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mlmxreader · 3 years

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Stressed Out | Clark Kent X Male!Reader

request; "I wish I knew how to quit you." "Don't quote Brokeback Mountain at me" with Clark Kent please🤓 - anon

summary; assignments can be hard and overwhelming, but when you've got a certain Kryptonian beside you who can help out, maybe things aren't so bad

warnings; swearing

author’s note; gender wasn't stated, so I went with male!reader; also, first time writing Clark so uhhhhhhhh might be terrible 😬

'Not That Deep' by Stormzy was playing over the little Bluetooth speaker that sat on the breakfast bar as you typed away at your laptop, lacking sleep and more than confused as you tried to make an attempt at your latest assignment, although with no guidance from the previous days, and with little information available, you had no idea what to do with it, and hoped that it was enough; your boyfriend, Clark, was busying himself in the kitchen whilst trying not to disturb you as he cracked on with making dinner - he kept it simple, and he did his best to be quiet, not wanting to disturb or distract you too much. But then you slammed your laptop shut, and groaned loudly like an old dog.

"Fuck this!"

Clark flinched a little at the sudden sound of your voice, but he soon leaned on the kitchen counter in front of the breakfast bar, a frown on his face and a worried look in his eyes as he tilted his head to the side. He could hear your heart beating so furiously. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I want to break something," you admitted with a huff, so stressed that your hands shook as you gripped at the hair on the side of your head. "I want to break multiple things, actually..."

He sighed silently, nodding slowly before making sure nothing would burn as he walked around so that he could stand beside you, gently laying a hand on your shoulder as he dared to smile a little. "We don't have anything you can break... unless if you wanna break a couple of eggs."

You shook your head, leaning back in your chair and looking up at him a hint of a smile, your hand coming to rest on top of his as you licked your lips and grumbled. "I appreciate the offer, but... maybe another time. I don't fancy eggs today."

Clark nodded, giving you a little squeeze on your shoulder as he cleared his throat; he usually needed earplugs when you listened to your music, if only because of certain frequencies, but he didn't mind it so much, now, he hardly noticed it as he focused on the sound of your heart beating. It was slowing, calming down. "Take a break for an hour, (y/n)."

"Yeah," you agreed, crashing into his side you hand coming to rest on his stomach as you closed your eyes. "Yeah, I'll take a break, but... how fucking pathetic is it that I get overwhelmed by something so goddamn simple, but you can be a superhero and an amazing journalist every single day?"

"It's a hard assignment," Clark told you with a shrug. "I'd be overwhelmed."

"No, you wouldn't," you raised a brow as you looked up at him. "C'mon, we both know that."

"I'm Superman," he chuckled softly. "But that doesn't mean I know everything."

You scoffed, knowing that the only thing that was stopping him was himself, but you couldn't help but to practically snuggle into his side as much as you could, closing your eyes as you hummed softly. "Clark?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think I'll pass this?" You asked quietly.

"Yeah, I do," he admitted, more than sincere and more than honest as he allowed his hand to run down and across to your middle, just below your bottom rib as he hummed softly. "I know you'll pass it. I know you're a smart man. You're smarter than you think, (y/n), you just need to take a little break."

Gently, Clark pulled himself away, going back to the stove and the oven so that he could finish dinner off, and you allowed him, your stomach grumbling lowly as you chuckled a little. "Fuck, I miss your cooking when you're not here..."

"But I'm here, now," Clark told you, focusing on the various posts and pans as he tried to cheer you up a little and as he tried to cook dinner whilst also helping you to calm down. He was happy to do it, he cared about you so much that he didn't even want to think about the stress that you would have gone through had he needed to take off as Superman. "Anyways, I made your favourite."

"You did?" You perked up a little, leaning over the breakfast bar with your forearms on the wood, an excited look in your eyes. When you realised that he was cooking your favourite meal, you sat back in your chair, and grinned. "What would I do without you?"

"I ask myself that a lot," he said quietly. "Even though, sometimes, I wish I knew how to quit you."

"Don't quote Brokeback Mountain at me," you chuckled, in turn, making Clark guffaw a little as he shook his head. You rolled your eyes, unable to keep the smile from your face. "Please."

Clark didn't say anything further, able to focus on the sound of your heart for a moment; it was back to its usual pace, although perhaps a little faster, but he knew, now, that you weren't faking your calm - and he was grateful for that. He hated it when you were stressed out, and he knew that you would return the favour, too. He was glad that you were his boyfriend, at the end of the day, because he did genuinely love you, even at your worst moments.

#clark kent x you #clark kent x y/n #clark kent x reader #dceu fanfiction #dceu films #dc #superman x reader #superman x you #mlem writes

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jensenreleasethetapes · 3 years

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“i wish i knew how to quit you”

based on a shitpost i took too seriously, and the fact that movie nights are canon...

Dean remembers the first time he watched this movie.

It was one day that Sam was out, on a date out of all things, and Dean didn’t feel up to going to a bar. He went to a small dvd rental place near the motel they were staying at, looking for some b horror movie. He strolled the aisles when he saw Brokeback Mountain on the shelves. He was curious, the reason unknown to him at the time. He had heard about it, mostly second-hand jokes about the gay cowboy movie, but not much else. He snatched the movie, and headed back to the horror section, grabbing indiscriminately for another, quickly covering the other movie in his hand. He walked up to the counter, and paid, all the while a strange buzzing under his skin. The cashier, a teen who looked utterly bored, routinely scanned the movie and charged his card. Dean opened his mouth, and tried to think of something to excuse the purchase, but came up short. He then closed his mouth, and tried not to make eye contact. He left the store, and never set foot back in the place. Him and sam would be out of town soon, they had bigger things to worry about than overdue dvd fees.

Later, Dean was drunk in his motel bed, crying with Ennis as he gripped Jack's jacket. He was sobbing at the show of love, the unconditional love they showed each other, and kept showing, against all things. It was a movie that stuck to his ribs for years to come, but why would only dawn on him later. Dean bristled at jokes about the movie for years after, and he kept the dvd in his travel bag since...

Which is how it ended up on the bunker shelves, next to other cowboy flicks he had “collected” from dvd stores over the years. And how Cas ended up picking it and putting it in the player for the two of them to watch.

Remembering all that, almost 12 years ago at this point, it seems like forever ago, It seems especially far now, especially compared to where he is now. He and Cas are sitting next to each other on a couch, after Cas said yes to another one of Dean’s movie nights. They had been on a cowboy binge, getting through the greatest of the westerns, which were chosen at Dean’s discretion. They already watched one movie tonight, but Dean isn’t ready to go to bed yet. He isn’t ready to end this night, since they get them so rarely. He enjoys spending time like this with Cas.

Cas, who is sitting comfortably in some pajamas he’s borrowed (“You know comfort is not of great importance to me, Dean” “Yeah but it’s weird if I’m the only one in sweats”). The glow of the tv shines on his face. His brows are usually furrowed, like he’s studying important information for a test from Dean later. But sometimes, his face breaks into a smile at a joke, or he gets angry at the characters on screen, and he gets exasperated at the character’s actions. Dean has seen these movies so many times, he can stand to watch Cas get swept up in the emotion.

After the first one, Cas isn’t ready to take off just yet either, lingering in an odd way. He looks over expectantly, waiting with words behind his lips. At their mutual reluctance, and his own reluctance to move from the comfortable couch, Dean decides to be generous and let Cas pick the next one, as long as it fits the theme. Cas returns with a dvd, and pops it in the player, then returns to the couch.

Once Dean sees the opening sequence, his stomach tightens. After everything he’d gone through, the discovery and realizations about himself, and after meeting Cas, he knows he’s done for. This movie had got him when he didn’t fully understand the depth of love and devotion, and now that he knows, and the source of that knowledge is sitting right next to him, he’s done for.

He settles in, not bothering to pick a fight with Cas about how this is technically not a “western”.

His first tears fall at Jack’s “I wish I knew how to quit you”, because god did he wish he knew. Cas glances up at Dean's sniffle, his own eyes not dry, and he reaches across to Dean’s shoulder. Dean nods at the contact, his hand swiping his tears away.

“I'm sorry, I didn't know that this one would make you cry,�� Cas apologizes genuinely, his voice near a whisper.

“No, it’s okay,” Dean brushes him off, and Cas drops his gaze. “I could’ve stopped it if I didn't want to watch it,” Dean replies. His eyes return to the screen, all the while still registering the weight of Cas’ touch.

The rest of the movie brings more tears, and after the second burst, Cas moves closer to Dean, a reassuring line at his side. Cas’ crossed legs leaves his knees to overlap Dean’s thigh. It's exhilarating and comforting simultaneously, and Dean lets himself get swept up in the romance, and the tragedy of the movie. He doesn’t hold his pain back, nor his sobs. He knows he’s safe to cry with Cas, safe to feel with Cas.

The end slaughters them both, sobbing at the tragedy of jack and ennis’ love story. He knows, too well, the pain of letting something good slip away because of fear, and the danger associated. He knows the self hatred, the disbelief that someone could love him back, despite all he’s done, so unconditionally. Hell, he’s sobbed into a coat on occasion too.

Dean tries to collect himself multiple times as the credits roll, but each time brings more tears. He sighs, trying to regain control of his breath, but echoes of the characters ring in his brain, and he cries again.

Cas doesn’t leave. No, he remains close to Dean’s side, rubbing his back, silent tears falling down his own face.

Dean leans into Cas, deeper into the comfort of him. He feels the tears soaking into the borrowed shirt, growing damp as the time passes between them. And Cas lets him, welcomes him there.

The crying subsides, and Dean and Cas are left on the couch together, the glow of the silent tv blanketing them.

“I think that was my favorite one yet,” Cas remarks, his voice thick from the tears shed. Dean smiles and lets out a small laugh. He sits up to look into cas’ eyes, a little puffy and red from the tears.

“The first one to make you cry? That’s your favorite?” Dean questions, not following his logic.

“I guess I didn’t know movies could do that,” Cas looks off, contemplating his thoughts and feelings, trying to fit them into the right words. “You tend to pick action movies with men fighting each other, so I just thought that that was a movie. Shallow, black and white morals, but fun. I didn’t know they could make you feel like this.”

“Yeah, I guess I just don’t watch many movies that are like this one. Sorry-” Dean offers.

“I just- I didn’t know they could be like that,” Cas interrupts. “I didn’t know movies could be honest, could show love and fear and loss like that. It’s all heightened of course, as is expected of the medium, but isn’t that how love and fear and loss feel?” His eyes flicker around, his hand in a fist, as if reliving his own experiences. “Interactions have more weight, every touch feels cosmic, stakes feel more punishing, but some things shrink, like how the scale of your world zeros onto one person.” Cas’ impassioned cadence slows at the end of his speech, each word hitting harder than the last.

Dean is caught off guard by Cas’ analysis of the movie. Usually he gets a smile and a nod, and if he’s lucky, a friendly debate on the morals of the villains and heroes. Dean is still processing his words and reaction in the brief silence, but Cas starts up again.

“It’s about the attachment associated with love. The wanting of only one person that no other can fill. It’s about making the most of your meetings, wringing out every second of your time together, and cherishing it, however brief. It’s about love despite the circumstances, despite what everyone says, maybe even in spite of everything. It’s about loving, even if you are not able to have them, and the tragedy in and of itself, that is falling.” Cas is wrapped up in his own words, and as he finishes, it seems like the meaning of his own words have dawned on him. He looks bashful, almost like he admitted too much.

Dean is awestruck, and he lets Cas’ words wash over him. Deciding not to let Cas hang out to dry, he gathers himself. If Cas is pushing himself over the edge, Dean is going to follow him.

“I think,” Dean starts, “it’s also about missing someone, losing them each time they leave, not knowing when you’d see them next. It’s about them leaving permanently, and you gripping on to whatever they left you, and the pain with letting them slip away once again.” Dean’s voice cracks, knowing it has given him away. He feels Cas’ gaze on him, but pushes forward nonetheless.

“It’s about not believing someone would love you back, because why you? And them loving you so unconditionally, so fiercely, and not being able to accept that love, because it’s so foreign. It’s about resigning that person to an awful fate because of you. Because you pushed him away, one too many times, because you thought it was too much, he was too good for you. You don’t deserve him, he’s too giving, too loving, too wonderful for someone dirty and fucked up like you-“

Cas cups Dean’s jaw and kisses him silent at his last words. The tears Dean was hiding behind his words fall, as he pushes back to Cas. They hold each other there, pouring more love and acceptance through the kiss. It’s slow, tender, and beautiful, an antithesis to the rushed kisses on screen.

Cas pulls back first, but makes sure to keep Dean’s eyes to his own.

“You deserve everything, Dean. You pushed away, but you came looking so many times too. Stop carrying the guilt for these things. It’s the past, and it’s done. We’re here aren’t we?”

“But Cas-“ Dean starts, but his mouth is covered by a kiss again.

“You held on, you kept me with you, when you had every reason not too. And that’s why i’m back here, we’re here.” Cas pleads.

“I’m sorry, Cas-“

“I’m not. Everything that happened? It all led us here, so can I please have this?”

Dean nods, and kisses Cas again. You can have for as long as you want, I love you I love you I love you…

~~~~

Thanks for reading!

#deancas #destiel #destiel first kiss #destiel fic #destiel ficlet #destiel drabbles #my writing #brokeback mountain

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sadachmesarthim · 3 years

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coercive notions - stucky

content: semi-graphic violence, blood, minor character deaths, emotional manipulation and abuse, false imprisonment, kidnapping, torture in the form of nonconsensual body modifications, stockholm syndrome.

dead dove: do not eat. steve sucks big time in this one. i’m not really sorry about it.

note: happy 6k followers to @sweeterthanthis !!! i love the idea of these prompts, they definitely did their job !! i was thrilled when i saw i got my quote of choice. this one’s based on ”i wish i knew how to quit you” from brokeback mountain (my favorite angsty husbands)

if the timeline is nonsensical in this - think 2 years post engame but no one's actually died! there is also some background starker but it's only mentioned twice. this is my first time writing for steve and bucky, and my first ~dark~ piece. it was definitely the challenge it presented itself as, and i’m super thankful for the opportunity to participate alongside so many talented witers!!

word count: 4.2k ; read time 15 minutes

Steve'd survived because of Bucky.

Bucky was the one that kept the fevers at bay, bought him medicine, nursed him back to health even when neither of them thought he'd survive through the night. Bucky was the one that dragged him out of the river, and left him alive on the bank.

Left him to wake up.

Bucky was the one that welcomed him with open arms when Steve was abandoned by the Avengers. Steve'd lost his home, his family - everyone and everything he had - when the world rejected him (the millionth time). Bucky was the one that came back. He'd lost his arm, his identity, everyone and everything he remembered - but he still ran to Steve without hesitation. No matter how far away they got, no matter what separated them, they always came back to one another.

They got together right after the fight with Tony in Siberia.

They'd found each other, and suddenly gained a future.

Steve had never... really pictured himself having a future. When he was younger, he accepted that he'd die young. A fever that wouldn't break, a cough that wouldn't leave, pneumonia he couldn't beat... Then he joined the army. He suddenly... had possibilities.

But there was still war, he was still fighting, and he was still in the line of danger every single day. It didn't matter if he was fighting Hitler, homophobia, Hydra, - someone was always gunning for him. Someone was always trying to get him killed. And it worked! He died! Crashed straight into the ocean and froze, for seventy fucking years!

Until someone had the audacity to defrost him, and yet again force him into the line of fire. Without really consulting him first. It was something Steve was slowly coming to terms with - he’d always be fighting, always be serving, always be protecting.

He’d been failing his job as a protector, lately.

+//////+

They all thought it was a bit weird, but then again, so is living with two men that look seventy years younger than they actually are. So is living with your coworkers. So is being a superhero. So of course none of the other Avengers said anything.

Not when Bucky started asking Steve permission for things - to get up from, and leave, the table after meetings. If he could get seconds during breakfast or dinner. If he was allowed to come on patrols or missions. Everyone just assumed it was a forties thing, or that it was just Bucky getting more comfortable around them. The dirtier minds of the group (Tony, Peter, Natasha) chalked it up to a kinky sex thing.

Steve saw it as devotion.

Bucky saw it as a way to keep him appeased.

See, Steve'd gotten more... irritable, lately. Every time Bucky got hurt on patrol, was in a bad position during a mission, needlessly volunteered to do something dangerous - it pissed Steve off to high heavens, for no reason. It'd gotten significantly worse over the course of a few months, to the point where Bucky could barely breathe without Steve getting upset.

It came to a head one day when Bucky got pinned during a fight with New York's latest nuisance. He wasn't even supposed to be there, it was his day off, for fucks sake. But he'd heard the call go out, and suited up before following a few minutes behind the rest of the crew.

This particular species of big nasty™ (a xorrian dog? Thor had called it?) had an... upsetting taste for live, warm flesh. He popped up outta nowhere over Manhattan during the Friday morning rush, apparently scouting Earth for the next course in their Milky Way Dinner Service.

Bucky, self sacrificing moron that he is, was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just as Steve laid down the final blow, narrowly avoiding the alien's jaw, Bucky slid underneath it, shoving his hand between the soft plating of the monster's stomach. He reached in, single-handedly gutting the thing while Steve put a shield-sized dent in its skull.

Their foe dropped almost instantly, crushing Bucky beneath several tons of dead weight. None of them would have known he was there, either, if Tony hadn’t programmed life-sensing protocols in a new combat arm he’d gifted the soldier for his second anniversary home and Hydra-free. A signal went to Tony’s suit the instant FRIDAY sensed structural integrity issues, sending him a precise location.

“What do you mean he’s here, babygirl? We didn’t call him in.” The worry in Tony’s voice was apparent, calling the attention of the rest of his team. They were all intrigued, prematurely pulled from their celebrations of a fight well won.

“It seems that Sergeant Barnes is approximately twenty paces northwest of your location, and his elevation is slowly decreasing. Would you like a map of the area?”

“Uhh, no Fri. I think I know exactly where he is. Cap, get your ass over here!” His heart rate was increasing by the second. If he thought correctly (as Tony almost always did), Bucky was... underneath the alien. “We need to pick this fucker up, or flip it, or something. I think Bucky’s stuck under it.”

Steve’s blood ran cold. “Tony, what the fuck are you talking about? Bucky wasn’t part of the group today.”

Steve didn’t hide his anxiety well when it came to Bucky. Their team knew that he was Steve’s whole world. One more life threatening situation, and Steve might actually die from old age with all the years Bucky’d stressed out of him. FRIDAY sending a detailed ping with Bucky’s combat arm location didn’t do anything to ease his anxiety, either. He knew it was just like Bucky to do something like this - jump in without word, all act and no think. Try to help his team out and wind up crushed by an alien pet the size of a 787.

Peter was next to them, soon, ready to help get this thing off their friend. Together, they managed to drag Mister Beast-of-the-Week far enough down the street, revealing a very unconscious, very bloody Winter Soldier nestled in the asphalt.

Steve was on him in a second, picking Bucky up with both hands. Tony already had FRIDAY doing preliminary scans and sending them back to Cho and Strange. Initial reads weren’t terrible, all things considered, but he still looked like shit. He might be five hundred times stronger than the average man, but no one’s prepared to be stuck under 200 tons of pure xeno-reptilian mass. Not even Bucky Barnes.

His head rolled back freely as Steve picked him up, exposing an already bruised and swelling jaw. Steve’s breath caught in his throat, choking him on his own shock. Saved by the bell, Cho called Tony back immediately, sending for one of them to bring him to the tower surgical site immediately.

“We have to go, Steve. Let us take him, we’ll get him fixed. We’ve done it before. We can do it again. But you have to let him go.” Steve’s upward glance brought him Tony’s exasperated face. He was dizzy, everything felt like slow motion.

He didn’t register the movement until he saw it, watching Peter’s hands as they held him back. Tony took Bucky’s lifeless form, carrying him toward Stark Tower and away from the wreckage.

The wreckage he shouldn’t have been anywhere near in the first place.

The wreckage he wouldn’t even have known about if he didn’t beg Tony to be included in all mission alerts.

The wreckage he would have avoided if it weren’t for the martyr complex he’d had since birth. It might not be nearly as strong as Steve’s, but it was still there. Bucky’d always gone to obscene lengths protecting the people he loved.

Steve had a track record of doing a piss poor job of repaying the favor. He couldn’t save him from the war. He couldn’t save him from the train, or from Hydra. He couldn’t save him from Thanos. He couldn’t even save him from a stupid little skirmish downtown. No, from where he was standing, Steve’d fucked up. Big time.

He promised that day, he wasn’t going to let anything like this happen again.

+//////+

It was weeks before he was back to normal, and even then - Bucky wasn't entirely sure he wanted to leave. Not because he was still sore, or not feeling up to par. In fact, he'd been antsier and more ready to get back into the field than ever. He missed his friends, he missed the people he fought evil with every day. He missed sparring with Sam and going on runs with Peter, listening as Thor regaled stories about Old Asgard no one.. could quite follow. Missed the twice weekly calls from Shuri. But most of all, he missed his freedom.

Steve wasn't ready to give it to him.

When he woke up after surgery, Steve was right next to his recovery bed. He almost looked like he did back in the day - sleep deprived, worry lines forcing their way to the surface of his face. Vague frustration enveloped him, even when he met Bucky's conscious form for the first time.

Their first few conversations were tender, loving, but it didn't take long for them to sour.

Steve'd insisted on bringing Bucky back to their shared floor immediately after he woke. He allowed Cho to look him over, FRIDAY to scan him, everyone to come say hi - but he never let Bucky out of his sight. Not while Bucky was awake, anyway.

He slept a lot in those first few days. He was still healing, and while it might have been much faster than anyone expected, he was also recovering from what should have been several deaths over. He spent most of his time in bed, asleep, or talking to Steve.

Most of it was lecture, some was praise. How stupid he was to get involved on his day off. How much Steve loved him. How he wasn't allowed to go being a martyr like that again. How much Steve loved him. How Steve was going to do a better job of watching over him from now on. How much Steve loved him.

There was a lot of that, after Bucky woke up. How much Steve loved him. How important Bucky was to him, how much it meant to him that Bucky was alive and breathing and conscious and okay. Every time he got a lecture, or a reminder, Steve's hand was on him somewhere. His shoulder, his wrist, his face. His throat. Every time he spoke, he squeezed, just the tiniest bit. Not threatening, not even to force acknowledgement. Just.. Because he could. To the untrained eye, it was just physical contact.

Bucky knew better.

Bucky knew conditioning when he saw it. When he felt it.

Bucky also knew he was significantly more susceptible to conditioning than most people.

Bucky was fucked.

+//////+

Tony didn't think anything of it when Steve asked for handcuffs that could hold a supersoldier back. He, too, was a pervert with a genetically enhanced super-boyfriend, who was he to deny the Captain a little fun? He'd designed restraints Peter could use without breaking (or hurting himself!), why not share the love?

No one thought anything of it when Bucky stopped joining them on missions. Trauma has a different effect on everyone, maybe Bucky just needed time to process almost dying (again). No one would blame him for it. Hell, most of them encouraged his staying home.

None of them... really thought anything of it when he quit leaving altogether. They trusted Steve's judgement, and if he didn't think Bucky was ready to leave, then he wasn't. Bucky knew better than to defy him, too - just kept his mouth shut around "yes, Steve"s and "okay, Steve"s.

The conditioning didn't stop as he got stronger. He'd been back to 100% weeks ago, but Steve was still babying him. Carrying him to the shower, not letting Bucky bathe himself, or brush his own teeth. He couldn't dress or eat without help, go anywhere without asking. "I just want to keep you safe. I need to know that you're not going to get hurt." Steve's words remained calm, level, but his face betrayed the threat behind them. If you don't listen, you won't be able to leave at all.

Bucky'd learned the hard way that if he didn't listen to Steve, he wouldn't have a choice. He'd attempted to leave their floor by himself while Steve was out on a mission with Tony, Nat, and Thor - he got up early, showered, got dressed. His first taste of freedom in a long time, he was so excited to go see everyone again.

He was downstairs and halfway through breakfast with Bruce and Peter when Steve got back.

+//////+

Bucky couldn't remember the last time he'd seen the sun. It's a familiar feeling to him, one he thought he'd never deal with again. The isolation. The lack of control. The fear.

Steve initially hadn't looked mad. He let Bucky finish his meal, kept a distant but watchful eye over the group until the two others finished and moved on to their lab work downstairs.

Bucky knew he was fucked. He'd broken rules. He'd left their room without permission. Steve might not have looked it, but Bucky could feel the anger and disappointment radiating off him.

After that... He wasn't allowed to do anything.

No workouts, no missions, no patrols. No leaving their room. Steve'd used the restraints Tony made - had him thoroughly tied down to the floor below their bed. No internet, no phone. Not a single book or movie or boardgame in sight. Good boys don't require entertainment to behave. No eating - Steve'd placed a gastric tube down his sinus to provide nutrition. His muzzle, the one hydra'd used... Steve'd locked it over his jaw, and left it there. Good boys don't need to use their mouths - not to drink, not to eat. Not to talk back or call for help. No using the bathroom on his own - he had a catheter replaced once a day, and Steve changed his bag as needed. Good boys don't get to leave the bed, not even if it's an emergency.

He learned to wait for Steve. Learned his schedule - early morning meetings with Wakanda, check ins with Fury and Maria, patrol a bit after lunch. Then, he'd come back, make sure Bucky's bag was empty and his feeding tube was flushed and clean before feeding him.

Steve allowed him to use the bathroom and shower at night, under incredibly watchful eyes. The restraints Tony'd made were long enough to stretch the entire perimeter of their room, but Steve kept him on a short leash. Bucky had five minutes total - shit, shower, shave. If he didn't finish in time... There's always tomorrow.

If he did, he'd get rewarded.

Steve'd wrap him up in a large fluffy towel, carry him to bed. He'd bring back the sweet little reminders, with his hand around Bucky's throat. How much Steve loved him. How this was all for his protection. How Steve wasn't going to let anything happen to him, ever again. How proud Steve was of him, for letting him return that favor, even decades later. How well behaved Bucky was, how good he'd been for Steve.

Steve was so different from Hydra, too. That's what made it so fucking difficult to resist the love bomb-type conditioning. He wasn't the torture type - didn't like the idea of doing anything he didn't have to. Steve didn't want to hurt him, and Bucky knew that. He found it harder to reject Steve's advances the longer he was locked in that fucking room, found it harder to discern whether or not he... wanted... to reject it.

He was Bucky's dialysis, and his drinking problem.

He was Bucky's oxygen machine, and the cigarettes he'd smoked to earn him one.

Steve could ask Bucky to do anything, ask him for anything... and he was powerless to say no. He'd tried.

+//////+

It'd gotten him a flick to the mouth, for his hesitation.

"When I ask you a question, love, you need to answer me. Do you understand?" The tears in his eyes nearly spilled over, sharp pain from his lips radiating into his nose and the corners of his eyes. He didn't want to answer. He wanted to leave. He wanted to run, to get the fuck away from Steve and the compound and everything.

"Yes."

"Yes what, angel?" Steve might've been good about keeping his emotions checked in public, but Bucky could tell he was smug. Gloating. He enjoyed this. What'd happened to the sweet kid from Brooklyn that could barely hold himself upright? Bucky missed him.

"Yes, Stevie. I’m sorry Stevie." Saying his name was painful. This wasn't his Steve. This wasn't the Steve he'd fallen in love with. Wasn't even the man that'd dragged him out from underneath that alien... How long ago? Months? Years?

Bucky didn't know anymore.

Didn't know why his friends hadn't saved him yet. Didn't know how his absence went unnoticed for... however long it'd been. Didn't know why he was struggling to be upset about it all.

Steve, observant as he was, could practically see the gears turning in the other's head. He cradled Bucky's face in his hands, drawing him into calculated eye contact. Bucky felt sick. There was something... wrong, there. Something Bucky'd never seen before.

"They don't love you like I do, Buck. They don't want you. They don't love you."

Bucky flinched at the words, physically recoiling from Steve's grasp. He knew it wasn't true, he knew... He thought it wasn't, right?

Steve's laugh pulled Bucky out of his own thoughts, bringing him back to the room in front of him. He had a display up, with various recordings of the rest of the Avengers. He flipped through them, muting and unmuting seemingly at random.

"... I mean, he's probably ditched us for Zemo again. Would that really shock you?"

"he almost died again. I don't blame him, i wouldn't want to be found eith-"

"-e can take care of himself, let's just give him time."

Steve waved the holo display away when he saw the first few tears fall. "Don't you see, Baby? They don't care like I do - they don't love you like I love you. No one will ever love you like I love you." Steve's words stung, but Bucky couldn't deny that they made sense. Of course no one was looking for him. He was unpredictable, still kind of an outsider. Why would they try to come find him? Why would they care?

Bucky's mouth moved before his brain could stop him.

"'m sorry, Stevie, please, I'm so sorry! I-I- I thought they cared, please, please don't leave me Stevie! I was so wrong, Steve please! Wish I knew how to stop, Stevie, but you know I can't. You gotta help me stop Stevie, I've been so confused, been tryin' to quit you Stevie but I can't. Wish I could quit you but I can't, I can’t be left alone anymore. Please, you can take my arm if you want it, Stevie. Take anything, take whatever you want from just please, please don’t leave me alone anymore!"

He was in hysterics at this point, unable to believe what was coming out of him. Was he really okay with Steve taking his arm away? Did he really love this Steve back? Was he just scared?

The worst part was that he couldn't tell.

+//////+

The smell of fresh coffee woke him before he was ready. His eyes burned, still dry after Steve refused to close the window before they went to bed.

Bucky would have closed it himself, but he couldn't actually reach that far.

They'd moved out to the cabin a few months after Bucky finally broke realized how wrong he was. It was a cute little place, big enough for the two of them but small enough to not draw attention if someone came upon it by accident. Not that they really could. Steve'd installed motion sensors five miles out, and had fully automated... solutions, in place, should any threats or issues arise.

They went entirely unused.

It really was a beautiful plot of land - they had a few animals, a cute pair of kittens to dote on and play with. He had enough room to move around, to sit in the sun or curl up in bed. He had plenty of books, games, anything and everything he could want to occupy his time, really. He had Steve.

And breakfast now, apparently.

Steve set the plate on the bedside table, gently sitting next to his lover and planting small kisses on his still shut eyelids. Bucky looked up and smiled, blushing at the hand that'd wrapped around his neck. He reached out, gently thumbing at the inside of Steve's wrist. Oh, how he'd missed this. Missed contact with his Steve.

He opened his mouth, accepting the bite Steve offered him. Steve always made the best pancakes, he thought, appreciating the hot meal hitting his tongue. He hadn't eaten this good in weeks. It was hard for him to cook without his arm, but Steve always provided. Steve cooked for them, cleaned up after them, made sure Bucky was sated. Safe.

He'd taken off for a mission nearly a month ago. A dangerous one, he'd said. One he might not return from for a while, he'd said. Bucky worried. He always did when Steve left, especially since he couldn't know where or why he was going. But Steve always came back to him. Sometimes, he was back in one piece. Once, he'd come home with an arrow in his stomach and several gunshot wounds. That'd been a... scary night. Another time, he came home with half of his hair singed off and his clothes in tatters.

Last night... Last night he finally came home, and he looked like shit.

He was covered in bruises, nearly 40 pounds lighter than he was when he'd left. There were holes in the shield, too large to be bullets but too small to be anything else easily recognizable. Some were through his suit, too - puncture wounds littering his chest and stomach. They were already partially closed, but he was still bloody.

There were still webs in his hair, too - Bucky brushed them away after Steve closed (and locked. always locked.) the door. He knew better than to comment. Steve was just protecting him. Steve loved him, he was doing what he needed to keep Bucky safe.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt. That each time Steve left for a mission, Bucky cried himself to sleep. He thought, eventually, that the pain would go away. That the death of each of his friends would get easier, somehow. That the fear, the hope, of losing Steve would stop consuming him.

He'd just smiled, kissed his husband's cheek, and helped him strip down. He'd mouthed at the graze left on the side of Steve's neck, reverent in the presence that was his protector. Bucky'd developed quite the complex, in their time of isolation. Every time Steve came in - from cutting firewood, picking food from the garden, feeding the animals, or from nights like last... Bucky just couldn't stop talking.

About how he wouldn't be alive without Steve. How he'd still be a mindless slave for Hydra, killing innocent people under everyone's noses. How he owed Steve his life, a thousand times over. How he'd've been taken by Ross or Stark or Clint or someone, and locked away miles under the sea. He'd pressed them into Steve's jaw like kiss-coated secrets, like no one in the entire world knew these things but Bucky & Steve. Like they were bits of information to cherish, to chew on and savour before swallowing.

Steve just laughed, picking Bucky up and bringing him to bed. He followed shortly after, cleaning and patching himself up before snuggling right up to Bucky.

Sleeping was interesting, initially, but they'd adapted. It was easier to cuddle Bucky without his arm, but sometimes Steve woke up with his legs tangled in loose chains by the footboard. It was an easy enough trade, in Bucky's opinion. Give up his arm, give up a bit of freedom, and get a loving, devoted husband in return? One that would make him breakfast in bed, one that would hold him and kiss him and praise him whenever he needed? One that would kill for him? Die for him?

Bucky saw it as a fair enough trade, and if that meant their friends needed to die... He tried not to think about it.

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brywrites · 4 years

Text

Flight Risk IX

Summary: An answer to the age old CM question, “who’s flying the plane?” And the story of a pilot and a profiler. Part IX: In which a profiler and a pilot try their best not to care, featuring an incredibly tacky hotel.

(Series Masterlist) ( Previous | Next )

----

The case closes. When it’s time to go home, Reid sees her leaning against the wall of the hangar with a book. Their eyes meet. He stops walking, frozen to the ground. And in response, she walks away and disappears into the jet. Neither of them knows what to say. She gives herself over to the sky, he loses himself in paperwork. The jet has never felt so big. Like there are miles between them instead of just mere feet.

Y/N thinks of Peter Pan. “The moment you doubt whether you can fly you cease for ever to be able to do it.” She doesn’t know what they are to each other anymore. Are they still friends? Were they ever at all? Was Arthur right all along? Maybe she simply is made for staying, not with her airplane heart. Hopelessly circling, never quite finding a place to land.

Reid has never had to do this before, to hurt someone in this way. He’s not sure how to reach out to her after putting this distance in place. And so he doesn’t. It doesn’t ease the loneliness. Only Garcia notices the change, when he stops talking about her.

“She told you how she felt, didn’t she?” Penelope asks, her cheerful smile deflating. Reid averts his gaze. The pained look on Garcia’s face mirrors the ache in his chest. “Oh, Reid,” she says. “Do you really still believe that you’re not allowed to be happy?”

“But you looked so happy together,” Yeeqin laments when Y/N tells her what happened. “I just don’t get it.” She and her girlfriend Saoirse offer to key his car, an offer Y/N promptly refuses. They’re both hurting enough as is. And besides, knowing Yeeqin she’d vandalize the wrong car and need someone to bail her out. After the “graffiti incident of 2014,” Y/N has no interest in doing so again.

And so they stay away. Things return to the way they always were – pilots and profilers. Two separate worlds on the same G550 jet. The only exchanges are simply pleasantries or requests from the team to the pilots, but they never come from Reid. Or announcements about takeoff and landing that almost always come from Captain Dobson. On the rare occasions when Y/N’s voice floods into the cabin, he closes his eyes and lets himself imagine that she’s speaking only to him. Sometimes when the agents disembark from the plane, she watches him go from the cockpit window and tries to remember what it was like when they sat so close.

He stops arriving early. She stops reading in the hangar if she’s not on the jet. They both pretend it’s normal. They both pretend it’s possible for them not to care. That it’s easy, that it doesn’t bother them one bit to be apart like this. That it wasn’t better before.

Y/N goes to dinner at Arthur and Malik’s house. Martin and Theresa are there and she runs around the yard with their older children, Carolyn and Benedict, and coos over baby Douglas. They share cocktails and swap stories and it feels so good to be surrounded by her own team, this makeshift family of aviators. She has movie nights in with Yeeqin and goes out with her and Saoirse anytime they invite her along and it’s so nice to be among friends. But then Martin looks at Theresa with all the love in the world and Saoirse falls asleep on Yeeqin’s shoulder in the cab on the way home and it’s acutely apparent to her that something is missing in her life.

Reid distracts himself with work and with books and tells himself that he’s always been just fine this way, with words and obligations instead of laughter over takeout or meetings at coffee shops. But then he discovers Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close in his bottom desk drawer at work, the copy she’d loaned to him and he’d sworn he would remember to give back to her and suddenly he’s trying not to cry in the bullpen and he doesn’t quite know why.

She learns from Arthur, who knew him, that Spencer’s mentor has been killed. And she can see on their next case that he’s hurting. The sadness in his eyes, the exhaustion evident in his slumped posture makes her want to run to him and wrap him in a hug, hold him close like he held her that night on the couch. But she’s not supposed to care about him anymore.

He sees the way she looks back at him as she boards the jet that day, her eyes lingering on him for just a fraction too long, and he thinks that just maybe she’s going to say something to him. But she doesn’t and he’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed. Either way, Gideon’s death seems only to prove his theory – the people he loves get hurt.

When they come home from the bombing case in Indianapolis, he’s drained from a week of mourning and a grueling chess match with Rossi. As Reid stands in the hangar searching for his keys in his bag, he hears, “Doctor Reid,” and turns to see Captain Dobson standing a few feet away.

“Yes?” he asks.

The captain opens his mouth, falters, and then says, “I’m sorry for your loss.” The sentiment is confusing, as he already told Reid this as he boarded the plane three days earlier. But perhaps Dobson has forgotten the conversation. So he thanks the captain and continues on his way.

Y/N and Reid seek solace in their friends, in their books, in the places that make them feel safe. And they try so hard to convince their hearts that they don’t feel anything that they wonder if it was ever even real to begin with. And for a little while, they almost believe it.

But then comes Nashville.

---

“Did you see the picture Martin sent of baby Douglas in his pilot’s cap?” Y/N asks.

“I did,” Arthur says. “It was cute.”

“The cutest thing I’ve ever seen!” she insists. “I wish he could bring the kids by for a visit sometime, I’m sure they’d love to check out the jet. Do you remember being a kid and how they’d let you go visit the flight deck and see how a plane worked? And they’d give you those little plastic pilots wings?”

“Relics of a bygone era,” Arthur sighs. “I’m sure I still have a pair of PanAm Junior Pilot wings stashed in a box somewhere.” The millennium ushered in a new vision of aviation security and sharp pins and strangers in the cockpit simply aren’t considered protocol anymore. “How are we looking?”

Y/N glances at the altimeter and airspeed indicators. “Flying at 46,000 feet. Currently at Mach point nine. Should be about one hour and ten minutes to destination.”

“Let the cabin now we’ve reached out cruising altitude, will you?” Arthur asks. Typically it’s her job to shift the jet into cruise while Arthur makes the announcement, but she nods and takes the speaker.

“Good afternoon passengers, this is your co-pilot speaking. We’ve reached our cruising altitude of 46,000 feet. At this time please feel free to resume using electronic devices and move about the cabin. We expect to be landing in Nashville in about an hour. Skies are clear, should be smooth sailing ahead. In-flight refreshments will not be served, but you’re welcome to help yourselves to anything stocked in the galley.”

A part of her wonders if he thinks of her when he hears her voice. Not that it should matter anymore. Before she can lose herself in her own thoughts, Arthur asks, “Who Framed Roger Rabbit?”

“Lincoln,” she decides after a moment to think. “Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?”

Arthur says, “The Terminator,” without missing a beat. The captain is well-versed in cinema, which makes Double Feature one of his favorite in-flight games. The first movie must always be a question, and whoever can come up with the best films in response is declared the winner. Arthur almost always wins, and it’s a challenge to think up films they haven’t already used.

“What’s Eating Gilbert Grape?”

“Hannibal.”

“That’s terrible,” Arthur laughs.

“Dude, Where’s My Car?”

“Brokeback Mountain.”

“Oof, that’s gonna be a long and sad trek to retrieve it,” she sighs. “I’m not prepared for that kind of emotional devastation.” But the game does help to take her mind off of what she’s really feeling. She can lose herself in words and not in wishes. They land GEFF gently on the tarmac in Nashville and when they pull around to the hangar, she doesn’t look out the side window. Y/N stares straight ahead at the horizon. The sky fades from deep royal blue to soft pale periwinkle where the distant skyline rises up to meet it and she loves every single shade in between.

Once the team has departed, she and Arthur walk through the cabin tidying up and making note of anything that needs to be cleaned or restocked prior to takeoff. Arthur won Double Feature (“O Brother Where Art Thou?” “Soylent Green.” “Oh, that is incredibly twisted!”) so it’s her turn to clean the bathroom. Fortunately a short flight like this means it’s fairly clean to begin with. She wipes sanitizes the sink and toilet, empties the paper towel bag, makes sure there’s enough soap and toilet paper. Garbage is deposited in the trash can at the back of the hangar and they return to Geff to grab their own go-bags.

“Listen, Y/L/N,” Arthur says as they lock the cockpit door. “About the IRT job.”

“Arthur,” she cuts him off. “I really don’t want to talk about this right now.” When he looks as though he’s about to protest she adds, “Please. I just want to go to hotel and take a nap and watch whatever silly romcom is on pay per view.”

He nods and says nothing more. They catch a rideshare from the airport together and she stares out the window at the buildings and billboards that line the roads. She already knows what she’s going to do about the offer. She made her decision after her conversation with Spencer. The choice was clear. But she doesn’t want to discuss it yet. She’s not ready.

They step into the lobby of the Graduate Hotel and her mouth falls open. It’s hideous. There’s a fuzzy tapestry – a fuzzy tapestry of a woman with a hat against a pink background that appears to be made out of the same material as a shag rug. The lamps at the concierge desk have hot pink floral patterns on them. A neon installation that looks similar to a vintage gas station sign announces vacancies in bright green and red light. The armchairs are blue velvet and the hanging lights look like tulle skirts. There’s too much happening at once.

“This is the ugliest hotel I’ve ever seen,” she says.

“Well the more affordable ones were nearly full – evidently this is a big weekend for admitted students at Vanderbilt – they had to double up all of the rooms for the team. But the Bureau managed to get us a discount here,” Arthur replies as they stand at the desk waiting for someone to check them in.

“I suppose a bunch of special agents wouldn’t blend in well at a place like this,” she admits. Hopefully they solve the case quickly and she’s not stuck here too long. True to her word she spends the first night relaxing in her room. The bathroom is beautiful – black walls with gold accents and a glass shower. The room itself is another story. The carpet is a rainbow of jewel-toned diamonds in a quilt-like pattern. The walls are pink and white striped, a candelabra sits next to a pink television. White curtains with a vibrant floral pattern line the window and form a hanging behind the bed. The bed, mercifully, has the standard white blankets and white pillows, though there is hot pink chevron quilt draped over the end and an eerie portrait of Dolly Parton stares at her from above the headboard. Y/N shudders.

Penelope Garcia calls her that evening. She’s waiting to hear back from the team and could use some virtual company. “I don’t even know if you’d like this place,” Y/N tells her. “It’s so garishly tacky. Like a sorority girl and her antique-collecting grandmother chose items from their storage closet at random.”

“Oh it can’t be that bad,” Garcia says.

“Penelope, I am ever the optimist. I love quirky, whimsical adventures. But this is something else. The Dolly Parton painting keeps staring at me, I swear!”

“Let me look it up.” There is the sound of fingers frantically typing on a keyboard. “Oh come on now, the lobby is way cute! And the patio? I just – oh. Oh my. Oh those rooms. You’re right. That’s bad. That’s very bad.”

“I told you!”

“That went from cute to crikey very quickly,” she agrees. After takeout for dinner and watching Serendipity, Y/N falls asleep under the unnervingly watchful eye of Dolly. The next day is completely free, and she heads out to explore the city. Wherever she ends up, she tries to take advantage of the adventures available to her. Just blocks from the hotel she discovers Nashville’s Parthenon – a full-scale replica of the Greek temple which hides an art museum inside. She wanders the galleries and stands at the entrance staring up at the pillars holding the roof up. What would it be like to visit the real thing? She wonders how many times the IRT has gone to Greece before. Maybe they’ll end up in Athens sometime this year.

Café Coco is the cutest coffee shop she’s seen in any city, and she grabs tea and a scone before returning to Centennial Park. Beneath the barely blossoming trees she sits and reads Dandelion Wine. It’s beautifully written and full of longing. That longing seeps through the pages and she can feel it in her bones. Nostalgia for times past and places far behind and things that cannot be. Everything that Spencer said it would be. As she reads she tries to imagine which lines would have made him smile or elicited a wistful sigh. Are the parts she loves most the same as the parts he loves most?

Her phone buzzes with a text form Arthur to ask if she wants to get lunch together at the hotel bar, and she shoves the book and her longing back in her bag and walks over to meet him.They step from the tacky lobby into a bar that seems remarkably normal. String lights and chandeliers cast an inviting ambient glow over the wooden tables and chairs. Country music is playing over the speakers. But as they she and Arthur move closer towards an open table, she sees it. The stage.

“What is that?” she asks. There’s a bear, a pig, and a fox in a wig atop a stage that says Cross-Eyed Critters. Each holds an instrument. And it’s then that she realizes the music is coming from them. It’s an animatronic band. Their eyes and mouths move as they sing and their fabricated bodies turn and jerk with the beat. “What?” she asks again, completely dumbfounded. “What?”

Arthur too is speechless. Then he shakes his head and says, “It’s nothing a drink or two won’t make more palatable.” She snaps a photo on her phone and texts it to Garcia, who will surely get a kick out of it.

As they sit down, a voice announces a new song over the speakers. A slightly tipsy looking man in a pair of red cowboy boots comes to stand in front of the stage. He has a microphone. The animatronics begin to play the opening notes of a song, and then the man begins to sing. This is not just a bar with an animatronic band, it’s an animatronic karaoke bar. The man in the red boots belts out an uncomfortably off-key version of a Kenny Rogers song –“You’ve got to know when to hold ‘em, know when to fold ‘em, know when to walk away and know when to run!”– with just a little too much bravado.

“I think I’ll need that drink sooner rather than later,” Arthur admits begrudgingly. She has to laugh. This hotel, it seems is full of surprises. But the captain is right. When she receives a spiked cream soda and Arthur has a glass of bourbon and there’s a plate of tacos between them, it’s easier to tune out the karaoke band. She can just enjoy her drink and the light and the stories of Arthur’s first flights with the BAU that have her nearly in tears from laughing so hard. For someone who maintains such a serious demeanor most of the time, he knows how to tell a joke incredibly well. She’s always appreciated that about him.

“Y/N, there is something I wanted to talk with you about,” Arthur says. His tone changes and she knows the time for joking is over. “We need to discuss the IRT offer.” Before he can continue, her phone rings. She glances at the screen. It’s Penelope. Y/N sends it to voicemail. There will be time to discuss the disconcerting robot band later when she’s back in her room. Right now, she needs to focus on Arthur. She knows where this is going and he’s right. She can’t keep putting this off forever. She has to talk about this, and everything that it means.

“I’ve already made my decision,” she begins to say. But her phone begins to ring again, and her heart drops into her stomach. This isn’t about the picture. This is urgent. Arthur must realize it too. His eyes trail down to her phone and she hesitantly picks it up.

“It’s Garcia,” she tells him, before answering. “Hello?”

“Y/N, oh thank goodness you picked up.” The analyst’s voice is a little higher than usual, a little more strained. “It’s Reid. He’s in the hospital.”

#flight risk #fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #imagine #reid x reader #spencer reid x reader

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saltydean · 4 years

Text

Another ficlet! Was inspired to write more thanks to @definenormalifyoucan . Also on my AO3. Enjoy!

Title: Can’t Quit You

Description: Dean and Cas watch Brokeback Mountain because of course they do. The film brings out certain feelings in the pair, and they share an intimate moment.

“Alright Cas, this time I want you to pick the movie.” Dean said, raising his eyebrows and looking at Cas with a playful excitement on his face. “I think you’ve earned that much at least.”

It was early evening, and team free will 2.0 had taken a well deserved day off. Dean and Cas were lounging in the library, while Sam was paging through a novel he’d started a few days prior. Jack was nowhere to be seen; he’d spent all day watching TV in his room.

Cas was leaning back in his chair, looking at Dean with a familiar fondness. “Are you certain? I really don’t mind watching whatever you pick Dean.” Cas said. “I’ve always enjoyed your selection of movies.”

“No, no, this time you pick.” He affirmed. “You pick the flick and I’ll go on a beer run.” He got to his feet and patted his back pocket, confirming his wallet was present.

Sam didn’t look up. He was consumed by whatever it was he was reading, happy to be in his own world. It was because of this, or perhaps it was intentional, that he did not ask to be invited.

“Be back in a few” Dean said - walking past Cas, patting him on the shoulder and letting his hand trail across the angel’s back as he walked towards the stairs.

Nobody noticed the angel close his eyes and breathe in slowly, as he was caressed in this brief moment.

When Dean was gone, Cas stood and glanced over at Sam. “I’ll be in the Dean-Cave.”

Sam raised his eyes from the book that was clasped in his hands “Yeah, sure Cas. I’ll be here.” He flashed Cas a quick smile and returned his attention to the book.

Cas made his way to the Dean-Cave, and over to the laptop sitting next to the big flatscreen. He knew he wanted to put on a western, since they were Dean’s favourites. He browsed the downloaded movie titles, smiling to himself as he read ‘tombstone’. That was the last western they had watched together. He really got a kick out of witnessing Deans fanaticism of cowboys and gunslingers. He continued down the list. Silverado.. already watched. Magnificent 7..already watched. The next title was unfamiliar to him, but after reading the synopsis, he knew he’d found exactly the kind of thing he needed.

Not much longer after Cas had selected the movie and settled in, he heard the clink of beer bottles coming down the hall.

“Alright, got the beer, ordered the pizza..you pick a movie?” Dean said, his voice getting louder as he walked into the room. He placed the beer down on the coffee table and took off his jacket.

“Yes, I did”. Cas replied, taking off his trench coat and draping it over the back of his chair. “I’m continuing our western theme.”

Deans face lip up. “Atta boy Cas” Dean said with a grin. He popped the cap off his beer using the tables edge, took a long draft and abruptly stopped.

“Wait” He said seriously, with a hint of urgency in his voice, nearly spilling beer from his mouth.

Cas looked at him, visibly concerned. He tensed and moved to get up.

“What Dean? Are you-”

“Wait right here.” He interrupted, gesturing the angel to sit down. “You forgot something.” Dean stepped out of the room. Less than a minute later he returned, now donning a sleek Stetson and holding a cheap, more tacky cowboy hat in one hand.

He grinned sheepishly as he walked over to Cas and placed it on his head.

“Dean..” Cas said, exasperated. He adjusted the hat on his head.

“Thems the rules Cas, you know the drill.” He said and nodded to Cas with a goofy grin.

Knowing his queue, Cas stood and walked over to the laptop. He plugged in the HDMI like Sam had showed him, and with the barest of hesitations, clicked play.

Movie night was almost a ritual. The pair would drink beer, eat pizza, and get comfortable. It was a way to escape the hunter life for a few hours, and even if consciously unknown to them, it was an opportunity to bond and enjoy one another’s company. They always did this together, with a noticeable absence of Sam or Jack.

Cas retuned to his seat, and glanced over at Dean, waiting to see his reaction once he realized what movie he’d selected.

Dean, seeing the opening credits flushed slightly. “Y’know Cas when you said western this isn’t exactly what I thought you meant.” He said with a nervous chuckle.

Cas blanched. “I-I can change it..I didn’t-“

“No, no you picked it. And hey it is a western of sorts. Nothing wrong with .. you know” he awkwardly gestured to the TV with his beer in hand as the title Brokeback Mountain displayed on the screen.

Understanding that Dean was referring to the two cowboys, Cas nodded but didn’t turn his attention from Dean. He took in the lines of his face, the shape of his mouth, and his soul - oh the brightness and fullness of it. He noticed the hunter seemed nervous. Not uncomfortable exactly, more flustered. There was a redness in his cheeks, and Cas could feel an aura of longing emanating from him.

Dean shifted in his seat, thinking of whether or not Cas knew what the movie was about. Of all the choices, why this one? He stole a glance at the angel from the corner of his eye. Cas was watching him. His heart beat quickened and he felt the flush on his face deepen. What on earth was happening to him. It was only then that he noticed their two chairs were much closer together than last time they were here. Had Cas moved them? No, it must be his imagination.

Some time later, there was a knock on the door and it swung open. Sam stood in the door frame holding a flat box. “Pizza’s here guys.”

Dean and Cas looked up at Sam, both with embarrassed expressions on their faces, though Sam couldn’t figure out why. They appeared as though they’d been caught doing something they shouldn’t.

“Ah y-yeah thanks Sammy” Dean stammered.

Sam put the pizza down on the coffee table and glanced over at the TV.

Oh..

Don't try to fool me no more Ennis! I know what that means! Jack Twist... Jack Nasty!! You didn't go up there to fish, you and him...

Realization on his face, Sam asked incredulously “Are you guys watching Brokeback Mountain?”

Dean gave a shrug and an awkward, rather sheepish scoff.

“It was my choice.” Cas said, not bothering to explain anything further.

“Right..” Sam chuckled with raised eyebrows. “Don’t have too much fun, you two”. Before Dean could retort Sam had left, closing the door behind him a little harder than necessary.

Dean cleared his throat, directing his attention back at the cowboys on screen. “Typical Sammy” he said shaking his head. “Ruining the best part”. They dug in to the pizza.

The rest of the movie left Dean feeling a mix of emotions. He was trying to bury the thought of him and Cas in the cowboy’s places. Why did that keep flashing through his mind? Ridiculous. He fought harder to ignore the throbbing in his pants; and the mix of embarrassment, disbelief, and thirst he had. Though he had plenty of beer left..

The voice of cowboy Jack rang from the TV, interrupting his thoughts.

I wish I knew how to quit you

Eventually, the end credits started rolling. Dean’s eyes were glossy and he blinked away whatever might have been forming in them. He’d forgotten what a sad ending this move had.

“Hah, well there you have it Cas” he said gruffly, hiding the emotion he felt. “Good ol’..Brokeback Mountain”. Cas noticed Dean had said this with more bravado than warranted.

Dean eyed the angel where he sat, from the top of his head down to his feet, and back up again. Without realizing, he was biting his lip. He swallowed hard.

This nuance didn’t go unnoticed, however, and Cas tilted his head at the hunter. He got up from his seat taking off his cowboy hat as he rose, and tossed it rather aggressively on the cushion behind him. He stalked over to where Dean sat, moving with purpose. Dean could see the outline of his arms through the dress shirt. He looked so different without the trench coat on. Though, he wasn’t complaining.

Cas leaned over him, hands on the chairs armrests. His face was inches from Dean’s; his gaze piercing as though seeing right through him.

Feeling the heat from Cas’s body and breath on this nose, he flushed yet again.

“Cas what are you doing?” Dean choked, turning his face away from Cas, eyes darting in several directions nervously, trying to look anywhere but the face before him.

Cas removed Dean’s hat with one hand, and put his thumb and forefinger on Deans chin, to bring his face back to him. “I think we should..go fishing” he breathed, not breaking eye contact.

The stare continued as the hunter’s face transformed from confusion to realization. Dean gave the barest of nods, and his lips parted in a shaky exhale.

Cas closed the small gap between them, lightly brushing his lips across Dean’s. They were surprisingly soft. His forehead pressed against the hunter’s as he breathed him in.

Dean’s knees were weak and his heart was racing. He couldn’t take the tension anymore and without thinking, grabbed the angels tie and pulled his lips onto his own. They connected with a fierce and desperate desire. Cas moved his hand onto Dean’s neck, crushing their lips together harder. With his free hand he grabbed the front of Dean’s shirt and effortlessly lifted him from his chair, to a standing position.

Dean wrapped his arms around Cas, moving in closer. He could feel his hips press against the angel. His hands gripped the back of Cas’s shirt in bunches, trying to hold on to this moment. To his angel.

They barely breathed. Both could feel the other’s pants shifting, becoming tighter.

“Cas..” Dean breathed.

“Dean, I..” he began, breaking their kiss apart.

“My room” Dean said hoarsely. “Now.”

A small smile traced on Cas’s lips. “I don't care if you're moving slow or fast, as long as it's in my direction”.

#destiel #deancas #ficlet #brokebacknatural #movie night in the bunker #domesticdestiel

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destiel-love-forever · 5 years

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Pies, Music, & Cowboy Hats

The one where Sam helps Castiel seduce Dean with pie, music, and cowboy hats (& Dean is an oblivious idiot)

Read below or on AO3: Pies, Music, & Cowboy Hats

Pies, Music, & Cowboy Hats

Castiel figures out what love is by accident.

He’s sitting with Sam late one night in the bunker, the two of them sharing a drink, and Sam begins to talk about Jess. It’s rare he brings her up, but it’s been happening a lot lately. Castiel thinks it’s because they have a home now. They’re all settling into something permanent. Sometimes the conversation is somber, Castiel sitting quietly as Sam talks and cries. Other times, like tonight, the conversation is joyful. These are Castiel’s favorite. Sam lights up brilliantly.

As Castiel listens to Sam gush about Jess, he begins to make connections.

When Sam says: “I used to yell at her all the time because she would leave things everywhere. I’m serious, Cas. Everywhere. I’d find her sunglasses in the bathroom. A mug still half-full of coffee on top of the dryer in the laundry room. And her phone! She was always losing her phone. It drove me nuts, but it made me smile at the same time. I loved that about her. It was something I actually ended up missing after she died. No more little random reminders of her around the house.”

Castiel thinks: He’s always finding Dean’s things in the strangest of places. A knife on the edge of the pool table. His walkman in the dungeon. Porn magazines in the kitchen.

When Sam says: “Jess’ secret weapon was making me feel safe. I grew up scared every single second, ya know? I grew up knowing monsters were real. Knowing they were after us. Knowing that with every move, every new hotel room, every new hunt, my dad might not come home. Then my dad and Dean might not come home. Then the three of us not coming home. Jess was this constant safety. I could sit beside her and finally just breathe. Finally just be.”

Castiel thinks: He gave up everything, went against all that he believed in, for Dean. He had never felt more vulnerable or afraid. There wasn’t a plan anymore. There wasn’t order. Castiel had nothing to hold onto. Except Dean. Dean was his safety. He still is. Castiel can sit beside him and feel at peace. With Dean, Castiel learned how to just be.

When Sam says: “Whenever she walked into a room, my heart would race.”

Castiel thinks: Even as an angel, when his heart didn’t need to beat to live, Dean made it feel as if his heart was trying to escape his chest.

When Sam says: “The first time I kissed her, my entire world flipped into something good. Something worth living.”

Castiel thinks: I need to kiss Dean.

And he realizes, in that moment, that he understands what love is. For Castiel, it’s Dean.

----

Castiel knows what Dean loves, and he wants to make himself one of those things. He wants Dean to realize that his own definition of love is Castiel.

He plans. Sam helps.

----

Dean loves pie. So, Castiel learns to make it. The first time he does this, his blueberry pie catches fire in the oven, something Sam told him he didn’t know actually happened in real life. The second time he does this, Sam takes a bite of the apple pie and makes a face, then pulls out a long string. Castiel didn’t know he was supposed to peel the apples first. The third time, the crust of his pecan pie is soggy and underbaked. The fourth time, Castiel gets it right. The apple pie turns out golden brown and tasty. Castiel practices it two more times to make sure it’s perfect. Then he serves Dean the pie for dessert one night, after the three of them have eaten dinner.

Dean looks at it, his fork in his hand, then gives Castiel a strange smile. “Did you make this, Cas?”

“Yes.” Castiel feels himself blush, his least favorite part of being human now. “I learned how from videos online. They are your favorite, and I wanted to make you happy.”

“Oh.” Dean glances at Sam, then at the pie. “Thank you, Cas. I bet it’s delicious.”

Castiel scurries off to the kitchen before he can embarrass himself further. When he peeks out ten minutes later, Dean’s on his second piece of pie, grinning at Sam while they talk.

----

Dean loves classic rock. So, Castiel listens to as much as he can. Dean has a Pink Floyd shirt, so Castiel listens to every album they have. Whenever Dean and Sam argue about the radio, Dean talks about Led Zeppelin. Castiel looks them up on the internet. He begins to listen to the classic rock station in his car and bedroom. Castiel figures out favorite songs and favorite bands. Then, one night, he plays classic rock while him, Dean, and Sam are in the library doing research.

Dean looks up at Castiel as he walks away from the radio and sits back down. “Since when do you listen to this kind of music?”

Acting casual, Castiel shrugs. “For a while. This isn’t one of my favorites though. I like Pink Floyd, but this isn’t that great in my opinion.”

“What?” Dean closes his book and sits back in his chair, staring at Castiel in shock. “Do that again.”

“Do what again?”

“Talk - talk ‘bout Pink Floyd. Or somethin’ like that. About the music.”

Castiel gives him a confused look, but does as told. “Well, my favorite Pink Floyd song is Comfortably Numb. I know it’s kind of depressing, but most of their music is anyway. My favorite album of theirs is The Wall. It’s all about breaking the social order and sticking it to the man and, for obvious reasons, I enjoy that.”

The sound Dean makes in the back of his throat is unfamiliar to Castiel. The man leans forward, then back again. He licks his lips as his eyes scan every available inch of Castiel. Then he suddenly stands up and nearly runs out of the room. Castiel swears he hears him mumble under his breath, “He likes Pink Floyd.”

----

Dean loves cowboys. So, Castiel searches on the internet for [Cowboys Movies Two Men Love]

He finds a movie called Brokeback Mountain. It sounds rather good, so he buys it on their Amazon account. The first time he watches it, he finds himself in the bed sobbing after. He’s not just grieving for the characters, but grieving for himself. What if he and Dean never get together? Never finally take that step? Castiel can’t die without knowing what it feels like to kiss Dean Winchester. To at the very least look him in those bright green eyes and admit he’s in love with him.

Castiel watches the movie seven more times. By this point, he is determined. This is the end game. He’s sticking to this until he gets Dean. It doesn’t matter how long it takes.

He buys a cowboy hat and a harmonica, then sneaks one of Dean’s flannels from the laundry room, putting them both on and going into the living room where Sam and Dean are sitting watching TV.

Sam chokes when he sees him, turning his face away to hide the fact that he’s grinning ear to ear. Castiel had mentioned he watched Brokeback Mountain, but Castiel had not shared with him the rest of the plan.

He can’t wait to see Dean’s reaction.

When Dean glances away from the TV to look at Castiel, he does a double take. His eyes lock onto the flannel. It has a missing button toward the bottom. Dean’s never gotten around to sewing on a new one.

“Is that… my shirt?”

“Yes. It’s quite comfortable.” Castiel anxiously fiddles with the collar. “It goes great with my hat, too.”

“Your - yes. Your hat.” Dean clears his throat and smiles weakly. “You look great, Cas.”

“Thank you.”

Two days later, Castiel still in his cowboy hat and yet another of Dean’s flannels, they’re hunting a nest of vampires. They find out that the vampires are working with the werewolves in town, doubling the danger. Castiel puts his hands on his hips and sighs.

“You know friends, this is a god damn bitch of an unsatisfactory situation,” Castiel quotes, even adding a slight drawl to match the character from Brokeback Mountain.

Dean looks at him strangely, but agrees.

The next day, after they’ve handled the monsters and Dean has once again almost gotten himself killed, Castiel hovers over Dean on the motel bed and checks his injuries. His eyes burn. His cowboy hat starts to fall off.

“It kills me every time you get hurt,” Castiel admits, his voice trembling. “I wish I knew how to quit you.”

Dean recognizes the quote immediately. He blinks back his own tears as he tries to process what’s happening between them.

With a sad smile, Castiel fixes his hat and leaves the room.

It’s a week later that Castiel and Dean find themselves only inches apart on the couch. The TV is playing one of Dean’s favorite cooking competitions. They’ve been binge-watching it for hours, eating pizza and drinking beer. Sam is conveniently gone. He figured maybe Dean would crack if he was out of the bunker.

Halfway through an episode, Dean reaches up and takes Castiel’s hat off. When Castiel looks at him in both confusion and fear, Dean explains himself, putting the hat off to the side as he says, “This way you can actually sit back and relax. Sitting ramrod straight can’t possibly be comfortable.”

“Oh.” Castiel relaxes into the cushion, a smile pulling at his lips. “Yes. Much more comfortable. Thank you.”

Dean beams at him. “Of course.”

The two continue to stare at each other, just inches apart, and breathe. For seconds. For eternity.

Dean whispers, “I liked this. Tonight. It was nice.”

Despite not having his hat on, Castiel pulls out another quote. “Ya know it could be like this, just like this, always.”

Dean’s eyes flick to Castiel’s lips. Then he releases a soft laugh and pulls away. He stares at the TV for a few of the tensest seconds of Castiel’s life before launching to his feet and mumbling about needing another beer.

Throughout all of this, Castiel is playing the harmonica in the bunker. Morning, day, and night. He plays it while they do research. He plays it while Sam cooks dinner. He plays it while Dean washes Baby. He plays it when Sam and Dean are trying to sleep.

One night, a few days after the almost kiss in the living room, Castiel is playing his harmonica in his bedroom while Sam and Dean are at the map table talking strategy for a hunt. After two very long sighs, Sam finally looks up at his brother, points a finger in the direction of Castiel’s bedroom, and growls, “Fucking hell, Dean. Go kiss him before I take that harmonica and shove it up your ass.”

Dean sputters, his face bright red. He opens his mouth but Sam puts his hand up, shaking his head no. “Don’t even, Dean. I can not eat burnt pies, or listen to every fucking classic rock album, or watch Brokeback Mountain with him, or see that god damn obnoxious cowboy hat, anymore. I just can’t. For my sanity, brother, grow some balls and go be with him.”

----

Castiel is halfway through a song on his harmonica when Dean storms in, slamming the door behind himself. He rips the harmonica away from Castiel, knocks off the cowboy hat, and grabs Castiel’s face between his two strong hands. Dean’s never been very good with words, so he settles for the thing he knows he’s great at. He presses his lips to Castiel’s and kisses the hell out of him.

If you enjoyed this and/or my other work, please consider becoming a Patron to see everything I write early, to get access to exclusive bonus content, and to help support me so I can continue to write for all of you <3

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celebrate-diversity · 5 years

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Pride Month Movies: Brokeback Mountain

Okay, truth time: I’d never seen Brokeback Mountain.

I know. Renounce my gay card. I’m a sham.

It’s always been on the ‘to watch’ list…which turns into the ‘ill get around to it’ list….which turns into the ‘i know i should’ve by now but deep down i know I probably won’t’ list.

When the movie came out around 2005, I remember the Oscar buzz and watching it lose Best Picture to Crash. I remember kids at school talking about it in hushed voices. We’d all quote ‘I wish I knew how to quit you’ before an internet full of memes existed. I knew one of them mourned to a shirt on a hanger at one point.

The tragic romance has never been a genre I enjoy. Tragedy to show how much two characters love each other by making them suffer doesn’t float my boat. With that in mind, I steered clear of this one for a while.

So, cut to today. I’d like to formally apologize for my stupid ignorance going into this film. When the final scene cut to black I clapped alone in my apartment. I wanted to text everyone I know about how good it was before reminding myself that this film came out fifteen years ago. It’d be like saying ‘hey have y’all heard of this film called Star Wars? You should check it out!’

But really, Ang Lee hit this one out of the park. From the cinematography to the score to the details in sound design and lighting. I was enraptured from the first frame and how much of the story is set up in those first few minutes without a single word of dialogue. The way the film ages Jack and Ennis of 20+ years goes beyond hair and makeup to Jake Gyllenhaal and Heath Ledger’s insanely good performances.

And don’t even get me started on Heath Ledger in this. How a man can mumble so few words with a weathered stony face and make me cry like a baby is unreal. Maybe it’s good I was ignorant in 2005 because I would’ve marched on down to The Academy and slapped each member across the face for the fact that he lost Best Actor for this role.

The script uses dialogue only when necessary and so much of this story is told through the silences. The film’s tone and pacing is quiet on the surface but with a under-layer of lava that reflects that constant feeling of anxiety and internalized homophobia that is all too familiar to our community. My heart did not stop racing this whole movie. Is it tragic? Yes. But we witnessed the pockets of joy and peace. We witnessed characters accepting the reality they have to live in and making do with the time they have. It’s bittersweet and unfair. Or as Jack so eloquently put it:

So, Brokeback Mountain, my bad for side-stepping you all these years. This film deserves its place as a hallmark in queer film for its success and accolades. As we continue to blaze ahead into a renaissance of queer mainstream films, I hope more queer actors and storytellers get the chance to tell these stories.

Side note: I’d like to acknowledge the sheep for their incredible work on this film.

Side side note: I’d also like to acknowledge the river that sweeps away Ennis’ pot when he’s being a dick. That was some great comedic timing right there.

Pride Month Movies: 30 LGBTQ Films in 30 Days. This is by no means a comprehensive Best of or Top Rated list. It’s a collections of movies I’ve either been recommended, would like to shine light on, or feel are important viewings. I’m going to miss some obvious must-sees. We’re fortunate to have an ever growing library of queer cinema which makes it hard to pair down 30 in a month.

#lgbt film #30 days of LGBT film #queer film #pride month #brokeback mountain

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writerparijat · 4 years

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Joan Baez... An Epitome Of Grace. Why I think Her Life Can Inspire Many.

Source : Wikipedia

Speak Of Joan Baez and I am reminded of an angel. It hurts to know, not too many people know about her and those who know her hardly bother to remember her.

So, let’s begin. Who is Joan? Born, Joan Chandos Baez, an American singer, songwriter, musician and activist who began her career as a folk singer. Baez . has been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame on April 7, 2017.

When Joan was in love she gave it her all.

Remember the famous Quote, “I wish I knew how to quit you” from BrokeBack Mountain by Annie Proulx?

Not sure if she still is in love with the one man often mentioned as THE ONE in her life. But that didn't stop her from living a graceful life and she turned all the adversities she faced in LOVE into a greater form of love, LOVE FOR HUMANITY. She has displayed a lifelong commitment to political and social activism in the fields of non-violence, civil rights, human rights and the environment. Joan Baez wrote "The Story of Bangladesh" in 1971. This song was based on the Pakistani army crackdown on unarmed sleeping Bengali students at Dhaka University on March 25, 1971, which ignited the prolonged nine-month Bangladesh Liberation War. The song was later entitled "The Song of Bangladesh" and released in a 1972 album from Chandos Music.She used the power of her music as an activist to help the causes dear to her heart.

Source : open.spotify.com

Like many, when I read about her, I thought, “Oh! Poor her! Lost Her Love!” But then I saw her. And then I heard her voice...Ah! It touched me so deep, it shook me to the core. And I was forced to think, “Oh! Poor Him! Lost Her!!”

And please don’t jump the gun. I'm not judging anyone here. Simply talking about Joan Baez and all that affected her life. Many who think they are Twin Flames, or imagine, wish, desire, aspire to be one, fall badly for people who leave them out in the cold and then find it difficult to stand their ground. And why them alone? Many fall in love and hurt themselves enough anyway. So, I wanted to share her story as an inspiration for those who love and fall and end up badly hurting themselves. In love people often tend to lose themselves. But love is not to lose yourself in another but to find yourself in another.

That way you win both ways. Even if that another chooses to leave you out in the cold, you still have found yourself for company, so you can rise and shine again!

And yes, Joan never shied away from speaking her mind.

No more of my rambling here. Let her speak and as they say pictures speak a thousand words, so let them...

What She Wrote:

DIAMONDS & RUST

Source : web.colu.com

Lyrics

Well I'll be damned Here comes your ghost again But that's not unusual It's just that the moon is full And you happened to call And here I sit Hand on the telephone Hearing a voice I'd known A couple of light years ago Heading straight for a fall

As I remember your eyes Were bluer than robin's eggs My poetry was lousy you said Where are you calling from? A booth in the Midwest Ten years ago I bought you some cuff links You brought me something We both know what memories can bring They bring diamonds and rust

Well you burst on the scene Already a legend The unwashed phenomenon The original vagabond You strayed into my arms And there you stayed Temporarily lost at sea The Madonna was yours for free Yes the girl on the half-shell Would keep you unharmed

Now I see you standing With brown leaves falling around And snow in your hair Now you're smiling out the window Of that crummy hotel Over Washington Square Our breath comes out white clouds Mingles and hangs in the air Speaking strictly for me We both could have died then and there

AND THEN SHE ENDS IT WITH...

Source: MusixmatchSongwriters: BaezDiamonds & Rust lyrics © Chandos Music, Chandos Music Company, CHANDOS, INC.

A classic in its own right in my little understanding of things.

Why She Wrote :

The Reason. The Cause :

Source : kalw.org

Source : dylantoday.com

Source : thestar.com

Source : whosdatedwho.com

Source : njnnetwork.com

AND FINALLY... JOAN TODAY :

Source: cravingmusic.com

Source : telegrah.co.uk

Okay. Hope the pics truly spoke a thousand words...

And guys also listen to her version of “Forever Young!” Her voice brings tears to my eyes and overwhelms me each time I listen to her. This is a humble tribute to her life and her angelic voice. - PARIJAT

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petersshirts · 6 years

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Broken Hearts Club | tom holland

summary: tom and you have a huge fight and you start to ask yourself if this is worth all the pain

words: 1637

warnings: swearing and a bit of angst!!

a/n: this one shot is for @uglypastels Movie Night Writing Challenge I chose the line „I wish I knew how to quit you“ from Brokeback Mountain! I had already written this blurb but my laptop decided to delete all of this, so here I am, trying again… I hope you enjoy and as always, feedback is greatly appreciated! :)

my masterlist

„I can’t believe this!“ you grumbled out and ran up the last few steps to the shared apartment from your boyfriend, Tom and you. You tried to get the key in the keyhole when there were steps behind you, announcing the arrival from your boyfriend.

„Oh come on Y/N, it was nothing!!“ Toms’ voice was harsh and angry, just like you. You just rolled your eyes and finally opened the door to flee from the pressure that was filling the room. You slipped out of your jacket and shoes and walked into the living room with Tom right behind you.

„Could you at least listen to me?? I’m trying to make a point here and you’re just ignoring me!“ When he said those words, you immediately turned around to stand right in front of Tom. His face was red and he was breathing rapidly, a frown on his face.

„Okay I am listening! What the hell do you wanna tell me? That she just smiled at you and you weren’t even flirting?? I’m so sick of this Tom!!“ You spit the words in his face, trying to show him how hurt you were. Because what would you do when your boyfriend started to flirt with a random stranger on your date??

The night was perfectly planned - Tom had finally some free time from filming so he asked you on a date, just like the old times. The two of you had been together for around three years now and half a year ago, you finally moved into an apartment together. You saw each other a lot now but it was just a nice thing to get out and eat in a nice restaurant, just the two of us.

Until he started flirting with the waitress. She came over to get your order and she nearly drooled when she saw Tom. You just rolled your eyes, knowing that Tom didn’t care, until he started to smile at her and make jokes, just like he did when he talked to you.

You stayed calm for the whole night, not wanting to cause a scene in the restaurant but when you got home, you jus couldn’t let it go. You went out to spend time with Tom and not just watch him have his fun with a very very pretty girl. That you were jealous was probably an understatement.

Tom rolled his eyes and you huffed, hating how he was approaching this situation. You were always the bad one; making everything seem like it was oh so horrible. But in all honesty; all that you wanted was Tom for yourself. You were always so afraid that he would find somebody much better than you. Somebody who would always be by his side at his premieres and when he was feeling down.

But because you had a job that bonded you to your home, London, you were so afraid that Tom would let go of you one day. So all you had was your defence mechanism, trying so desperately to hang on to the love of your life.

You walked a few steps back, not leaving Tom out of your sight.

„You know, if you don’t wanna talk about this, fine. But don’t you come crawling into bed in the middle of the night cause this talk is definitely not over.“

„Oh come on, Y/N! There was nothing going on, I’m telling you! I was just being polite okay??“ Tom had raised his voice and the vein on his neck had popped, showing that he was getting really angry. But oh boy, you were just getting started.

„That’s not being polite!! You actually undressed her with your eyes right in front of me!! Like how low can you get??“ Tom groaned and ruffled his hair, You knew that he was getting annoyed but you just couldn’t let this go.

„Y/N, it’s always the same. You know that you’re the one for me, so would you just let it go??“

„No I’m not. And I have no idea how I will so please be my guest.“ You turned around and walked towards the bedroom cause you just couldn’t look into Toms’ eyes anymore.

„Oh but you’re completely innocent are you?? Whenever we’re out you make love eyes at every single damn guy you see, maybe you should get into their pants!“ Toms words boomed through the apartment and caused you to stop. Your breath had stopped and your thoughts were running wild, already searching for a comeback. You ran back into the kitchen to a flushed Tom.

„Just fuck off! Go to one of those girls, they would rather have you! They would just fall into your arms and you could do whatever the fuck you want with them!“ You didn’t mean those words but you wanted to hurt him as badly as he just did.

When the two of you fought, it was horrible. You just threw words at each other that you didn’t mean but you were just too hurt to admit that to the other.

Tom shook his head at your words and walked past you to the kitchen. You followed him with your arms crossed, like a lost puppy. Tom started rummaging in the kitchen and you heard him murmur:

„I wish I knew how to quit you.“

You gasped for air, not believing what he just said. Suddenly, tears started running down your cheeks when you realised what he meant. How he felt. You let out a sob, realising that this could be the end. Because of this stupid, stupid fight; just because the two of you were just too stubborn to talk about things and started screaming at each other instead.

Tom didn’t turn around when he heard your whine, but he had stopped looking for something. He started speaking up again,

„I wish I knew how we could not end up like this nearly ever week. I wish that there was a way to end this calmly but I’m too selfish.“ You looked up at his last words, feeling completely broken. So this was it. This was the end to a loving relationship you had always thought was the only one you would ever have. Because you knew that it was love. You loved Tom with all your heart and you couldn’t let him go. You just couldn’t.

Tom had turned around now, his cheeks stained from tears. But he wore a little smile on his face when he walked towards you and stroked your cheek. You just looked up to him, in his chocolate eyes you got lost in the first time you saw him.

You quietly whimpered, not knowing why he was smiling. Was he so happy that this was the end?

„Honey,“ Tom mumbled and slowly grabbed your chin so you had to continue looking into his eyes and not avert your gaze. You couldn’t answer, you only bit your lip and fought with your churning stomach.

„I love you, Y/N. Only you and I will not let you go. Not as long as you still want me here. Because you are the best thing that has ever happened to me and no fight could get me away from you.“ You sobbed again at his words, not believing what he had just said.

Toms smile got even bigger and he pressed his forehead on yours, your gazes locked.

„You are the one, baby. And you will always be.“

Your heart beated so fast you bet that he could hear it. You just stared at Tom, not realising what he was saying. Saying that he wanted you, needed you.

„R-really? Cause I don’t want this to be over either. Like never.“ You mumbled shyly and Tom grinned at you and slowly put his arms around your waist, pulling you even closer.

„It’s you and me baby till the end of the line.“ And with that, he softly pressed his lips to yours, getting a quiet moan out of you. In one second, all the jealousy had vanished and you felt home again. Your arms automatically wandered to the back of his neck and Tom smiled at the kiss, softly biting your bottom lip. You giggled at his playfulness, knowing why the two of you were together in the end.

Because there was only happiness when it was just the two of you; nothing could separate you. You had gone through so many problems through your relationships and you came out just fine every single time. Cause it was true and rare love that you were experiencing.

„I love you so much Tom.“ you mumbled between kisses and he only smiled and locked your lips together again. His hands were roaming down your back and in the next moment he grabbed your thighs and lifted you up. You squealed at his move and laughed, loving this side of Tom.

While Tom carried you in the bedroom to show you how much he loved you, you knew that he was the One. And even when there were fights, you would never stop loving him. You would never give this up because it was always worth it. Tom was worth it.

Permanent Taglist & some mutuals:

@smexylemony // @ive-got-more-wit // @lou-la-lou // @loxbbg // @seanna313 // @underoos-shield // @damnhisfaceisliketheskyatnight // @supernatural-strangerthings-1980 // @ixchel-9275 // @thejourneyneverendsx // @sideeffectsofyou // @peterpumpkinparker // @twilightparker // @h-osterfield // @holland-peters // @curlytoms // @fratboievans

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sapphic-kid-blog · 5 years

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the truth is.

Angela Salmeron

Imagine you’re me. You’re twelve and you’re at a family reunion. Family members sitting around you with Wisconsin-made beer turn from the Brewers game on the television and resort to the one question that you’ve been practicing how to answer in your head: “How’s school?” And truthfully, you’re not sure. So perhaps you respond: “It’s fine.” They nod their heads and you think you’re in the clear. But then they ask you: “What are you learning?” And before you know it they’re tacking on the end: “Any cute boys?”

Now I’m sure it varies from family to family, and I’m sure the questions vary in more or less intrusive. Maybe it was never asked, and maybe it was a family friend and not an uncle or cousin. Maybe it was asked but not directly, or enforced another way. But one question for me, stood tall and it stood out among the rest.

My brain was no longer thinking about what we talked about in Social Studies or the book we read in English. It was no longer thinking about the new formula we learned in Math, or the cycle of the ecosystem in Science. It was thinking about one thing, and the one thing that I had no idea how to talk about: romantic intimacy.

From the time I got my period at the end of 6th grade, to the time I finished high school, and even sometimes now, I thought I was the odd one out or the only one who wasn’t experiencing romantic intimacy the way others would. Not kissing or hand holding but even things as simple as a crush.

What I felt was embarrassment.

Firstly, I never really had crushes or really knew what they were. Friendships in a way felt like crushes to me, and when I had no idea what romantic or sexual intimacy was, I felt confused. So then, I stopped introspecting and I started observing.

The romantic relationships I saw were comprised of these aspects: wanting to be around a person, telling that person that you didn’t just like them but you like-liked them, and then saying that you now were exclusively partners or “dating”.

Most importantly: not only were those girls, who were mostly my friends, doing this but they were, as I noticed, only doing this with boys.

I followed suit.

Come the first day of band camp — set in a gym at one of the two middle schools in my small, conservative city. With my clarinet in hand, I watched as other girls talked about boys from different schools. I watched as they giggled and flocked in groups to discuss which ones they’d be excited to see in the starting 6th grade class coming up in a few months.

I saw the first tall boy, who was decently good looking, and told the girls around me: “He’s cute.” One of the girls turned to me and said, “That’s (let’s call him) Snazzlepants and there’s his twin, (and he’ll be) Fizzywizzy.” Quickly, I acted as though I was still not only interested, but now blown away by the look of this gangly preteen walking amongst the group of kids.

This was when everything I knew about myself would be different.

Luckily when the beginning of September rolled around, this boy was in my 6th grade house, also known as the set of students I’d be sharing a side of the middle school with. So as I eventually made friends, the more I had to absolutely drop the fact that I had a crush on a boy. I had to tell them that maybe it would happen between us because one time, I saw him looking at me (wasn’t true) and one time we brushed hands (definitely wasn’t true). They’d be dazzled, awe in their eyes, and I didn’t feel embarrassed, I felt included and important.

The more twisted I became in this lie, the more I had to not only convince others around me, but I had to convince myself. Not even the bullying from his friends after they all found out would stop me from speaking my lie aloud to anyone who wanted to hear it.

I spent the days either convincing myself and others that I absolutely loved him or crying because his friends would call me ugly or stupid and annoying over a lie that I was choosing to spread. But it was better than the alternative, of being singled out and feeling as though I was the only one who felt differently than the rest; it was better than admitting a lie.

This is the first time in my life I felt like I would rather die.

Growing up in my small city of West Bend, Wisconsin, was strange. The town as I knew it was mostly white and definitely a majority, conservative white. There weren’t many people who looked like my dad, dark-skinned, and Spanish speaking, and there weren’t many people growing up around me that I knew who were part of the queer community. But my family, especially my mom, were active in the Democrat party and sticking up for civil rights. I was lucky, I suppose in a lot of aspects to know that if I ever were to come out as anything other than cis and heterosexual, I would not be living on the streets.

However, being surrounded by a lot of religious friends, spewing the words of their parents, I quickly found out that not everyone was lucky the way I was. I found out that even though my parents taught me, gay was okay, not everyone felt the same. And not only did they not feel the same, they would hate someone specifically because they were queer identifying.

I traumatized myself with movies like Brokeback Mountain and Boys Don’t Cry, thinking if I too were to express myself that way, I would meet a violent end. The media told me, I would be hated if I were like them, made me believe that I would find the same fate. It was an ending worse than being alone.

Loving who I wanted to love, because of where I lived, was not an option. It was not even questioned as an option. And even though I hated myself, for telling a lie, for having to deal with the many shitty aspects of that lie, I would continue to tell that lie.

Moving on, I continued to have so-called “crushes” on boys. I continued to force myself into situations that I was uncomfortable in because I wanted to seem normal, and I wanted to seem like there was nothing gay about me. And so, the lie festered.

I ignored signs of my queerness, and forgot them or didn’t realize what they were. Stealing my dad’s PlayBoys, hiding them under my bed, searching “girls kissing” on YouTube, watching exclusively Lesbian porn only meant I was exploring other options, and though the only option that appealed to me was women, still, it didn’t have to mean I wasn’t straight. Maybe it wasn’t as complex or scary as my thoughts were telling me. So I told myself, it didn’t matter because I could choose. I chose heteronormativity.

When it came to high school and crushes in a more traditional sense, dating and going to dances, losing one’s virginity, I became angry. Not because I wasn’t doing it but because if I wanted to do it, I’d have to do it with a guy so to perpetuate the lie.

Getting rid of the last guy, I had moved on to another: one of my best friend’s boyfriends (who’re still dating). This had become a new trend since the stages after my first “crush”; only liking boys that your close friends liked. And I remember so clearly, stepping on so many toes, making so many of my friend’s angry, and pissed off at me. I remember desperately wanting attention, not just from boys but from anybody because I was so sad, and I didn’t know why.

This was the second time in my life that I wanted to die.

Now my journal is filled with pictures of prescription bottles, bleeding wrists, and rants about how I just wanted to go away. How I was so angry to be able to breathe rhythmically and have a working heart with a steady beat, mocking me and reminding me that I was alive and I had this pain inside of me that seemed to have no real source.

When I read back on my words, I am quite literally stunned by the anger, the hatred, and the wish for a violent death.

I was 18 when I realized what was different.

One of the first notable girls I had feelings for, changed literally everything. My life, my experiences in childhood, my views about myself, and so many more aspects of my personal life were all ultimately flipped upside down. I knew that this had to be what I was missing in all those years, even if I was still afraid to say it, or even think it. Up until now, romance had been dramatic, painful, gestures had been grand and demanding, and thoughts had been intrusive and obsessive. But now, romance was soft. It was gentle and uplifting, it was simple and it felt so much more palatable. Until I broke up with her on New Year’s Eve because I still just wasn’t gay— nope, not for me.

And then, I fell in love for the first time. I loved her voice, her eyes; I loved the way that she said my name. I loved her jokes and the way she made me laugh. I loved that no matter what, everything was comfortable with her. For the first time, I pictured myself in the future, being with someone and being happy.

Finally, I was able to admit to myself: yes, I love women, and the floodgates opened.

After my girlfriend and I broke up, I dated handfuls of girls (most of which, never lasted longer than a month) because still, intimacy was such an issue. Maybe, it wasn’t that I liked girls but maybe it was certain girls. Or maybe, I wasn’t pansexual, bisexual, queer, lesbian, or whatever I was identifying at the time, perhaps, I was straight and I just experimenting. It could be possible, I’d never know and maybe, just maybe, this confusion would always be there, no matter what I did.

I was tired; so tired of not knowing, and I just wanted answers.

There’s something funny about being a gay woman, that isn’t funny at all. It’s the fear of what your life would be like without men— it’s the shame of imagining what you’d feel without the demanding presence of men. It’s the lie that you can only be serious in relationships with men, have children with men, and your life and everything you know to be true, revolves around men. I couldn't picture myself loving women, without also loving men.

But someone else could.

My sister has always been a huge presence in my life. And one day we’d just happen to be feeling the single life, so the conversation between us starts with: “We’ll be alone forever, haha.”

What was so different about this conversation was her so sure statement to me that I’d definitely have a wife.

I turned to her and paused before asking, “Can you even picture me with a man? Or marrying a man?”

Her response, so simple and so true, was: “Nope.”

Identifying as a Lesbian, now more than ever, feels so right to me. It feels like an identity in which I belong to. It’s a part of me that I’m proud of and it’s a part of me that I can’t change, no matter how much I lie to myself. It’s a part of me I never realized was there until years and years of thinking there was something wrong with me. I am proud to love women. I am proud to have a woman in my life to love. I am proud of the relationship that gives me hope for the future. And I’m proud of other gay relationships that make me feel a sense of belonging and solidarity.

Of course, there are still struggles: the question if I’m gay enough to have my sexuality be validated, if other people can sense I’m gay, if I’ll be safe, secure, and happy. And there definitely still are some shameful doubts, some questions which make me wonder if some people in my life who know I’m gay, resent me for it. I wonder if there are people in my family, who know, and are too afraid of me to express not only tolerance but support. I wonder if there are some who wouldn’t come to my wedding.

In the end, I sometimes wonder if it’s all worth it.

And then I hear powerful and inspiring stories from other members of the queer community, I see their faces shining for me and people like me to be represented.

And then I remember seeing my uncles love each other so endlessly.

And then I hear her voice, and know without a fraction of a doubt that it’s worth it.

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reivenesque · 6 years

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Meet the Parent, Part Deux Chriseva One-Shot

Written for this prompt/request for @whyjulieandemhatesevamohn

It was a very weird and very unnerving déjà vu. At least that’s how it seemed to Eva.

Every time she’d make a promise to herself that this will be the last time; this will be it. She was going to walk out the door and not look back. After all, was there really anything to look back on? Chris was always going to be Chris and she was always going to be Eva. There would come a point where their too different personalities would just cancel each other out and they’d end up hating even the mere sight of one another.

She had just watched the movie Brokeback Mountain the other night and the quote ‘I wish I knew how to quit you’ described her predicament really quite accurately.

It also explained why they ended up leaving Sana’s Eid party early the day before and found themselves stumbling back to Chris’s house after they realized that neither of them had brought enough money to check into a hotel as had been their original plan.

This hadn’t been Eva’s plan for weekend though: ending up half naked in bed with the one person she kept trying to put behind her.

It wasn’t going to work; Chris was too volatile and she was too neurotic, their bad habits would eventually get in the way and they’ll end up fighting and hating each other and regretting the prime of their youth spent on a relationship that was doomed to crash and burn.

Eva knew she was being overly dramatic, but if life thought her anything, it was that if you expect the worst at any given time, anything less wouldn’t be too bad an outcome.

Chris had beautiful eyelashes though, that was for damn sure.

Eva almost hated the fact that he was so pretty and that he was so nice to her; the way he always had the look of someone staring at something amazing whenever he looked at her because she didn’t know how to respond to that.

She was used to allowing teasing and put-downs to roll off her back like water, it still hurt, but eventually it just became the norm and that was okay. She considered it penance for the bad things she herself had done to others.

But sleeping Chris was slightly more tolerable than awake-Chris. At least he wasn’t looking at her with a gaze that was filled with awe and expression of utter infatuation. It was weird and it made her feel awkward and she kept trying to make him stop; to push him away, but nothing she did worked. No matter how much she denied him, no matter how many times she called him an incorrigible fuck-boy and tried to pass it off as a joke, he always just laughed it off and let it roll off his back in a way that was too painfully familiar until one day she woke up and realized that she was doing to him exactly what people had done to her.

It was a hurtful realization and a pretty sobering one.

“Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” said the voice still rough from sleep and followed by a cheeky grin.

“How long have you been awake?” asked Eva, trying not to show how startled she was on the inside as she reached over to smack him on the arm, “Asshole.”

Chris finally cracked open his eyes to look at her. His eyes were still heavy lidded with sleep and glassy, blinking rapidly trying to focus his gaze, but still he was looking at Eva like a person watching the sun rising from behind the mountains.

“A while,” he said, stretching his limbs. “I felt your eyes and me and I thought what kind of guy stays asleep when they have a gorgeous lady lying less than a foot away staring at them? I would be an insult to the fuck-boy name.”

Eva chuckled. “You’re not –” she started, before stopping herself. She didn’t know where she was going with that but it was definitely not something she wanted to say aloud, at least, not yet.

“I’m not what?” he asked, readjusting his head on the pillow, inching close to her side of the bed.

“Nothing,” said Eva, trying to change the subject by reaching over to place her hand on the curve of Chris’s waist, above his hipbone. It definitely did the job because Chris let out a shuddering breath and immediately forgot about his own question.

“You’re such a tease, Eva, I really underestimated you.”

“Did you now?” she asked with a small grin. “You know, I –”

“Chris?”

All of a sudden there was an unfamiliar voice calling out Chris’s name from somewhere down the hall. Neither of them had time to react before the door to Chris’s room slid open and in walked a woman Eva had never met before.

Both of them immediately shot up into a sitting position, with Eva pulling the blanket clean out of Chris’s grasp and hoarding it all to herself. She was still covered from the waist up with a plain white t-shirt, but that seemed to be her automatic survival instinct kicking in.

“Mom!” exclaimed Chris, half leaping up off the bed and moving to… Eva wasn’t sure what he was moving to do because his mom had already seen them in bed together, there was no hiding her presence by that point. “What are you doing back? I thought you and dad were gone for the weekend?”

“Oh… uhm…” His mom seemed unsure of how to react or where to focus her attention in that moment. She glanced at Eva then back and Chris and didn’t know whether to answer his question or ask one of her own undoubtedly pressing ones. “The dog got sick and we felt that… we decided to – uhm –” she couldn’t seem to be able to keep her eyes from periodically glancing over at Eva, “– cut the trip short – and, uh... who might this be, Chris?” She asked finally.

Eva nearly leapt to her feet the same way Chris had done just moments ago, wrapping the blanket around herself in a way that brought on a second bout of déjà vu. She waddled her way over to where Chris was standing near his mom and ended up doing some kind of nervous, awkward half-curtsy. She didn’t know whether to introduce herself, the way Chris had done when he met her mom, or wait for him to introduce her – the way Chris had not done when he met her mom.

“Eva,” she said quickly; hoping her face didn’t look as red as it felt. “I’m – uh… we were just – uh…”

“Eva?” His mom repeated, looking thoughtful, like she was wracking her brain trying to figure out whether she’d heard that name before. “You’re Chris’s girlfriend?” she asked suddenly and Eva was sure that her face was definitely as red as it felt at that point; though she took great comfort in the fact that when she glanced over at Chris, he looked just as embarrassed as she felt on the inside. It was a far cry from the Chris she’d come to know and –

– And what? That was the question.

“Mom,” said Chris, sounding uncharacteristically chagrined as he addressed her.

Eva decided in that moment that perhaps she’d have a little fun at his expense for once, so she said, “Maybe,” just as Chris protested with an almost stuttered denial.

He got about half way through his words before he stopped abruptly and turned to gape at Eva. “Hang on… what?”

Eva tried not to grin too wide at his reaction. She didn’t even turn to look at him as she continued to address his mom; feeling strangely braver on the inside than she ever thought possible. “I mean… we’re getting there,” she said.

The gob smacked look on Chris’s face was definitely worth the price of admission alone.

“Well…” said Mrs. Schistad, looking between Chris and Eva. “I’ll leave you two to your – whatever it is. I’ll go help your father with the dog,” she said, backing out slowly and walking out the door, pulling it gently close and plunging the room into an awkward silence.

– That was quickly broken by the sound of Eva’s laughter.

Chris on the other hand looked far less amused and far more confused. “Was that a joke?” he asked.

“I guess you’ll have to find out, won’t you?” said Eva, pushing Chris backwards towards the bed and shoving him unceremoniously back onto the mattress. “Consider it – sweet revenge,” she said, unravelling herself from the blanket she’d wrapped around her and throwing it aside.

Chris flopped down onto the mattress and the lay there confused for a solid second before he seemed to catch on to what was going on. “I guess I can live with that, girlfriend,” he said.

“Maybe,” Eva replied, propping herself up on the mattress on one knee, straddling Chris’s legs between her thighs. “Now,” she said, leaning down with her arms stretched out on either side of Chris’s head, “Love me.”

The end.

#chriseva #mohnstad #chris schistad #eva kviig mohn #skam #reiven fics #reiven skam fics

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deanssweetheart23 · 7 years

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Something Stupid (Like I Love You)

Title: Something Stupid (Like I Love You)

Summary: Dean didn’t think he could ever be jealous over someone who’s not his. He was wrong.

Author: deanssweetheart23

Characters: Dean Winchester x reader, Sam Winchester (mentioned), OMC.

Word count: 2014

Warnings: Not much. Tiny bit of fluff, some angst and a whole lot of language (because we all know that Dean and the f-word go together). Jealous Dean, I guess?

Author’s Notes: This is my sumbission for @death2thevirgin “Cassie Classic Challenge”. Cassie, congratulations on your milestone and thank you for letting me participate. I loved working on this one.

Also, I’d like to thank my amazing twin @ravengirl94 for her insightful comment on part of the dialogue -which was really needed- and some general advices about the beginning. Twin, YOU’RE THE BEST!

Now. My prompt for this was “I wish I knew how to quit you” from Brokeback Mountain and is included in bold in the text below. (This is written entirely from Dean’s POV)

The tiny bar was crowded, filled with smoke and hundreds of conversations narrated in loud voices, brightened only by some old bar lights. Rock music blasted through the jukebox and people around Dean laughed and danced and talked in an annoying cheerful manner.

And he… Well. He absolutely hated it because there was nothing to be cheerful about.

Swirling the amber liquid in his glass, he let the alcohol burn down his throat, eyes focused on the fascinating girl that was sitting a few tables away from him.

She was beautiful in that old Bad Company T-shirt that had once been his, head thrown back and eyes twinkling as she laughed at something the blue-eyed man next to her had said. She looked happy and engaged in a conversation with a man that wasn’t him and he knew, no matter how much it pained him to admit it, that she wouldn’t be heading back to their table anytime soon.

And part of him realized that it shouldn’t bother him. He realized that he had no right to be jealous and that Y/N was free to do as she pleased but the sight of her so close to another man, laughing at his stupid jokes and looking at him like he was the moon and the stars hurt him. Because only minutes earlier she had been chuckling at his antics, arm brushing up against his and bright, wide smile playing at the corners of her lips ever every time she caught him staring.

And he wasn’t being possessive. Or, at least, not entirely. Surely, he hated the idea of someone else putting their hands on Y/N, abhorred the mere possibility of that asshole kissing her, tracing soft skin and curves with his fingers, doing all the things Dean wished he could but knew he’d be never able to.

And yet, he was aware that she wasn’t his to begin with.

No.

What really bothered him was knowing that that guy, the one that was practically undressing her with his eyes and would never know her like Dean did, was, in fact, the person that could give her everything the green-eyed man couldn’t, the person that had a chance to be with her in a way he could only dream of on the nights he had had too much to drink and allowed his mind to wander to such places.

So, he pretended to listen as Sam talked about a case he’d caught wind off, pretended to smile charmingly at the waitress when she came to see if he needed anything else, and tried to ignore the way his stomach churned and how white hot range pierced through his gut like gas poison every that that douche grazed her skin with his filthy hands.

But he’d had more than just a couple of drinks that night and the alcohol along with the obscene jealousy cracked a hole in the walls he’d spent years crafting up.

So, when Blue Eyes leaned in, mouth dangerously close to hers, he slammed his glass on the table, stood from his chair without thinking and was next to her in a second, hand closing around her upper arm.

“Dean, what-”

“We’re leaving.” He growled, pushing her out of the chair in aggravation.

“But I thought-”

“I said we’re leaving.” He repeated through gritted teeth.

Y/N opened her mouth to speak, but he ignored her, turning to the man that was looking at him in irksomeness.

“Sorry, man. Guess you’ll have to use your hand tonight.”

And then, he was dragging Y/N out of the bar and into the cool dark night, moving between pools of streetlight as she struggled against his grip and yelled at him in frustration, a venom in her voice that had never been there before, no matter how pissed at him she was.

“What the hell was that about?”

Instead of replying, Dean growled and kept walking, discounting the passers-by that were eyeing them in bemusement blended with suspicion.

It only egged her on.

“Hey. I’m talking to you.” Still no response. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Letting out a loud groan, he stopped to look at her, grip incredibly tight around her wrist.

“What am I doing? What are you doing, Y/N?”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. That guy in there? You can do so much better than him.” He spat, holding one arm away from his side. “I mean, come on! Putting his hands on you like that? You hate that sleamy shit.”

She chuckled humorlessly, clenching her jaw.

“Right.” she breathed out. “Of course, you’d say that.”

“Of course I’d- what’s that supposed to mean?”

“That I’m sick and tired of you treating me like a child, Dean.” She snapped, face blazing with anger. “I’m not ten anymore. In fact, I’m a grown ass woman and I don’t need you to protect me. So, just back off and mind your own damn business.”

Her words came out harsh, a masterful stab in a heart that was already bleeding out for her, a heart that had her name woven on it through love and tears and adoration.

He winced, eyes closing shut for just a second.

“You don’t mean that.” He whispered.

Sighing, she huffed air through her nose, not quite a laugh.

“I… You know what, just leave it alone.” She said, turning her back to him.

“No, I’m not -hey, where are you going?”

“Back in the bar. Someone has to apologize for that attitude of yours, you know.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” He chanted, fingers wrapping around soft skin again in an instant.

“Jesus Christ, you jackass. Let go of my hand.”

“No.” he spat, jaw set and eyes narrowed on her. “You and I are going back to the motel room.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Yes, we are.”

“You’re an ass, you know that? You’re willing to screw everything in a skirt but God forbids I go back home with someone I like.”

“That’s not what this is about and you know it, Y/N.” He howled, the muscle of his jawline twitching dangerously.

“Then what is it about, huh?”

He looked at her, mind brimming with what ifs and shouldn’ts.

“You don’t want to know.”

“I don’t want to know? I just asked you, Dean, so you can bet your-”

“Dammit, Y/N, he was going to kiss you.”

The words were out of Dean’s mouth before he had the chance to stop them and all he could do was curse under his breath and ran his fingers through his hair once they were already spoken.

She didn’t seem to notice.

“Well, yes, Dean.” She snickered. “People that are attracted to each other tend to do that.”

“I didn’t want him to kiss you.”

“You -what?”

She was confused now, brows furrowed together and head titled to the left, and he was already regretting this, already hating on himself for saying too much.

Drawing a deep breath, he ran a hand over his face.

“Nothing.” He lied, wetting his lips. “Just… Forget about it.”

“Oh, no. You don’t get to say crap like that and expect me to just forget about it.” She accused, brandishing a finger at him.

His heart clenched painfully in his chest. He hated fighting with her, loathed it more than anything in the world, but he’d already put his foot in his mouth for the night and he had to live with the consequences.

So, he shrugged nonchalantly and let go of her hand in faux indifference, ready to upset her, to get her mad and yelling, to do anything just to push her away from him.

“Whatever, Y/N.”

“Whatever?” she repeated, voice laced with disbelief. “Whatever? You can’t just- for God’s sake, Winchester, what is your fucking problem?”

“My fucking problem?” he bellowed, dam breaking as he looked at her hardened expression. “My fucking problem is that I fucking love you.”

It came out in a howl, frustrated and rushed and gruff, almost too gruff, words that had been left unspoken for years making their way into the navy sky.

“My fucking problem is that I have to stop myself from kissing you every single goddamn day because I don’t fucking deserve you. My fucking problem is that every time I spent the night with someone, I wish it was you. My fucking problem is that I can’t get you out of my fucking head and I don’t even want to try, Y/N. My fucking problem,” he whispered, managing a sad smile that wobbled right off, “is that I wish I knew how to quit you. But I don’t.” he breathed in, voice wavering. “And, God, sweetheart, I can’t.”

Silence.

Nothing but the sound of crickets, of vibrant voices, laughing, talking, bickering, nothing but the sound of his own heart beating wildly within his chest traveled through the cool evening air.

Somehow, that made everything scarier.

“I don’t want you to quit me.” She whispered at last, so soft and low he might have missed it.

He stared at her then, taking in wet eyelashes and smudges of pink on her skin that hadn’t been there before.

“You…?”

“Do you know what it’s like to watch someone you’ve been in love since you were a kid,” she started, scraped and a bit chocked, big, sad eyes locking into his, “keep you just out of reach all the time? Do you know what it’s like to live with him and have him smile and wink at you and know that he loves you but not in the way you want him to?”

“Sweetheart-”

“I don’t want you to quit me.” She repeated, biting her bottom lip.

And, suddenly, all those endless nights they’d spent huddled up together after a hunt, all the soft looks and the gentle touches when she patched him up, the smiles and the twinkling in the eyes and the off-handed comments about his escapades with other women, everything made sense.

“God, we’re so…” he shook his head, a nervous chuckle escaping him as his fingers ran through his short locks. “C’mere, kid.”

She nodded and he met her halfway, hands threading into the hair above the nape of her neck like they’d always belonged there, forehead pressed against hers as her hands slid up his arms gingerly.

He laughed, breathy and loose, drunk on the closeness and the things she was making him feel and her touch and her.

“I’m such an idiot.” He whispered, clasping her cheek tenderly.

“We both are.” she muttered, leaning close enough for him to taste the beer she’d been drinking earlier.

“Jesus, I wanna…” he paused, eyes drifting to her lips. “Can I-?”

“You better.”

He sighed in relief and ducked in, mouth pressing against hers gently, warm and delicate until he couldn’t help it and grinned into the kiss, then pulled back to look at her, eyes bright and alive.

She was smiling at him, cheeks heated and lips pink and so inviting and he growled low at the back of his throat, one arm wrapping around her waist.

“Last warning.” He whispered, wrecked and rough against her ear.

“Mmmm?” she hummed, nuzzling into his chest.

“If I kiss you one more time, I’m never letting go again.”

“Well,” she grinned, sparkling gaze drifting over the freckles on his face, “I think I can live with that.”

He beamed at her -actually beamed, green orbs studying the slim Y/E/C rings in her eyes, the flecks and specks of color in them, and then his lips found hers once more, and he was finally kissing her like he’d always wanted, slow and thorough, mouth opening hers, tongues dancing together, sweet and bitter tastes blending as she gave everything right back, baring her soul to him like no one has ever done before.

And Dean tasted everything, the love and the longing and the guilt and the pain, and he wondered, there, in the middle of the street, with the stars and the moonlight as witness of that newfound connection, God, he wondered how he could have been so blind.

Tags: @jpadjackles @supernatural-jackles @ravengirl94 @imagining-supernatural @impala-dreamer @becs-bunker @pickupthatamulet @percywinchester27 @winchestersnco @wordstothewisereaders @sgarrett49 @myrabbitholetoneverland @iwriteaboutdean @spngeronimo @ruprecht0420 @captainemwinchester @mogaruke @imissyoualittlemoreeveryday @wellthatsrandomkek @jayankles @escabell @trexrambling @winchesters-flannels @kathaswings @akshi8278

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #jealous dean #CassieClassicsChallenge #dean winchester #dean winchester angst #spn insert #reader x dean winchester #dean x y/n #dean x you #you x dean #you x dean winchester #spn angst #spn fluff #jealous dean x reader

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pinkxvelvet · 4 years

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literally why am i not over this lol. why am i still so sad like it jus happened. let me move on why am i still so hung up on you

#*brokeback mountain voice* i wish i knew how to quit you

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brittanyyoungblog · 6 years

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Declarations of Love: Quotes from Books, Movies, & More

Maybe it happens after running through an airport; while standing in the rain; at a big family dinner; or in front of the whole class, office, or press conference… Wherever or however it happens, we all know that moment in a book, movie, or TV show, because it’s the one we’ve been waiting for. It’s the moment everything has been building up to—the inevitable declaration of love.

The ‘I love you’ moment in books, movies, TV, and more come in many different shapes and sizes. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s sad, sometimes it melts your heart and other times it makes you tear up. (Admit it, just a little.) But it’s always romantic.

So for those of you who live for those swoon-worthy moments where one character puts it all on the line, here’s a collection of some of the best declarations of love. From the long speeches to the one-liners, you’ll find something to make you sigh and maybe even inspire your own declarations.

1. Harry’s New Years’ Eve Speech from “When Harry Met Sally”

I love that you get cold when it’s 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you’re looking at me like I’m nuts. I love that after I spend the day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it’s not because I’m lonely, and it’s not because it’s New Year’s Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible.

2. Henry Miller’s Intense Confession to Anaïs Nin from his August 14, 1932 love letter

Anais, I only thought I loved you before; it was nothing like this certainty that’s in me now. Was all this so wonderful only because it was brief and stolen? Were we acting for each other, to each other? Was I less I, or more I, and you less or more you? Is it madness to believe that this could go on? When and where would the drab moments begin? I study you so much to discover the possible flaws, the weak points, the danger zones. I don’t find them—not any. That means I am in love, blind, blind. To be blind forever!

3. John Thornton’s Declaration to Margaret Hale from “North and South” by Elizabeth Gaskell

‘I choose to believe that I owe my very life to you—ay—smile, and think it an exaggeration if you will. I believe it, because it adds a value to that life to think—oh, Miss Hale!.. to think circumstance so wrought, that whenever I exult in existence henceforward, I may say to myself, ‘All this gladness in life, all honest pride in doing my work in the world, all this keen sense of being, I owe to her!’ And it doubles the gladness, it makes the pride glow, it sharpens the sense of existence till I hardly know if it is pain or pleasure, to think that I owe it to one—nay, you must, you shall hear’—said he, stepping forwards with stern determination—’to one whom I love, as I do not believe man ever loved woman before.

4. Jerry’s Living Room Speech from “Jerry Mcguire”

Hello? Hello. I’m lookin’ for my wife. Wait. Okay… okay… okay. If this is where it has to happen, then this is where it has to happen. I’m not letting you get rid of me. How about that? This used to be my specialty. You know, I was good in a living room. They’d send me in there, and I’d do it alone. And now I just… But tonight, our little project, our company had a very big night—a very, very big night. But it wasn’t complete, wasn’t nearly close to being in the same vicinity as complete, because I couldn’t share it with you. I couldn’t hear your voice or laugh about it with you. I miss my… I miss my wife. We live in a cynical world, a cynical world, and we work in a business of tough competitors. I love you. You complete me.

5. Darius’s Urgency from “Love Jones”

Let me tell you somethin’. This here, right now, at this very moment, is all that matters to me. I love you. That’s urgent like a motherfucker.

6. Gilbert’s Sweet Admission to Anne from “Anne of the Island” (Anne of Green Gables #3) by L.M. Montgomery

I have a dream… I persist in dreaming it, although it has often seemed to me that it could never come true. I dream of a home with a hearth-fire in it, a cat and dog, the footsteps of friends—and you!

7. Noah’s Outburst by the Car from “The Notebook”

It’s not gonna be easy. It’s gonna be really hard. We’re gonna have to work at this every day, but I want to do that because I want you. I want all of you, forever, you and me, every day. Will you do something for me, please? Just picture your life for me? 30 years from now, 40 years from now? What’s it look like? If it’s with him, go. Go! I lost you once, I think I can do it again. If I thought that’s what you really wanted. But don’t you take the easy way out.

7. Jack Gets Honest from “Brokeback Mountain”

Tell you what, we coulda had a good life together! Fuckin’ real good life! Had us a place of our own. But you didn’t want it, Ennis! So what we got now is Brokeback Mountain! Everything’s built on that! That’s all we got, boy, fuckin’ all. So I hope you know that, even if you don’t never know the rest! You count the damn few times we have been together in nearly twenty years and you measure the short fucking leash you keep me on—and then you ask me about Mexico and tell me you’ll kill me for needing somethin’ I don’t hardly never get. You have no idea how bad it gets! I’m not you… I can’t make it on a coupla high-altitude fucks once or twice a year! You are too much for me Ennis, you sonofawhoreson bitch! I wish I knew how to quit you.

8. Mr. Rochester’s Speech from “Jane Eyre” by Charlotte Brontë

I have for the first time found what I can truly love—I have found you. You are my sympathy—my better self—my good angel; I am bound to you with a strong attachment. I think you good, gifted, lovely: a fervent, a solemn passion is conceived in my heart; it leans to you, draws you to my center and spring of life, wraps my existence about you – and, kindling in pure, powerful flame, fuses you and me in one.

9. The Hour in the Boathouse from “A Fisherman of the Inland Sea” by Ursula Le Guin

I found out I was in love with you, winter before last… I wasn’t going to say anything about it because—well, you know. If you’d felt anything like that for me, you’d have known I did. But it wasn’t both of us. So there was no good in it. But then, when you told us you’re leaving… At first I thought, all the more reason to say nothing. But then I thought, that wouldn’t be fair. To me, partly. Love has a right to be spoken. And you have a right to know that somebody loves you. That somebody has loved you, could love you. We all need to know that. Maybe it’s what we need most. So I wanted to tell you. And because I was afraid I was afraid you thought I’d kept away from you because I didn’t love you, or care about you, you know. It might have looked like that. But it wasn’t that.

10. J.D.’s Confession from “Scrubs”

Look Elliot, every year we bounce around this thing, and I never had the courage to stand up and tell you how I feel: I’m crazy about you, and I want you to know if I had the choice of hanging out with anyone in the entire world or sitting at home with you eating pizza and watching a crappy TV show, I’ll choose you every time.

11. Captain Frederick Wentworth’s Declaration from “Persuasion” by Jane Austen

I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago. Dare not say that man forgets sooner than woman, that his love has an earlier death. I have loved none but you.

12. Augustus’ Shout Into the Void from “The Fault in Our Stars” by John Green

I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things. I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.

13. Mark Darcy’s Just as You Are from “Bridget Jones’ Diary” by Helen Fielding

I don’t think you’re an idiot at all. I mean, there are elements of the ridiculous about you. Your mother’s pretty interesting. And you really are an appallingly bad public speaker. And, um, you tend to let whatever’s in your head come out of your mouth without much consideration of the consequences… But the thing is, um, what I’m trying to say, very inarticulately, is that, um, in fact, perhaps despite appearances, I like you, very much. Just as you are.

14. Meredith’s Choose Me Speech from “Grey’s Anatomy”

Okay, here it is. Your choice, it’s simple, her or me. And I’m sure she’s really great. But Derek, I love you. In a really, big really big pretend to like your taste in music, let you eat the last piece of cheesecake, hold a radio over my head outside your bedroom window, unfortunate way that makes me hate you… love you. So pick me. Choose me. Love me.

15. Valmont’s Defense from “Dangerous Liaisons” by Christopher Hampton (based on his play that was based on the novel by Choderlos de Laclos)

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