“Now that is interesting. Does she know you’re here right now? Asking for my help?”

“No.” Jason shakes his head. “Look, she’s got nothing to with this shit. But, I can get her on our side. The other Titans targeted me for all types of shit I didn’t do and she was the only one on my side. She’s not a fucking problem. I can handle her.”

Crane grins and that’s all he needs. Jason is already hiding something huge from you. The distrust will be there and Jason doesn’t know Crane’s whole plan. If it goes the way he thinks it will, it’ll break your relationship. He will have no one left besides Crane. Exactly how he wants it. So, he decides he’ll let Jason think he believes this whole thing and moves back to the Titans.

“I do hope you’re right.” Crane sighs. “Tell me everything that happened in San Fransisco, with all of the Titans.”

Jason lets out a sigh before he spills every piece of information. He tells him everything from Trigon to Deathstroke to CADMUS. He tells him about the Titans turning on him for something he didn’t do, you talking him off the roof. Dick's confession and Donna’s death. Everything.

Then he tells Crane everything he knows about Bruce. The manor, the Batcave. Everything. He tells Crane about his training and the cabin, how Bruce found him and how Bruce found Dick. He spills and Crane lets him talk. Crane listens a lot but asks questions where he finds needed but he mostly just lets Jason talk as Jason keeps you out of it as much as he can. Jason is far more cooperative when it comes to everyone else.

Crane figures once he figures out the formula, he can get more information on you and use it against him if he needs to. He can’t have anyone if this is going to work and Crane knows exactly how he’ll be able to accomplish it. But for now, it’s about the Titans and Bruce. By the time Jason finishes, he’s got the formula tucked away in his pocket, ready to let fear go.

Jason pulls his phone from his pocket once he’s far enough away from Arkham. He’s spent the walk running over every lie he could tell you. Guilt eats at him with every step he takes. You're gonna kill him. He’s gonna lie to you because he knows for a fact, you’ll freak out. You’ll think he’s gone off the deep end and you’ll tell Dick. You’ll drag him kicking and screaming out of Gotham. You’ll tell Arkham and he won’t be able to see Crane again. It’s not fair and it’s not right. But you can’t know. And a part of him finds that to be unfair, too because he’s gonna fix his fear while you have to suffer with yours. That’s not fair to you. So, he thinks.

Maybe he can figure out a way to bring it up without bringing it up. Maybe he can try to see how you’d feel about a way to get rid of fear. If you seem for it, then he can tell you. He can see if you want to help. But the more he thinks about that, the more he thinks about Crane.

You’d have to be involved with him. Jason doesn’t want you involved with him. Not him. And he knows, the second he tells you about Crane, you’ll lose it. Even if you want a cure-all. You’ll bail the second you hear about Crane. You would never work with a guy like that. So, he has no choice. It’s that or end it and he doesn’t want to do that either.

“Hey.” Jason says as you pick up the phone.

“Jay? Where are you? I’ve been texting you to make sure you were okay.” He can hear your worry and he thinks maybe the anti-fear drug will make him not worry. Maybe you don’t want to worry so much.

“I’m sorry.” Jason clears his throat. “I needed to clear my damn head. I’m fine. Can you come get me, please?”

“Yeah, of course. Where are you?” You answer and Jason can hear you rustling on the other end.

“I’ll text you the address.” Jason states. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” You hang up and get to your feet while Jason texts you the address.

When you reach Jason, he’s soaked. Your heart aches, feeling like it’s being squeezed right through your rib cage at the sight of him. He looks exhausted and lost. He looks distant and he is drenched from the winter rain. Something bad happened and you have no idea how you're going to be able to help.

You take off your helmet, not getting off the bike. “Jay, are you okay?”

Jason gets up from the curb and walks up to you, offering you a fake smile. “Yeah.” His jaw clenches and he doesn’t even want to go home. He doesn’t want to see Bruce. He’d rather be outside in the cold. “All good.”

“What happened?” You reach out but Jason dodges you, reaching for his helmet. A lump grows in your throat. He doesn’t dodge you. Not like that.

“Bruce took Robin away.” Jason’s voice cracks as he shakes his head.

He dodges your stare. He doesn’t want to see the look you’ll give him. On the one hand, he’ll feel guilty. He’ll feel guilty for lying and talking to Crane. And on the other, you’ll give him a look that screams pity and that is the last thing he needs. Jason Todd doesn’t need anyone’s pity.

“What do you mean?” You question.

“Like fucking permanently. He said I can’t be Robin anymore.” Jason lets out a bitter scoff as he feels the anger come back to his bloodstream.

“Jay, I’m so sorry.” You say softly.

You never thought Bruce would take it away like that. Jason has been doing everything Bruce asked him to do. Ever since the Pete Hawkins thing, Jason has backed off entirely. He is putting a real effort into therapy, really trying to let the process help. Why would Bruce rip it away from him?

“Fuck him. I’m gonna fucking show him he’s wrong. He's fucking wrong about me.” Jason grits his teeth.

“He is.” You nod your head. “Come on. Let’s get you home and warm and we can talk more, okay?”

“Whatever.” Jason scoffs, popping his helmet on before he gets on the back and holds onto you while you drive back to the manor.

You get Jason back to the manor and into a warm shower. He says almost nothing. It’s as if he’s completely numb and it breaks you to see him like this. Jason is anything but quiet in a shower with you, usually. And he’s always handsy and cheeky. But, tonight, he’s just quiet, going through the motions, stuck on his own head.

You don’t understand how Bruce could take Robin away like that. It’s not fair. Jason does what Bruce asks him to and he messes up sometimes but that’s normal. How does he not see Robin is the most important thing to him? You even told him that. And he took Robin anyway. He never should have let him be Robin in the first place if this was something that could happen. Dick almost killed someone and he didn’t take Robin from Dick. Jason tries his best. Why isn’t that good enough for Bruce?

Dick was always right about him.

Jason plops onto your bed, his eyes red and puffy. His heart feels like it’s being crushed by cinderblocks. It all hurts. How did he really let another person down? How was he fooled into believing Bruce was different than everyone else? He thinks about his dad. His dad wasn’t a good person but Jason, sometimes, wonders if it was him. Maybe it was his fault his dad was like that. Maybe it was different before him. His dad didn’t choose to be his dad. But Bruce chose it. And still is giving up on him. Jason is Bruce’s son by choice, he thought the choice of picking a son, would make it different. But it’s the same old story Jason hates retelling.

He fucks up and people give up.

“Want me to rub your back while you tell me about it?” You offer as you stand in between his legs, looking down at him.

Jason looks up at you and you always worried so much. He wishes he could be better so you wouldn’t worry about him. He wonders why you choose him. You don’t have to, like Bruce. But you do. He wonders if one day you’ll stop. If his mom and his dad and his uncle and Dick and Bruce all chose other things over him, why wouldn't you? But he looks up at you and you give him this soft smile with your fingertips brushing his knees with care and he thinks you're still different than everyone else.

Jason cracks a soft smile. “Yeah, actually. Thank you.”

“Of course.” You smile softly.

Jason switches to his stomach, facing the TV just as you did the first day you started your friends-with-benefits situation. You sit on top of him and run your hands over his back. Your hands are cold, sending goosebumps up his spine. Your hands are always cold, something he always finds a bit ironic given the acid generation warms your hands. But your fingers are soft as you trace over the scars on his back. You do it every time and he always meant to ask.

“Why do you do that?” Jason asks, his eyes closed with his head on his hands.

“Do what?” You ask as you start rubbing his shoulders.

“Trace the scars.”

“I dunno.” You shake your head and you didn’t realize you did it often enough for him to notice.

You're not even sure why you do it. It’s something mindless. Maybe it’s your subconscious wishing if you trace them enough times, it’ll remove the damage the scars have caused him, like a magic eraser. Or maybe tracing the scars is confirmation he’s real.

Sometimes, you have a hard time believing he’s real. All of this is real. You used to dream of a life outside of the basement, sometimes they’d feel so real you could swear they were. Wishful thinking.

Maybe you trace them as confirmation that the raised and paled skin is real, Jason is here with you and you're not dreaming. Maybe you like the way the scars look on his skin but he managed to pull through all of his terrible shit and make it out the other end with a smart mouth and a heart of gold anyway. Maybe, you just do it because you care about him regardless of the scars and what made them.

“Does it bother you?” You ask softly.

“No.” Jason answers. “Just wondering.”

It always makes him feel vulnerable, a harsh reminder he is not invincible as much as he likes to believe he is sometimes. He might have survived those injuries but they’re there as harsh reminders. And you touch them and he thinks maybe you find comfort in them, because you have them, too. And that’s always enough for him. He thinks it makes him feel human and real and alive. He always feels a little exposed but it’s become comforting with you.

“What happened?”

He thinks he has his lies in order. He knows he might be sabotaging the relationship. Despite everything he thinks as you massage over the scar on his back, he knows. He knows you might not forgive him. There’s always a chance you won’t be so understanding when you inevitably find out because you always figure him out. But it's a risk he has to take.

He can’t keep doing this anymore. He can’t keep not sleeping. He can’t keep shaking and freezing. He can’t keep living like this. He knows he can’t. It’ll destroy him. It’ll be miserable. The idea of going back to being useless and not good enough and a disappointment, he can’t live like that. He needs help now, before Bruce finds his replacement. Maybe you’ll understand that part.

“He fucking said he made mistakes and I guess I’m fucking one of them.” Jason scoffs from under you.

You narrow your eyes thinking Bruce didn’t actually say that. You have no faith in Bruce to communicate worth a shit given your conversation with him and given Jason and Dick. And Bruce might be very good at hiding his emotions, but you know he actually cares about Jason. You don’t think Bruce would ever tell Jason he was a mistake, even if he thought it.

“He said that?” You ask, pausing for a few seconds.

“Basically!” Jason groans. “And he doesn’t want to make more mistakes and he said I can’t be Robin anymore. He thinks I’m a fucking mental case. He doesn’t care it’s important to me. He doesn’t care that I’m doing what he wants me to. It doesn’t matter to him. It’s fucking bullshit.” Jason’s voice shakes as his back tenses under your palms.

“That’s not fair. I don’t know why he would do that. You were always a great Robin.” You say softly.

You wish you could have heard the conversation so you would know better what to say. But, you also know, even if Bruce didn’t say any of that and it came out wrong, it wouldn’t change anything for you to decipher it for him. At the end of the day, Bruce could have outright told Jason he loves him and he doesn’t want him to die and Jason would still be absolutely crushed with Robin being ripped away from him. Bruce’s delivery of the message doesn’t matter. It doesn’t change anything.

“Just fucking tired of being scared.” Jason lets out a defeated sigh. “Fucking gave up on me. Ya know, thought he was fucking different.” His voice is etched in pain and you wish you could take it all away. He never deserves the pain he gets.

It’s honest. He can be honest with you about that. Maybe he wants you to figure it out.

“Yeah, I get it. Being scared really sucks. You’ll get better though. I know I keep saying it but it takes time, Jay. Bruce should be giving you more time.” You say. “I’m really sorry about him.” You lean down and press a kiss to his shoulder blade. “You still have me, okay?”

He knows. He’ll always have you. Somewhere inside of him, he knows. The anxiety of you freaking out and leaving when you figure it out is there, but he also knows he’s given you every opportunity to take off and run. And you never do. You’d understand his desperation. You'd understand why he lied. He knows he still has you.

“What if there were a cure for fear?” Jason asks and he’s glad you can’t see his face. You’d know.

“What do you mean?” Your brows furrow.

“What if there was a cure? Like we can just take it and not be scared anymore.” Jason listens carefully, feeling your hands pause on his back. He knows without looking that you've got your right eyebrow raised at him, your eyes narrowing at him as if you can’t decide if he’s joking or serious.

“I mean that’d be great, but there would be consequences, right?” You question.

You're a little concerned with the question. But, that’d be insane. It’d be insane for him to really look for a cure to fear. You swear he’s just talking, doing one of his hypothetical talks he does like you do about the zombie apocalypse.

“Like what? Being fearless sounds pretty fucking good right about now.” Jason scoffs.

“We’ll, fear is just adrenaline, right? But that fear also keeps you looking both ways before crossing the street, it alerts you when someone is following you home. Without fear, also means you won’t have excitement. You’ll probably be emotionally numb to a lot of things. Not having adrenaline is dangerous though.” You answer.

“Yeah, but isn’t that fucking better than being scared all the damn time? You’re afraid of everything, too and your nightmares are back. You wouldn’t want something to stop it?” Jason looks over his shoulder.

Your nightmares came back a week and a half ago. You and Molly were on a walk and ran into Jerry’s Gotham house. You still don’t know how you missed it, but you did. You were walking and having a good time and you saw the house and that was it. You broke and it’s like all of the progress you made over the last few months evaporated into the atmosphere. Molly had to call Jason because you were having a panic attack and couldn’t snap out of it. The nightmares came back that night.

“Of course, I would.” You shrug.

You think about it and maybe it would be nice. If nothing else, just so you could get some damn proper sleep. So, you both could get some proper sleep. Maybe if you both got some sleep, you’d be better. Maybe Jason makes a good point but then you think about how happy you are when you see him and when a new movie comes out and your marathons with Gar. You wouldn’t want to trade those feelings for being fearless.

“But not if it means getting rid of everything else. Adrenaline also keeps us alive. I’ve been numb and that’s worse than being scared. Why?” You ask. “You trying to find a cure to fear or something?”

“No.” Jason scoffs, letting out a fake laugh and he was really hoping you’d be on his side with this one. “Just fucking saying, wish there were a cure. At least so I can be Robin.”

“Look, it sucks, Jaybird. But I don’t think the answer to being Robin is being fearless. You had to use that fear to survive out there, too. You’re gonna be okay and then you can go out and be your own hero. You don’t have to be Robin. Dick quit and became Nightwing. You don’t need Bruce to help people.” You say. “And I still think you’re plenty good enough. I’m just saying, if Bruce won’t let you, do it yourself when you get better. You’re good enough.”

“Yeah, thanks.” Jason sighs. “Maybe you’re right but he doesn’t believe in me anymore.” Jason says and you know it’s never your approval he’ll need. And that’s okay but you wish sometimes, like tonight, it were enough. “I’m gonna prove him wrong.”

“Good, fuck Bruce.” You smile softly. “Just…give it a little bit, okay? Keep seeing Leslie, too. She’s been helping.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Jason huffs.

“I’m serious, Jason. You do sleep more now. Seeing her is helping, just keep up with it. And then we’ll go out together. Fuck Bruce. We’ll be our own team.” You let out a soft chuckle.

“Thanks.” Jason lets out a sigh.

You make good points but his mind is made up. He’s going to do this. He doesn’t have time to wait around and hope for the best. He isn’t going to Leslie. He’s going to make the anti-fear drug and he won’t be scared anymore. Maybe you're right. Maybe he’ll be numb to everything but he doesn’t care anymore. He is desperate for a cure. He needs it. Maybe he can only use it to be Robin, just to prove himself. It’ll be a quick fix and that’ll be the end of it. Just use it out there and to sleep. You make good points, but he has to do this. And he is so sorry he has to lie about it.

Jason turns from under you so he can face you and you place your hands on his chest. You have a soft smile and he feels so guilty but you’ll understand. You’ll get it when he can function better, it’s just until this whole shit wears off. You’ll get it. If anyone will, it’ll be you.

“Thanks for not giving up on me.” Jason places his hands on your thighs, his thumbs rubbing softly against your bare skin.

“You and me.” You smile softly.

“Yeah.” Jason smiles looking at the necklace hanging from your neck. You haven't taken it off since he gave it to you. “You and me.”

“You okay?” Your voice is filled with love as you ask. No one ever asked like that before.

“Yeah.” Jason answers simply. “Just glad you’re here.”

“You sure? I’m really worried about you.” Your brows knit together. “You know I’ll always be here. No matter what.”

“I’m not gonna walk off a roof, I swear.” Jason’s eyes widen as a grin tugs at the corner of his lips.

“Good. I just know this is bad for you. I just hope you believe me because I believe in you.”

Jason sits up and places his fingers under your chin. “Thanks. Look, I’ll be fucking fine. Trust me. I got a plan.” Jason offers you a grin.

“That’s still mildly unsettling coming from you.” You smile. “What’s the plan?” You widen your eyes as your hands come to his shoulders, a teasing smirk coming to your lips.

“You’ll see.” Jason drops his hand to your waist.

“Oh, you’re not gonna tell me?” You laugh.

“What’s that you always say?” Jason teases. “We don’t always get what we want.” And he says your name, it comes out a little groveled but his voice is teasing.

“Shut up.” You groan.

“Do you trust me?” Jason asks as his hands squeeze your hips softly.

“Of course, I do. You know I do.” You answer.

“Trust me then. I got a plan. I’ll be back out there and proving everyone else wrong.” Jason holds his head with confidence.

You raise a brow at him. “Why do I have a bad feeling about that?” Jason and plans aren’t always a bad combination but he is desperate and hurt right now. You remember the last plan he had when he felt this way.

“Don’t. I got this. Like you said, I’ll be fine.” Jason presses a kiss to your lips.

“Right yeah, you will be.” You let out a sigh and you think it can’t be that bad. He’d tell you. “Okay. You’ll tell me through, right?”

“Of course, you and me.” Jason gives you a wild grin.

He hopes you won’t be mad.

The next day, Jason rents an apartment and sets up to work on making the anti-fear drug. ?You had plans with Molly anyway and that was the perfect excuse for him to get here all by himself to get to work. Plus, Bruce had to go out of town so that's one less person he has to worry about.

He feels guilt gnawing at his stomach like a bad stomach ulcer. But he works anyway. He works through it because this is the only way. And even if he wanted to back out, he already told Crane everything. If he wanted to back out, Crane could use that information against him. But, he doesn’t want to back out anyway, so he pushes the guilt and anxiety away as he puts together a botched drug.

You grow suspicious over the next few days. Jason is making weird and random excuses not to hang out. He’s always trying to get you to hang out more with Molly or for you to head to Excellent Gotham and get to know Tim better. You always need more friends, apparently. Normally, you wouldn’t think too much of it. Or you’d be worried he was distancing himself to leave. But it’s Jason and he’s definitely hiding something, so you follow him one day.

Your phone rings as you hide in the alley beside the building Jason walked into.

“Hello?” You ask.

“Why are you following me?” Jason asks.

He caught onto you following him a few blocks from the apartment he’s been using. He was Robin and a street kid, he knows when someone is following him. And he feels bad about it. For you to follow him, you have to be really worried. He doesn’t track you unless you get kidnapped and you don’t track him on his phone. You don’t follow each other. But you are. And he needs to find a way to assure you.

“I—“ You pause. “I-I’m not following you.” You scoff.

“Yeah, you are.” Jason states as he walks through the opposite end of the alley.

“Why do you think that?” You raise, crossing your arm across your chest.

“I can see you.” Jason answers, pulling the phone away from his ear as you jump, turning around to see Jason.

To be fair, you should have known he'd figure it out. But, you tried to be subtle and keep a far enough distance away from him. You put in a lot of effort. He's just more vigilant than you are, apparently.

“Oh, hey, Jay.” You give him a cheeky smile with a nervous laugh. “Whatcha doing?”

You might be following him. You might be figuring it out a little sooner than he'd personally like. But, he does find it a little cute. And a little amusing you really thought Jason wouldn't figure it out.

“Walking, what’re you doing, babe?” Jason quips, closing the rest of the distance between you.

You sigh in defeat. “Following you.”

Jason lets out a hearty laugh. “No shit. Why?”

“You’ve been…weird, sneaking around. Worried about you.” You groan as you scrunch your nose.

He's really not trying to worry you. He doesn't want you to worry about him anymore. Even if you would be completely against an anti-fear drug, a part of him thinks maybe if he has it, you won't have too many reasons to worry about him anymore. The way Jason sees it, he was always better off with less fear. Maybe the drug helping him, will help you. In a roundabout way.

“You don’t have to worry. I’m just working on something, alright?” He’s giving you that toothy grin that is always trouble.

“Right…that’s not nearly as reassuring as you think it is.” You quip back, the smile falling short.

“It’s a surprise, alright? Don’t worry so much.”

“A surprise?” You raise a brow.

“A surprise.” Jason echoes and it’s not technically a lie. “You said you trust me.”

“I do.” You groan. “I’m sorry. You just never sneak around. It’s weird, even for you.”

You chew the inside of your cheek and maybe you're being paranoid. You've always been a little on the paranoid side, especially since Jerry. And the paranoia decided to come back in full force with the nightmares. Maybe you're just paranoid, more worried about losing him. Things have been good, between you at least, you always get scared when things are good for too long.

Jason puts his hands on your shoulders. “I’m fine, babe. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Promise?” You ask.

“Promise.” Jason nods.

“Fine.” You sigh, taking his arms off of your shoulders and holding his right hand. “Just…whatever you’re up to, be careful.”

“Always.” Jason beams, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll see you at home, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay.” You sigh, kissing him softly.

“Love you.” Jason grins, walking past you.

“I love you, too.” You watch him walk off and you really have a bad feeling about this one. But you can’t follow him and you have no reason not to trust him. So, you let him walk as you head back the way you came.

The next day, Jason gets the formula right. He uses an inhaler to take it and every fear he has ever had, melts away. It works. He did it. He got his cure to fear. So, he heads back to Arkham, high on the drug to confirm to Crane he got it despite the shotty formula.

And Crane already had a plan in motion. He had a feeling Jason would figure it out. So, he set up a plan and it’s time for the plan to go into motion so they can make Gotham theirs. Crane needs Jason to prove it works. What better way than to have him face off with the Joker alone? That’ll surely prove it. But, what Jason doesn’t know, is that Crane knows the downside to life without fear. Of course, he does. He’s the expert in it. Crane already has someone on the outside ready to handle it when this does not go the way Jason thinks it will. But is it perfect for Crane, another thing to hold over Jason’s head to control him.

And Jason doesn’t see the motive. So, Crane tells him to go after the Joker to prove it works and prove to the Bat he can do this. Jason doesn’t need Bruce. He can take care of the Joker all by himself. Jason, lacking all apprehension and self-preservation thanks to the drug, agrees easily. He’s not scared of him.

That next night, Jason convinces you to run out to the store. You were talking about needing some supplies for your scrapbook. You're reluctant at first, but decide to go. It’ll be quick. And Jason gets to work tracking the Joker.

But, with Jason at home, something just does not feel right to you. You make it all the way to the store, hoping the feeling will it go away, but it doesn't. So, you decide to call Molly, maybe Molly can talk you down.

“Hey.” Molly chimes through the phone.

“Hey, you busy?” You ask as you sit on the bike outside of the store.

“No, what’s up?”

You pause. It’s eating at you. Jason was weird as fuck last night when he came home and he’s been weird today. Convincing you to go to the store was weird. Him not coming with is also weird. And you have that feeling in the pit of your stomach. You shouldn’t have left.

“You….uh, I don’t know. I think I’m having a bad feeling so I just…need to talk I think.” You shake your head, the helmet weighing on your head a bit.

“What’s going on? Where’s Jason?” Molly asks.

“Home.” You answer. “I went to the store, he didn’t wanna come.”

“Is everything okay with you guys?”

“Yeah, yeah, all good. Not, uh, not what I wanted to talk about actually.”

“What’s going on?”

“Uh…do you…you know when something bad is gonna happen like really bad and you just….get this feeling? Like…right in the center of your stomach?”

You think you're being paranoid. It only happened once when your mom died. But since Jerry, you're always paranoid and the feeling comes back. Sometimes it’s wrong. Sometimes, it’s just you being paranoid. And you know that’s what this has to be because what could possibly happen to Jason at the manor?

“Yeah.” Molly nods her head because it happened with her mom. She just knew. “You have that feeling?”

“Yeah…I don’t know. Sometimes it's wrong. But it just…I don’t know. Feels bad.” You let out a sigh.

“When did it start?”

“Right before I left. Like, I got on the bike and I just….I don’t know. I think I’m gonna go home.” You shake your head and you can go home. You can always come back tomorrow.

“Are you sure? I mean...what if it’s a coincidence? Two’s a coincidence.” Molly tries to assure you.

“Yeah, I know but….what if it’s not? Can you stay on the phone with me while I get back?” You just can’t do it. It’s not a big deal.

“Yeah, of course.” Molly nods her head and you start the bike, taking off back to the manor. “What do you think it is?” Molly asks, mostly to talk you down.

“I don’t know.” You answer. “Jason’s been acting weird lately. I don’t know. I can’t explain it. It’s not….he’s…something’s off with him and I don’t know why I came. He told me to and maybe I listen to him a little too much sometimes. He said he was fine but I don’t know. I got a real bad feeling.” You groan.

“How far are you from the manor?”

“Like twenty minutes.”

“Well, if something is going on, you’re not that far and you haven’t been gone long. He couldn’t have gotten into too much trouble.” Molly tries to assure you but it doesn’t work.

The more you talk, the more paranoid you get. You know Molly is right. He couldn’t have gotten into too much trouble in the last half hour. But you worry anyway.

“Yeah, hey, can you conference him in? Just…give me some piece of mind before I get back.”

“Yeah, of course.” Molly states as she pulls the phone away from her ear and adds Jason to the call. The two of you listen as the phone rings and rings and rings. And then goes to voicemail.

“Fuck.” You let out a scoff as panic starts to flood your system.

“Maybe he’s--”

“No, he’d answer if it were you while I’m out. Call again.” You state and Molly does as told, getting voicemail again. You shake your head and you pull the throttle back, kicking the bike into third.

“Slow down.” Molly urges. “I’m sure he’s fine. Maybe he’s just in the bathroom.” Molly says as she hears the bike rev further.

“He’d answer. I know he would. Double calls. He would because why would you call him twice in a row unless it were important?” You argue.

You're begging for you to be wrong. You hope against everything in your body you're wrong. This one time, you have to be wrong.

“Okay, so what do you think is going on?” Molly asks.

“I don’t know!” You groan. “That’s the problem. I have no idea what’s been going on with him. I followed him a few days ago and he brushed it off. Like it was no big deal but he was sneaking around behind my back. He said he was planning something or some shit. Whatever the fuck that’s supposed to mean.”

“You don’t think he’s like cheating--”

“No! Of course, not. He would never. I….” You bite your tongue because Molly doesn’t know about Robin. “I don’t know what the fuck he’s been doing but now he’s not answering. And I got this feeling. Hold on I’m at a stop light.” You groan, quick-dialing Jason as you watch the red light. The two of you listen as it goes to voicemail. And you try again. Voicemail. “Something’s wrong.” You say as the light turns green and you start weaving between cars.

“Because he’s not answering and you have a feeling? You sound paranoid.”

“I know.” You grit your teeth. “But he’d answer for me. I know he would. Especially calling him twice. He’d answer. I just...remember a few weeks ago when he got his ass kicked?”

“Yeah.” Molly wishes she could forget.

“Okay, so what if he went out on his own to try that guy again or something?” You spit, avoiding details about Robin because you're thinking he’s out Robining alone for some sort of spite against Bruce. He’s still mad. And maybe he froze and it got bad.

“Why would he do that?”

“Because he’s Jason.” You let out a breath.

You get back to the manor, switching the call to your phone instead of your helmet. You make your way into the manor and call for Jason. The manor is silent. It’s not even like that’s abnormal. Jason isn’t really loud and neither is Bruce. But, the quiet and lack of Jason answering is eery and unsettling.

You search your rooms and living rooms and kitchens. He’s nowhere to be found and your heart sinks further. So, you go to the Batcave. Hoping maybe, he’s just training. Maybe Molly is right. Maybe he’s just busy. Maybe his phone died and he didn’t realize it. That’s possible. It’s Jason. He isn’t the type that’s glued to his phone. Maybe.

But that hope dies as you reach the Batcomputer, seeing Amusement Mile pulled up with the Joker’s location.

No, no, no, no.

“I’m sure he went out and he’ll be--”

“Fuck!” You yell as you look to the display case. The Robin suit is gone.

Molly calls your name and now she’s worried.

“What a fucking---” You cut yourself off as you grit your teeth. “Molly, I gotta go.”

“Molly yells your name, her voice now completely panicked.

“I can’t. I’m sorry. I’ll call you. I have to call Bruce.” You rush as you hang up, running over to your own display case holding your suit. You rip the case open and grab the suit as you put Bruce on speaker. “Bruce!?” You yell into the phone as you jump around, getting the suit on as fast as you can.

This can’t be happening. The Joker? Of all fucking people, that’s who he decides he’s going to go after to prove himself? Why the hell would he ever do that? You try your best not to focus on the millions of questions you have for him and the fact you're ready to scream at him for the twenty-four hours. You have to focus because it’s the fucking Joker. He’s taken too much from you.

Bruce can hear the absolute panic in your voice. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Jason! I fucking told you! He went after the fucking Joker!” You scream into the phone as you zip the front of your suit and put the mask over your mouth.

“I told him not to.” Bruce says calmly, but a part of him is panicking.

Bruce doesn’t panic but there is no way you would be calling him and telling him this if it weren’t true. Jason knows better. Why would he go after the Joker? On his own?

“Oh, because Jason is so fucking good at following instructions?!” You run over to the weapons once you're completely suited up.

On the one hand, Bruce could send you after him. That’s at least, two against one. But, it’s the Joker. And Bruce knows he’s more ruthless than anyone. It’s a fun game to him like whack-a-mole. And the prize is always bloodshed. He also knows how you feel and if he sends you, not only could you go out and get killed but you could kill him first. That’s a life on Bruce’s conscious.

“Do not go anywhere. I’m on a flight—“

“No! You don’t get to tell me to fucking sit here and hope for the fucking best. He is everything to me and I am not gonna sit here and let him get fucking killed, Bruce!” You seeth and the Joker should have been killed a long fucking time ago. You swear, if the Joker even lays a single finger on him, you’ll do it her damn self. Bruce is too much of a coward of what he could become if he did it. You don’t care. “The Robin suit is gone, the Joker is gonna fucking kill him and it’s all your fault!” You scream as you gather knives.

“Stay put.” Bruce is stern on the other line. “It will be dangerous and you aren’t prepared--”

“No! Fuck you!” You snip back, gathering as many knives as you can carry. “I’m gonna save him, kill the damn Joker since you’re too damn cowardly to do it and then I’m calling Dick.” You fume on the other end. “I’m gonna beg him if I have to to come and bring us back to San Franciso because fucking clearly, he’s worse off here!” You scream before hanging up the phone and heading towards the exit.

It’s not that he’s scared or even feeling uneasy. His head is clouded with a sense of nothing. Everything is just numb as he cuts the chain into the amusement park.

Jason should be scared and there’s a gnawing at the back of his head that is screaming and howling for him to be scared. To turn around. This is a bad idea. This is bad. There are red flashing lights begging him to turn around but that sense of adrenaline that would normally kick in and give him a little bit of common sense and self-preservation is being suppressed. It doesn’t exist. So, the normally loud and blinding lights that have been causing him so much pain over the last few months, aren’t loud enough. They’re useless.

As he walks further into the amusement park, he finds old and run-down games that grab his attention. This is the Joker’s hideout. It’s known. Of course, the maniac clown would like a closed amusement park. And Jason knows he should be hypervigilant. This is the Joker’s turf and he knows the Joker is here. But the drug keeps suppressing that, too.

He knows he should be more aware and more on guard but the drug gives him a false sense of confidence. He can do this. It’s the Joker. He’s just some crazy clown and if Bruce can take him down several times, Jason can do it. Bruce trained him, right? He knows better though. He should be scared and more aware. but then there’s a noise from behind him and he jumps anyway.

His heart skips before plummeting back into a resting rhythm as he spots a dead man with a creepy smile tugged on display. Jason’s eyes widen and there’s this small, tiny bit of fear that seems to bypass the anti-fear drug like a leaky faucet. And Jason starts to hear and see the red flashing lights in the back of his head in perfect color. But the point is that he isn’t supposed to feel fear at all.

Maybe his formula is a little off. How is he feeling any sense of fear? It’s barely there, barely even noticeable but it’s there enough where if he were in a normal state of mind, that alone would send him into a panic. He’d panic about being worried he’s going to panic. And that thought with the mixing of the drug, makes him miss the creeping steps of the Joker from behind him.

With a quick swing, a crowbar connects to Jason’s head and he’s sent right to the ground.

His head throbs and aches, a horrendous and shooting pain sending his head into a spin as his stomach turns. Blood drips down from his forehead, the warm liquid seeping down his cheek as he looks up to see the menacing and sadistic smile of the Joker looking down at him just as he pulls his arm back for another swing.

This swing connects with his jaw and Jason can hear the bone break. Jason’s mouth pools with blood, the taste of iron already becoming more nauseating. He groans out in agony as the Joker takes another hit to his head, his laugh echoing through the park.

His laugh rings through Jason’s ears with every blow and Jason thinks that laugh can penetrate any type of anti-fear drug. His hearing seems to get worse and worse but that laugh could pierce through solid steel. And he’s not supposed to be scared anymore.

But the Joker hits him again and Jason coughs up blood and fear starts to rush into his veins. Maybe it’s the overwhelming amount of adrenaline making the anti-fear drug wear off a lot sooner than it should. Maybe his formula needs to be tweaked. Maybe the anti-fear drug has a side effect, maybe it doesn’t work when he’s on the brink of death. Jason can’t think straight enough to figure it out. Instead, all he thinks is that he has never been more terrified than he is right now.

SMACK

WHACK

CRACK

Jason’s bones break as Joker takes a break from his face and works on his side and then his arms and legs. He swears this is the worst pain he has ever been in. The Joker hits him over and over and over again, the pain getting worse and worse as tears brim his eyes. He claws at the ground in desperation, a failing attempt to move away. But, the bones are being broken one by one and he can feel the shards with every movement. And he is so fucking sorry.

SMACK

He’s so sorry to Bruce because he should have listened. He should have been a better Robin. He should have listened. He’s so sorry he wasn’t better. He’s so sorry he wasn’t a better son. He tried his absolute best but he could have tried harder. Maybe he could have told Bruce what was going on. Maybe he could have told Bruce more about therapy. Maybe he could have explained anything that ever happened with him. Maybe he could have just tried to be a son. He’s so sorry and all he wants to do is tell Bruce he’s sorry. And thank you.

He wants to thank Bruce for trying. For taking him in. Letting him be his son and letting him be Robin. Bruce, in his weird way, cared about him and loved him. He tried even if he sucked at it sometimes. Jason wants to tell Bruce thank you.

SMACK

Jason screams as the crowbar finally shatters one of his ribs. His breathing is becoming ragged as the Joker takes another swing to Jason’s chest. The Robin suit offers a lot of protection but the Joker is relentless. He’s getting off on every scream and groan and gasp Jason lets out. It’s as if the sight of the blood seeping onto the ground and the backswing of splatter gets him off. He’s having the time of his life beating Jason to death. And Jason has never been more scared.

SMACK

He’s so scared and sorry. He’s so fucking sorry to you and he would give anything to tell you that right now. All he wants to do is call you. He wants to take it all back. He wants to go back home and crawl into your bed with you. He wants to hug you and kiss you and promise he’s doing okay and he’ll be okay. And you’ll be okay. He wants to promise you that it’ll all work out in the end, even if he doesn’t make it. He wants to tell you not to be mad or sad because he doesn’t deserve it. You don’t deserve to dwell on his inevitable death.

You both knew it was going to be him. You liked to fool yourself into thinking maybe it would be you but at the end of the day, you both knew it would always be him. Jason always knew it was gonna be him who died first. And he wants nothing more than to promise you it’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. He doesn’t want you to run yourself into the ground over him. But he knows you and he knows as the Joker takes another horrendous and agonizing hit to his skull, you’ll be miserable. This will be it for you. He’s not gonna make it and you're gonna lose your entire mind. You always said you would. And it’s all his fault.

SMACK

CRACK

He wants to shake you and tell you he’s so fucking sorry. He should have just told you what was going on. He should have told you. You would have helped him. You wouldn’t have been mad or yelled at him. Of all people, you would have understood why he went to Crane. You would have gotten it. You always understood him. And he should have told you.

He shouldn’t have lied to you. He’s so fucking sorry. And he’s so sorry for not loving you better, you deserve someone who’s not gonna do this. You deserve someone who’s not gonna get killed and didn’t even stand a damn chance. And he is so sorry he’s going to leave you alone.

He doesn’t think he’s gonna make it.

The Joker's laugh starts to sound further away as he takes another blow to the right side of his face, the crowbar connecting hard and steady against his ear. Then he can’t hear anything from that ear at all as blood starts to drip out. It’s the worst headache of Jason’s life. He can hear his skull cracking under the blows. He feels the blood seeping through his suit and onto the ground. There’s so much blood. He’s lightheaded and dizzy. It’s so hard to breathe.

SMACK

He’s not gonna make it.

And he finds himself, hoping against all odds, that someone will find him soon anyway. Maybe help will come just in time. Bruce is supposed to be the world’s greatest detective. Jason is his son. He’d figure it out. Maybe he already did and he’s actually close. Maybe he lied to Jason and he’s actually in Gotham and on his way. And maybe, you figured it out.

You're smart. You can fight off the Joker enough to get you both to safety. You were trained by Jason, Dick, Bruce. Jason believes you could do it. Maybe you're on your way. You're smart. You know Jason better than anyone. You’ll figure it out. You always figure it out. Maybe help is coming.

SMACK

Everything goes black for just a few seconds and then it’s blurry and shifted. He can’t see out of his right eye. Jason doesn’t know what’s going on as the Joker takes another smack. His laugh is just a reverberation now. The only sound he can even hear is the cracking of bones. Nothing else. And he doesn’t think he can breathe real well. He can’t move his jaw. He can’t even find the strength to try to move anymore. It all hurts and there’s so much blood.

Jason silently begs for the help he doesn’t realize will be too late just as the Joker takes a larger and harder blow to the front of his face.

He doesn’t think he’s gonna be able to hold on.

You drive to the abandoned carnival, coming up on one of the gates. Jason’s bike and helmet are right outside and the chain to the gate has been cut. You know. You know this isn’t good. It’s completely silent and you are terrified.

Silence can’t be good and a part of you hopes that maybe the Joker wants to play with Bruce. Maybe the Joker wants to kill Jason in front of him, to taunt him, that’ll give you some time to have a plan and get you both out of there, maybe. Or Bruce could make it in time to save you both.

But you creep around the grounds, cautiously but quickly. You're paying close attention to your head, making sure you don’t miss it if the throbbing you're certain will start. But, it doesn’t. Instead, you reach an open tunnel with carnival games and there’s someone lying on the ground.

It’s dark and despite you knowing damn well if it were the Joker on the ground, Jason would be over him bragging and cheering for himself, you hope it’s the Joker anyway. You hope against everything that the person laying on the ground is the Joker.

The closer you get though, the more you get the picture of the yellow and black cape.

Jason.

“No…” Your lip quivers as you pause. You're terrified to get any closer. It can’t be Jason. It can’t be. It can’t be. It can’t be. He’s strong and smart. He knows better. “No, no, no, no…” Your voice cracks as you start to walk closer and you can see him now.

There’s blood everywhere. He’s laying in a puddle of red and there’s blood splatter on the ground and the games. A bloody crowbar is tossed to the side and Jason is completely still. Your heart is in your throat as you close the distance, dropping to your knees.

“Jay…” Your voice is a whimpered whisper as you put your hand on his shoulder, pulling him to face you.

His body is completely limp and as he turns, you get the gruesome sight of what the Joker has done.

Jason’s face is mangled and unidentifiable. You can see his teeth through his jaw while there’s blood and bruising around the other side of his face. His face is swollen and paler than usual. There’s blood smeared across his face and on his lips. Some of his hair is wet with blood and sticking to his forehead. And his eyes are closed, not even trying to open.

Your heart shatters in that instant. The weight of the world has been on your shoulders for years and with the sight of his body, the world finally falls. It tumbles around you, breaking into unfixable pieces. The foundation keeping you steady is lifeless and cold and bloody.

Your lip quivers as tears start to trickle down your cheeks. Everything around you feels heavy and cold. The lump in your throat is so big and hard, you swear it’ll suffocate you finally and you’ll finally be out of this misery. The reaper creeps back from the shadow of your head, a smile similar to Joker’s shining back at you and he’s finally won. He won in a way you never thought he would.

Killing the last good parts of you, by killing him.

“Jason…” You whimper, one of your hands hesitantly going to his neck to check for a pulse. Nothing. There’s no pulse, just cold skin under the blood. “No…” You whine, tears now blurring your vision. You lean down, trying to hear him breathe and there’s nothing. He’s completely still. No breathing. Nothing. Just lifeless. “Jay, please, you can’t die.” You let out a sob, pulling Jason’s body into your lap. “I love you. You can’t die. I need you.” Your words are slurred as your nose runs and the cries grow louder.

You sob, rocking back and forth. You knew it would happen. You knew. And you should have known Jason was up to something when he didn’t go with you today. You should have known. He can’t be dead.

You swallow the lump in your throat, moving to rest Jason’s head flat on the ground while you pull out your phone, hands covered in blood. You call Bruce, putting the phone on speaker and then you start CPR. You swear it’ll be useless but you have to try anyway.

You swore every single day that you would never give up on him. And CPR isn’t going to help, but fuck it, you're not going to give up. So, you try anyway. You have to fucking try.

“Did you find him?” Bruce asks as soon as he answers.

Those words get you to let out another cry, your arms shaking as you push down on Jason’s chest. “Bruce!” You scream as your arms tremble.

Everything stops for Bruce. Pain shoots through his heart like a barbed wire arrow. He knows. He knows that cry because he’s let it out himself all those years ago. He’s heard other people. Babs. Dick. He knows and yet, it can’t be true. Not his son.

“What happened?” Bruce shakes his head, using all of his willpower not to let his voice shake.

“What do I do?” You cry, your cries are loud but there’s a weakness in your voice. “He’s not breathing and the Joker beat him with a fucking crowbar! Bruce, what do I do?” You beg Bruce to help. Your voice is slurred and panicked, pleading with all of the energy in you. He’s fucking Batman, he has to help. “What do I do? He’s not breathing. There’s so much blood, Bruce, help, please. You have to save him. Help me save him, please. Bruce, I can’t lose him, I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t.” You keep pumping on Jason’s chest but you swear it’s not working and not just because the Robin suit is so sturdy you're barely getting a compression in. You beg him and beg him, as if your pleas are enough to bring Jason back.

“I’ll send someone, keep doing CPR.” Bruce instructs with a square jaw.

“Bruce, I don’t…..I don’t think it’s helping.” You wail and you can’t breathe. It’s so hard to breathe. “I don’t think…..Bruce….” You let out a cough as your elbows shake and you're losing rhythm of the chest compressions.

“Keep going, don’t stop until they get there. I’m landing soon.” Bruce instructs and he never should have gone. He should have seen it. How the hell did he miss this?

“There’s so much blood…Bruce.”

Barbara Gordon and a few trusted people close to Bruce show up first. They find you still trying to perform CPR. You're slower now, and you're not getting the impact you need to make a difference. Your arms are weak and you're nearly hyperventilating and choking on your own tears.

The paramedics try their best to get you off of him but you scream and yell and cry for them to get off of you. You shove them off of you and you try and try and try. Bruce is still on the phone, telling you to let them do their job but you can’t. You can’t do it. You can’t because then you give up. You can’t give up on him. Not him.

“Hey.” Barabra wheels over a few feet away from you and she gets a look at the damage as her stomach turns and she knows he’s gone. “You need to stop.” Her voice is calm as she tries to keep it together.

“No!” You scream and you feel too weak to deal with any of it. He was your everything. “I can’t.”

The paramedics look at Babraba waiting to be told what to do and they know, too. His face is completely destroyed. He’s unrecognizable. The only reason Barabra even knows it’s Jason is because of the Robin suit. There’s brain matter on the ground. There’s more blood on the ground than there is in his body.

“Bluejay.” Barbara calls again, her voice cracking and this gets you to look at her. Even in the dark, Babara can see the redness of your eyes and the tears shining on the top half of your cheek above your mask. “He’s gone.” Babraba’s eyes go misty and you shake your head.

“No…” You whine and you finally stop but your hands stay on his chest. “No, not…no.” You let out a sob and you can’t even see Barbara anymore, the tears have blurred everything together. “I can’t.” You fall back, one of the paramedics catching you so you don’t hit the pavement too hard. The other paramedic jumps in and to Jason, just to be completely positive.

You shove the paramedic off of you and walk the few feet weakly to Barbara. “I-I…what--” You suck in a harsh breath, your breathing so rapid you feel like you're going to pass out.

“Sit down.” Barbara tries to keep her composure and you collapse with a loud sob, your entire chest feeling like it’s been set on fire with gasoline.

It can’t be him. Why him? He was good. He was a good person and funny and smart and kind. Jason had a heart of gold. Why did it have to be him? It never should have been him. He always deserved so much better. He never deserved this. This isn’t fair. It’s not right and it’s so fucking painful you wish the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“Babs!” You scream. “I-I-I don’t I don’t wanna do it anymore.” Your teeth grit together as your words are wet and slurred.

You can’t breathe. You can’t breathe. It’s hard to breathe and your chest feels like it’s all caving in under the pressure. Maybe putting your heart in a pressure cooker would be less painful than this. Everything fucking hurts.

Barbara rests a hand on your shoulder and she knew Jason was reckless but she didn’t think he’d ever actually get himself killed. He was smart. Smarter than this. You cover your face with your hands, not caring you're covered in Jason’s blood. You just want everything to stop. The pain and the world and time and everything. You want it all to be over.

“I’m so sorry.” Barbara offers and there is nothing she can say that’s going to make this better.

“I can’t.” You spit and push Barabra’s hand off you before getting to your feet.

You push through the pain, running away. Barbara yells after you but you do not care. You make yourself run through the pain and the weakness. If you can do anything, it’s run from it. You want to run as far as your legs will let you. To the bike where you can speed away from it all. Speed so fast the pain goes away. The agony will fade if you run. You can do it. You tell yourself you can as tears fall down your face. You toss the helmet on and hop on the bike, and leave. You've always been good at running. You can run from it.

You're in the bathroom back at the manor, scrubbing the blood off of your hands through tears. Everything is blurry and painful. It’s burning and agonizing and stabbing. It aches and throbs. Breathing is the hardest thing you've ever done. You try to get in a full breath but every time you do, a sob immediately follows and it’s like the wind is knocked out from your lungs all over again. Your head is spinning with a throbbing headache and your eyes are so puffy you can barely open them. But, there’s blood staining your hands, Jason’s blood, and you have to get it off. You have to get it off.

Get it off. Get it off. Get it off.

You grit your teeth so hard that your jaw starts to pulse and you hate it. You hate this so much. You hate it and you want him back. You need him. He is everything to you. He is your everything. He is your best friend and you love him more than you've ever loved anyone. And he’s supposed to take care of you and you're supposed to take care of him. And it’s not fair and it’s senseless and it was brutal and you scream at the top of your lungs before falling to the floor. You lean against the counter, pulling your legs to your chest as you put your hands on your face because you can’t do this anymore

You talked about what life you could have together. And you swear you saw it. For the first time, you were optimistic about a future. Because you had him. He gave you all of this hope for the future because Jason could survive anything. He was supposed to survive anything. He was good at it. Dodging whatever fucked up shit the world was going to throw at him. And now he’s not. He didn’t dodge fast enough. And you were supposed to have an apartment one day together. And make dinner together. And have a dog and a cat because Jason always really liked cats. He’d come home and you’d clean up the blood and he’d do the same for you when patrol got a little messy. You were supposed to have a life together.

You don’t know how you're supposed to get up again after this.

And then Molly walks in.

She’s been crying since Bruce called her and asked her to check on you. He’s worried about what you might do and seeing you on the floor absolutely hysterical, she knows why. Of course, she knew it would be bad. Her best friend just lost the person she loves. Of course, you're going to be a mess but….you're covered in blood and Bruce didn’t tell her what happened. And on top of that, you still have the suit on, minus the mask, which is another surprise Molly did not expect to get today.

Molly says your name with hesitance as she walks in, sitting on the floor in front of you.

You look up, moving your hands. “M-Molly.” You whine, your bottom lip trembling, the hood of your suit barely lets Molly get a glimpse of your face that’s covered in blood as well.

Molly nods. “Bruce called.” Her voice is just above a whisper.

“He….Molly…h-h-he…d-di-died..” You let out a sob as you shake your head and you just want it to be done. You're so fucking tired.

“I know.” Molly lets out a soft cry, sniffling softly.

“H-he’s dead.” Your entire body jerks with another cry as you hang your head. You're so fucking tired. Tired of all of it.

“I know.” Molly closes the distance between you, pulling you into a hug and allowing you to completely break against her. And then Molly starts crying because Jason was her best friend, too. “I’m so sorry.” Molly manages to get out.

“I can’t do it.” Your voice is weak against her.

“Can’t what?” Molly pulls away, her hands still on your shoulders as if trying to stabilize you.

Any of it. You can’t do any of it. You're covered in his blood and it all hurts. You're weak and tired and exhausted. It’s all agonizing and paralyzing and numb. It’s all too much. And you just cannot do any of it anymore.

“Blood and…” Your breathing is labored, your head swaying slightly. And you're so lightheaded and nauseous. “Do this.”

“One thing at a time.” Molly stands up and grabs a wash rag, wetting it with soap and water. Molly can break later. You need help. “Let me see.” You hand your hand to Molly and Molly starts cleaning.

Molly expects to find some sort of wound but she finds nothing. The more she scrubs, the more blood comes off and it’s just your skin under it. And she shakes her head because what the fuck happened to Jason that got you covered in his blood? A part of her almost doesn’t want to know. But, she has to ask anyway. Bruce was a little vague. So, after a few minutes, with your cries becoming quieter, Molly decides to ask.

“C-can I ask you what happened?” Molly is seeing that you're actually one of the suited vigilantes that roam Gotham so she’s guessing something with a bad guy went a little south.

And you don’t care anymore. None of it matters anymore. Jason is dead. It’s not his secret anymore. You're in your suit anyway and Bruce isn’t home. You're all alone anyway.

“Joker beat him to death with a crowbar.” You answer plainly Molly feels her stomach turn.

“What?” Molly’s heart stops in her chest.

You nod as you sniffle, watching Molly clean the remainder of Jason’s blood from your hands. “He was Robin.” Your voice is hoarse as you talk.

Molly pauses, blinking at you and she’s so confused. And this whole thing is growing more and more unsettling. Maybe she shouldn’t have asked.

“He…Jason was Robin?”

You nod again, sniffling. “Yeah.”

“You found him?” Molly asks. Why did you have to find him? Of all people, it just had to be you. Of course, it was you.

“Yeah.” More tears start to fall from your eyes and you can see him every time you blink. That’s going to be your last memory of him and it hurts so fucking bad you want to leave.

“I’m…I’m sorry. Is this all his?” Molly’s voice grows a little panicked. She can’t even imagine the sight you walked in on.

“There was a lot of blood. The head bleeds a lot.” You clear your throat before you sniffle again.

Molly is terrified you're going to start giving her gory details. Not on purpose but because you're too tired to care. The crying is slowing down and that always means you will talk. You stop caring and then you talk. Molly doesn’t want to know and you don’t need to relive the horror verbally.

“Okay, um…okay you stay here. I’m gonna get you some clothes.” Molly stands up quickly.

“C-can you…Jsaon’s room, there’s a…maroon hoodie. It was his favorite.” You look up at her as Molly heads to the doorway.

“Yeah, I’ll be back.” Molly nods quickly.

You let out another cry and you don’t think you’ll be able to survive this one. It’s too heavy. It’s too much. There’s only so much one person can take. And you swear as you shiver on the bathroom door with broken sobs tearing up your throat that Jason Todd was your breaking point. Jason Todd is dead and you swear you’ll never recover.

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A/n: So, this is what Jason looks like in his death scene and he looks scared. Which, is probably a plothole because Titans (or them trying to throw us off since it's episode 1 ?? idk) but I decided I was just gonna use that anyway for fun lol Also fun fact, I was originally not going to include his death scene since we saw it in the show but then I rewatched UTRH and was encouraged by my best friend to make it worse so I did. And I'm really glad I included it lol I'm sorry but I really like how it turned out lol

Tag list: @fairyofshampoo // @italiana-20 // @jasontoddsmentaldisorders // @purplerose291 // @lovelessamai // @makaelaseresin // @lenidaslenchen // @mayfieldss // @ghostkingblake // @im-done-with-this-im-out // @velvetskies // @lilylovelyxo // @cryinghotmess // @yesimwriting // @vivian-555 // @stainedstardom // @baebeepeach // @legend-o-zelda // @harleycao // @somehow-lovable-trash // @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx // @deyja-the-duck // @jasontoddslover // @captainmarvels-blog // @totallynotkaibiased // @scarlovesyou // @whydoyoucare866 // @littlemeowmeow1000

#jason todd fanfic #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd x reader #red hood fanfic #red hood fanfiction #red hood x reader #titans fanfic #titans fanfiction #dc fanfic #dc fanfiction #petrichor

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