#also i would add a mechanic that if you do the kiss emote while standing beside him

[majormeilani]

havin an oc moment bc i've been thinking about it for a while now.

but if cassidy had a few levels in the game, they'd be the only levels when the little tiny crows wouldn't be hostile to the player because he would tell them not to attack you (he's friendly with most of the crows and caw agents)

[inkykeiji]

i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back

character: dabi | todoroki touya

notes: stepcest (kind of—ur parents aren’t married yet) with dabi-as-touya x a very naïve and inexperienced reader, normal!AU (no quirks, dabi also has tattoos over his scarred + fully healed skin), university!reader, implied yakuza!dabi, excessive use of the words niichan and good, praise kink, fingering, face fucking, title credit = save that shit by lil peep lmao  uhhhh yeah i hc dabi as a very intelligent and perceptive individual soooo i feel like he’d be a master at reading a person & their emotions and then adapting his manipulation techniques

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), noncon/dubcon, slight somnophilia, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, size difference, slight degradation, mentions of drug use

words: 7.1k

part 2.1 | part 2.2

synopsis:

“You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, when you lay awake in your bed, you’ll feel ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

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Your dad’s been dating Rei for a while—nearly a year, now—when things begin to get serious, and he proposes to her.

She accepts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when she suggests you guys move in with her—she’s got more than enough space, she tells you, it’s just her and her son in that big old house—and your dad seems pretty thrilled about it. This was the next step before marriage, after all.

You like Rei well enough, she’s always been nothing but sweet to you, and anyway, your father’s relationship really isn’t any of your business or concern.

It isn’t that you don’t want to move in with her—her house is in a better part of the neighborhood, a standard detached upper-middle class home, and just a short walk from a bus stop that’ll take you directly to university, which you start in a week.

It’s just…You’re a little apprehensive.

You know she has kids. She mentions them in passing every once in a while, but you can’t for the life of you remember their names, or their ages, or how many of them there are. You know they don’t all live with her, that her relationship with her ex-husband is complicated and rocky at best.

But you’re still surprised to hear that only one of them, her eldest, lives with her. She tells you he’s five years older than you are, that he’s a clever, smart boy, going off on a tangent about how disappointed she is that he didn’t go to university, because ‘he would’ve done so well—he could’ve shone so brightly.’ Something about the way she says that, the way her voice sounds almost sad, makes anxiety turn to lead in your stomach. She talks about him as if he’s already a lost cause, but he’s only in his mid-twenties, isn’t he?

You understand the moment you see him. The man standing in front of you as you shift from foot to foot unsurely in the foyer of this unfamiliar house is about as far from what you anticipated as he could possibly be.

He’s tall, skin pale as moonlight, with jet black hair and the most stunning blue eyes you’ve ever seen. But that isn’t what captivates you. It isn’t the lip ring curled around his bottom lip snuggly, and it isn’t the tongue piercing you’re about to find out he’s hiding in his mouth, either.

Every inch of the exposed skin of his arms is covered in intricate, seamlessly flowing tattoos—or, for a moment, you thought it was tattoos, plural. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each arm is actually covered in one giant tattoo, giving a new definition to the term ‘sleeve’. It’s all black ink, not a splash of colour anywhere, depicting an extremely detailed and anatomically correct mechanical arm, complete with what would’ve been joints, ligaments and bones in the form of wires and steel.

The tattoos extend onto the tops of his hands, made to look as if surgical staples are peeling his skin back to reveal the robot beneath. This same tattoo continues up his neck, along his jaw and onto his cheeks, all the way to his bottom lip, spreading across his entire face and disappearing into his hairline and onto his ears. Finally, there’s a small portion of the tattoo underneath his eyes, the surgical staples lining the edges of the face tattoos, too.

It startles you—you’re not necessarily scared, you just…weren’t expecting that. But there’s no denying the rush of breath that involuntarily escapes your lips as your eyes search his face, raking over his body in a brazen way that should make you feel shameful, travelling back up to find him smirking smugly at you, raising an eyebrow as your eyes meet again.

The look in his eyes tells you he knows, knows what you’re thinking about, knows how undeniably attracted you are to him, and scalding heat floods your cheeks.

He chuckles a little, which does nothing but add insult to injury, and sharp anger slices through your chest at the way that you stomach absolutely drops at his gravelly voice. You can’t believe yourself, can’t believe your body is reacting and responding so readily to this man—this stranger.

He introduces himself as Touya, in that rough, deep voice that forces a jolt of electricity to run through your veins. You idly wonder what your name would sound like on his tongue, how it might sound if his voice dropped to a growl, find yourself stuck thinking about this for the rest of the night.

✰          ✰          ✰          

To your disappointment, and as much as you are unabashedly interested in him, you don’t interact much with Touya for your first few weeks in the house—in fact, you barely see him at all.

This only piques your curiosity about him more, finding that you’re unable to tear your eyes from him on the rare occasion that you are in a room together. He catches you staring every single time, and he has the audacity to chuckle to himself and shake his head when his gaze meets yours, your eyes quickly darting away and cheeks burning at his laugh.

You begin gathering little tidbits of information about him, purely sourced from interactions you witness in the house, desperately praying for something that’ll give you an opportunity to start a conversation with him.

Your efforts prove fruitless when, almost a month and a half since you moved in, you’ve still only spoken a handful of words to him. You do learn a bit about him through observing, though.

You discover that he’s a smoker, which really doesn’t come as a shock at all. Marlboro’s are his favourite, and he’s always got a pack in his back pocket or rolled up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. He must have them imported—Marlboro’s are incredibly rare to find all the way in Japan.

Touya must have a lot of things imported.

You find out that every other Thursday, Touya discreetly stuffs an absurdly large wad of cash—all composed of ten-thousand-yen bills—into his mom’s hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. She fights him on it, every time, but he’s firm and adamant that she take it. It always ends with Rei giving him a small, watery smile, Touya pressing a kiss against the side of her head and murmuring that he loves her.

After you witness this interaction for the first time, you begin to notice that, while the house looks relatively normal on the outside, it is stuffed full of luxury on the inside. Flat-screen TVs each complete with full entertainment systems, state of the art appliances that are somehow up to date with all of the latest trends (including a smart fridge—absolutely ridiculous), custom made furniture, ornate rugs, a housekeeper that drops by every Sunday…

You have no idea what he does for work, but you think you’ve got at least some sort of idea when you catch him one night, just past 2AM, exiting his room and using a thumb to brush excess white powder off his nose. His eyes catch yours, pupils blown and shining in the low light, and he smiles darkly at you, winking once as he walks away.

You don’t ask—no one ever does.

You don’t ask about the crimson splattered on the toe of his boot, or why he sometimes smells metallic, like copper, the strong scent wafting after him and invading the halls as he stalks leisurely toward the bathroom. You don’t ask why he leaves the house at odd hours in the night, and you definitely don’t ask about the soft clinking and clicking you hear through the thin walls every so often while he cleans his gun at 3AM.

You’re not sure if it’s really any of your business, anyway. So you stay quiet, and continue to wait.

The opportunity finally comes one Wednesday in October, two weeks before Halloween, when you’re in the kitchen after school busy fixing yourself an afternoon snack. Touya comes home uncharacteristically early—you rarely see him before 10PM, so his entrance scares you, and you jump a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he passes by behind you, just an inch too close, just enough so you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head a little and trying in vain to stop your hands from trembling as you spread peanut butter across a piece of bread.

You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes you nervous, makes your skin crawl in a way you’ve never felt before. He laughs a little at your struggling, leaning against the counter next to you and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t have to be so nervous around me, y’know,” he says with a smirk, eyes glittering at the way your lips part in surprise, your breath stuttering a little. “I’m your niichan after all, aren’t I?”

You hadn’t even considered using the honorific until he himself uses it.

Your hands freeze, hovering over your plate, and you look over at him slowly. “You…Want me to call you that?”

“You can, if you’d like,” he says smoothly, nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It makes no difference to him, he tells you, but when he finally looks back at you, you think you can see it in his eyes—a sharp, small glimmer of…of something. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

But this is it, you think, this is your opening to finally begin talking to him.

So you do. And the smirk he gives you the first time you address him by the honorific, voice quivering slightly as you ask him where Rei normally keeps the blender, is nothing short of predatory.

“It’s on the top shelf. It’s too high for you, though,” he says, voice so sickly sweet it almost sounds mocking. “Let niichan get it for you,”

It isn’t, but you let him get it for you anyway.

And he knows—knows he’s got you the moment you gasp at the honorific leaving his lips, trying to hide it behind your hand, nodding quickly and squeaking out a thank you.

It starts after that. He begins playing with you; a sick, perverse game of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, and you play your part perfectly.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said it didn’t send wicked sparks of excitement shooting up your spine and an intense fluttering in your stomach.

And it starts slow. It starts with gentle pet names—honey, sweetheart, princess—and fingertips trailing down your arm as he passes you. It starts with a large hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you—out of the house and into his car, out of the kitchen and into the living room, out of the hallway and into his bedroom—and with little pecks on your lips stolen when no one’s watching, quick kisses that leave you feeling exhilarated despite their chastity.

Suddenly, he’s home a hell of a lot more. He’s sitting too close to you on the couch while you curl up with a textbook, his thigh pressed against you and flesh burning hot through his black jeans. He’s joining the family dinner a few times a week, idly hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours beneath the table while smirking at you from across it.

Suddenly, he’s asking you if you need a ride to school, or if you need someone to pick you up. You don’t, you tell him, the bus is just fine, but he insists. It’s what niichans do, he says. He wants to take care of you, he says.

Who are you to deny him that, really?

✰          ✰          ✰          

The first time you experience Touya angry is about a month after the inciting incident, when he catches you walking home with a few of your university friends.

He had texted you earlier that day, telling you that he—very regretfully, he said—would be unable to pick you up from school this afternoon because ‘something had come up’.

You didn’t question what it was—you knew he’d lie even if you did. So you accepted it obediently, reassured him that it was fine, that you’d find another way home.

You’re pretty sure if you had told him that you didn’t have any extra change on you for the bus suddenly whatever important thing that had ‘come up’ which so desperately needed his attention wouldn’t be so urgent anymore. But you didn’t want to be a bother, or inconvenience him, so you say nothing.

Two friends decide they’ll accompany you on your walk home, so you aren’t lonely, they claim. Normally, the walk from campus to your house is about thirty minutes, but that day it takes you nearly an hour, wasting time goofing around and walking slowly as you talk idly.

Touya’s already pissed that it’s taken you so long to arrive home, that you’ve ignored all of his extremely considerate texts asking if you’re alright, but when he sees you squished between two boys, giggling as the three of you stumble up your driveway—he’s fucking fuming.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, voice calm and monotonous, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Your head snaps up—you swear he wasn’t there just a second ago—blood running cold.

His stance is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, lazily raising an eyebrow as your wide eyes meet his. Technically, the only indication that he’s furious is the blazing blue fire in his eyes, but your friends can read the tension in the air surrounding him, shuffling a little closer to you. This minuscule action does not go unnoticed by Touya, sharp jaw clenching once.

“You had niichan worried,”

You’re frozen a few feet away from the porch, unable to find your voice, to move your legs, to breathe at all.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,”

Your eyes do not leave Touya’s as you speak, the words hoarse. “Oh, we’re—”

“Yeah,” Touya bites, irritation finally bleeding into his voice. “She does,” his eyes float back to yours. “Come here, princess,”

Your body snaps into action, moving automatically before you can even comprehend it, allowing Touya to tuck you into his side the moment you reach him.

Your hands are shaking, but you have no control over them as your fingers curl in his white t-shirt, clinging to him. To your surprise, the arm around your shoulders hugs you closer in response, thumb caressing you.

“Thanks for making sure she got home safely,” he tosses over his shoulder, managing to make the simple sentence sound like an insult, tone bordering on patronizing, while he turns on his heel, marching you both inside.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you’re rushing to say the moment the front door shuts behind you two, Touya’s arm still wrapped firmly around you.

He looks down at you coldly. “Don’t you dare pull shit like that again,” he tells you, eerily calm voice forcing spikes of icy dread up your spine. He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as his eyes bore into yours. “You had me worried sick,” he breathes out then, squeezing you again. You’re surprised in the sudden change of tone, feeling your chest swell at the thought of him fretting over you, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I…I did?”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended at your questioning, mood morphing in the span of a second. “Of course you fucking did,” he spits like you’re stupid, arm dropping. “Do you ever check your phone?”

“Wh-What?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Check your phone,” he calls out airily as he begins walking into the kitchen, shaking his head a little, disappointment rolling off him in waves.

Hastily fishing your phone out of your bag, you’re astonished to see eight texts from him and three missed calls. You scroll through the texts quickly, each one making you feel more nauseous than the next. ‘Is everything okay? You should’ve been home by now’; ‘Please answer me, princess, you’re making your niichan nervous’; ‘Where are you? Answer my fucking calls already’. Guilt turns sour in your mouth and you hurry after him.

“I-I really am s-so sorry,” you force the words out, unsure as to why there are suddenly tears stinging your eyes. He isn’t even doing anything—his back is facing you as he nonchalantly begins brewing a pot of coffee.

But the thought of him being upset with you, of losing his approval, sends a sharp pain searing through your chest.

“Are you?” he asks, and although his voice holds no malice in it, it causes your whole body to stutter with a harsh breath.

“Yes,” you whimper out, latching onto his arm and tugging in an attempt to draw his eyes to yours, to see how regretful you are, the remorse written across your face. “I should’ve…That was so careless and inconsiderate of me,”

“It was,” he agrees simply, voice still light, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “But you’ll never do it again, right?”

“Right,” you agree readily, breathing out the word before you even realize what you’re agreeing to.

“Tell niichan you’ll never worry him like that again,” he finally looks over at you.

“I-I’ll never worry you like that again, niichan, I pr-promise,”

His eyes hold yours for what feels like eons, before he finally twists his arm out of your grasp, instead wrapping it around you and tugging you against his body. You stay staring up at him, eyes wide and obedient, breath bated as you wait for your next order, so pliant and ready to serve him.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes finally softening, and you feel like you can breathe properly again. His free hand cups your face, thumb running along your lips, then your chin, then your jaw. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, you’ll lay awake in your bed, feeling ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He begins to trust you more. You meet his friends, each one terrifying in their own right. Jin is alright, although his brain is fried from drugs, and he talks to and contradicts himself a lot, earning the nickname Twice from Tomura.

Tomura horrifies you to your very core—a tall, lanky man with sunken red eyes and sickly pale skin who looks like he’s one bad day away from death—and Touya tells you very sternly to stay away from him.

A university student not unlike yourself, Keigo is your favourite. Keigo is the most normal, with his wild blonde hair and enticing gold eyes that always look like they’re playfully holding the secrets of the universe just out of your grasp.

Keigo’s brain is always going a hundred miles a minute, although you’d never guess it with his trademark lazy drawl, speaking as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But he can always keep a conversation going, knows exactly what to say to avoid awkward silences or lulls in the discussion, and you appreciate that. You think he’s so cool—he has so much knowledge about the oddest things, everything and anything, ‘a walking encyclopedia’, Tomura calls it, and it fascinates you to no end.

It’s the speed, Touya tells you one night while you’re laying on the couch, your body on top of his, the pads of his fingers dragging down your back in rhythmic strokes. Speed is Keigo’s drug of choice, you find out. Speed is the reason why Keigo knows as much as he does.

“Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days,” Touya says. “That’s how he has all the time to memorize everything he knows—though that big overactive brain of his plays a part in it, too,”

The thought inexplicably makes your heart sink in your chest, and you don’t say anything else. If Touya notices your shift in mood, he doesn’t mention it. You idly wonder what Touya’s drug of choice is, but you’re too scared of the answer to ask.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

It’s only a few nights later when you wake with a violent jolt, breathing laboured as you absentmindedly press your palm to your chest, trying in vain to calm your racing heart.

A nightmare.

You sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of your own harsh breaths echoing off the walls and debating what to do next. A minute later, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing when your bare feet touch the cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway.

You try to trick yourself into believing that you aren’t using this purely as an excuse to spend the night with him. It really was so scary, you reason with yourself, it really has made you all shaken up…

Who are you kidding? You didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep.

You’ve been in his room plenty of times now—sitting daintily on his bed as he introduces you to new music, new movies, new books. Stuff that reminds him of you, he says, stuff that he thought you might be interested in. You’re grateful for it; there are so many things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve known him.

That isn’t all, though. There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through your body, that tiny excited flutter in your chest, when he calls your name and interlaces your fingers, leading you toward his room and telling you he’s got something to show you.

Yes, you’ve been in his room plenty of times now. But this is the first time you spend the night in his bed.

He’s still up, soft golden light leaking from under his closed bedroom door. Your hand quivers a little as you lift it to rap your knuckles against the wood. He appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame in a black t-shirt that looks like it’s a size or two too small for him, riding up to reveal a teasing sliver of milky skin, tips of his hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

“Princess? What is it?”

You didn’t realize you were staring, and you jump a little at his gravelly voice.

“Oh. I, um—Well, I just…had a nightmare a-and I can’t sleep,”

You can barely look him in the eyes as you say it, your cheeks burning. You both know it’s a lie.

But he plays along.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, drawing you into his arms, into his room, into his bed.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs as he turns on his side to face you, propping his head up with a hand. “Poor thing. Was it a bad one?”

Your mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton, rendering you incapable of speech, tongue dry and sluggish. You nod in response, heat seeping into your cheeks again at just how loudly your heart is thumping while you roll onto your side. There’s only a few inches of space between your bodies now, his hot breath fanning across your face as he speaks again.

“Do you want niichan to help you forget about it?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes searching his. Your thighs squeeze together at the way his voice has dropped an octave, low and husky, familiar heat pooling in the depths of your belly. He waits patiently, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, then runs his fingertips down your bare arm, goosebumps following.

Finally, you nod. You think you see the corners of his lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smirk, but you blink, and it’s gone.

“Here,” he whispers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Hand cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and slots his mouth against yours.

You’ve kissed before, of course—in his bed, in yours, on the living room couch, on the kitchen counter with his hips shoved between your thighs—but this…this feels different.

These are kisses with intent, with purpose, with a goal in mind. These are kisses that keep you distracted—slow, soft, messy with saliva—as his hand slips down your body and between your thighs.

Your gasp breaks the kiss, wide eyes blinking up at him then fluttering shut as he brushes a knuckle against your clit. He hushes you, nimble fingers spreading your folds before he drags them up your slit, huffing out a laugh at how wet you already are.

“Were you thinking about something naughty before?” he gasps mockingly, sliding the pads of his fingers back down as he speaks.

His hand withdraws from your shorts and he orders you to lift your hips, tugging the waistband down your thighs. You squirm a little, forcing them further down your legs until you free yourself of them completely, eyes gazing up at him again, awaiting your next command.

Legs part dutifully as his hand travels back down to the apex of your thighs, pushing a finger into your soaking pussy.

It’s slow at first, thrusting leisurely with his middle finger a few times and loosening you up a little before adding his ring finger. Sapphire eyes watch his motions, captivated by how your eager little cunt sucks his fingers in selfishly.

“Look at that, huh?” he breathes, looking down at you. “Such a pretty little pussy you’ve got,”

You open your bleary eyes to peer at yourself, mesmerized by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. He curls his fingers and you inhale sharply, hips twitching toward his palm.

“Oh?” he chuckles darkly, knuckles nudging the spot again. “Did niichan find something, baby?”

You don’t know, you’re not sure, you try to tell him, but all you can seem to manage is pathetic little whines while you nod your head.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he’s asking as the pads of his fingers tap against that spot, your entire body jolting.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper out, a little breathlessly. “But it’s never felt like this,”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, and it’s so condescending. “Then you weren’t doing it right, sweetheart,”

He quickens his pace, chuckles at the way you try to desperately fuck yourself on his fingers at such an awkward angle.

“Poor little thing, can’t even get herself off properly,” he tsks. “You need your niichan to do it for you, don’t you?”

Soft whines spill from your throat as you nod eagerly, your stomach coiling tightly.

“One day,” he breathes, curling his fingers with a vengeance this time, your hips rolling up off the mattress. “When we have the time, I’ll teach you how to make yourself feel so good,”  

He’s talking too much. You want to tell him this, tell him to shut the hell up, but every time you try to speak he presses the heel of his palm to your clit and grinds against it, effectively scattering all of your thoughts, soft mewls of niichan the only sound escaping your lips.

Can’t deny his voice is fucking hot though, a form of foreplay all on its own.

And he knows this, can read you like a goddamn book, especially when he’s got his fingers two knuckles deep inside of you. He can feel it, he tells you. You don’t even need to speak; he can feel your thoughts when his voice drops an octave and your cute little hole flutters, when he chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers—a slut for his voice, aren’t you?

“Pretty baby, you can’t do anything but nod dumbly, can you? Been fucked stupid by my fingers alone, huh?”

Your head barely moves, lost all control of your body by this point, only able to whimper in response.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, pretty girl?” the knuckle of his thumb begins grazing your clit in quick strokes. “C’mon, make a mess for niichan,”

And it’s pathetic, how quickly your body obeys. Your pussy squeezes once, twice, three times and you’re gushing all over his fingers, juices collecting in his palm, running down his wrist. You’re embarrassed—you’ve never cum that much before, have you?

Breathing still ragged, you nuzzle into his sheets, partially hiding your face from him. Nothing could hide the involuntary grin that forms on your lips, though. Arms snake under your boneless body, tugging a bit.

“Oh no, baby, we aren’t done yet,” Touya’s saying while he hoists you up, letting you lean heavily against him.

Head tilting in confusion, your glazed eyes find his. “Wh-What?”

He looks down at his lap and your gaze follows, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips at the bulge straining against his pants. “Doesn’t niichan deserve a nice reward for helping you forget that scary dream?”

Eyes darting back to his, you nod slowly, whispering out, “Yes. But—But…” But you’re hesitant; you’ve never done anything like this before. Shaking hands reach for the waistband of his pants, beginning to pull them down but freezing when the head of his cock peeks out.

Touya sighs. “Come on, you wanna be a good girl for niichan, don’t you?”

Of course. Of courses you do.

Then he wants you to touch him, he says. He’ll help you; he promises.

“But you gotta get it wet first,”

You ask how, and he laughs at you. “With your tongue, stupid,” he tells you.

He instructs you to kneel on the floor and you comply immediately, trembling legs folding beneath your body as you situate yourself between his knees. He inches forward on the bed a little, shuffling himself to the edge and caging you between his thighs. Bringing his cock close to your mouth, he taps the head against your closed lips.

They part instantly, obediently, his eyes flashing with something sinister as you take the head into your mouth and suck hesitantly, big eyes staring up at him waiting for approval.

He curses, his hips twitching ever so slightly, skin stretched taut over bony knuckles as a hand forms a fist in the sheets. Starting with kitten licks at first, the tip of your tongue barely touches him, tracing veins, then begins to gain more confidence as he groans a little, telling you what to you, that you’re doing good, so good for him.

Watching him through thick lashes, you have the audacity to look bashful as your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in saliva. A hand tangles in your hair and yanks, pulling you off his cock when he decides it’s sufficiently wet enough. Long fingers encircle your wrist, bringing your hand to form a fist around him.

“Like this,” he says, jerking your hand up and down.

You’re terrible at it, movements awkward and uncoordinated, but in that moment he doesn’t really care. He’s irritated a little, wondering out loud how anyone can be bad at handjobs while a large hand wraps around yours and forces you to speed up. Bad? Your heart sinks at the small three letter word, a hard lump forming in your throat, looking as though you may start crying.

But he cums quickly after that, ropes of searing hot white painting your cheeks and face. You watch him the entire time, panting a little, lips parted slightly and your tongue darts out to lick them, tasting him.

He laughs at your bitter reaction, and it’s such a patronizing sound.

“Don’t worry,” he says, collecting the cum off your face and forcing his fingers into your mouth. “Someday I’ll stuff your throat full of it.”

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

You can no longer mention needing—no, wanting—anything around him anymore, because within the next few days it’s sitting pretty and perfect on your bed, propped up against your lace trimmed pillows.

He’s so good to you; you should be grateful you have such a generous niichan, one who eats you out and spoils you with gifts. You’re so spoiled.

And he tells you this, in the dead of night when you wake to find him shoving his cock into you, snarling a little at your soft whines of protest.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns. Just be a good girl and take his cock. He does so much for you, can’t you be good for him?

Yes, yes, you want to be good for him, you want to be the best for him.

By this point you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night with his head between your thighs, prepping you to take him.

“Stay sleeping, baby,” he’ll tell you, words whispered into your hair as his cockhead nudges against your hole.

As if you could ever stay sleeping when only a few minutes later he’s pounding you into oblivion, large hand clasped over your mouth so tightly his blunt nails are digging into your cheek, so hard that it’s yanking your head back, neck beginning to ache.

He tells you to be quiet, “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you? Then we’d have to stop, and you don’t want that, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t, you whimper. Of course you don’t—you want whatever he wants, you want to be his perfect little baby, you want to be told how good you take his cock, the praise mumbled against your skin in a low, strained voice right before he fills you with cum.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He disappears for a few days near the end of December. You have no idea where, Touya answering your curious texts with playful quips at first before he grows tired of it and tells you to stop fucking asking.

But eventually, he returns.

The front door slams shut and your body flinches with a jolt of excitement. Adrenaline spikes your blood when you hear his heavy boots colliding with the hardwood, getting louder, louder, louder…

He passes right by you, not glancing at you at all. Moments later, the sound of water hitting the tiled shower wall echoes down the hallway.

And you wait. Patiently, you wait, like the good little girl you are, not daring to move a muscle. Eventually he re-emerges, hair still damp, a few strands sticking to his neck.

With a groan, he collapses on the couch next to you, flopping his head into your lap and gazing up at you with glazed, blown sapphire eyes.

“You’re high,” you say softly, not accusatory, just an observation. He giggles a little.

“So what if I am?”

“What did you take?”

“Oh,” he gasps mockingly. “Oh no, baby, I can’t tell you that,”

Why? The question is burning on the tip of your tongue, and you can tell that he’s anticipating that to be your next response, but you bite down on your bottom lip, holding it in. You know his answer already, can practically hear his patronizing voice—Because good baby sisters aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this.

“Can I try some?” you ask instead.

All of the mirth fades from his eyes in an instant, and he moves in a flash despite his inebriated state, so quick you can barely tell what’s happening. His large hand wraps around your bicep in a bruising grasp, pulling you towards him as he sits up, his face an inch away from yours.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he spits, cobalt eyes blazing and voice rumbling against your chest. “And if I so much as catch wind that you’re using, have a mere feeling that you’ve tried it—even just once—I’ll slaughter you and the fucker you got it from. Do you understand me?”

Surprised tears spring into your eyes and you nod jerkily, body beginning to tremble as your breath gets caught in your throat. You want to tell him that you didn’t mean it, honest, you promise!; that you were just kidding around, you swear!, but you can’t, voice mangling itself with the hitched little breaths on the back of your tongue.

He growls at your silence, his grip around your arm tightening and you cry out, terrified that he might actually crush the bone with his bare hand.

“Say, yes Touya, I understand,”

“Y-Yes Touya, I understand,” you manage to stutter out, voice returning only at the command of a direct order, tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks in pairs. His eyes search your face for a moment, his features contorted in fury, before he sneers at you, squeezing your arm once then roughly letting go, shoving you away from him.

You fall backward against the arm of the couch, heart thumping so vigorously you’re sure he can hear it. He groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, exasperated.

“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “You’ve ruined my high,”

You stare at him, breath coming out in uneven huffs, clinging to the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, terrified to move lest you upset him more.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring up, until he lolls his head to the side, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. A small smirk spreads across his face.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding his head a little in indication.

“Wh-What?”

“C’mere,” he repeats. “Come make it up to me,”

Your body’s moving before you’ve given it permission to, crawling into his lap obediently, thighs on either side of his hips. His smirk widens, and you love it—you love how much control he has over you without even trying, you love the way a quiet whimper slips through your lips as his large hands begin kneading your flesh, running up your legs and grabbing your ass.

Lips trail up the column of your neck, and you tilt your head back, a silent plea for more. You can feel the way his lips curl into a grin against your skin, nipping at it a second later.

“So, how you gonna make it up to me? Huh?” he shifts his hips under you, pressing his hard cock into your clothed core. You whine a little, grinding against him.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” you breathe out while sharp teeth mar your collarbone.

“The hell you waiting for? Show me,”

You begin sliding down his body and he pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees between his spread thighs. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of blue.

Holding his gaze, you lean forward with your pretty little tongue hanging out and begin licking along the straining bulge, tracing it slowly, the denim rough against your sensitive muscle. You relent though, lapping at his clothed cock in slow, long strokes, and his jeans are just thin enough for you to feel him pulse in response.

A giggle bubbles up past your lips, muffled by the denim, already beginning to feel heady as you pull simple reactions from him. Your mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ and you suck on him the best you can through his jeans, drooling all over his lap and soaking through the material.

The hand in your hair tightens into a fist, yanking hard and pulling your mouth away. “Stop fucking teasing,” he warns, a hint of something ominous in his voice.

You obey, because you always obey, tiny fingers working to quickly unbuckle his belt, pop the button, yank down the zipper. He aids you, lifting his hips and allowing you to tug his jeans down his thighs enough for his cock to spring out.

His own hand wraps around the shaft, you pausing mid-action as you reach for it.

“Open,” he demands, your dutiful lips parting immediately, letting him push his cock into the warm, wet cavern.

He sets a brutal, punishing pace from the start, refusing to give you a single moment to adjust. His other hand fists in your hair, forcing you to stay still as he rams his cock down your throat.

Reflexive tears burn your eyes, blurring your vision. You blink quickly to clear them, desperate to watch him, to catalogue all of his micro-expressions and the sound of his voice as he grunts out your name, to burn it into your mind, etch it into your very soul.

Touya’s head falls back against the couch, Adams apple bobbling with his rough whimpers, long neck and sharp collarbone on full display. If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d love to lick up his smooth skin, to trace the dips of his collarbone with your tongue and sign your name in brilliant splotches of blue and purple.

You’re gagging around his cock now, starting to feel lightheaded and struggling to inhale enough oxygen. The ache in your jaw is beginning to spread, but you ignore it, stretching your mouth open wider, to take more, to be good for him, to make him proud. It’s worth it for the hoarse, throaty moans you’re pulling from him, to hear your name shuddered out, followed by a breathy, “Fuck,”

He forces hot cum down your throat a moment later, and you choke on it, sputtering around his cock, throat spasming as it tries to force the foreign object out. He won’t let it, though. He holds your head in place, nose pressed against his pubic bone, and you can do nothing but take it, like a good little girl, like he tells you to.

But it’s all worth it. It’s all worth it, to hear his broken whines like that, to have him look down at you and pull your hair and tell you you’re good, so good for him.

And you’re sobbing by the end of it, gasping for air the moment he lets go of you, wheezing violently as your head collapses against his thigh.

“Did I—” you cough, voice raspy from having your throat fucked raw, “—Did I make it up to you, niichan?” you gaze up at him, eyelashes spiky with residual water. You’re the perfect picture of obedience, strands of hair stuck to your face where your salty tears have dried and swollen lips gleaming with saliva as you watch him with glittering eyes, waiting desperately for his praise.

He looks down at you, eyes devious and diabolical, chest heaving a little. “Of course you did,” he tells you, corners of his lips tugging up into a sharp smirk as you melt into him. “You always do, don’t you?”

[inevitably-johnlocked]

heeeey any insecure!john?

Hi Nonny!

Ahhhh, you know I’ve collected fics over the years but I’ve mixed them up with the Sherlock ones, so I think I’ll start anew and start fresh! I know I’ve missed a lot when I pulled them out of the old lists, so forgive me! Hope you enjoy what I’ve got here for you!

As always, Lovelies, please add your insecure John fics!!

INSECURE JOHN

See also:

BAMF! But Insecure John

Insecure / Awkward John or Sherlock (Jan 2019)

Concussions And Good Old Fashioned Awkwardness by Belldere (K+, 894 w. || Humour, Hospitals, Mild John Whump, Misunderstandings, Platonic Relationship, Concussions, Not-Gay John, Possessive Sherlock) – When John lands himself in hospital... again, all he wants is to just get out of there as soon as possible, too bad his doctor has other ideas about where John may be getting his injuries. Good thing concussions make everything strangely funnier.

I Was Wrong by AllesandraQuartermaine (K, 1,496 w., 1 Ch. || TGG AU, Friendship, Hospitalization / Injury, John’s Self Esteem, Sleepy Sherlock) – Sherlock and John have a conversation a few days after the pool face off with Moriarty. And John hears something quite surprising.

Hell or High water by bluefire301175 (E, 2,250 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Frottage, Alley Sex, First Person POV John, Case-ish Fic, Mutual Pining, Bed Sharing) – John wants. Sherlock wants. Plain and simple.

Not My Proudest Moment by charlock221 (K, 2,695 w., 1 Ch. || Lunar New Year, Mild PTSD / Panic Attack, Coping Mechanisms, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort) – John tries his best not to get in the way of Sherlock's cases, but when the vivid noises of fireworks unnerve his senses and begin to bring back unwanted memories of Afghanistan, he cannot help but to hope Sherlock will notice and help him before things go too far.

Closeted by Sexxica (E, 2,762 w., 1 Ch. || Trapped in a Closet, Panicking Sherlock, Hand Jobs, Coming in Pants, Awkward Conversations, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluffy Ending) – An improvised hiding spot and a bit of accidental voyeurism leave John and Sherlock in an awkward position.

The General Idea by agirlsname (T, 3,022 w., 1 Ch. || Retirement, Promise of Forever / Proposal, POV John, First Kiss, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Crying / Emotional Sherlock, Love Confessions) – After twenty years of friendship, John is used to Sherlock acting weirdly. But the news Sherlock finally brings himself to deliver change the carefully built dynamics between them, and John realises it's time to act.

Paranoia by Ewebie (M, 3,789 w., 1 Ch. || Humour, Drinking Games, Scotland Yard Gang, Jealous / Possessive Sherlock, Inappropriate Questions, Embarrassed John, Matchmakers) – John and Sherlock join the gang of Scotland Yard for a night of drinking, and it gets a bit personal and revealing.

Coldness/Heat by agirlsname (E, 3,790 w., 1 Ch. || Cuddling & Snuggling, Body Heat, New Year’s Eve, PWP, Bedsharing, Frottage) – The inn is booked up on New Year's Eve. The train home is cancelled because of the snow. The only option is to sleep in the non-heated guest room of a client, and John and Sherlock are freezing. You know where this is going. Part 1 of New Year's Kiss

The Oolong Disaster by unicornpoe (T, 4,151 w., 1 Ch. || John’s Beard, Fluff, Humour, Frustrated Sherlock, John Takes Care of Sherlock, Case Fic-ish, Pining Sherlock, First Kiss, Possessive Sherlock) – John has a beard. Sherlock has a panic attack.

Afghanistan in Baskerville by Amaya Ramiel (K+, 4,357 w., 1 Ch. || THoB Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Drugged John, PTSD / Panic Attack, Hallucinations, Worried Sherlock, John’s Past, Friendship) – What if John hadn't seen the hound when Sherlock trapped him in the lab? What if instead, his very real nightmares of the war had materialized all around him? Trapped and drugged, John can't tell what's real and what's not. How will Sherlock react?

Overture by Kate_Lear (M, 4,435 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss / Time, Friends to Lovers, Angry John, Introspection, Dev. Rel., Embarrassed / Insecure Sherlock, Morning After, Bed Sharing, Cuddles / Limpet Sherlock) – A short snippet on how John and Sherlock might have got together.

What You Are Worth by Lastew (T, 4,488 w., 1 Ch. || Observant but Insecure John, Friendship, Crime / Case Fic) – John helps Sherlock with a case, but he questions his real value to Sherlock.  

Let Down by Gandalf3213 (K+, 4,505 w., 2 Ch. || Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, John Whump, Insecure John) – John truly is sorry for letting Sherlock down. The only thing he wanted to do was finish the case, but bleeding out in a dark alley makes it harder for him to pursue that murderer running out of sight.

Sherlock and John Go Clubbing by wendymarlowe (E, 4,716 w., 3 Ch. || Clubbing, Dirty Talk, Dancing, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Bi John, For a Case, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Sherlock is Lost for Words, Sexy John, Mutual Pining, Possessive John, Floor Sex/Hand Job/Frottage) – John pinched the bridge of his nose - even for Sherlock, this was a new level of no bloody boundaries. “You want me to go with you to a gay club, wait around twiddling my thumbs while I let you get pawed by a criminal, then out-flirt him and talk you into coming home with me instead?” Part 32 of John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times

Pillow Talk by scullyseviltwin (M, 5,183 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Angsty Fluff, Pillow Talk, Bed Sharing, Worried John, First Time Morning After, Soft Sherlock, Sexuality Discussion, Love Confessions, Kisses and Cuddles) – John has been looking at Sherlock for ages, it feels like.

Welcome Home, John by slashscribe (G, 5,504 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Awkwardness, Stabbed Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Panic Attack (Sherlock), Self Esteem Issues, Love Confessions, First Kiss) – When John moves back to 221B, he thinks he’s the broken one, but after a while, it becomes clear that he might not be correct.

An Interpretation of Viewing Habits by akitsuko (E, 6,653 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Watching, Masturbation, Anal, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Jealous Sherlock, Fantasizing, John in Denial / Internalized Homophobia, Bottomlock, Pining Idiots, Sherlock Has No Boundaries, Cockblocking Sherlock) – John watches porn. It's a perfectly normal thing to do.If every video he watches happens to feature actors with remarkable physical similarities to his flatmate, well, that's no one's business but his own. Or: John is in denial, until his infatuation with Sherlock is impossible to deny anymore.

Inconvenient Timing by TheMadKatter13 (M, 7,072 w., 1 Ch. || Omegaverse || Omega John/Alpha Sherlock, Romance, Public Heat, Scared John, Protective / Worried / Possessive Sherlock, Post-TBB AU, Caring Sherlock, Pre-Slash, Happy Ending) – When John's heat failed to appear three times in a row after he was shot, he figured it was just another broken piece off the broken toy soldier. So he was rather surprised to feel it start out of the blue...and not at all pleased with it starting while he was on the tube.

Sometimes When We Touch by kedgeree (M, 7,755 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Kiss/Time, Inappropriate Giggling, Romance, Friends to Lovers, Virgin Sherlock, John Whump, Touching) – John might be touching Sherlock a little more often than is strictly necessary. Sherlock probably hasn't even noticed. Right...?

Victim, Bait, Hero, Friend by KimberlyTheOwl (T, 7,887 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TGG Epilogue, Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Past Kidnapping / Torture / Implied Rape, Panic Attacks, Worried / Possessive Sherlock, Lestrade is a Good Friend) – Some insights into why John was perfectly willing to throw everything away for a chance to kill Moriarty at the pool. Trauma, ugliness, and finally healing. Some nice supporting work by Lestrade as well.

Every Night I Look for You by destinationtoast (E, 8,377 w., 1 Ch. || POV John, Post-TRF, Angst, Mystery, Unsafe Sex, BAMF John) – Every night, John looks for familiar hints of Sherlock in the men he meets in bars, and he does with them all the things he wishes he’d done before. Eventually, he stumbles into a situation that Sherlock would know how to handle, and John must decide whether he can handle it without him.

Just Like That by sussexbound (E, 8,442 w., 1 Ch. || First Time/Kiss, Frottage, Virgin Sherlock, French Kissing, Anal, Emotional Lovemaking, Enthusiastic Consent, Tenderness, Crying John, Bathing/Washing, Insecure John, Toplock) – John doesn’t want to talk anymore. He wants. Oh dear god, how he wants. For the first time in what feels like years he WANTS.

Unwasted by patternofdefiance (E, 8,966 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3 / S3 Fix-It, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Angelo’s, Fluff, First Time, Anal, Cum Play, Flashbacks to ASiB, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Bottomlock, Cuddles, Multiple Orgasms, BJ’s, Bed Sharing) – John finds it three months after he's moved back. He's on the hunt for something to make for dinner, is scrounging through the cupboards, when he happens upon the graveyard of pasta boxes Sherlock still seems to create when left to his own devices. Behind seven boxes of pasta, all almost completely empty, is a dark-glassed bottle, with a paler coat of dust. It's unopened. John's face falls slack when he sees it, instantly recognises it, and for a long moment he just stands and looks at it.

Ravish Me by amalnahurriyeh (E, 10,025 w., 1 Ch. || UST / RST, Makeup / Lipstick, Sympathetic Sally, Experiments, Pining John, First Kiss, Face Fucking / BJ’s, Cuddling) – Sherlock is experimenting with patterns of wear on lipstick in daily encounters. John is going to go insane.

A Is For Aftermath by ElvendorkInfinity (T, 10,567 w.,  1 Ch. || Injury / Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Friendship/Pre-Slash/Bromance/Platonics, Hallucinations, Introspection, Insecure / Worried John, Big Brother Mycroft, Alternating POV, Anxious Sherlock, Self-Deprecating, Mildly Possessive Sherlock, 3G Moment) – John is still hallucinating, Sherlock cannot sleep, and Lestrade has a new case for them. But will life at 221B ever be able to return to normal? Epilogue to M is for Moriarty.

London Gods by a_different_equation (E, 11,092 w., 5 Ch. || American Gods Fusion || Magical Realism, Sex Magic, True Love, PTSD John, First Kiss/Time, Marathon Sex, Sensuality, Genie Sherlock, Human John, Internalized Homophobia, Star-Crossed Lovers, Soul Mates) – Sherlock Holmes is a jinn who does not grant wishes. However, when Dr. John H. Watson, recently returned from the war in Afghanistan, gets into his cab by "accident", it might not even need magic to grant both men their deepest wish: love.

On The Fence by BeautifulFiction (T, 13,770 w., 1 Ch. || Fencing, Case Fic, First Kiss, Insecure John, Pining John, Hug, Greg Finds Out) – The murder of the King's College fencing champion leads to revelations about Sherlock's past. Will it be the point that tips them from friends to lovers, or will they remain on the fence?

A Silver Sixpence by _doodle (NC-17, 16,400 w., 2 Ch. || LJ Fic || For a Case / Case Fic, Fake Relationship, Humour, Romance, Marriage Proposal, Awkward Idiots, Cuddling, Touching, Kissing, Love Confessions, Bed Sharing, Friends to Lovers, Fake Until It’s Not, Schmoop and Fluff, Bottomlock) – “John, we need to get married. It’s for a case, not any romantic notions on my part pertaining to our partnership,” Sherlock said, with brutal honesty, and without even looking up.

Between Friends by SilentAuror (E, 18,036 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3, Alternating POV, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Abduction, Awkward Situations / Miscommunications, Porn With Feels, Blowjobs, Pining, Unrequited, Angst With Happy Ending) – Sherlock gets abducted. As John discovers him tied up naked in an empty storage facility and comes to rescue him, Sherlock's body has an unfortunate reaction which triggers a series of events. John is convinced that everything will be fine as long as they never discuss it. Sherlock isn't as sure...

Division by MrsNoggin (E, 19,542 w., 11 Ch. || Coffee Shop AU || First Kiss/Time, Fluff, Barista Sherlock, Clingy Sherlock, POV John, John’s Limp, Bed Sharing, Fluff, Sleepy Cuddles, Sensuality, Touching, Virgin Sherlock, Insecure John) – John likes mysteries. And every morning he dips into the local independent coffee bar with his newspaper and ponders another... one Sherlock Holmes.

A Life Well-Lived by Kate_Lear (E, 20,121 w., 1 Ch. || Original Male Character, Sherlock Woos John, Jealous Sherlock, Reluctant Bi-John, Past Abuse, Insecure John, Reassuring / Caring Sherlock, Protective Sherlock, Understanding Sherlock) – John got scared off men by an abusive past relationship. Sherlock has to try and woo him while not scaring him off with protective possessive rage.

Maintaining A Personal Life by Gingerhermit (E, 24,284 w., 6 Ch. || Alternating POV’s, Bisexuality, BAMF!John, Jealous Sherlock, Romance / Drama, Sort-of Case Fic, Peril & Angst, Love Confessions, Toplock, Soft Idiots in Love, Post S3) – Sherlock and John discover some interesting revelations about each other’s sexuality, which lead them both to question the assumptions they've made about one another for years. In the midst of their mutual discoveries, a dangerous psychopath looms on the side-lines who threatens to destroy their new beginning.

Nothing to Make a Song About by emmagrant01 (E, 36,833 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Time, Reunion, Jealous John, Pining Sherlock, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending, Sherlock Has a Boyfriend) – When Sherlock returned from his faked death, John could not forgive him for the deception and broke off their friendship. Ten years later, John returns to London in search of yet another new beginning. Sherlock, not surprisingly, is waiting.

Turn Left at the Park by Glenmore (NR (E), 37,409 w., 28 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting / ASiP Divergence, Case Fic, Depression, Suicidal Ideation, Loneliness, No Mary, Possessive Sherlock, Fluff & Angst, Nightmares/PTSD, Sherlock Saves John, Sherlock Whump-ish, Doctor John) – So what would have happened if John hadn't walked through the park and met Stamford? What if, instead, he walked around the park and just went home?

Only To Be With You by SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John (M, 40,768 w., 4 Ch. || Black Mirror / Future AU || Character Death, Future Technology, Sickness/Cancer/Illness, Heavy Angst with Happy Ending, First Person POV John, Pining John, Heart-Wrenching Angst) – I tell myself that next time I’ll come near this same place again. Wait around for the mysterious stranger in his coat to dash past me, hot on the heels of a new criminal in black. I think this all the way back to my Exit, planning where I’ll wait and what I’ll say when I see him. Scheming on how to get his name. It’s only once I reach the Exit Point door that I realize two hours and forty-five minutes have passed, and I realize that this won’t be the last time I Visit. It won’t be the last time at all.

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w., 18 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w., 12 Ch. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock's first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

Isosceles by SilentAuror (E, 56,609 w., 7 Ch. || Post-S4, POV John, Original Male Character / Sherlock Dates Another Man, Love Triangle, Jealous John, Virgin Sherlock, Sexual Coaching, Angst, Romance, Domesticity, Unrequited Feelings, Miscommunication, First Kiss/Time, For a Case, Friends With Benefits, Bottomlock, Love Confessions, Spooning) – After solving a case for a major celebrity, Sherlock gets himself asked out. When John asks, he discovers that Sherlock has no intention of going, at least not until John agrees to coach him through whatever he might need to know for his date...

floating through a dark blue sky by Lediona (M, 58,966 w., 15 Ch. || Notting Hill AU || POV John, Celebrity Sherlock, First Date / Time / Kiss, Past Drug Addiction, Angst with a Happy Ending) – Of course, I’d seen his films and always thought he was, well, brilliant -- but, you know, a million miles from the world I live in. Or, when John is the owner of a travel book shop and the famous Sherlock Holmes stops in one day.

The Book of Silence by SilentAuror (E, 60,056 w., 2 Ch. || S4 Fix It / Post S4, Virgin Sherlock, Rosie / Parentlock, Domesticity, Fluff, Praise Kink, Sex Toys, First Person POV) – As spring blooms in London, John and Sherlock begin to take new cases and cautiously negotiate this new phase of life with John living at Baker Street again. Despite how well it's all going, John struggles to forgive himself for the way he treated Sherlock following Mary’s death as well as trying to figure out how to finally put his long-time feelings for Sherlock into words. Part 1 of The Book of Silence/Rosa Felicia

Scars by SilentAuror (E, 60,494 w., 5 Ch. || Rape / Non-Con / Abuse, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Dub Con Elements, Homophobia, Angst With Happy Ending, Mary is Not Nice) – S3 rewrite, showing Mary’s manipulation of John as he realizes his love for Sherlock. Mary is not having it.

The Bells of King's College by SilentAuror (E, 64,019 w., 5 Ch. || Post-S4, Missed Opportunities, Angst with Happy Ending, Fake Relationship, Case Fic, John POV, Jealous John, John in Denial, Travelling / Holidays, Virgin Sherlock, Wedding Proposals) – It's only been two weeks since Eurus Holmes disrupted their lives when Mycroft sends John and Sherlock to Cambridge to pose as an engaged couple at a wedding show in the hopes of solving six unsolved deaths...

White Knight by DiscordantWords (M, 69,840 w., 13 Ch. || S4 Compliant/Post S4, Marriage For a Case, Jealous John, Pining John, Janine / Sherlock Fake Relationship, Serial Killers, Case Fic, Undercover as a Couple, Weddings, John is a Mess, Misunderstandings, Wedding Planning, Jealousy, Drunkenness, Love Confessions, Angst with Happy Ending) – Green. The word green was used to convey a great many things. Illness. Envy. Inexperience. Standing there amidst Janine's chattering bridesmaids, watching Sherlock furrow his brow and study fabric swatches, watching him smile and simper and flirt, John thought it a remarkably apt colour choice. Because he felt quite sick to his stomach, he feared the source of said sickness might very well be jealousy, and he had absolutely no idea at all what to do about it. Or: Sherlock needs to fake a relationship for a case. He doesn't ask John.

Just To Hold You Close by sussexbound (E, 70,841 w., 18 Ch. || Alternate First Meeting, Sherlock POV, ASD Sherlock, PTSD John, Demisexual Sherlock, Bisexual John, Cuddling/Snuggling, Platonic Cuddling, Enthusiastic Consent, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, First Kiss/Time, Sexual Tension, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Cuddle Negotiations, For a Case Until It Isn’t, Hair Petting, Sexual Negotiation, Anxiety, Trust Issues, Slow Burn, Panic Attacks, Frottage, Hand/Blow Jobs, Referenced Self Harm / Abuse / Suicidal Ideation, First Kiss/Time, Anal) – When a woman is murdered and the last person to see her alive is recently invalided army vet turned reluctant (and prickly) professional cuddler, John Watson, Sherlock Holmes is pulled into a world of intimacy and intrigue he never could have imagined. John is a conundrum and mystery: frank yet reserved, tender yet angry, open yet afraid. Sherlock is instantly drawn into his orbit, and begins to feel and desire things he never has before.

Secrets and Revelations by Hisstah (E, 83,535 w., 9 Ch. || Sentinel / Guides Omegaverse AU || Adventure, Violence, Anal / Oral, Omega!John / Alpha!Sherlock, Case Fic, Politics, Mild DubCon) – Dr John Watson has some major secrets that he's kept from his flatmate, Alpha Sentinel Sherlock Holmes. Now the Sentinel Tower is after him. Can John stay out of their hands until he can reveal his secrets to Sherlock? Part 1 of Secrets and Revelations

Kintsukuroi by sussexbound (E, 91,823 w., 20 Ch. || S4 Compliant / Post-TLD, Grief / Mourning, PTSD, Internalized Homophobia, Therapy, Past Abuse, Alcohol Abuse, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Anxiety, Bed Sharing, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Suicidal Ideation, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Sexting, Frottage, Inexperienced Sherlock, Rimming / Anal / BJ’s, Emotional Turmoil, Finding Each Other, John’s Self Esteem Issues) – “I love you.” Sherlock sees the words hit John with almost physical force. He reels back a little, jaw twitching and eyes filling. “I love you,” he repeats, a little softer, a little more gentle, as earnest as he possibly can. Because they’ve been teetering on the brink of this thing for years, and it had become painfully obvious over the last few months that they were at a tipping point. This had to happen. Now it has. Now they can see where they end up. The tears in John’s eyes spill over, and he wipes at them angrily. “Do you even know what that means?”  

The Cost of a Wish by slashscribe (E, 102,493 w., 12 Ch. || xxxHolic Fusion || Spirits / Ghosts and Magic, Love Confessions, Slow Burn, Soul Mates / Fated Lovers, Adventure, Immortal Sherlock, Powerful John, POV John, Frottage, Wish Granting, Angst with Happy Ending, Nightmares) – John has been plagued by a secret his entire life that has made him feel hopeless until he meets a mysterious, seemingly omniscient man named Sherlock Holmes who owns a wish-granting shop. Their meeting sets off a series of inevitable events that will change the course of both of their lives forever.

Maintenance and Repair by patternofdefiance (E, 106,650 w., 71 Ch. || Future AU, Augmentation || Augmented John, Depression, Body Modification, Slow Burn, Worldbuilding, Sci-Fi, Self-Care, Body Dysmorphia) – John wants to explain the rush of sensation and data, which is just another form of sensation (or is it the other way around?). John wants to say: Augmentation circuits report temperature, pressure, various forms of quantitative input. Sudden changes are reported as pain, since sudden changes are dangerous, and pain is the quickest way to encourage reflexive extraction. But all John can manage is, “Nng.” Because this sudden touch is not reporting as pain. Part 2 of STATIC

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

Shatter the Darkness (Let the Light In) by MojoFlower (E, 109,683 w., 23 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Genie/Djinn AU || Magical Realism, Kidnapping, Genie Sherlock, First Kiss / Time, Case Fic, H/C, Angst, Clubs, John Whump, Mild DubCon, Hand / Blow Jobs, Torture) – Fairy tales are for those who remember how to dream; not John Watson, broken and hiding from his bleak future in a beige bedsit. But then he discovers a lamp and finds himself in the dangerous riptide of an enigmatic man whose very existence is unbelievable, murder charges against his sister, and the growing pains of feeling alive once more.

The Burning Heart by May_Shepard (M, 119,150 w., 21 Ch. || Canon Divergence, Post-TRF, John’s Sexuality, S3 Rewrite, Pining, Angst with a Happy Ending, POV John Watson, John’s Gay) – When Sherlock dies, John Watson feels like his life is over too. He’s completely shut down, until Mark Morstan, a new nurse at John’s medical clinic, catches his attention, and helps him uncover the long buried truth of his attraction to men. Although he’s certain he’ll never get over Sherlock, John plans to move on, and build a new life with Mark, unaware that Sherlock is not quite as dead as he appears, and that Mark is hiding secrets of his own.

The Adventure of the Silver Scars by tangledblue (NR [M], 142,458 w., 41 Ch. || S3 Fix-It, Post-HLV/ Post-TAB / Canon Compliant, Case Fic, No Baby, Angst, Humour, UST, Slow Burn, Angry John, Reconciliation, Not Nice Mary / Leaving Mary, Dependent Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Caretaker John, Fist Fights, It’s An Experiment, Virgin Sherlock, Dancing, Drugging, John Whump, Pet Names, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Scars) – It’s been thirteen months since Mary shot Sherlock and John finds he’s still pissed off about it. Sherlock had thought everything was settled: John and Mary, domestic bliss. But when John turns up at Baker Street with suitcases, the world’s only consulting detective might not be prepared for the consequences. A new case. Some old scores to settle. Certain danger. Concertos, waltzes, and whisky.

Proving A Point by elldotsee & J_Baillier (E, 186,270 w., 28 Ch. || Me Before You Fusion || Medical Realism, Insecure John, Depression, Romance, Angst, POV John, Sherlock Whump, Serious Illness, Doctor John, Injury Recovery, Assisted Suicide, Sherlock’s Violin, Awkward Sexual Situations, Alcoholism, Drugs, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Body Image, Friends to Lovers, Hurt / Comfort, Pain, Big Brother Mycroft, Intimacy, Anxiety, PTSD, Family Issues, Psychological Trauma, John Whump, Case Fics, Loneliness, Pain) – Invalided home from Afghanistan, running out of funds and convinced that his surgical career is over, John Watson accepts a mysterious job offer to provide care and companionship for a disabled person. Little does he know how much hangs in the balance of his performance as he settles into his new life at Musgrave Court.

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 9

Masterlist

As always thank you to my beautiful bestie @acollectionofficsandshit you can also thank her for all the Max content in this chapter. Its a long one, enjoy!

Word Count: 9.6k

Recommended song: “Hate the way” by G-Easy and blackbear

The one thing that never failed to lift your spirits was your dad's homemade blueberry chocolate chip pancakes. Whenever you were upset as a kid, whether it be your team losing a sporting event, your high-school boyfriend dumping you for the head cheerleader, or getting rejected from an ivy league college you never expected to get into in the first place, his pancakes had been there to cushion the fall. Clever as he was, he always messed them up in some insignificant way like leaving off the whipped cream and hiding the container so you were forced to talk to him in order to remedy it. Then he would crack some stupid joke or cheesy pun that would just barely have the ghost of a smile curling your lips.

Blueberry chocolate chip pancakes were no match for the heartbreak of losing your best friend.

The morning after, you only trudge to the kitchen when your stomach's demands to be fed become too loud to ignore. A steaming pile of fluffy pancakes sits at your usual spot, no syrup in sight. You don't have the energy to find your dad and ask where he's hidden it, instead picking at them. You knew the flavor should be fruity and sweet but every bite tastes like ash. One pancake is all you can manage before nausea roils, threatening to make your meager brunch resurface. 

"Some is better than none," Ben murmurs behind you and you drop your chin in the barest of nods. "We can save the rest and you can warm them up later."

"Thanks," you mumble when he takes your plate. You pull your blanket tight around your shoulders as your gaze turns to the window while your brother washes your dishes, wishing for all the world that you could make your uncooperative limbs move and help him but the mental effort it requires is too taxing. Instead you stay curled up on the chair, the noises of the house waking up around you a dull buzz in your ears. At some point your mother kisses your head and hustles out the door to work, her husband close behind. Ben is the last to leave and is reluctant to do so.

"Promise you'll text me if you need me," he says. "Mom already gave me permission to cut class after trigonometry."

"Sure." You both know it's a lie and a bad one at that. Your voice is dull and flat, completely void of emotion. 

"Mom said she's coming home early anyway,” he tries. “Something about overstaffing at the greenhouse."

"Okay."

The mechanical spooling of the garage door tells you he's finally gone. Your elbows slide forward until your head rests on the table, unable to hold it up any longer.

Every fiber of your being yearns for him, to hear the distinct r's and flowery lilt of his accent as he comforts you through the heartbreak, always knowing exactly what to say. It was second nature to call one another when either of you had had a bad day or a good day or just a normal day - you'd talked so often that last year you had convinced your parents to add international minutes to your phone plan. 

Your fingers itch to dial the number you had long since memorized, knowing it would ring no more than twice before he picked up. He never let it go to voicemail unless he absolutely couldn't avoid it and you had a hunch he was waiting for your call.

Despite knowing better, you scroll through the messages on your phone. Love was evident in each witty remark and wish goodnight, pulling at your heartstrings. Your finger hovers over the delete conversation button, and after a minute of debate, you can't bring yourself to do it. You would allow yourself one reprieve to look back on and remember the good.

It would be so much easier if he had given you a reason to hate him. If he'd cheated or intentionally led the media to your house, hating him would be easy. You wouldn't have to admit that you still loved him because his betrayal would have yanked out the newly blooming bud of love you nurtured and crushed the fragile petals. Instead, you were left knowing that it had been your choice to inflict damage in him. You had no right to seek comfort in his arms or even ask how he was doing. You deserved to be miserable for causing him to feel the same way. 

Yuki is the first to check in on you. You don’t know what he expects; you lie through your teeth when you tell him you were fine.

The press is asking me for my thoughts. No idea why. I told them not to stick their noses where they don't belong.

At least someone had the guts to stand up to those bloodsuckers. Yuki was the last person you'd suspect to do so, but the scrappy twenty-something continued to surprise you.

Thanks, you type back. How is he?

You hesitate. You didn't really want to know the answer. Pierre was devastated and just as broken as you are. You delete the last part and opt to refrain from subjecting yourself to biting off more than you could chew.

I'm here if you need me, is Yuki's reply.

Charles, Daniel, and his newly promoted girlfriend were the next ones to text you, all offering varying degrees of support. Daniel's friend was the one that offered to sucker punch anyone that came near you without your permission, and actually dragged a single huff of laughter from your aching lungs.

I'm good thanks. But if I need a bodyguard you'll be first on the list.

Just because Daniel can lift me with one arm doesn't mean I'm not punchy!

I believe you.

Spent, you set your phone down and retreat under the down comforter. The bright pink clashed with your earthy decor, but at least the old blanket didn't smell like Pierre. Your mother had taken it upon herself to erase all trace of him from your room when she had managed to coax you into a shower, and the half hour you had spent letting the scalding water run over your skin had given her plenty of time to do so. The absence of him hurts almost as much as the trace of cedar you know you're imagining when you breathe deep.

It has to be impossible for so much agony to be contained in your body. No matter how much you try, the tears won't stop flowing because Pierre's crushed expression had taken up residence at the forefront of your consciousness. 

It didn't help that so many of your recent memories were touched by his presence. Getting into university served to remind you of the ecstatic call you'd gotten after his race that Sunday, voice strained with a mix of excitement for you and the disappointment of his race ending crash on the opening lap. Even something as simple as staring at the saggy bean bag chair in the corner brought back the memory of the countless times he had lounged there, sprawled out like he owned it.

Max's text brings you briefly back to reality.

You doing okay? Dan told me what happened.

No, was all you say back. Within a minute, Max's face occupies your screen. You sigh but accept the call, laying the phone on the pillow.

"I don't feel like talking, Max."

"That bad huh?" He asks, concern lacing his usually chipper voice.

"Yeah. That bad." As if that summed up getting your heart torn to shreds.

He's uncharacteristically quiet for a beat. "Wanna hear about Vic's day? She had some crazy clients at her salon- it'll take your mind off it."

"I guess," you say, utterly nonplussed. You could care less if he kept talking or not, you wouldn't be paying attention. He prattles on for a few minutes, seemingly unaffected by your silence as his words pass through one ear and out the other.

"Told you it was crazy," he says finally, your cue to respond. You hum noncommittally and Max just sighs.

"Look, I don't know how I can help you unless you come here. I know you have a flight booked- do you still wanna come to the gala? My date's been stolen so I'm in need of one."

"Who stole your-"

The realization hits you before you can finish. Pierre. Pierre stole Max's sister and left him without a date. Something about his willingness to replace you so quickly rubs you the wrong way. It shouldn't have been so easy for him to find someone new; he should be hurting just as much as you. Fundamentally, you knew nothing would happen between Pierre and Victoria. She wouldn't go for him out of respect for both of you and you were thankful in the knowledge that it was completely platonic. Still, it was like rubbing salt in a wound. 

"You know what? I'll go." It was the most you'd said all day, your throat scratchy with disuse. Max whoops on the other line and you could almost see him punching the air in victory.

"Great! When's your flight get in? I'll bring the Acura and pick you up." 

You put him on speaker and login to the airlines website to punch in the flight number. Last night you'd debated canceling the flight that Pierre had paid for, determined to stay home and be miserable. Looking back you were glad you'd trusted your gut and left the reservation untouched. If he could find someone else to attend the gala with, so could you. "I land in Nice at noon on Friday. It'll be a short flight, I can text you when we take off."

"Sounds good. I'll set up the spare room for you. Victoria is staying here too, I'm sure she would love to help you get ready and do whatever it is girls do before fancy events."

"Hey, Max?"

"Whats up?"

You trace patterns through the condensation left by the glass on your nightstand. "Thank you. For understanding."

"That's what friends are for," he assures you. "Is there anything you wanna talk about now? Or are you planning to wait until you're here?"

"Ben's been keeping an eye on me. I'm okay for now." Better now that you had something to look forward to.

"All you have to do is call," he promises. "I'll listen, I don't have anything going on this week besides streaming."

You latch on to the small redirection and run with it. "You and the twitch quartet?"

"They've been kind enough to allow me to join them on the sim this week, yeah."

"I'll try to catch a race. No promises though." 

"See you Friday. Try to contain your excitement."

Your lips twitch upward. "Bye Max."

**********

The rest of the week was more of the same. You stayed home and your family dealt with the swarms of people that still gathered on the lawn each morning not so patiently waiting for you to tell your side of the story. You had decided that the best course of action was to keep your mouth shut and let them figure out for themselves that there was no longer a story to report thanks to the wedge they had driven in your relationship.

By the time Ben drives you to the airport Friday the buzz has died down. You hug your brother tight before checking in for the flight and texting Max. His response is immediate, letting you know he's excited to see you.

You wish you could return the sentiment. You wanted to see your friend, sure, but you were beginning to dread the upcoming gala. Max would be your crutch and you knew he was okay with that, but it still felt wrong. 

Unlike your brother, Max was waiting at the curb when you arrived in Nice. A nondescript cap was perched on his head, the oversized sunglasses he wore hiding his eyes from passersby. His gleaming orange peel of a car attracted more attention than he did for once, people stopping to ogle the Acura as they came and went.

"Hey you," Max greets, a broad grin causing his trademark dimple to appear as he wraps you in a rare hug. You cling to him, throat going tight at the intimacy of it. Max wasn't a physical person by any stretch; if he was hugging you this tightly it meant he knew how broken you were.

He waited for you to break contact first, giving you all the time you need. You sniff and wipe the single tear that had somehow escaped and laugh lightly.

"Hey," you say, voice scratchy. "Thanks for picking me up." 

He waves a hand, brushing it off. "Vic wanted to come but she changed her mind when I told her I was driving."

"Probably a smart choice," you observe, letting him pop the trunk- which was in the front of the car, since the Acura NSX was a mid-engined beast of a Japanese supercar- "and considering your choice of car, she wouldn't have fit anyway."

"This is true." He starts the engine, the roar of which makes a poor old woman a few yards away drop her purse.

The drive back is near silent, broken only by Max's occasional quips about a landmark or an observation about someone's driving. It was impossible for any driver to turn off the analytical part of their brain, their Formula 1 habits crossing into their daily lives. 

When Max parks at the curb outside his apartment, you move to open the door but he hits the lock button. You glance over your shoulder at him and quirk a brow.

"Am I your prisoner?"

"Are you gonna talk about what happened?"

Sighing, you sink back into the seat. The way the bolstering hugs your sides almost makes you believe you could fade into it if you try hard enough. "I wasn't really planning on it."

It had only been a handful of days since you had broken it off, the wound still leaking fresh blood when you poked at it. It refused to scab over or give you any kind of reprieve from the torture.

"You know you'll have to face him tomorrow at some point. He'll want to talk to you."

"That's why I'm going with you. You won't have a problem telling him to leave me alone."

Max sighs. "Yeah, I suppose. If that's what you think is best."

The trudge up the stairs and subsequent silent elevator ride allows your thoughts to wander to Victoria. It wasn't her fault that Pierre had asked her to come with him after you'd canceled, after all she was already planning on going and the late notice meant it was likely no one else could make it, but it didn't stop the pang of jealousy that rocketed through you each time you ruminate on it.

It didn't help when she wrapped you in a hug the moment she saw you and whispered an apology in your ear, like she knew she'd done something wrong. Tears spring to your eyes again and Victoria shoots Max a leave us alone look.

"Uh, I'm gonna hop on the sim. Help yourself to whatever is in the fridge if you're hungry."

"Thanks Max." Your eyes are pinned to a smudge of dirt on the wood floor, safely out of range of anything triggering. Keeping it together was more of a struggle than you'd expected.

"I hope you don't hate me," Victoria starts genuine concern lacing the words. "It was just easiest-"

"I know," you cut in. "And I don't." Your smile is tight, not quite hitting home as she returns it.

"Well then. Let's figure out how we're gonna do your hair tomorrow, shall we?"

**********

The dress was a single, simple piece of fabric, spun of sunset orange and free of any bells or whistles. The feather light chiffon hugged every supple curve through your hips until flaring out slightly at the bottom just enough to allow you range of motion. The deep vee of the neckline prominently displayed your cleavage, toeing the line between attention grabbing and scandal starting and leaving little to the imagination. The back dropped low, leaving the elegant curve of your spine free to be kissed by the salty Mediterranean breeze.

The dress is nothing special compared to the thousand dollar pieces that the other boy's dates would be wearing, but you didn't have the money- or the will- to find something new. It by no means broke the bank when you picked it up from the second hand store last year, but it looked the part. It had been a showstopper at the spring formal you'd originally worn it to and judging by Max's reaction, it still was.

He let out a low whistle when you stepped into the living room. "I'm sorry, did you pick that out with me in mind?" He laughs and despite yourself, heat rises to your cheeks. You hated being the center of attention, even among friends. "It's the perfect shade of orange to match my tie. I swear I didn't plan it that way!"

"I know you didn't." You give him a forced smile, praying he doesn't call you out on it. The dress you wore hadn't been your first choice. The one you originally planned to wear still sat in your closet at home collecting dust. It had been the perfect shade of blue to compliment Pierre's sky eyes, but it didn't match Max's deeper ocean blue. So at home it had stayed, and you had chosen the orange one because it made the necklace at your throat pop.

Your fingers engulf the stone before you can stop yourself, as they always do when your thoughts wander to him. Him, because you could scarcely think his name before your heart wretches at the reminder of what you'd lost. Flashes of bright smiles and soft kisses filter through your mind, making you lock up. You swear you can feel the ghost of plush lips to your throat and the scrape of callouses over the curve of your spine. Your eyes fall shut, desperate to get lost in the idea of him like you used to.

"You good?"

Max's quiet words startle you back into the present. No, you were in no way shape or form good, but you had no choice to fall back on the familiar mask of humor to cover up your inner turmoil.

"The real question is are you?" You smirk and look him over. The Red Bull navy suit strains over his broad shoulders, suggesting he had put on muscle since the last time he'd been forced into it. "You look stiff as a board in that tux."

"I feel so awkward." He straightens the suit coat and absentmindedly lifts a hand to tousle his hair. You grab his wrist just in time to keep him from ruining his sister's hard work and shoot him a chiding look. He grins sheepishly and lowers his hand.

"Vic would kill me if you got to the gala looking like you got run over." 

"That's a good point." He offers you his arm and you accept the lifeline he unwittingly offers you. "But I refuse to leave the windows up on this beautiful night, so we'll test how well it'll hold."

You quirk an eyebrow at him. "You're driving us there?"

"Well duh. I always drive when I'm at home."

You glance sidelong at the glaringly orange Acura parked at the curb a few floors below. Your dress would blend right in with the paint, but perhaps that was a good thing. It would provide that much more of a shock factor when you arrived and stepped out.

"Just don't crash out on the hairpin," you tease half heartedly. 

He rolls his eyes. "At least it's just the two of us so I don't have to call an uber. Vic's getting picked up by-'' Max cuts himself off and gives you an apologetic smile.

"You can say his name," you whisper, eyes trained on the tile of the hallway as you walk. "It's not like he's gone."

"Getting picked up by... Pierre," Max tries, carefully monitoring his neutral tone. God, you thought you could handle it but you can't, stumbling over your own feet with only Max's grip on your arm to catch you.

He'd dance with Vic tonight, and probably countless other women, his hands drifting over their bodies like they'd done on yours only days ago. You'd be forced to watch from the sidelines and make small talk that no one would remember come morning, utterly unable to do anything about it. At least Daniel’s girlfriend would be there to be the voice of reason, if you could peel her away from Daniel long enough to speak with her for any length of time.

Max was uncharacteristically quiet on the ride to the venue, leaving you to study the city as he drove. Few yachts were left in the harbor as the sun was swallowed by the sea, the owners undoubtedly set sail for a weekend getaway. Your gaze involuntarily searched for the slip that held Charles' Ferrari red speedboat that you'd visited countless times with Pierre. The eyesore was hard to miss when surrounded by its monotone brethren, memories flooding back in droves at the sight of it.

Sighing, you turn away to glimpse what you can of the city through the ridiculously tiny sliver of windshield. How anyone could confidently drive the Acura while having so little field of vision was beyond you. It was probably second nature to Max, who weaves through the narrow streets with practiced ease and barely lets off the gas through the corners. 

The city of Monaco rarely slept, and tonight was no different. Soft yellow fluorescent glow seeps from high rise balconies, the occupants soaking up the last dregs of sunlight before heading out to the casinos and clubs. People spilled out of cafes onto the sidewalks, their laughter lingering on the breeze as you speed past.

The list of people you trust enough to get in the car with and let them drive with such intensity is short: Max and Pierre. Not even Daniel made the final cut, not when his then not-girlfriend had recounted the tale of him losing the rear of his McLaren 570s at a track day and nearly sending them into the wall. According to her, he'd been too busy ogling her to keep his full attention on the road, but it was enough for you to question his judgement at times.

If you close your eyes, you could pretend it was someone else next to you, cutting through the gears like a hot knife through butter and coaxing every inch of performance out of the car that he could with the light traffic. You draw a surf-scented breath deep, lungs aching with the effort. 

Max joins the queue of cars waiting to park outside the venue, your attention trained on the guests stepping out of cars and climbing the wide set of marble steps leading to the sleek glass building. The modern structure is slightly out of place among the Roman-esque buildings surrounding it but the air of importance it exudes overrules any who dare say it doesn't belong.

"I can't tell you how glad I am that there's an open bar," Max remarks, hanging his head out the window to wave at someone. "It makes these events so much easier."

"You're telling me," you mumble, searching involuntarily for a familiar head of dusty blond hair in the droves of people arriving. Instead of sight, it's the unforgettable rumble of his Civic Type R's exhaust that alerts you to his arrival. Your head whips around, eyes eating up the pearl white paint of Pierre's favored car as it slides in behind you. You silently thank whatever deity is listening that his windshield is tinted, protecting you from seeing the smirk you are certain is playing on his lips.

Once upon a time, the cockpit of that car had been your favorite place in the world. You'd spent countless hours inside it eating shitty gas station cuisine and singing along to the radio at the top of your lungs as Pierre drove you to whatever adventure he had planned for the day. 

Max waves at your- his friend, you remind yourself sharply- and revs his Acura in response. He leaves the keys with the valet, picking up on the tension in your shoulders as the white car parks behind you. Max tugs your arm in attempt to turn you away, but your feet are rooted to the spot. 

“I see you found another date-” The flash of a grin on Pierre's face as he steps out is immediately dashed when he notices you on Max's arm.

If looks could kill, Max would keel over then and there. A muscle in Pierre's jaw flutters as he takes in the sight of the two of you together, your hand on the Dutchman's forearm and your matching attire looking for all the world as if it was purposefully coordinated. 

Max lifts his chin, spine going straight under Pierre's threatening glare. “Her airfare was already paid for and she already had the dress. Someone had to take her.”

Your stomach sinks; the last thing you wanted to do was become a point of contention between the two boys, but you refused to apologize for at least attempting to enjoy yourself. 

Pierre doesn't speak again, only nods to Max and pointedly avoids your stare. He tosses the keys to the smart-dressed kid serving as his valet, coming around to open Victoria's door. With his back turned to you, you take a moment to study the crisp white suit he's chosen for tonight. You had always told him black wasn't his color and he seemed to have taken it to heart. White was what you loved seeing him in, and the tight cut brought back memories of a different type of suit in an entirely different city only a few weeks ago. You'd peeled him out of that Alpha Tauri race suit the moment he made it to the trailer, eager to worship him after his podium. You'd be lying if you said it hasn't been the best sex of your life.

"Come on," Max urges, placing a chaste hand on your upper back and turning you around. He leads you up the stairs, his comforting touch never leaving your skin for a moment. The callouses were all wrong, the fingers too broad to be who you wanted it to be, and yet you couldn't help but imagine it was Pierre leading you up, stopping to smile for the few cameras scattered around.

Flashes spot your vision as you pull your face into an expression of excitement. Max murmurs something in your ear that you think is encouragement but the din of reporters is too deafening to be sure.

"How come you aren't with Pierre?"

The shouted question comes from an unknown assailant but it strikes you like a physical blow. You freeze, mouth going dry as you search for a suitable excuse. Max grants you the space of a single heartbeat to respond before he does so on your behalf.

"How about you mind your own damn business and worry about your cheating wife?"

The man who had bombarded you goes slack jawed, Max's wild guess clearly somehow hitting him just as hard as he had hit you.

"Keep walking," he urges you, leading you through the blinding sea of flashing lights. When you hear the same question directed at Pierre, his flippant laugh grates on your nerves.  

You don't have it in you to appreciate the grand architecture of the entrance hall, too busy trying to keep your breathing in check. Max steers you off to the side and places his hands on your shoulders.

"Look at me," he demands, and you drag your eyes up to his face. "Breathe. He's hurting just as bad as you, only difference is he's better at hiding it. Just enjoy the night okay? I'll grab you a drink and we can find Daniel and his friend and you two can catch up."

You nod, placing a hand on your throat. The delicate chain of the necklace is a vice around your neck, the reminder of him pulling it tight. Your pulse hammers beneath your fingers and you focus on it until it slows. "Get me whatever you're having."

Max disappears in the crowd, and you take a seat at the bench tucked in the corner. No one pays you any heed as they walk past, entranced by the elegant decor and fragrant florals. Your head falls forward to rest in your hands and you struggle to take deep, calming breaths.

Pierre was here. Inhale.

He looked happy. Exhale.

He was getting by. Inhale.

You could get by, too. Exhale.

Renewed, you glance up in time to find Max standing before you with a drink of dark liquid adorned with maraschino cherries in each hand. He extends one glass to you and you don't bother to question what it is before swallowing half in one go. "Better?"

"Much." You stand and brush out the wrinkles in your dress. "Where are we sitting?"

"Er, about that," Max starts, rubbing his neck sheepishly. "They put two teams at each table. We're at the Red Bull Alpha Tauri table."

"I see." You take another deep, steadying breath, letting the anxiety ebbing in your veins fade out with the exhale. It was times like this that you channeled Daniel a bit. It sounded silly and you would never admit it, but the slogans on his helmets worked if you focused on them hard enough. All good, all ways.

If Pierre could get through tonight, so could you.

“I can try to see if I can switch tables-”

"It's fine," you say and down the rest of the drink. “I can handle it.”

Max shifts on his feet, his discomfort something you rarely see from him. He usually excelled at keeping a straight face in uncomfortable situations but it seems that your unease rubbed off on him. “We should get going then, dinner will be served any minute.”

You once again take the arm he offers you, the liquor in your veins already granting you false courage. “We would have time to mingle if you hadn’t taken the scenic route.”

“It was nice out,” he protests, and pulls you to a halt when he spots Daniel across the hall. His girlfriend waves at you with a sad smile. She gestures between the two of you to indicate that you’ll talk later before Daniel pulls her towards the McLaren table. That boy was punctual to a fault and would be caught dead before he was late to anything.

Thankfully, the two of you arrive before Victoria and her date and are able to secure seats that ensure there’s a buffer between you. By some small miracle Christian Horner and his wife were absent and instead a few engineers and their significant others sat at the packed table. Max greets Gianpiero while you take your seat, happy to observe.

“Hey!”

You twist in time to see Yuki’s short frame emerge from the crowd and point to the empty seat to your right. “This one taken?”

You shake your head, standing to give him a quick hug. “How are you doing? Where’s your date?”

“Ah, she couldn’t make it. Had some family stuff to take care of. You look great, by the way.”

You dip your chin in thanks, unsure how else to respond. He was in a white suit that you were sure would wind up stained five minutes into dinner. “Did they mandate that you wear white?”

He shakes his head with a rueful smile. “Honestly, it’s the only one I own. I haven't been to enough events to build up my closet yet."

"Well I think it's…"

You spot Pierre before he sees you. His brow is slightly creased as he hunts for the correct table using the same focused determination as when driving his Alpha. For a split second, he meets your gaze. The cacophony of the event fades to background noise and suddenly it's just the two of you and you damn near lift your hand in a wave. You're positive he can see your heart beating out of your chest like in an old cartoon as you curl your fingers into a fist in your lap. Your restraint proves fatal, the floor falling out from beneath your feet when he drops your stare. This was your new normal, you remind yourself. Stolen glances were all you would get.

"I can move," Yuki says, starting to rise. You grip his wrist, holding him in place.

"Please don't." The only other open seats were across the table, and at least then you didn't have to worry about brushing elbows with him all night long.

Yuki nods, slowly settling back in. Max finally takes his seat after giving your shoulder a supportive squeeze.

"You don't have to say anything to him," he reminds you, barely audible over the scrape of chairs and various chatter.

You find anywhere else to look as Pierre pulls out Vic's chair for her and makes his rounds to greet everyone. Daniel and his girlfriend are seated a few tables away and you distract yourself by attempting to read their lips. You manage a few minutes of tenuous peace, catching snippets of Daniel's cheesy jokes and her disapproving, yet flirty, responses.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You squeeze your eyes shut at the sound of home. His words are honey and you lap them up like you'd never tasted anything sweeter. They weren't even directed at you and yet somehow you twist them to fit your narrative.

Pierre stands at the bottom of the stairs like a chaste high school prom date patiently waiting for your grand entrance. He checks his watch and rakes a hand through his messy hair. You stifle your laugh with a hand, amused by his unnecessary nervous energy.

Taking mercy on him, you clear your throat. His gaze snaps up to you, mouth falling open. You take your time gathering the orange fabric of your dress and descending the stairs, savoring the way he eats you up. He was resplendent in his crisp white tuxedo and you had half a mind to make him late for the gala and strip him out of it then and there and devour him.

Your heels clack on the marble floor of his entirely too fancy apartment and you pause to do a little spin for him, earning you an appreciative whistle for your trouble. A laugh bubbles out of you and you place your hands on his shoulders. His own settle on your waist to pull you flush against him, his body heat soaking through the thin fabric of your dress to warm your core.

"Damn, we clean up well, huh?"

You start when knuckles graze the back of your bare neck. The touch is there and gone but you know immediately that it's Pierre. It's slight enough to be brushed off as accidental to anyone else, but nothing was accidental with Pierre. The barely there contact conveys more than any words ever could. 

He still loved you. You looked stunning. He wishes you were still his so he could prove it to you. All this and so much more contained in a half second brush of his skin to yours.

It all comes back to you in a rush, the emotion you'd so carefully tucked away in a locked box in the back of your mind finally set free. His touch ignites any other thought in your mind that isn't him, burning it away until it's ashes on the wind. 

Despite your better judgement, you lean into him, giving him permission to unravel you. This time you sigh when his fingers ghost over your skin, electricity sparking in their wake. You didn't care who might be watching; the tiny touches were slowly repairing your shattered heart. Your traitorous mind replaces his fingers with the brush of his lips to your nape, imagining the heat as he slides the strap of your dress off your shoulder, lips moving to follow.

You bite your lip to stifle a groan when his heat is withdrawn, leaving you feeling inexplicably naked. You open your eyes to find Victoria's pitying stare paired with an apologetic smile. Max nudges you with his elbow, and you realize someone has addressed you.

"Um, what?"

"I said I like how you guys coordinated outfits," Pierre repeats and openly prods your shoulder. "Obviously Max chose the color."

His tone is playful, but his words are clipped in a way only you understand. Craning your neck, you twist to look up at him. His eyes are cloudy and his smile doesn't reach them, more for show than anything else. "It was an accident."

"Doesn't look that way."

Your retort is ready on your tongue but he doesn't give you a chance to reply before retreating to his seat. His ability to act as if nothing has changed astounds you, as your head is still reeling from the pinpricks of his skin on yours. Instead of being rendered speechless, he strikes up a conversation with Yuki about the Alpha's performance, leaving out the confidential details but giving enough away that it surprises you.

The sheer fact that he can so easily switch off whatever feelings he harbors is unfair. The sensation of his fingers on your neck still lingers and it's all you can do to keep from stepping around the table and slotting yourself between his legs like you had in that bar in London. Your nails bite into your palms, listening in if only for his voice to wash over you and calm your racing heart.

When he mentions the rake angle, you know it's just to mislead anyone who might be eavesdropping. He'd told you the exact angle in the past, and it certainly was not one degree, and it did not cause the level of understeer he was describing.

"The understeer comes from improper tire selection," you blurt. "And driver error."

All eyes turn to you and you straighten. You knew enough about the construction of a Formula 1 car to be positive your assessment was correct. You were almost as certain that he'd said it to force you into speaking to him whether you liked it or not.

"What was that?"

If Pierre could torment you with his subtle touches, you could do the same and call him out when he was wrong.

"Driver error caused the rear end to slide out around that turn in Japan, not the rake angle. That's got nothing to do with it. Your tires were blistered because of you taking an imperfect racing line and they were old. You miscalculated the level of traction they'd give you."

Why no one else had pointed it out was beyond you.

"So you're an engineer now?" Pierre challenges, crossing his arms. Something about the arrogance radiating from him rubbed you the wrong way. You let all the emotion of the past few days surface and add fuel to the fire.

"No, but I've learned enough to see through the bullshit drivers spin to mislead other teams."

Max murmurs your name in warning but your frustration is boiling over. He replaced you tonight, didn't even pause to consider going alone and instead choosing to take Victoria. Sure, it had been your fault that he was dateless, but that didn't give him the right to hurt you too. He knew it would destroy you to see him with anyone else even if it was completely platonic, but he did it anyway.

"Why don't you tell me where I should brake on turn ten since you're an expert all of a sudden?" Victoria lays a hand on his arm but he yanks it out of her grip. "What crack in the pavement? Or is it a mark on the barrier? Drive one lap in my car and then you can tell me how to drive."

It wasn't your analysis that had upset him. You'd done so plenty of times and he had always taken your criticism with an open mind, using it to tweak his driving style to improve his lap time or turn it into a teaching experience so you could learn. No, judging by the way his eyes are lined with silver that he fights to blink away, it's your betrayal that upsets him and rightfully so. You glance around the table but no one is willing to meet your eyes save for Max, who angles his head as if to say fight for it.

But you can't. It's monumentally easier to let Pierre win and sweep it under the rug than to address the deeper issue. "I was trying to help," you say lamely, picking at the salad in front of you.

"You don't get to do that anymore."

The venomous words hit like knives, knocking the breath out of you. Your mouth hangs open like a fish gasping for air but any reply you think up dies on your tongue.

As the music fades out and a man climbs up onto the stage, Pierre gets up and leaves. You track his progress as he weaves through tables, noting Daniel reaching for him as he passes. You flinch when the balcony door slams behind him, an astonished murmur rocking through the crowd.

"You should probably talk to him," Max whispers.

You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. You had no idea what you would say. 'Sorry' was insignificant and 'I love you' would be cruel when the barest of thought regarding how the media treated you made your stomach churn. 

Max pulls his phone out under the table and you think you see Charles' name on the screen. Good; someone had to make sure Pierre didn't do anything he would regret in the morning and if it wasn't you, Charles was the next best chaperone. A minute later, the Ferrari driver leaves his seat too, exiting the same way as Pierre. 

Focusing on what's said on stage proves fruitless. Try as you might, your attention is trained on the side door Pierre had disappeared through, praying he returns despite knowing it would mean more barbed words hurled at you. Neither he nor Charles return at any point during the presentation. His absence was quickly becoming a gaping black hole, swallowing up any semblance of sanity you had managed to gather in preparation for tonight.

"Try to have some fun," Max says, nudging you with an elbow. "As soon as this guy shuts up I’ll get us some more drinks and then we can eat and get out on the dance floor and forget about everything, yeah?"

You nod. You already feel the buzz of the first drink, and one or two more would push you thoroughly over the edge into blissful forgetfulness. "I don't wanna be sad anymore."

**********

He didn't know where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away from you before he said something that would tear whatever hope he held of repairing what was between you to ribbons. He registers Daniel's low, "Gas, you good?" as he breezes past, but doesn't pause to answer. His sights are locked on the wide, carved oak doors that lead to fresh air.

The breath whooshes out of him when he flings open the balcony doors. They slam behind him and he winces. Chalk that up as something else for Helmut to pick him apart for on Monday.

Pierre rakes a trembling hand through his hair and rests his elbows on the railing, sucking in lungfuls of air like he'd just surfaced from a dive in the harbor. 

When you'd agreed to come to the gala with him, he had been overjoyed. You hadn't made it to the winter gala earlier this year due to a last minute exam and he had sulked the entire night. He still had the place card embossed with your name in the fishbowl by his door, the sizable container nearly overflowing with memories of you. Everything from forgotten earrings to plastic hotel key cards filled the bowl and it was a bright reminder of your adventures together. His plan had been to add another place card to the mix after tonight but after what he'd just said to you, he'd rather forget today ever happened. 

He fucking hurt. Everything just hurt, from the shirt collar scratching at his neck to the bone deep ache that had started when he laid eyes on you on those steps, arm locked with Max's. You'd stolen the words from his mouth, the jab he'd planned to toss at Max dying at the sight of you. 

He hadn't expected you to come tonight. Despite anyone's objections, he'd been fully prepared to get completely shit faced to the point that the ghost of your skin no longer haunted his fingertips and your voice no longer sang in his head. But seeing your damned face had shattered the false reality he had constructed, the one where you never broke him and left him scrambling to piece himself back together.

The universe had dealt him another low blow when he discovered Red Bull and Alpha Tauri would be at the same table and he'd be forced to endure your presence at arms length, close enough to touch but absolutely not allowed to do so. It was his own personal hell, constructed solely to punish him for whatever transgressions he'd made in his life.

And that fucking dress. 

The orange painted the aquamarine charm at the hollow of your throat in sharp relief, showing it off like he somehow still owned you. If you had arrived with him, he would have already led you back to the Civic and bunched that damned dress up past your hips to drag his favorite sounds from you with his tongue. If he could just get you alone, he's sure it wouldn't take more than a single touch to have you crashing into him and begging for more.

Seeing you with Max tonight paints an entirely different picture.

It's Max he sees tearing off the dress at the end of the night when you get back to his apartment. Max's hands slide over your hips and you laugh, walking back so you can keep your lips on his as he slams the door shut behind you. You dip your head back when he presses you to the wall, Max unfaltering as his lips and teeth trace the curve of your exposed throat and he slips the straps of the matching dress of your shoulders to let it pool at your feet. Max's name breezes past your lips on a shaky exhale as you become putty beneath his fingers.

No matter how loud Pierre calls your name, you don't hear him, instead cupping the back of the Dutchman's head and pulling him in for a heated kiss. When you do finally notice him observing from afar, agony wracking his body, all you do is grin. It feels real, even though Pierre is certain it's a crazed fever dream, his mind spinning his worst fear to life: you seeking comfort in the company of someone that wasn't him.

Pierre starts when the door squeaks open, the nightmare thankfully dissolving. Charles steps out clad head to toe in blazing Ferrari red and instantly he knows who sent him. The thought alone stokes rage in his chest, the image of your lips on Max's still fresh.

"Not as easy as you expected it to be, is it?" He asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

"Fuck off," Pierre growls and immediately regrets it. Beyond you, Charles was his closest friend. They had known each other for ages. It wasn’t a friendship he was willing to sacrifice just because he felt like shit. Pierre sighs and throws him an apologetic glance. "No it's not."

"Why don't you talk to her?"

"She doesn't want to fucking talk, Charles. Take one look at her, she's hanging on Max like she can't get enough of him." Pierre hangs his head in his hands, emotions shifting faster than he did on race day. "I can't go back in there and watch her choose him over me."

"You don't really believe that bullshit, do you?" Charles asks, joining him at the railing.

Not entirely, but he still struggled to understand your thought process. He thought he knew you, but you being here tonight when he had been certain you wouldn't be proved he didn't. 

"I don't know what to believe anymore. I thought it would be forever, that I'd finally found someone who didn't mind my lifestyle and accepted it for what it was, who loved me unconditionally. I thought she was my forever."

"You think she's done with you just because some assholes invaded her privacy?" Charles shakes his head. "She's loved you for a long time, years even. You haven't seen the looks she gives you, but the rest of us have. You hung the moon in her sky, Pierre. That kind of thing doesn't just get swept away by the breeze."

His shoulders curl inward in an attempt to hide the frustrated tear that escapes him. "What am I supposed to do?"

Charles shrugs. "I don't think there's a right answer to that. Try giving her some space. She didn't grow up in the spotlight like we did. It's not an easy adjustment for some people, mate. And blowing up on her when she tries to make conversation doesn't help anything," he says gently. "Let her figure it out and come to you when she's ready."

The concept of letting you go even temporarily was terrifying to him. Waiting on you to make the first move was even worse because he was setting his fate in your hands. 

"I miss her," he murmurs, turning his face to his friend.

"I know." Charles throws an arm around the taller man's shoulders and follows his gaze out over the tiered streets of Monaco's city center. "My suggestion is to throw yourself into the season. Show her you know how to fight, y'know?"

Pierre nods. He could do that. It was how he normally handled his problems anyway; let the track wick away whatever was on his mind and force him to hone in on the details surrounding him in each moment. 

"You ready to head inside?" Charles asks.

"I don't think I can go back just yet."

"Want me to hang out here with you?"

"No. I'll be back eventually."

Charles' hand falls from his shoulder after a short squeeze, the sound of a tinny voice over the speakers temporarily flooding the balcony as Charles returns to the banquet. Pierre allows himself a few more moments of reprieve before slipping back inside just as the applause starts. Rather than returning to the delicately portioned meal that sat cooling before his empty chair, he orders a drink. Whiskey on the rocks, his go to in times of crisis. He takes one sip before the reminder of you ordering it for him in London makes holding the glass of caramel liquid unbearable and he downs it in a single swallow, going back to order a beer instead.

He nurses the green bottle of Heineken as he leans against the wall until the meal is finished and the chit chat starts. You stand with Max, practically pressed against him as you snatch a flute of champagne from a passing server. You search the crowd, brows drawing together when you don't locate your quarry. Pierre had made sure that he was tucked out of the low lighting, unsure if he could survive you stealing worried glances at him all night. 

Charles winds his way over to pass off a roll he snagged from dinner, practically forcing the Frenchman to eat it before returning to his date. He nibbles at it absentmindedly, entirely too focused on you to divert an ounce of focus elsewhere.

Your dress is a glowing sun in a sea of earth tone garments, drawing his eye as you pull Max out onto the wood platform serving as the dance floor before the tables are fully cleared. The flush in your cheeks tells him you're deeper in your cups than you should be; Max didn't know your limit as well as he did. Three drinks was all you could manage before you got tipsy, five if you wanted to be completely blitzed. 

The lights dim and his hiding spot is no longer quite as good as the party lights sweep over him from time to time. Max places one hand on your hip and you place one on his shoulder and grin up at him. Judging by the fit of giggles that requires you to lean into Max for support, you were teetering dangerously on the edge of being wholly drunk. You throw your head back and laugh at whatever Max says in response to your fit, Pierre straining to hear the musical sound over the band. 

"Hey," Victoria says, breaking his concentration. "You wanna get out there?"

Pierre grimaces. He had managed to completely forget about her, too stuck in his own head. "Sorry, Vic. I don't think I'd be a very good partner tonight."

"No worries," she says, a soft, understanding smile on her lips. "I can keep myself busy."

Pierre nods his thanks, his attention immediately returning to the dance floor. Daniel and his girlfriend steal the show, both laughing as he dips and twirls her across the floor. 

Being together was so fucking easy for them, effortless in a way it wasn't for you and Pierre. They never once paid any heed to the photographers that swarmed them or the headlines printed about them, they just laughed the rumors off and carried on. No one could question their love for each other because they were vocal about it- sometimes annoyingly so- and Daniel was rarely seen in public without her at his side. They were always touching, holding hands or stealing kisses or even the near scandal of his hand blatantly on her ass at the podium a few races back, and neither of them cared.

Their love was all that mattered. They didn't care who knew it.

But you and Pierre were far too private to be like that, at least not when you were still trying to figure things out yourself. The first sign of outside pressure had you cracking, and he wouldn't stand for knowing he was the source of your pain.

He tries and fails to convince himself he isn't jealous of the way Dan's hand so easily glides under the navy blue silk of her dress to caress her back without a second thought, wishing he could do the same to you. If he's being honest, he's living vicariously through Daniel for the next few songs, pretending he was someone else observing you and himself on the dance floor instead. It almost works; the way she shudders when his lips graze her ear is strikingly similar to how you'd react. The smile she flashes up at him is agonizingly close to your own wicked grin.

When her mouth finds his, Pierre gathers his wits and turns away. Their blatant public affection flipped a switch inside him, disgust rocking through him for a split second before he pushed it away.

He was happy for them. He knew what a long, rocky road it had been for them to become lovers instead of friends, had firsthand knowledge of the stress they'd gone through before they'd finally admitted their feelings to each other, put their pride aside and got together. Pierre had been the one to offer her advice on a night not much different than this one months ago, helping repair the damage Daniel's idiotic, thoughtless words had caused. 

But Pierre had since become the person who was sickened at the sight of others in love. It reminded him that part of himself was missing and he hated it.

No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep his eyes from wandering back to you. You still occasionally scan the room as Max struggles to lead you through a dance. By some stroke of bad luck your gaze snags on him just as a spotlight illuminates his face and he grimaces. A slow blink is the only surprise you let show before laying your head on Max's shoulder. Jealousy spikes through him like wildfire, igniting his blood and tinging his vision with red.

He wants to march over and rip you off Max. He wants you tucked safely against him as his thumb rubs circles on the bare skin of the small of your back. He wants, more than anything, to take you to his apartment and half carry you up the stairs, having to shush you because you're giggling loud enough to wake the dead, and lay you down in his bed. He wants to help you out of that stunning dress and into a pair of his sweats and curl up against you, letting you sleep off your hangover until noon.

He'd fucked up that chance though, hadn't he? He had slipped up and driven you straight into your friend's arms, who he trusted not to make a move on you but not enough to negate the jealousy coursing through him.

In that moment, he hates you. He hates the hold you have on him, the way a simple gesture between half-drunk friends could send him into a spiral so steep he didn't recognize himself. He hates that he can't keep his eyes off you, your gravity too strong for him to resist.

Most of all, he hates that he doesn’t know how to quit you.

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max​ @sunshinesewis​ @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval 

[dreamties]

Slashers x S/O W/ Red Angel Wings

A/n- Y’know, when I first got this request I thought it was awfully specific, but after watching Carrie it’s making a lot more sense lol 

Decided to add a few other characters just for the heck of it! :)

Let’s just ignore the fact that wings probably don’t work like this,, at all. 

Characters: Carrie White, Billy/Stu, Norman Bates, Michael Myers, and The Lost Boys.

T/W: None that I know of- just let me know if you’d like me to add any! :)

Carrie White

You know Carrie from around school. About her overtly Christian mother, and how shy and secluded she was. And how strange and weird other people saw her. You never bought into that schoolwide belief- you just thought no one took the time to get to know her. 

(part of you related to that- though most people would have thought you were cool to start out with...and then have less than kind reactions when they saw what you were hiding)

You’d interacted with Carrie only a handful of times throughout your high school career- mostly in group projects, or letting her know she had dropped something, or simply trying to spark conversation. She had always been very nervous around you though- almost more so than others. (You’d later come to find out it was because she liked you)

It’s the first time you see each other alone- outside of class. It’s after class and Carrie’s been held behind- by one of her teachers asking her about this and that. While you’re hanging out at the back of the school, there’s no sports that day, so you don’t have to worry about any onlookers. Except Carrie, who decides to head out the back way. Thinking there would be less people she’d run into- less of a hassle.

And she doesn’t know what to do. 

The way you're framed in the light, you look like you're glowing. You look unreal, and so holy and beautiful. You’re so beautiful. but then she spots your wings. They're fitted tightly on your back, flitting open, and spreading out so beautifully- you're standing centered as they flare out. And she's shocked and unsure.

 Oh, she'd be mighty frightened.

 She's shaking and crying, and she's got her mama's voice running through her head. This is what happens when you don't follow the rules exactly. When you come into this world so impure.

And oh, your wings! She let's out a gasp, eyes widening. They're colored crimson- the Devil's color. And she's sure you've come down from the Heavens or- or come from down below...come to mock her. To punish her

She knows you know what she's done. What unknowing sins she's committed. [ my poor girl hasn’t actually done anything though :( ]

 And you look at her, confused. Then your eyes soften, and your wings slowly close behind you. You gently smile, “I’m not here to harm you, Carrie.”  

She begins to calm at the soft sound of your voice, and your pleasant aura. She’s still shaky all over, and part her says to run and hide- but you have your arms out wide, offering her to join you. And she gulps down nervously- maybe this was her accepting her fate. She slowly walks over to you, allowing you to wrap her into a hug. It’s feels so good to have your arms wrapped around her- she feels overwhelmed by the amount of positive emotions sprouting from your actions. You let her stay there, crying in your arms. “It’s okay, Carrie.”

After she gets passed the initial meeting, and the two of you start dating- which takes a lot of time for her to get used to you. Not because she doesn’t think you seem like a good person, but she’s skeptical, given how people have treated her in the past- plus she’s still dealing with the after effects from all the religious abuse with her mother :( 

She starts associating you (and your wings) as almost...protection!

Her favorite thing is to have your wings wrapped around her as she sleeps. She feels safe in them.

Billy Loomis + Stu Macher

Y’all meet at a Halloween party.

It’s Billy & Stu’s favorite holiday, and they always go all out for it! With the costumes, the decorations, etc- maybe even a bit of hidden bloody fun for just the two of them.

You’ve always kept your wings well hidden- folded against your back, underneath big coats. But tonight? Ohh, tonight! You’re able to have them out, allowing them a good stretch. When people ask, you can pass it off as just crazy good mechanisms.

And well, the boys see your “costume”, and they get wicked excited about it! They’ve never seen someone with a costume like this before- it’s so realistic! And the fact you chose blood red, over the standard angelic white? Very impressed by your talent and ideas.

They start asking all these questions about it, cause it’s like, legitimately one of the coolest costume they’ve ever seen. How can you not think giant wings- that move- aren’t cool?? 

But then like Stu excitedly asks if it would be okay to touch it- and you get oddly quiet after that one. “Well, they’re fragile, y’know?”

Stu pouts, “I can be careful.”

You give him a skeptical look, “I mean- just be careful, like you said.”

“Woah, they feel so real!” Oh, if he only knew. “Billy, ya gotta check this out!” He says, nearly shouting, as he nudges his shorter friend.

Billy rolls his eyes, but gives you a look to see if it’s alright. You simply nod, smiling at him- feeling more at ease. As Billy’s admiring them, and finally leans in to touch them- another guest at the party harshly bumps into you. The force of it accidentally knocking their drink out of their hands, drenching your shirt. 

“Aw shit,” you mumble to yourself. “I’m sorry, I’ll have to leave for the night.”

Stu frowns, not liking the idea of you leaving quite yet. He’d been enjoying your company quite a lot, and he’s certain that Billy did too (even if it didn’t seem like it). “You can borrow one of my shirts,” he all but blurts out.

You can’t help but laugh at his offer, “Are you sure?” Stu eagerly nods.

 You’re in Stu’s bedroom changing, and you’re about to slip on his sweater, when the door is knocked open (not on purpose, of course). “Dude!”

They quickly apologize, but then take notice of your wings- exposed as what they truly were. They stare in awe and bewilderment. You’re still freaked out, and yet still try joking your way out of the situation. “Just, really good prosthetics?” 

It takes a bit of explanation on your part, but the boys accept you for what you are pretty quickly. As strange as this all might be. Stu will have a lot of questions for you, and Billy’s somewhat unsure of it for a while. 

Established Relationship Fun:

Okay, okay!! Soft idea!! When cuddling, sometimes you’ll wrap your giant wings around the three of you. so warm and cuddly.

when watching horror movies together, Billy’s always intensely focused on the screen(almost scarily so- but then again this is one of the faces behind Ghostface we’re talking about so...not too surprising), to the blood and carnage. But he always finds his hand idly playing with your feathers, even if you have them closed behind you. He’d never admit it, but he finds them comforting and extremely calming. He can just forget about all his little problems, and just stroke your feathers (plus, you enjoy it when he does that!! And he likes that it makes you feel good!!)

Norman Bates 

You’d be really nervous at first to tell him, because early on in your friendship/relationship, he introduced you to his hobby- taxidermy. And it kind of scared you seeing your feathered friends in such a state. But...Norman would never harm you. 

(Now...his mother on the other hand? Would be more than willing to discard this freak of nature)

(Norman won’t let that happen to you though- he promises) 

Norman is such an absolute darling. He couldn’t judge a single soul for who or what they are- and yes, that does go for your winged-body, too.

He’d be extremely surprised and intrigued though- he’d be all blushy and happy though that you felt safe enough to tell him!

He finds your wings just absolutely gorgeous though.

He’ll often get sorta shy about handling your wings at all. But he’s very careful with them.

And if you get hurt, he’ll be more than glad to help you patch up (while also being upset you got hurt :( ) - since you can’t really,, go to hospitals at all. Who knows what the general public would do if they found out something like you existed.

On that note- Norman will always be there to help cheer you up when you feel bad about having them. Like, it’s gotta be strange being the only being with wings surrounded by humans- and only humans. Norman’s very good at cheering you up though! He’s very soft and sweet about it. One of the few times he’ll touch your wings. He treats them delicately, as if they’ll break upon his touch if he’s not careful enough. Presses gentle kisses to them, and reminding you how much he loves you.

Michael Myers

You meet Michael during one of his hunts.

You never bring out your wings, unless you absolutely have to.

He’s surprised and a bit confused when he sees you, standing in the streets, giant red wings splayed out. The street lights reflecting your wings into pools of red on the ground. He watches intently, as you push yourself into the air with a loud whoosh. He nearly startles.

But besides this initial reaction, he’s fairly indifferent.

Michael knows no human should have wings like that, or even wings at all. And part of him is curious to know more, so the next time he sees you, he doesn’t try to attack you.

The Fun Stuff??

Michael would definitely be a little rougher with your wings than some of the other slashers. 

Mostly because a part of him recognizes you’re not entirely human, so he equates that to you’ll be able to handle more.

He’s still pretty careful though- because he would never want to hurt his S/O.

Michael enjoys killing alone, and he sure doesn’t need protection- but sometimes, when you convince Michael to bring you along, he finds he doesn’t actually mind your presence there. He kind of enjoys it. And, again, he doesn’t need your protection- but you can’t help to be worried about him, okay? You’ll use your wings as a shield when his victims try fighting back. If you get hurt a bit? Then I guess Michael will just have to help you patch up afterwards.

The Lost Boys

Aww, they are so hyped about it!

Most of the other creatures they interact with are human, so it’s so cool to them when they find out you’re a fellow supernatural being! They’re not,,, entirely sure what you are (neither are you, tbh), but that’s okay.

They get to fly around with you, which they wouldn’t be able to do with you if their S/O was a human or some flightless supernatural being.

Paul would love playing with your wings!

I mean, they all do to some extent. But Paul will play with them whenever. Even if you’re out in public. Like,, if anyone sees your wings they have ways of dealing with that, y’know?

Y’all sleep in the same bed together- kind of just like,, a constant cuddle pile lol. And you don’t always do this, but when the boys are feeling especially in the mood for it (like,, maybe they’ve had a long night, or they just really need to be as close to you as they can)  and you’ll just outstretch your wings, covering the four of them. The soft, familiarity of your feathers calming even the rowdiest of the bunch

They accidentally stay out too late, and you’ll use your wings to help shade them from the sun, as you make your way back to the cave.

[extasiswings]

Hopping on this train of writing to cope with promo image-induced feelings.  No thoughts, just vibes.  Also on ao3. 

The air inside the warehouse is thick with smoke and blisteringly hot.  A snapping sound splits through the crackle of flame and Eddie is abruptly yanked off balance as Buck grabs his arm and pulls hard just as a beam from above comes crashing down. It doesn’t miss him completely—catches the side of his helmet and knocks it off, making his ears ring with the impact. 

He sees Buck’s mouth moving and shakes his head. 

“What?” 

“Are you okay?” Buck repeats, nearly shouting to be heard over the din of the fire. 

A light fixture groans above them before dropping down as well and it’s Eddie’s turn to push Buck out of the way, even if it means a bit of flying glass catches him in the face. 

“We need to get out of here,” he shouts, and it quickly turns into a coughing fit as he chokes on smoke, his throat and lungs burning. 

Buck nods. “Go! I’m right behind!”

Eddie turns and manages to work out a path to the closest exit with a single-minded focus. His head is aching and he’s dizzy, can feel blood dripping down his cheek as well, and when he stumbles out into somewhat fresher air he nearly collapses into Bobby before he’s passed off to the paramedics. 

Hen had been one of the first ones in and out and has since stripped off her turnout coat and is helping the other medics. Eddie doesn’t argue when she checks his throat and pupil responses before pressing an oxygen mask into his hand. 

“Where’s Buck?” Hen asks as she swipes an alcohol pad over the cut on his cheek and secures it with two butterfly strips. 

Eddie lowers the mask and coughs. “He was right—“

Behind me. 

The words fade on his tongue as he scans the area only to come up empty. And then his eyes light on the door he’d come out of, nothing clear beyond the frame but black smoke and the red and orange glare of flickering flames. 

His world tips on its axis.  His vision swims.   And the feeling—

It reminds him a little of the tsunami, when he’d noticed Christopher’s glasses around Buck’s neck and had felt himself fracturing at such a rapid pace that even now he’s sure he wouldn’t have remained standing if he hadn’t caught sight of his son over Buck’s shoulder. He can feel the same sort of cracks spidering up the foundation of his walls—the ones that he throws up when he needs to be Eddie Diaz, firefighter, medic, soldier, competent professional, any version of himself that has to play at having his life together—and he scrambles internally to shut down the panic, to plaster over the cracks before they can spread too far, because if he lets himself think—

“I need to talk to Bobby,” he says, trying to push himself up to standing. Hen shoves him back down with hands firmly on his shoulders. 

“You need to sit and keep breathing into that mask,” she says, her voice sharp with authority before it gentles. “I’ll get him, but only if you stay here.”

Eddie’s jaw tics, but he lifts the mask back up to his face and takes a few pointed breaths while she watches. Finally, she nods. 

“I’ll be right back,” she promises. 

There’s an itch between his shoulder blades that desperately wants an outlet. Something to do, something to control so he doesn’t feel so much like he’s on the edge of a cliff. So that he can work on a solution instead of his mind unhelpfully focusing on Buck’s still in there.  He’s not an idiot, he knows he’s in no shape to go back in himself, but he needs something. 

“We were in the southwest quadrant,” Eddie reports when Hen returns with Bobby, keeping his words short and clipped.  “It wasn’t overrun but there were a lot of things falling from the upper levels. He said he was coming right after me, but he could have gotten stuck.”

This is easier. Staying mechanical. Sticking to facts. There’s no room for getting overly emotional, no allowance for breaking down.  He has a commanding officer in front of him who needs information, and that is something Eddie can handle. 

“We tried him on the radio but there was no answer,” Bobby says. 

“He may have dropped it.”  When he pulled me to safety. Eddie shuts that thought down. 

“There are windows on that side,” he adds. “If the exits are blocked—“

“We’ll look at all possible options,” Bobby replies.  His face is drawn and tired, face streaked with sweat and soot. 

For some reason it’s the flicker of doubt Eddie catches in his eyes that makes him say—

“He wasn’t being reckless. I know—we all know he can be sometimes, but he wasn’t. If he’s not out, it’s because he needs help, not because he’s trying to be a hero.”

Bobby looks at Eddie for a moment, something passing across his eyes like recognition before it fades and he’s left looking more tired than before. 

“We’ll look at all the options,” he repeats finally. He doesn’t make promises. Eddie’s not sure whether or not he appreciates that. 

It takes another several minutes for anything to happen, and Eddie’s shoulders get tighter, his mood blacker. His head aches and he snaps at another paramedic, some clearly new young kid, when he notices him dressing a burn improperly. 

It doesn’t make him feel better. 

Finally though, finally, after a heart-stopping moment when the warehouse windows blow out on the side where they’d last been, Eddie hears shouts. And a figure comes stumbling around from the back of the building, knees giving out just in time for someone to catch him. 

“What happened to I’m right behind?” Eddie asks roughly when Buck is helped over, looking worse for wear but alive. 

Buck coughs and closes his eyes. “Part of the catwalk came down,” he says. “Blocked me in. Couldn’t see you. Couldn’t see anything hardly through all the...everything.”

“I didn’t know.”

Buck shakes his head and dutifully brings his own oxygen mask to his face when one is pressed into his hand. 

“Wouldn’t have wanted you to stay even if you had,” he replies. “At least I had all my gear.” 

Eddie wants to keep talking, keep asking questions, keep reminding himself that Buck is sitting next to him and going to be fine, but that irrational impulse wars with the rational thought that Buck needs oxygen not an interrogation. So he drops it.  And they both withdraw into their own heads. 

Eddie watches though. As Buck flickers between present and vacant, numb. The haunted, hunted look that passes over his face every so often a clear indication that whatever ghosts are whispering in his mind, they’re saying nothing good. When the shift ends and they’re cleaned up, Buck still looks half-dead, so Eddie snatches his keys. 

“I’m taking you home,” he says, tone booking no argument. “I don’t want you driving like this.”

Buck sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. “Okay.”

The drive is silent, but there’s a tension in the air, the weight of things unspoken. Eddie’s not entirely sure what exactly would roll off his own tongue if he opened his mouth, his head a mess, but when he parks his truck in front of Buck’s apartment, Buck finally speaks. 

“You know what I was thinking while I stuck in that building? Besides that I was going to die.”  He swallows hard. “That if it had to be someone it was good it was me.”

Eddie’s heart stops, his stomach rebelling violently at sheer wrongness of the thought. 

“That’s not true.”

Buck nods and lets out a small, bitter laugh. 

“See, I do know that actually,” he admits. “It’s one of the things I’ve been working on in therapy. Except then my parents rolled into town and it was like none of that work mattered, I was right back to square one assuming I’m not wanted, that no one would miss me—and I hate, I hate that they have that kind of power, that they can make me feel so fucking worthless.”

“You’re not though.” Eddie reaches over before he can stop himself, his hand curling around the side of Buck’s neck, thumb settling over his pulse to feel that steady thrum of alive alive alive. “God, when I thought—you’re worth everything. You have to know—“

You have to know how much you mean to me. You have to know how much I love you. You have to know I can’t lose you.

You have to know. 

Buck makes a small sound of disbelief, his gaze turning searching as Eddie bites his tongue to keep from saying too much he can’t take back. He feels somehow even more precariously positioned on the edge of a cliff than he had in the field, but that cliff was positioned above an ocean of grief. He doesn’t know what’s at the bottom of this one should he fall. 

Somehow that’s almost more terrifying. 

Eddie sways forward unconsciously and Buck presses his forehead to his. Neither of them are breathing steadily. And they stay like that for a long moment until Buck shivers and pulls back. 

“I want to kiss you,” he says quietly, and Eddie can’t quite help the frisson of want that sparks through him, the whisper of yes, please, do it then that threads through his mind. 

“But,” Buck continues, his tongue sweeping out to wet his lips as Eddie watches. “But it’s been a long and really fucking difficult day and I’m not—I don’t want to fuck this up before it even starts. If—if there’s anything to start at all, I don’t want to assume—“

“There is,” Eddie assures. I love you. I’m in love with you. 

That gets him the faintest smile as Buck reaches up to squeeze his hand. 

“Thanks for the ride home.”

“Of course. Anytime.”  

When Eddie gets home, he pauses long enough to check on Christopher before falling into bed. And only then does he think back over the day and finally, finally let himself shatter. 

[sunfloweroranges]

𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℂ𝕠𝕟𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 𝕠𝕟 𝕐𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕤𝕜𝕚𝕟

𝙰/𝙽

𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎!!

��𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚒𝚌.

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚗𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗'𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖.. ✨

𝙼𝚢 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘 𝚒𝚖 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗!

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𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜:𝟸𝚔

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𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝/𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚑𝚞𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗, 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚜𝚖, 𝚊 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜, 𝚋𝚒𝚐 𝚜𝚊𝚍

·

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𝙴𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢!

𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕝𝕚𝕤𝕥

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

A shaky breath escaped their lips, with a small puff of steam, the air wasn’t that cold, it was so late though. The moon was far up on the star littered sky, but their eyes didn’t see them… Their hands fiddled with a ring of keys trying to see through the blur of tears which key to use, but when the keys fell from their hands so did the tears from their e/c eyes. Today was the worst, first the work, too many clients, almost every each one was yelling and angry at them for no reason or for a reason they didn’t control. Then the way back home, they caught a flat tire and stood on the busy highway for hours trying to find a way to change it just to find no internet signal while trying to look for youtube tutorials.

They did end up calling a roadwork help, of course it wasn’t cheap and they were questioning if their rent would be paid from what they had left. The workers weren’t nice either, all over rude and belittling. When y/n go back on road they had to drive another additional half an hour, because the mechanical shop was in the opposite direction. They placed the top of their hand to their mouth trying to hide the ugly cries, muffling them in process as well.. It was the small things that kept on piling up lately, from awful customers to even the smallest things, like takeout missing a piece of their order or even worse, messing up or missing part of their partners order, then to add salt to the bruise, they realized the mistakes or missing pieces halfway home. · · · · · ·

Y/n crouched to grab the keys, the concrete floor cold and disgustingly wet against their fingers, they quickly picked up the key, having a small raccoon charm hooked on it, the little plushy reminded them of their lover, the most gentle and kind person they knew, they shakily brushed the small plushy as clean as they could with their hands, while the tears blinded their vision between blinks. While quiet sobs left y/n, the door softly clicked and opened, Choso standing behind them with his messy hair and the tired eyes, that somehow looked livelier whenever he saw his beloved. His gaze looked around his eye height vision, where he expected their dearest to be, but, they weren’t there, rather, when his eyes slipped down he saw the shaking, crouched figure.

The familiar mess of h/c strands, shaking, in worse than ever disarrangement immediately flared an alarm in the towering male’s head, he crouched down and brushed his hands on their shoulders. “Y/n? Come inside, you’ll catch a cold if you stay out.” His words resonated like an echo in y/n’s mind, their head crowded with terrible thoughts like a horror ride with only a terrible end, but these words, the familiar voice they heard was like a sharp turn to a much calmer ‘ride’. They barely moved, all they did was tip forward, onto their knees, dirtying their pants from the wet concrete that felt unbelievably spiky on their legs.

Choso didn’t hesitate to catch the tilting lover in his arms, when these things happened he already knew what was going on. These shut downs happened very rarely for y/n, but when they did, all Choso could do was be patient and gentle towards his beloved, they talked about it ever since the first one happened years ago, when they barely met and y/n messed up their work project and had a lot of inside rumble piling up for a while. The male gently picked up y/n in his arms, with a grunt getting up and shutting the door with his foot almost stumbling to the ground but luckily catching balance.

Y/n kept on clinging to their keys and the raccoon plushy, even though their safe heaven was right there, holding them close, in these moments y/n curled up, didn’t speak, barely moved and would love to become invisible for the time being. These moment were like a last straw for their sanity and patience. From these moments they couldn’t come out themselves unharmed, but ever since Choso learned and grew to care for Y/n out of his own loving and kindness towards them, y/n survived these storms calmly and safely, even if the saving was from their own self. · · · · · ·

Choso knew one thing, silence was the worst that could happen now, it gave space, space that surprisingly quickly could be filled with the worst nightmares and most gruesome scenes by y/n’s troubled mind. The click of a kettle ensured to add a new noise, the blackette had already put on some soft playlist that y/n enjoyed, the rumble that slowly got louder was just one of the few factors that would help ground y/n. His beloved that was now curled up on the couch, waiting for Choso to appear again while ‘Leave me in Amsterdam’ played from the Bluetooth speaker on the table. Choso’s gaze softened seeing how Y/n, now drowning in his hoodie, that was still warm as he was wearing it just a moment ago, cradled the raccoon plush that Choso took off of the keys and promised to wash and dry tomorrow.

The water rumbled as its temperature rose, the pigtailed male walked up to the soft brown couch an crouched in front of y/n, gently placing his hands on their knees that were pulled close to their chest, his gaze, so soft and loving, so caring, everything he did towards y/n was as such. Choso gently brushed the thumb of his left hand against the thin material on their knee, y/n had to be helped, but got changed into more comfortable clothing and out of the dirty pants they had on. · · · · · ·

“A few years back, I remember you’ve asked me about my favorite flower… I asked you to guess, and you said Sunflowers. Truth be told, I didn’t have a favorite bloom, but ever since you’ve said that, I can’t help but look at the yellow pedals with a smile.” Choso’s voice as quiet, a gentle tone, reminiscing and confessing, another gentle tug onto Y/n’s mind to ground. A pair of e/c glassy orbs looked to the black ones, their darkness enticing, but somehow, keeping it shallow with their caring gaze, though blurred through the salty tears that balled in the corners of y/n’s eyes at these words.

A soft sob escaped their throat, their eyes feeling hot with tears and their nose runny as they curled into themselves more, their body tensing and limbs shaking as they clutched onto the small plushy, their knuckles turning white. Choso’s brows twitched in worry, just for a moment he thought he did something wrong, but seeing how y/n’s face changed just a bit, the tiniest way that their brows curled, he knew that they were just emotional, that these tears weren’t as sad, but rather touched the most vulnerable part of his lover.

The black haired male gently lifted on his feet and rested his knee on the edge of the couch, if he learned one thing, it was that even if these things that he did, seemed useless, they worked, bit by bit, slowly reeling in the loving and kind and sometimes too loud for most people’s liking y/n that reminded him a little of Yuji, that he knew and loved. · · · · · ·

The feeling of weight, of touch, of warmth.. The feeling of someone else, the feeling of Choso, it felt so foreign, so new and yet so safe and familiar. His arms have wrapped themselves around y/n, when they unveiled themselves from the curled up bean they’ve become because of crying. Their eyes burned and their nose did too from too much rubbing, but it didn’t matter, not when the soft lips kissed their eyelids soothingly, not when his kisses felt like the cure for any possible ache.

Y/n felt the tenseness of their body hurt, this tense shut façade that they subconsciously clawed at to hold up. Y/n was afraid, scared to show their vulnerability, shutting down, unable to speak nor show what was wrong. With Choso around things were different, with him they could slowly grow and show the weaknesses, say what upset them with no fear of judgment, or keep silent and be sure that he wouldn’t leave, he wouldn’t judge, that Choso would simply be there, support y/n in the ways he knew could help, even if just a little, even if it was just a millimeter pull away from the edge of a breakdown.

The next factor, the warm cup in their hands, the keychain raccoon hung off of their finger as they held the mug with two hands, they took a small sip, a simple tea, a warm beverage, not too sweet, not too bitter, the perfect tea just the way they liked it most. Choso knew just how to make it, and he also knew, after y/n told him, that drinking something, the warmer the better, makes their throat hurt less, as when they shut down their throat tensed and shut in a way speaking wasn’t possible, but drinking soothed it, not permanently, but definitely helped even just for a moment.

The soft breeze, cold, icy air making their breaths turn into small clouds before fading away. Y/n sighed shakily looking at the star littered sky, immediately spotting their favorite, orions belt. Choso took Y/n out, on the roof of their apartment complex, the sky looked so beautiful, here where the streetlamps didn’t work, here where the area was pitch black, the stars looked so bright, the milky way stretching across the sparkling roof.. Y/n hid their hands withing the long sleeves of the hoodie, slowly, the cold air grounded them, the smell of ground, of the nearby forest, of the world, cold, but refreshing, like a breath of life into the shell of their mortal body.

Choso looked to his beloved, his arms wrapped around them as he sat on the edge of the roof with an old blanket under them to keep them separated from sickly cold concrete of the roof. His dark eyes reflected the stars, but y/n’s showed him the most hidden and breathtaking galaxies, his hand gently resting under the dark hoodie y/n cuddle into, gently pulling the h/c figure close his fingers mindlessly mapped out the beauty marks on their side, he knew all of them, where each one was embedded into the vast universe of y/n’s skin.

He knew they would sometimes feel insecure, loose grounding, shut down, or have a bad day overall, but these moments just helped him prove y/n that truly, he wasn’t going anywhere, especially not away from the one he loved most. Y/n sniffled again, this pulled Choso out of his thoughts and mindless staring into the sky, his hand didn’t waver as he connected the small constellations on y/n’s skin “The Sky herself, is envious of The Constellations on Your skin”

With these words the sobs softly began again, but this time, y/n leaned into the awaiting embrace of the dark haired male, he didn’t expect it, he didn’t expect anything from y/n, not even letting him care for them. This time like many others, y/n managed to surprise him. Three soft squeezes onto his shoulder. That’s all it took for him to remember their little codeword, causing a gentle smile to break out onto his lips he buried his face into y/n’s hair and whisper, where no one else could hear, where the sky herself was watching them from above…“I love you too…”

· · · · · · · · · · · · · · · · ·

@ryosmne​ @love-amihan​ @falling4fandoms​​ ||if youd like to be added to the tag list, comment, send an ask or a dm :))

[fullmetalscullyy]

royai week day 5 - illicit affairs

summary:  the previous night – their social engagement and the subsequent events that followed a clandestine meeting at his apartment between them – shouldn’t have happened

rated: t | words: 2629 | tags: royai, inspired by music: illicit affairs (taylor swift), angst, fluff, angst with a happy ending, romance, sneaking around, relationship discussion

an: happy royai day!!!!!!!!!!! thank u for following along with my fics this week celebrating our two fave war criminals :') and thank you for participating in royai week, whether it was a creator, a reader, a supporter, or all three. its always a fantastic event to be a part of and i can't wait to catch up on all the amazing things created this week <3333 best week of the year!!! hope you all have a lovely weekend!

read on ao3 | read on ffnet

“What are you thinking about?”

The question broke through his quiet moment of repose while Roy dozed. It wasn’t loud or a disturbance. His companion sounded merely curious as they observed him, but they were also being careful, speaking softly so not to startle him.

Roy batted his eyelids open slowly, feeling the grip of sleep lingering on him, and was greeted by the sight of his darkened bedroom. The sun was rising outside. Beyond his curtains he could see light beginning to filter through, signalling dawn was approaching.

He had uneventfully awoken before the twilight hour arrived and had found contentment as he held the woman in his bed tightly within his arms. Roy was left with the feeling of never wanting to let her go, so had opted against trying to fall back sleep. He chose to lay awake, to simply enjoy having the ability to hold Riza so closely. However as time passed, unwelcome thoughts started to swirl around inside his mind. Roy had contemplated them as Riza slept quietly beside him, unaware of his inner turmoil.

The fact they were even in this position was the subject of his thoughts. His heart allowed it and rejoiced. His mind, however, did not. Did he deserve to hold someone close after all he had done in life? Did he deserve to hold her?

The previous night – their social engagement and the subsequent events that followed a clandestine meeting at his apartment between them – shouldn’t have happened. They both knew that. It was their reality, but they needed… Something. Each other. It was a coping mechanism. A breaking of the rules they had meticulously placed between them in order to follow duty and set them on the path to righting their past wrongs.

But this wasn’t the first time said rules had been broken. Roy didn’t think it would be the last either.

Their co-dependency would be their downfall, Roy was sure of it. It had the potential to ruin completely them and yet, they still toyed with fire. It was an unwelcome thought, but it was their reality. He wouldn’t deny that fact and knew Riza wouldn’t either.

As a means of fending the thoughts off, Roy had elected to focus on the sound of her breathing and the way his hand rose and fell on her back, moving with the inflation of her lungs. He’d splayed his fingers over her bare skin and caressed her scars as she slept next to him, fighting off the whispers in his mind that he needed to stop and put distance between them. To end their illicit affair there and then.

Those tiny actions and her presence must have eventually been enough to soothe and relax him, because he’d ended up slipping gently back into unconsciousness.

Movement pried his attention away from his dark ceiling. A beautiful face popped into view and commandeered his attention completely. Riza was looking at him curiously, just like her tone had suggested. Her head was cocked to the side, creating a curtain of golden blonde hair over one shoulder as she tried to figure out the puzzle that was his mind and thoughts while watching him.

“Sorry,” she apologised quickly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” he reassured with a smile. “I wasn’t asleep. Just dozing, really,” he yawned quietly.

Riza nodded. Her head righted and she lifted a hand to shift his fringe off to one side of his forehead, splitting it down the middle. He sighed quietly as her fingertips ghosted over his forehead.

“How did you know I had been thinking?”

Riza lowered her hand and then her head. She lay down against his shoulder and Roy wrapped an arm around her, holding her body flush against his. He inhaled, taking in the smell of her shampoo and conditioner. It washed over him like a comfort, and he angled his head to the side, so he was facing her. His lips were tickled by strands of blonde hair, causing him to smile at the sensation, despite his previous inner turmoil. He pressed his face into her hair and kissed the top of her head.

“There was a crease between your eyebrows.”

Automatically, the muscles of his face softened, and Roy realised there had indeed been tension sitting there. He shifted in place, relaxing his shoulders as well as his jaw.

“Am I that easy to read?”

“Oh yes,” Riza replied without missing a beat.

As he chuckled at her response, she shifted against him, and her head moved to rest atop his heart. It created a warmth there, spreading across his chest and pleasantly down into his stomach, to his very core. It was calming.

Emotions surged to the surface, forbidden and dangerous, but in the privacy and security of his own bed, Roy let himself feel them. For if he didn’t, it would all build up to a breaking point. It was a form of release to allow himself to feel the things he had to bury in the light of day.

“Well, you do know me better than anyone else does,” he remarked after clearing his throat.

His fingers trail up her bare arm slowly and with a feather-light touch. Goosebumps rose on her skin and the hairs on her forearm lifted to stand to attention. He could feel it under his fingers, and it made him smile.

“Although,” he mused out loud, “I don’t know how I feel about being unable to hide any secrets from you.”

“You’re keeping secrets from me?” She taunted him playfully and it changed his soft smile to a wide grin.

“Oh yes,” he answered, mimicking the way she’d said the same thing just moments ago.

Riza huffed to herself, and the air expelled tickled the skin of his chest. “I’m offended, Roy.”

“Having some secrets is healthy,” he countered.

Riza hummed against him. “What kind of secrets? Life changing ones, or day to day ones? How many have you got hiding in that head of yours, sir,” she added, poking him in the ribs gently.

“Like I said, a healthy amount,” he laughed quietly, flinching away from her light jab. “Like how I sometimes feed Hayate scraps off my plate when you’re not looking.”

“I knew that already,” she assured him confidently, but Riza still sighed heavily with disapproval.

“Damn… Well then, it looks like I don’t really have any secrets from you.”

“Good,” she nodded against him, her tone firm and approving.

They lapsed into silence and Roy continued his ministrations of running his fingers up and down her muscular arm. He enjoyed the feeling of hard muscle under her skin as he mapped out each one with every course over her forearm and bicep. He started to wonder if she was falling back asleep when Riza finally spoke again.

“I should go soon.”

It was a simple fact they both knew and were aware of, but it still felt like a bell tolling, signalling the end. It was the end of their peace, their time together, and their sanctuary. When the apartment door closes they will be back to superior and subordinate. Couple the power imbalance already in place between them and his thoughts from earlier, Roy can already feel a knot forming in his stomach. Because it doesn’t matter if they were together before her assignment under him. No one would care about that if it ever came to light. It would harm them and potentially completely destroy their plans for the future.

“Okay.” Roy swallowed to try and wet his suddenly dry throat.

He needs to stop this and put distance between them.

The pleasant feeling that had washed over him while they’d bantered back and forth was gone. Suddenly it felt like he’d been dunked in ice cold water.

Riza sighed quietly in response but still didn’t move.

That’s what makes it worse, he thought to himself. They both know they shouldn’t, it breaks so many rules and regulations, but they still do it. And they don’t want it to ever stop.

The fingers she had brought to rest upon his stomach slowly clench into a light fist. It was as if she was trying to cling onto him, and Roy tightened his arms around her.

They clung to one another in his darkened bedroom.

“I don’t want to leave.” Her voice was so quiet, as if voicing those thoughts aloud would rain down a higher power’s wrath upon her. It was a secret, one they both shared and hid from the rest of the world. He doesn’t want her to go either and feels the same way when they’re at her apartment.

“It’s wrong to stay, though.” Roy hated to say it, but it was the truth. They don’t shy away from their past actions. “It’s wrong to initiate it in the first place.”

“I know it is.” Her admission was as truthful as his, and her voice was subdued as she spoke. Her counter was not malicious, it was spoken like a simple fact, and his point was not made to scold her. He’d initiated it this time. Last time it was Riza who needed him. This time, last night, he’d needed Riza. Sometimes it was just for the release or on a whim. A true guilty pleasure, in every sense of the word. They are guilty of so much and this adds onto their pile. And they are equal in their desires of wanting to spend a night together.

Roy wrapped his arms tighter around her frame. “And yet… I can’t bring myself to stay away.”

Riza didn’t reply.

“In the privacy of my own bedroom, and in my own bed with you, I feel like I’m home,” he admits quietly. Breathes it like a prayer. “Riza… You are my home.”

Her head then body rose from the mattress and Riza propped herself up on one elbow so she could look at him. Her expression was neutral as she regarded him.

As wrong as their coupling always was, Roy took a deep breath and still revealed his true inner thoughts.

“Although nights like this shouldn’t happen,” he added, “they do. And I cannot deny the fact that I have never feel more at peace than I do like this. I won’t deny it to myself. I won’t deny it to you either.”

Riza blinked back at him, remaining silent. Her expression shifted slightly, and Roy had an inkling she was trying to keep some emotions at bay but didn’t comment on it. He simply observed and took note.

“This,” he gestured languidly between them, “is my sanctuary.” He lifted a hand to brush her hair over her shoulder. “I could never see myself with anyone else other than you.”

Riza still didn’t speak, but Roy could see a shiny film forming over her eyes in the growing light from outside.

“I love you. Always have, and always will.” His hand moved to cup her cheek gently. His thumb slowly stroked over her cheekbone once, then twice. “But I admit, I do fear for us and our future if we get too complacent and indulge ourselves too much. Whatever does happen, however it plays out, my feelings for you will never change. You can count on that.”

Her eyelids fluttered closed. Roy stroked her cheekbone again before lifting himself into a seated position. He waited for her to compose herself, enjoying the feeling of the soft skin of her face under his fingertips and the sensation of their heads bowed together so intimately.

“I’m sorry we have to resort to something that’s the equivalent of an affair,” he murmured quietly, running his thumb over her cheekbone one final time, “when you deserve something so much more.”

Her face screwed up slightly and Riza shook her head in the negative, protesting his statement. When her eyes opened, they were still shining but no tears fell. He offered her a tiny smile, secretly pleased she agreed with him, because it meant she was still happy, being like this, with him.

“I will love you forever, my queen,” he whispered. It was spoken so softly but held every ounce of passion it would have had if he’d declared it in front of a crowd of thousands. His speech was reverent, in awe of everything that she is, and of how much he loved this woman. They’re intertwined so intricately in everything that they do and while co-dependency may be their downfall, it is also a strength. Roy draws from it, from her, every day. Having Lieutenant Hawkeye by his side on his journey to the top is a blessing and having Riza stand by him through it all is something he doesn’t deserve. And yet, she’s there. Always steadfast and unyielding against any problems which are thrown their way.

A true queen.

Riza lifted her arms suddenly and latched onto him, finally overcome. Roy’s body was jerked forwards against her while one of her hands buried itself into his hair. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck and Roy wrapped his arms tightly around her back. He couldn’t move far because of the grip she had on him, but Roy did angle his head slightly so he could press a kiss against her neck.

“I love you, Roy,” Riza whispered. “So much that it scares me, but it’s not unwelcome. It never will be.” She pulled away and he could see a tear tracking down her cheek. Then, a breathy laugh escaped her. “I know you enjoy a bit of sneaking around sometimes,” she snorted quietly, which was quickly accompanied with a smirk.

Roy grinned back because she was right. He did enjoy teasing her about the thrill of it. And somewhere, deep down, Roy knew she enjoyed it just as much as him. The quick escape in the wee hours of the morning, the furtive looks, the briefest of touches that would make breaths hitch when they were overdue for a “meeting”, and the white lies about what plans they had for the weekend; Nothing at all, Breda, she’d shrug, making him roll his eyes fondly because that was always her answer. Just a date, he’d smirk, making them all nod in understanding at his code, and start Havoc off on a thinly veiled interrogation of what Roy’s date looked like for the week. Mostly for appearances, but everyone knew he was also actually interested.

Little did they all know, they were having an illicit affair right underneath their noses.

When reality came crashing back down, it made his stomach tie in knots, but Roy would always argue it was worth it. Despite everything, the threat, the worry inside their minds, he knew he’d do it again in a heartbeat with no questions asked.

They were already breaking all the rules with his plans of ascending to power. What was one more?

“And while the danger of it is always present…” Riza continued, pausing for a second as she considered what to say next. “It brings me comfort, because you are a comfort to me, Roy.”

Their foreheads kissed together, and both closed their eyes, simply existing and basking in the company of the other. For a moment, they were filled with such content. Airing out their thoughts had done them the world of good. Communication was always key, and it was not something they had ever lacked. They were open and honest with one another always.

Despite their inner turmoil regarding their coupling, the fact was undeniable to them that moments like this were their safe haven. Their shelter in a storm. Pure, unadulterated peace, for a few hours at least.

Being with Riza like this left Roy feeling completely whole.

[jawritter]

Twelve Days Of Christmas

Chapter 10

Summary: Dean never realized that Y/N missed Christmas until he turned off an annoying Christmas song on the radio on the way home from a hunt, now he will make it his personal mission to give her the Christmas he misses so much, and if he plays his cards right, maybe he will give her what he has wanted to give her for so many years, himself.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Written For: @spnchristmasbingo​​​​​​​​​

Square Field: Cas

Word Count: 1750

Warnings: Series finale spoilers here!! Mentions of canon character death, Mentions of grief, some fluff, probably language in there too. This is the heaviest chapter of this series honestly. Mentions of past smut. I think that’s it.

A/N: This is to help me catch up on my SPN Christmas Bingo card lol Chapter 11 will post tomorrow! I knew chapter will post every day until Christmas! I know I’m insane lol. This is a real time fic collection and all mistakes will be my own! Please do not copy my work! Hope you all enjoy these!!

**SERIES MASTERLIST** **MASTERLIST**   **BECOME A

Dean’s sock-covered feet dragged as he made his way down the stairs, and into the kitchen in search of his morning coffee. You were still wrapped up warmly in bed, sound asleep when he’d forced himself up, and made himself get out of bed. 

God knows he didn’t want to get up. He would have rather stayed right there, wrapped up against your warm body, but that would have led to something he wasn’t sure you were ready for yet, and he didn’t want you to feel like just because you were a couple now that you had to sleep with him. 

Sex was something that had been somewhat polluted for Dean over the years. It was just a mechanical function he used to blow off steam or to just scratch that itch. It never meant anything, just another nameless face he’d forget in the morning. With Lisa, it was mostly just something to do to stave off the mind-numbing boredom, but still, even though he did care about Lisa to an extent, it meant nothing. 

When the time finally did come, and they decided to take that step, he wanted it to be different, to actually mean something for him. He wanted that connection he’d always craved, but never been able to achieve. He didn’t want to just go through the familiar physical motions. He wanted more this time. 

He was standing at the kitchen window, looking out over the snow-covered lawn with a cup of coffee in his hand, and his mind swirling in the stress-induced storm that had become his norm over the years when you slipped up behind him, and wrapped your arms around his waist, resting your head against his broad back. He seemed to relax a little as soon as your arms were around him, and you would have given your left arm to know what was going on inside that head of his, but you knew Dean, and it was best to let him work himself through it, and if he wanted to talk he would. 

“What’s got you up so early?” Dean asked, sitting the coffee cup down on the counter in front of him and turning to wrap his arms around you, pulling you tighter to him. “You were sound asleep when I got up.”

You shrugged against him, you didn’t want to admit you weren’t asleep when he got up, but rather was just laying there enjoying the warmth his body was providing until he decided to randomly sneak away. 

“Just woke up I guess. What’s got you out of bed so early?” you asked him. 

Dean sighed deeply, resting his chin on the top of your head. “Couldn’t sleep, didn’t want to wake you up. You looked so peaceful laying there.” 

The two of you stood there in comfortable silence for a long time, even though neither of you said anything you could almost feel the wheels turning inside Dean’s head. Dean was a strange, complicated person on a lot of levels. You knew he wasn’t going to completely open up to you overnight, but on days like this, when he seemed stuck in his own head, you wished more than anything he’d let you in. 

Suddenly, Dean stood up straighter, letting go of you and stalking towards the little tree in the living room. The stance of his body had yours suddenly on high alert. It was a predatory prowl that Dean only reserved for hunts or immediate danger, and it had your own hunter scenes on edge. 

Reaching behind you to the knife draw you pull out a butcher knife, never taking your eyes off of Dean as he stalks his way into the living room, seemingly headed for the Christmas tree, but looking around him as if something were going to jump out of the corner of the room and attack at any moment. 

Finally, he reached his goal and stooped down to retrieve what looked to be a deep blue something, warped with a red bow, and a card you hadn’t noticed until he retrieved it. 

Slowly you made your way towards the center of the room where Dean was standing with the little package in hand, your curiosity getting the best of you. 

“What is it Dean?” you ask him quietly, and you were surprised when he jumped a little. Dean didn’t startle easily. 

Dean turned, showing you the little bundle of what looked like silk material, and the folded card, confusion etched deep in his perfect face. 

“You didn’t put this there?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the tree. 

“No, I’ve been with you all night,” you reply, looking closely at the little bundle in Dean’s hand, an uneasy feeling still deep in your bones. 

Dean turned the card over in his hand, reaching it in silence. You watched his features change from something hard and calculating, to soft and almost vulnerable. In fact, you could have sworn he was about to cry. 

He swallowed thickly, handing the card over to you for you to read. It was written in an unkept, child-like scrawl you never thought you’d see again, it was obviously Jack’s handwriting. 

Dean, 

Merry Christmas. Here’s a little something from some of those you have waiting on you in Heaven. Even though we can’t be with you in person this year, we’re here in spirit. So here's a little something to remember them by. 

With love, 

Cas, Mary, and Jack.

Dean’s hands shook as his thick fingers pulled the little silk ribbon, undoing the little bow on the bundle and opening it slowly, revealing Cas’s blue tie, wrapped around Mary’s charm bracelet he’d only ever seen once in his life when he’d traveled back in time to try and stop his mom from making that fatal deal; as well as the mixed tape he’d made Cas so long ago. 

Dean sat down slowly, the little trinkets in his hands that shocked ever so slightly, one single tear sliding down his face as he held the reminders of those he loved and lost. 

You sat down quietly next to him, your hand resting comfortably on his thigh. You wanted to give him his space, but you wanted to also let him know you were there for him. 

“I thought this was lost in the fire,” Dean said finally, shifting the little charm bracelet in his hand. “I looked for it once I returned back to my time period. Looked all through Dad’s stuff, but I never could find it. I just wanted something to hold onto that was hers.”

His eyes shifted to the mixed tape he’d made Cas as he laid the other items down on the coffee table in front of him. “I didn’t even know Cas had kept this.” 

From what little bit you all knew, once Cas had been taken to the empty Jack had rescued him, and they were rebuilding Heaven. You knew that the loss of Cas had affected Dean greatly, you were there sitting outside his door on the nights he thought everyone else was finally asleep, listening to him pray to his friend, begging him to come back just one more time while he thought no one was listening. 

Dean closed his eyes and leaned into you. You didn’t hesitate in wrapping your arms around him, grounding him, letting him quietly work through his emotions. 

“Tell you what,” you say, running your fingers through his sleep tossed hair. “We’ve done enough for me. What do you say we have a Dean day. Sit around here, bake a pie, watch slasher movies or some old westerns, and not even get out of our PJ’s.”

Dean sat up slowly, placing a sweet kiss on your lips. “Let’s save that for tomorrow, today I thought we might head downtown so that you can have a look at those shops that sell that old stuff you love so much, and they’re also having a Whiskey tasting on the main street today. One of the local breweries is throwing it for Christmas.”

Dean sat up, looking at you with a hint of excitement that was hiding behind those shining green orbs of his, the ghost of those memories from the past still lingered there, but he seemed to be handling it well. If you knew Dean, he didn’t want to pass up a whiskey tasting, and you did want to go through those old shops. You loved antique things, and those places were usually littered with them. 

“Okay fine, only if we can go get some more of those waffles from that waffle house first, I’m starving,” you tell him, and watch as his face lights up like you had told him he’d won the lottery. 

“That’s my girl,” he said, pecking you on the lips before gathering up his gifts, carrying them off upstairs to hide them away until he can take them home and add them to that little wooden box he keeps for his most precious possession. 

“Get dressed woman! I’m starving,” he yells down over his shoulder as he disappears from sight, and you smile as you stand from your place on the couch. 

“Thanks, Jack, thanks for giving him something to hold onto,” you whisper to the wind. 

Dean never really got any closure from Cas’s death, and Mary was taken so suddenly away from him again, you could think of no better gift from them this holiday season. This was his first Christmas without Cas, nowhere near the first without his mom, but it was a nice little reminder that even though they weren’t physically here with him, they still were watching out for him. 

Dean wrapped up his gifts back in Cas’s Tie, and placed them safely in his duffle, a soft smile on his face in spite of himself. Sure, it had caught him completely off guard, and at first, the reminder hurt, but the peace he now had in knowing that his mom and Cas were in Heaven waiting on him was an unsuspected gift he wanted, but never thought he’d be able to get. 

It also gave him hope that maybe, for the first time in a long time, he was moving in the right direction and not just in circles of more pain and torment. Hopefully, this was a sign that what he had started with you was the beginning of the peace he’d always wanted, but was never allowed to obtain.

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Series Tags: 

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[tanyawritesstories]

DNA test, anyone? | Wolfpack x Reader

So I said a while back that I was going to try and write a fic based on a @clonesandmoans post about the Wolfpack getting the reader pregnant after an orgy and not knowing which one was the father. So, I wrote just that! Hope you enjoy! 😉

Warnings: NSFW, smut mentioned, fluff, described orgy in a flashback, pregnancy, protective good bois

•••

You woke with immediate pain in your entire torso. Dull, aching, constant pain. As bad as that may be, it was a reminder of the mind blowing events of last night. You smiled at the thought, images flashing through your head.

~~

Your brain couldn’t comprehend the amount of pleasure your body was feeling. Your skin was covered in sweat, bruises, and several hands. Gripping, massaging, spanking, all over you. You weren’t sure who was where anymore.

You were pretty sure that Wolffe was the owner of the cock that was in your mouth, hilt deep, choking you. His grip on your hair was just hard enough to cause a little bit of pain that easily flowed into pleasure.

Comet was the one with your tits in his hands, massaging them gently and using his mouth to suck harshly on one of your nipples. He hadn’t used his teeth on them, but his thumb and index fingers pinching and rolling was enough for you.

Warthog was in your right hand and Wildfire in your left. Both your hands skillfully working their cocks to climax. You didn’t know how you were managing to keep your body functions working since your brain had pretty much left you. You were on autopilot at this point.

That left Sinker and Boost to both of your other holes. Boost was in front of you thrusting into your soaking cunt with wild abandon. Not content to stop until he filled you to the brim with his cum. Sinker had filled your ass after working you open, it still stung a little when he slid in as he was impatient and rushed prepping you a little. He was now moving easily in and out of you thanks to his precum and how wet you were.

You were literally being fucked out of your mind by the entire Wolfpack and it was everything you had ever wanted.

~~

By the time the night had ended, every one of them had stuffed you full with each of their cum. Your legs felt sticky at just the memory.

You sat up slowly, wincing as the soreness turned to sharp pains in your lower regions. You stood on wobbly legs, finally standing up straight and not losing your balance. After standing for a few seconds you were hit with an intense wave of nausea. Despite the pain, you ran to the fresher and promptly threw up into the toilet. You figured it was a result of the strange drinks the boys had mixed for you the night before. You had watched them add at least ten different alcohols into one concoction with potentially bad after effects.

You leaned against the wall after emptying the contents of your stomach. Still worth it. You proceeded with your daily duties as a civilian mechanic, doing repairs, safety checking equipment, seeing the boys off to yet another mission, all in a day’s work.

Everything pretty much stayed the same for the next week. Except the fact that you would randomly get nauseous and end up in a refresher, or with your head over a trash receptacle, puking your brains out. You had no idea why. The idea of it being the alcohol was a good one, but it wouldn’t be lasting this long. Food poisoning? But you ate the same thing everyday and never had this reaction. Just being sick in general was an option, except everyone was perfectly healthy, unless a sickness just appeared out of thin air.

You went to a medic after getting tired of throwing up everyday for nearly two weeks in a row. You were hoping it was an easy fix, that there was a medication you could take and make it go away so you could get back to work. That wasn’t the case.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, Y/N,” the shy medic began. “It can’t be that bad, can it?” You questioned, concern finding its way into your eyes.

“You’re pregnant.”

The information struck you like a mudhorn charging at you full speed. “What? T-that can’t be right,” you stuttered out. “I ran the tests three times, it’s correct,” the medic assured, “somehow you got pregnant.”

Then it dawned on you. The Wolfpack. That night they fucked you senseless must have overwhelmed your birth control and gotten you pregnant. Your head fell into your hands and you groaned. Fuck. Now what? What steps did you take from here? Do you tell them? That in itself presented an issue. All of them had emptied themselves into you, so who was the father? It could be any of them, it’s not like the baby’s looks or DNA could tell either. You knew if they pulled it up they would only find that it was a clone not which clone.

You sulked back to your room and had no choice but to deal with your situation. You weren’t exactly ready to be a mother, but it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. You had to tell them when they got back, there was nothing else you could do.

It was another few weeks when the boys finally got back. You were nervous as all hell and decided to tell them after they had gotten settled back in and relaxed some. You didn’t need to add to their stress or dampen their happiness. You welcomed them back like you always did and gave each of them a kiss on the cheek, telling them you had a surprise for them later, so that they knew to set time aside.

That time came just before they were all about to bunk down for the night.

“So, Y/N, what’s this surprise you have in store for us?” Sinker asked with a wink.

“Well, it’s nothing like the last one,” you replied. You made sure you had all their attention before continuing. “I have something important to tell you guys,” you said, looking at the floor. You chanced a glance up and saw six pairs of eyes boring into you. You took a deep breath and prayed they didn’t flip out.

“I’m, uh, I’m pregnant,” you said, just loud enough for them to hear.

You got the opposite reaction to what you expected. Complete silence. Looking between them you could see each of them thinking, trying to figure it out. Comet was the first to decipher it.

“So which one of us is the father?”

You looked sheepishly at the floor again. “I-it could be any of you, possibly all of you.”

There was silence again until Sinker spoke up. “We’re that good, huh?” You looked up to see the smirk on his face before Boost elbowed him in the ribs and quietly told him to cut it out. An arm wrapped around your shoulders and you looked up to see Wildfire’s eyes looking back at yours. “Are you going to be alright?”

You closed your eyes, the full force of what you had done finally setting in. You were ashamed, embarrassed, and felt stupid. The creases of your eyes began collecting tears and you squeezed them shut harder, causing the tears to fall down your cheeks. You couldn’t hold back your emotions any longer and you broke down in tears. Wildfire pulled you into him and held you tightly as you sobbed into his shoulder, soaking his blacks. You felt the rest of the boys come to your aid, rubbing your back, running their fingers through your hair, holding your hands, anything they could to provide you some comfort.

You quieted down after a few minutes and slowly pulled away from Wildfire only to be taken into Wolffe’s arms. The Commander placed his hands on your cheeks and tilted your face up to look at him, wiping your tears with his bare thumbs.

“It’ll be alright,Y/N. We’ll help you,” he assured, “We will all be with you every step of the way, anything you need, tell us, ok? This baby is all of ours, so we’re going to treat it and it’s mother like the greatest treasure in the galaxy.” The other men echoed Wolffe’s words with their own words of encouragement and promises to be there for you. You found a smile coming to your face, a feeling of calm washing over you.

“I don’t deserve you amazing boys,” you said.

Wolffe kissed your forehead, “No, cyar’ika, we don’t deserve you, or this amazing gift you’ve given us.” Tears rolled down your face, but this time from happiness. Everything was going to be alright.

~~

The next few months were the most chaotic and stressful months of your life. The boys were so attentive to your needs and always there to help you. They hated leaving you to go on missions but they didn’t have much choice, and you assured them that you would be ok. But when they weren’t on mission, at least one of them was always with you.

They also made sure you were in perfect healthy condition. Walking you throughout the ship for exercise, making sure you stuck to a healthy diet and didn’t consume anything dangerous, and not letting you lift anything heavy, no matter how much you complained about some of those things.

Comet was usually the one to enforce your ‘food laws’ as you had nicknamed them. Refusing you things that would make you gain extra weight, and making sure you stuck to the list of foods you were given. He only let your cravings go so far until he took whatever you were eating away from you once you had too much. Usually that caused you to get mad or upset at him, the hormones only making things worse, but he was a firm man and didn’t budge even when you gave him your best puppy eyes. Though he wasn’t all bad, he always made sure you had food and if you were craving something specific he would run to the mess hall and get it for you.

Warthog kept you from working too much, usually he was already in the hangar when you would try and sneak in to get work done. He would notice you but pay no mind until you started doing something worrying. He would rush to your side and lift things for you or pick tools off the ground, go up on ladders, and occasionally escort you away from your workstation if you had been working too long. You would get upset at him too and worry that the work would go unfinished, but he would make sure it got done, by him or another mechanic.

Sinker was always there during your mood swings. When you would suddenly get angry or sad he would be at your side, comforting you or calming you down. He had a way with words and seemed to know the perfect ones to make you laugh when you were sad or soothe you when you were angry. He often dried your tears with his hands, always removing his gloves so you could feel his skin. You got anxious sometimes too, to the point you would be jittery. Sinker would be there letting you do anything to occupy your mind and get it off the anxious thoughts. Usually it was running your fingers through his hair or tracing his vertebrae with shaky hands.

Wildfire had specifically read up on the physical effects of pregnancy and found himself taking care of your changing body. You would wake up with muscle pains and Wildfire would be right there to massage the tension out of your shoulders or back. He would tell you facts and information he read off the holonet about which positions to sleep in to reduce the stress on your body. He would happily do little things for you, like rub your back or scratch an itch you couldn’t reach. Nothing seemed too big or small a task for him. He held your hair out of the way when your morning sickness kicked in and never complained. He would help you take baths and showers, scrubbing places you no longer had access to. Even going so far as to shave your legs and your vulva when you nearly broke down in tears saying you didn’t feel sexy anymore because of it.

Wolffe also contributed where he could, given it was hard because he was the busiest. He would spend time listening to you rant and rave about things that were bothering you or the events of that day, or the fact that Comet refused you cupcakes again. He was good at listening and hung onto every word you said. He often helped you shower too, since you loved to talk and sing in the shower. You taught him some songs and he would sometimes sing them with you. Oftentimes your mutual showering would lead to more adult activities. Seeing you big and pregnant always turned Wolffe on to some degree. Whenever your hormones would go crazy and make you horny, you always went to Wolffe. After finding out about his breeding kink you exploited it every time you were in need of special attention. It drove Wolffe feral seeing you naked and pregnant. He would give you exactly what you needed even when you didn’t know what that was. Whether that was fucking you rough and urgent or slow and sensual, he always knew what you needed. The other Wolfpack boys knew not to get in the Commander’s way when you would comm him asking to meet up in a less traveled part of the ship.

Boost was the most nervous about the situation that had been thrust upon him and his brothers. He hesitated to pitch in and help, not knowing what he could do but feeling bad he wasn’t as excited as the others. It took your assurance to bring him around, telling him that you were just as scared and nervous as he was. He decided that he would help keep you in shape and healthy. He would walk or jog throughout the ship with you, help you through light workouts that Wildfire told him were beneficial for pregnant women. He wanted to support you and therefore mirrored your workouts, making sure everything you did he did too, just so you weren’t alone. It often encouraged you and it became a challenge for you to get Boost to sweat with every workout you did. He was perfectly athletic and if you could get him to sweat and exert himself a little bit then that meant you were doing a good job. He even took up yoga with you, you were both just as bad being beginners and had many laughs and tumbles from trying strange poses. Sinker made the mistake of teasing Boost for doing yoga, you put an end to his teasing with a karate kick to the ass. Sinker never mentioned it again.

By the time the baby was due, the Wolfpack had transformed a corner of the barracks into a nursery. Complete with everything you could need, a crib, changing table and plenty of clothes for the little one. If anyone asked General Plo how any of those supplies managed to make it aboard he would swear he had no idea. But you all knew better. Despite the Force, the Jedi General was not a good liar. But he was a good babysitter.

You went into labor in the middle of the night, waking the boys up with your shouts of pain. They rushed you to the medbay and tried not to get in the way of the med droid as it delivered the child. They watched, some in horror, some in awe, as you gave birth. It was a perfectly healthy baby boy, who you could already tell looked a lot like his fathers.

You held the little babe on your chest and looked at the men surrounding you, most of which had tears in their eyes. “We did it,” you rasped out, your throat sore from screaming out in pain. “What are we going to name him?” Warthog asked. You looked down at your son, sleeping soundly on your chest. There was a little star shaped strawberry birthmark on his left cheek. “Nova,” you said.

“It’s perfect,” Wolffe agreed. He gently placed his hand on the baby’s head. “Our gift from the stars.”

[dommingjeffsatur]

the difference between being self-aware and doing something about it

Destiel fix it fic, about 2000 words, minor suicidal thoughts tw, its one none-explicit sentence, but still 

Dean was aware that this wasn’t healthy. He was a very self-aware person, thank you very much. That didn’t mean he always did something about this awareness, no, in fact most of the time he didn’t do anything about it. Like now.

Dean was aware that he had rediscovered his alcohol problem at full force. He was aware that he should try a different coping mechanism than whisky and barley leaving his room for several weeks. He was aware that he mourned Cas more than he would any other friend, he was aware of the implications of that. The first two he knew at the forefront of his mind, the last two he pushed far back into a little box in his brain, locked it and threw away the key.

Point is, Dean was fully aware of his situation. He was aware that he should throw away all his liquor and visit a therapist. He was also aware of other things but he had already buried that little box under tons and tons of other crap he didn’t care to think about, he was aware of its existence only when he paid attention to it and well, he chose not to.

With a resigned sigh Dean looked down at the empty bottle of beer in his hand. That was all he had managed to convince his brother to buy for him, beer. He thought briefly about leaving his room, leaving the bunker, driving to the nearest liquor store and drinking it, but he was self-aware enough to know that that was not going to happen. No, his miserable, useless ass was gonna continue sitting here, wallowing in his own sadness. Not like he was good for anything else even before…. His thoughts trailed off. Well, Before.  

Finally getting the energy to stand up, he quietly made his way into the kitchen to get himself a couple more bottles of beer without anyone annoying him. Or well, that was the plan. But nothing ever goes to plan in his life, does it. Dean could have sworn it was somewhere between midnight and the early ass hours of dawn where even his brother couldn’t get himself to get up, but somewhere along the way his sense of time must have abandoned him, because when he entered the kitchen, he saw Sam, Eileen and Jack eating breakfast. Wait, why was Jack eating breakfast? Wasn’t he like… god or something? Oh. Right. Dean knew that something had happened with the kid in the days After. He wasn’t entirely sure what but he was pretty sure the kid wasn’t god anymore. Last thing he knew Jack was something between god, a very powerful angel and a kid in the body of a young adult. And yes, before anyone asks, Dean was in fact aware that it was bad that he didn’t even know what the- no, his kid was.

He was also very aware of the three pairs of eyes that all turned towards him the second he entered the room. For a moment, none of them moved. “What, never seen a grieving man before?”, Dean snapped finally, wanting to add comments about how they should also be grieving but not ruthless enough to do that to the kid. Everyone looked back down at their plates and Dean took the opportunity to retrieve the beer he had come here for. He was aware of the worried looks that were exchanged behind his back as he walked away from the kitchen and back into his room.

 Dean was aware he was in a depressive episode and he was aware that it was a bad one. He had managed to bring his alcohol consume back down to a manageable level, or well, Sam had forced him to. He had not managed to leave the bunker. Unsurprisingly, he hadn’t called a therapist either. He hadn’t unlocked the little box in the far corner of his brain. He had, however managed to leave his room. Only to wallow in sadness in a different part of the bunker, though, so he didn’t count it as a win the way Sam, Eileen and Jack clearly did.

He was aware he was being hard on himself. But he had to be, after all he was responsible for things being the way they were. If Cas hadn’t. If Dean hadn’t made Cas. If… Dean couldn’t bring himself to finish any of these thoughts. He didn’t need to, he knew anyways. He knew It was his fault, whether or not he could bring himself to spell it out.  But that was not the only thing he knew. He also knew it was his responsibility to fix this. To bring him back, to make it all right. And sure, it was questionable he of all people would be able to accomplish anything, but he had to try anyways.

Dean’s eyes were burning, his back was aching and his brain was no longer able to process any kind of input. He had been sitting over this one page for an hour now, rereading the same paragraph over and over again, never retaining any of the information. Dean had always been aware that Sam had inherited all the smarts in the family but it had never bothered him as much as it did now. He had spent the last couple of days hunched over books, furiously taking notes of anything that could be of help to him but so far, he had come up blank.

Everything hurt. Dean was decidedly too old to be falling asleep at the kitchen table, using an open book as a pillow, but then again, it wasn’t like he had planned for this to happen. Squeezing his eyes closed and opening them widely a couple of times to wake himself up, he slowly lifted his head to discover a plate of eggs and bacon that was cold by now and a stack of books along with a note from Eileen telling him that the books were research material Sam had found for him and criticizing his choice of sleeping place.

After the fifth time he had woken up like that the breakfast stopped being eggs and bacon and started being instructions as to where he could find the ingredients himself. After the tenth time, people started pestering him about getting fresh air. “You can read outside”, “You could drive into town, read in a café, you know, see other people” But since Dean wasn’t a tired college student trying to make his life less miserable by romanticizing the tedious process of studying, he instead chose to stay where he was. He knew seeing nature would only make him think of Cas, he knew his heart would stop every time he saw a trench coat if he were to participate in society again. The 15th time he woke up like that it was to see his brothers worried face at the other end of the table. “Dean, this can’t go on like this” “I am aware”

 Dean was aware that this might not work. He knew this was an unprecedented plan, but wasn’t that half of his plans, and so far, only a couple of them had led him to die, experience excruciating pain, cause the apocalypse or a combination of those. Dean couldn’t say he liked those odds, he was many things and suicidal might be one of them, but he didn’t like the idea of leaving Sam or Jack behind. But he was aware he would never forgive himself if he didn’t try.

Dean knew that he should be taking backup, but the one idea he liked less than leaving his family behind was putting them in danger to fix one of his mistakes. So, he didn’t, he didn’t tell them he had found a possible solution and he most certainly didn’t tell them he was going to try it. He left, quietly in the middle of the night (having regained his sense of time, he didn’t run into anyone this time). Taking a last look at the bunker, he sighed, wishing he was back already. But he was aware that the only way he would be coming back was with Cas.

 The first thing Dean felt when he was back from There was an overwhelming amount of relief. The second thing was an overwhelming amount of doubt. What if the Empty had tricked him? What if he had let the Empty trick him? What if his plan hadn’t worked? What if Cas wasn’t back. What if he had failed. Realizing, that he was spiraling, he took a couple of deep breaths and willed his heartbeat to calm back down. There would be no way to know if it had worked until he was back at the bunker. Cas was back. He had to be.

The entire drive back he kept trying to think of what he would say to Cas, partially to distract himself of the possibility that that wouldn’t work, partially because in the last weeks he had never thought further than to the point where he got Cas back. Suddenly, he was very aware of a certain little box in his brain.

As it turns out, he hadn’t needed to worry. The second he got out of the Impala, people ran out of the bunker and towards him, Sam, Eileen, Jack and Cas. Oh, thank fuck, Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas. Cas. His brain couldn’t stop repeating the name over and over again and to be honest, he didn’t quiet want it to. It was the same thought he had had Ever Since, but the emotion it brought with it was a different one. While before, it had only held grief and longing, now all he could feel was relief.

Cas’s slowed down, from running to walking, and from walking to coming to a stop right in front of Dean. He had never been too good with personal space, after all. “Dean”, he said, voice so full of emotions that it was impossible to catch up on all of them, but the biggest underlying one was Love. “Cas”, Dean’s voice sounded broken, choked up with a similar emotion cocktail. He hesitated to touch Cas, afraid that this would turn out to be another dream, afraid that Cas wasn’t really back. Cas had no such inhibitions. “Oh, Dean”, he said and hugged him like it was his only purpose in life. Tears running down his cheeks, Dean pulled him close and, despite being taller, buried his face in Cas’s shoulder.

Dean didn’t know how long they stayed like this, basking in each other’s presence, trying to get used to the fact that this was real, that they were real. And suddenly it was like touching Cas was the key he had needed to unlock the box in the back of his mind again and

before he could stop to think about the consequences, he did it. He pushed Cas away, seeing the hurt and rejection in his eyes before pulling him right in again by his stupid trench coat and kissing him like his life depended on it. And after just a second of shock and confusion, Cas kissed him back. Dean felt the early morning sunshine in his back, he heard the birds chirping and he felt Cas’s lips on his.

In books people always stopped perceiving their surroundings in moments like this.  Dean didn’t. He was fully aware of everything that was going on around him, of the eyes of Sam, Eileen and Jack on them, of the fact that people saw him kissing Cas, kissing another man and he didn’t care. All he cared about was Cas, Cas, Cas.

Dean was a very self-aware person, thank you very much. He was aware he would never be happy without Cas; he was aware he was totally in love with him, and for once, he had actually done something about this awareness.

@auriaesthete @vanille-berry

[shadowsof-thenight]

Starry skies

Summary: Contemplating the rest of your life is daunting, especially if you have little control over it. And the person assigned to keep you safe only adds complications.

Ship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Angst and melancholy (and a tiny bit of fluff) Words: 1811 

***

A/N: I was working on my series, when a few ideas for one-shots just popped in my head. This was one of them and I hope you like it! The amazing @gnomewithalaptop​ was my wonderful beta for this (like she if for pretty much everything I write) Thank you for all your hard work and kind words! I truly appreciate you.

***

Masterlist      

***

Starry skies

You couldn’t remember a time where you had seen the stars, not like this anyway. In the city where you grew up, there was too much pollution from the surrounding lights. So you had never realised how mesmerising they could be, how magnificent their light really was. You had never seen them fall either. And right now, you were really wishing for a shooting star, one you could wish upon and change your fate. 

Which was why looking up was your first instinct upon exiting the cabin. The sight instantly left you breathless, as it had done so many times before in the past two months. The sheer magnitude of the galaxy was enough to render you speechless time and time again.

Quietly you sat down on the swing-set in the back of the small garden—the high fences giving you a sense of safety that you hadn’t experienced much before you’d come here either. There was still plenty of tension left in your shoulders, back, and neck, but it was significantly less and you rejoiced in the notion. You hadn’t known what it was like to relax, to not look over your shoulder 24/7. Of course, you still looked—though not as much, not with your personal bodyguard, who was currently pretending not to keep an eye on you from the living room window.  You appreciated his attempt to give you some peace and quiet. He knew you needed it, needed time to gather your thoughts and face your emotions. There were so many of them, all swirling around inside of you, and they’d shaken you to the core—because you suddenly wished things were entirely different. Mostly, you wished you had been brave sooner.  

As if your feet had a life of their own, they began to move as soon as you sat down, causing the swing to gently sway back and forth. Holding on tightly to the ropes that held the swing up, you sighed deeply. A cool breeze washed over you, expelling the heat of the day. The heat had been a new experience for you; the sensation of heat clinging to your skin, unwilling to leave, wasn’t one you’d ever get used too. You wondered if you even needed too, after tonight.


The backdoor creaked and soft footsteps followed the sound, slowly inching closer, and you smiled. Another new experience; the alleviation of stress upon the sound of approaching footsteps. A feeling you could definitely get used too. A feeling you wished you could get used too, but it wasn’t in the cards for you.

Soon you could feel his presence behind your seated frame, a source of heat standing close, and you tilted back towards the heat—allowing yourself to lean against him. Another sigh left you as his hands found your shoulders, gently trailing down your arms, and you cherished the feeling. He was so strong, unforgiving in a fight, but with you, he showed a much gentler side. He showed you a kindness and respect that you’d never known.

You smiled as it dawned on you that you’d only known him for two months now. It was funny how close you could get to people in such a short amount of time if the circumstances were right. Or perhaps he was special. In fact, you were certain he was special. He had managed to get so incredibly close, to become tethered to your heart, seemingly out of nowhere and with little effort made. It was crazy really. Though it was certainly the kind of crazy you enjoyed. The kind of crazy you would miss, as you would miss him. After tonight.

That was all you had, one more night. And you weren’t certain what would be wise. Should you tell him how you felt? Or was it better to keep it buried? Did you want to leave never knowing, or with a broken heart? There was nothing you could do now, to change the circumstances of your life, nothing you could do to keep him close. And your fate was out of his hands as well. No matter what happened next, by morning light you’d leave this cabin behind. And him with it. 


In the morning a new agent would be assigned and you’d travel onwards, while he’d go back to the city. Where he’d probably forget about you. He’d eventually find someone special, who wouldn’t need protection, who wouldn’t need to leave. You wondered if you could live with that. You had no choice. The question became, would you be able to live with the idea that he’d never know that he was your someone special? 

“Hey Buck,” you whispered as you felt him lean into your touch.

“I knew you’d end up here tonight.” His deep voice was a little gravelly from lack of use—you’d spent most of the day in silence. Tense silence.

You stood up from the swing, turning quickly to face him—your fingers still lightly grasping the robe. His fingers enclosed yours, and for a moment, your eyes were drawn to the touch. Again, so gentle and caring.

“Do you think it’ll be this warm where I’m going?” you asked softly, your eyes focusing on his blue ones. “Or that I’ll be able to see the stars like I can here?”

You knew he could not answer you. He didn’t know. He wasn’t supposed to know—that was the whole deal. The fewer people knew where you were, the better off you were. Safer. Though right now, you’d trade in that safety to stay with Bucky.

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, his gaze leaving you and glancing up to the sky instead. Had you seen that same melancholy you felt? Or were your eyes deceiving you?

“I know, I’m just…wondering I guess,” you said with a sigh and looked up as well.

“I hope it’ll be beautiful,” he whispered. He added a few more mumbled words that you couldn’t quite make out. He had a habit of doing that—speaking so softly that you couldn’t hear him. And not once had he repeated himself, claiming instead that he was simply talking to himself. It always spiked your curiosity, but you’d accepted by now that you wouldn’t figure it out. Perhaps if you’d had the chance, you would’ve been able to crack his hard exterior—but that wouldn’t be happening.

“Me too,” you sighed, stepping closer to him and taking your chance. Your final chance.

“I also wish you could come with me,” you added in a whisper, your hand gently placed on his chest and your eyes trained on his face. He usually managed to control his features, so you knew you had to look closely to see a response. He had a good poker face, but you had managed to uncover a few tells, and you hoped those would help you unravel it.

“Me too,” he said with a sharp intake of breath. His eyes bored into you and your heart skipped a beat.

What followed was silence where he seemed to be debating his next course of action and you patiently waited for him to make a choice. Would he give in? Or remain the professional? The answer came much sooner than you expected when he suddenly bent his head and crashed his lips into your own, wrapping his arms tightly around your waist.

A content sigh left your mouth as you leaned into him, cherishing any moment you could get with him and quietly wishing that the night could last forever. Alas, it was nearly midnight now and like a twisted Cinderella, you would have to leave in five hours’ time.

Your hands twisted into his shirt as you tried to get as close as possible. In the back of your mind, you were aware of the swing repeatedly bumping into your leg, but you paid it little mind when his tongue asked for entrance. You moaned into the kiss, and his hands squeezed your waist a little tighter in response to the sound before they trailed down, tapping your thighs and silently asking you to jump up. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you jumped, and he carried you inside—seemingly as eager to treasure these moments as you were.


If only you have taken a chance sooner. For five hours didn’t seem enough. Nothing would ever be enough. But you pushed those thoughts out for the time being, and instead relished the feeling of his skin against your own.

All too soon, sunlight made its presence known, pushing through the thin curtains, and you quietly slid from the bed—careful not to wake Bucky. Saying goodbye was not something you’d envisioned doing. Not now. Emotions were bubbling too close to the surface. 
So you left, like a thief in the night. Quietly, without a word, leaving destruction in your wake.

Once you were outside, you glanced back at the cabin one more time, a lump quickly forming in your throat. After attempting—and failing—to clear your throat, you took a deep breath and walked towards the awaiting car. Leaning against it was Natasha, a solemn smile on her face—a knowing look, one filled with sympathy. It didn’t surprise you. Her ability to acquire knowledge was beyond your comprehension. It certainly wouldn't be the first time she’d seen right through you.

Without a word, she took the duffel bag from your hands and placed it gently in the trunk of her car. You thanked her softly, before walking the passenger side. There, you allowed yourself one more peek at the cabin, and as you did, a single tear slipped from your eye. You brushed it away quickly and got into the vehicle.

As soon as you were strapped in, Natasha drove off—distancing you from the cabin and the beautiful soldier inside of it. You hoped he was still sleeping. Hoped that he wouldn’t be made that you hadn’t woken him up. He had tried so hard to stay up, but he’d been on high alert for two months now and he was exhausted. Eventually, sleep had pulled him under, and you’d spent that time memorising his face, the scars on his chest, the spot where his shoulder made way for a mechanic arm. You’d traced the scars there, gentle fingers feeling the thick rugged lines that marred the skin—he’d always been so self-conscious about his scars in his waking hours, it had felt strange to touch them as he slept.

Looking down at your hands now, laying in your lap, you could almost still sense the warmth of his skin on them. It was silly, impossible of course, but you felt it all the same and it brought a smile to your face. Perhaps you could live off the memory of him.

[yukiobeyme]

Heya! It's me again. I really don't want to come off as rude or impatient. Would it be ok if I asked for Ikevamp comfort headcanons? That MC is self harming (actively, if possible) and just fluff and angst? I don't care who or how many suitors you choose. You wrote a post about maybe writing it and I know I already commented on it, I could just really do with this type of fic. Thank you so much and It's completely ok if you're uncomfortable writing that or any other reason ^^

YOU ARE ABSOLUTELY FINE!!! Sorry I’ve been MIA my dad went to the hospital with COVID and pneumonia and I am a full-time student. I did miss your reply and I do apologize for that! I did jump this up in my requests because I feel like lots of people need this comfort. Feel free to reach out to me if you need to talk, I know I’ve been in the same situation during this time. You ARE NOT ALONE! YOU ARE LOVED! I am going to break this up into parts simply so I can research some of the characters a little more and make sure they are as accurate as possible.

But I need this right now as well. Some of them are ambiguous if MC and the Boys are in a relationship or not, up to the reader to decide. Also, these are more like drabbles then headcanons. TW: Active Self-Harm and Depression. If you are at risk please reach out whether it is a professional, friends, family or to Crisis Hotlines.

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline – For youth and adults (800) 273 8255

Text HOME to 741741 (US & Canada)

Text HOME to 85258 (UK)

Text HOME 0861800280 (Ireland)

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG AND ADD MORE HOTLINES

I also might have Vincent’s and Theo’s Out of Character, but Vincent Van Gogh suffered from Depression and had many mental breakdowns and ate paint in a form of self-harm due to the toxicity of the paints during the time.

 Sebastian

It did not take Sebastian long before he realized a knife was missing from the kitchen. At first, he didn’t know where it went but he was very observant and immediately noticed your change of behavior. You kept your sleeves down even if you were washing dishes, how you occasionally seemed to dig your arm into the countertop, or used your other hand to press against your other arm.

He tried to ignore the nagging feeling but kept an eye on you. He couldn’t ignore it when you were in the kitchen together when he heard you let out a hiss, it seemed like your arm caught on the counter and you instantly clenched your arm. He immediately noticed that your white sleeve was turning red. He froze for a moment before he moved towards you. Catching you before you could leave the kitchen and pulling you to sit on one of the stools in the kitchen. You looked like a deer in the headlights and was ridged like a stone statue. You stared straight ahead and avoided his eyes as he rolled up his sleeves. He heard his breath hitch when he rolled up your sleeves.

“MC? Why?” For Sebastian to be strict and calm, you hear his voice wavier and tried to catch your eyes.

That’s what broke you, you immediately started to cry, you dropped your head into your hands. You felt his hand rest on your shoulder.

“I’m going to get the first aid kit, please stay here. Wait for me please,” Sebastian’s voice was full of emotion, he gave your shoulder a final squeeze before he left to get the first aid. You were left alone, but you took the time to calm down and watch the blood dry. Sebastian came back quickly and immediately started to doctor you up.

“We don’t have to talk about it know… but I need to know, is that why there is a kitchen knife missing?” Sebastian knew the answer, but he had to make sure, he had to confirm it. You nodded, still not looking at him and you couldn’t find your voice at all.

“MC look at me please,” Sebastian’s voice was urgent and quiet. It took you a moment, but you looked up at him, with tears in your eyes. You took in his furrowed brows, his eyes full of concern and the start of tears forming.

“MC, I am here for you. You have ten other people that are here for you. You are important. You are important to me,” His voice cracked on the last sentence, tears finally falling grey eyes. You immediately lunged towards him and wrapped your arms around him and snuggling into his chest. He held you just as tight and you stayed in silence.

“Take the rest of the day off, if you need too,” Sebastian said quietly, rubbing mindless circles on your back.

“No,” you immediately answered, “I need the distraction,” you whispered pulling away slightly and looking at him. He nodded and gave you a soft smile before his face become serious, “ I would like the knife back, take an hour then. Collect yourself and I’ll give you a list of things to do,”. With that, he sent you off.

Once in the safety of your room, you sat heavily on your bed and took a deep breath. You took a few minutes to calm down and relax before you went and grabbed the knife. It still had dried blood on it, you turned it over in your hands, debating and thinking. You jumped when you heard a knock on the door and it opening to reveal Sebastian.

He was quiet and wide eye when he saw you holding the knife, “Sorry to barge in but I figure it would be better to collect the knife from you.” You let out a heavy breath and nodded, holding out the knife to him.

“Thank you,” Sebastian held the knife gingerly, also as if he was afraid and saddened by it.

For the rest of the week, you were given mindless tasks that took all day. But they weren’t unwelcomed, and you appreciated Sebastian not forcing you to talk to him. Though he did check on you and request to see how the cuts were healing and seeing if you were comfortable to let Arthur seem them. You would finally come around and talk to Sebastian about your self-harming habits, how it started, and why you continued. He would always make tea and have your favorite pastries at the ready so you could comfortably sit and talk about it. When you needed it, he would allow you in his room and collect you in his arms when you needed it. Letting you decide if you wanted to talk about it or simply wanted his silence comfort.

Leonardo Da Vinci

He had seen it all in his 500 years. It made his soul and heart ache if he actually had them. To see you suffer so much you that you took it out on yourself physically made him hurt as well. He found out when you were in his room playing with Lumiere and your sleeves rose that he caught silver lines as well as angry red lines.

“What happened Cara Mia?” He asked softly rising from his floor and catching your arm in his hand.

You immediately pulled away from him, your first mistake. “Oh, Lumiere must have scratched me, it’s no big deal,” you tried to act casual about it and shrug it off but you were an open book to him.

“Cara Mia, you are lying to me,” It wasn’t a question, he gazed into your eyes and tipped your chin up to make sure you kept eye contact with him. You left out a shaky breath, “Leonardo, let me have this one, for now, please” you begged, pleaded with him.

“You did it to yourself. Why? With what?” Leonardo's thoughts were racing at this point. Looking into your eyes trying to find the answers.

“Yes,” you said quietly. “I brought my razor apart. I need to feel. Be in control,” you whispered, Leonardo almost missed your answer.

Leonardo simply nodded and collected you into his arms and pulled you into his bed. He practically rested his body onto on you, his weight wasn’t unwelcomed though, it was comforting and grounding.

You stayed like this for a while, Leonardo started out whispering love into your skin and pressing soft kisses to whatever skin he could reach. Soon he started to sing old Italian lullabies to you, you tried to fight off the heaviness in your eyes.

“Sleep Cara Mia, you are exhausted. I’ll be here when you wake,” Leonardo paused in his sing before pressing a final kiss on your forehead and continued to sing to you. You let sleep overcome you, enjoying his warmth. When you woke, you had moved so you were on top of Leonardo and you were clinging to his chest. You looked up at Leonardo’s face and saw his gold eyes watching over you gently.

“Cara Mia?” he said softly, wrapping his arms tighter around you.  “How are you feeling?” he watched your face carefully.

When he asked you felt the exhaustion of the emotional turmoil wash over you again, with a deep breath you told him just that.

“That is to be expected,” he started, “Cara Mia?”

You hummed in respond looking at him in the eyes, his eyes were full of sorrow and concern.

“Will you allow me to tend to your wounds and confiscate your razors?” Leonardo asked slowly, carefully picking his words. You panicked, the idea of letting him see the extent of the damage you have done to yourself, as well as losing your only coping mechanism here. Leonardo picked up on how you stiffened in his arms.

“Cara Mia, it’s okay. How are we make a deal? Whenever you want to harm yourself you come to see me? You can harm me instead, I will heal quicker,” He offered as it was obvious, and in the most casual voice. Your eyes widened, “NO!” you practically shouted at him and pulled away from him, you felt the panic rising and your breath quicken.

“Relax Cara Mia,” he pulled you back against his chest. “Your reaction to hurting me is the same I feel that you hurting yourself,” he started rubbing circles on your back. You took a deep breath and let yourself relax against him.

After a few moments of silence, Leonardo spoke up again, “Why don’t we go take a bath together?” without answering him. He urged you to sit up then stand. He moved around to collect his things before reaching out his hand towards you, “shall we?”

You took his hand and he whisked you away. He helped you strip once you were behind the closed door of the bath. He was careful around your arm, trying to quickly recover when he saw how many cuts littered your arms. He then stripped himself and guided you to the bath. You recalled all the other times you took a bath with him, how it was heated and passionate. This time it was different, it was gentle and intimate. He washed your back and your hair, gently humming to you. After some time, he wrapped you in his arms and you both sat in silence, letting the heat of the bath relax the tension out of your bodies.

“I’m sorry, Leonardo,” you whispered to him.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Cara Mia or at least not to me,” He pressed you to his chest.

“I am here for you Cara Mia, for the rest of my life. I love you and will love you for as long as I live,” He continued turning you slightly.

“But you will live forever,” you looked at him in confusion.

“Exactly,” he gave you a soft smile and gave you a soft kiss

 Arthur Conan Doyle (TW: DESCRIPTION OF SELF-HARM AND BLOOD AND NSFW)

You forgot to roll your sleeves back down before entering Arthur’s room to deliver his usual afternoon coffee. He mutters thanks fully focused on completing his thoughts before looking up at you. His eyes immediately fell to your arms.

“By Jove!,” He exclaimed as he jumped from his seat and grasped you are to get a better look at the wounds. “Who did this to you?” Arthur’s eyes were dark and full of rage. He was demanding to know, and his grip was too tight, almost painful.

“Arthur, you’re hurting me,” you whimpered, the fresh cuts still burned from the pressure. It was a mix of delight and too much pain. His grip loosened but was still firm as he looked at you, waiting for your answer.

“Who did it to you, MC,” His voice was softer, trying to catch your eyes but you refused to look at him. “MC, please?” he begged, desperate.

“Look at the angle of the cuts, Arthur,” you said firmly, feeling angry bubble within you. You didn’t know if you were angry you were caught or angry that Arthur was pretending to care. Arthur looked taken back by your words but did as you told. Twisting your arm around so he could carefully look at the cuts.

“Did you do this to yourself?” he whispered, his eyes widened and filled with tears. He looked shattered and looked at you in confused wonder.

“No shit, Sherlock,” you shoved Arthur’s chest putting space between you. He stumbled backwards in shock and faced twisted in hurt. Before he could say anything else, you stormed out of his room and immediately went to hide in yours.

Your hands shook, the panic was clawing at your throat. You felt out of control and you didn’t feel real. You went to were you had hidden your razor and pulled it out. You let it catch the light and twisted it in your hands. You went back to your bed and sat down, your breathing became labored and heart speed up as you pressed the razor to your wrist. The blood beaded up immediately and you relished in the feeling as pain and calm flood through your body. You lost yourself as you continuously dragged the razor over and over again. You didn’t hear your door open or someone steps into your room.

Soon a shadow fell over you and a hand rested on your hand that held the razor. Your head jerked up as you meet Arthur’s eyes that were full of emotions; pain, pain, and brimming with tears.

“MC,” his voice was tight, he was chocking on your name and his emotions. You realized you had hot tears running down your face and your body shook. Arthur’s gently grabbed the razor from you and pocketed it, before he stared intently at your arm.

“Go away Arthur,” you tried to be firm and push him away, but you sound pathetic. Arthur focused on the blood on your arm.

“May I?” He gestured at your arm, ignoring how you asked him to leave. “Vampire saliva can seal the wounds and stop the bleeding,” answering your silent questions. You pulled your arm out of view before you sigh and held you arm out to him.

“Thank you, MC,” Arthur whispered before dropping his head and gently lapped at your cuts. You watched in amazement as the blood seemed to stop immediately. You were surprised it actually stung and hurt, most times when Arthur bit you, it hurt for a second before it turned into pure pleasure but not this time. He muttered apologizes as he saw you flinch.

Once he was done, he pulled back and looked over the wounds making sure that all the bleeding had stopped. Arthur couldn’t bring himself to look at your face only looking at your arm that was full of a mix of fresh cuts and old scars. You both sat in silence, you looked at his face once you hear him sniffle.

“MC, allow me to make love to you?” Arthur said quietly finally looking up at you. His face was blotchy due to crying and his cheeks had trails of tears. You looked at him for a while before you nodded, your emotions were on edge and you didn’t know what to feel.

Arthur guided you on your back before he started to press soft kisses all over your face, slowing unbuttoning your shirt and pressuring kisses to the new skin as it was revealed. Once your shirt was off, he focused on kissing you arms, when he got to your arm that was covered in the cuts and scars, he kissed every single one of them. Whispering how much he loved you, how special you were, how beautiful you were, how he wished he knew you were suffering. He worshiped your body, scars, and all until you were close to tears. You wanted to fight every statement he said, reject the idea you were beautiful, you were special or important. You weren’t though things, but the words died on your tongue as he continued.

He was soft and gently with you, as if you could break or disappear at any moment. There was no rush or roughness. Your organism built up slowly and drove you wild, you arched into his kisses and praise. You reached your peak together. As you came down from your high, you fell into a deep sleep, emotionally exhausted from the events.

You woke up with Arthur clinging to you, at some point he must have left to get his doctor bag because your arm was completely bandaged up and he was dressed in his PJs.

“Arthur?” you whispered, rolling over in his embrace to face you. He slowly opened his eyes and gave you a sad smile.

“How are you feeling?” He started to trace circles on your back, his touch was so gentle. You felt your eye tear up again, you wanted to fight him again.

“Please don’t fight me, I am not going anywhere,” he whispered pulling you closer to him. “You can cry, it’s okay. I am here for you,”

“But for how long? You are just going to leave eventually,” your voice cracked, you tried to shove yourself away from him, but he tightened his grip on you and kept you close.

“I’m not going away, I mean it. You are too important to me. You should know by now I’m greedy. I’m not letting you go,” His arms tightened around you to emphasis his point.

“You don’t have to believe my words; I will provide it to you through my actions. It won’t get better overnight, but I will be here for you regardless,” He said, making sure you were making eye contact with him.

You nodded not being him but hoping it was true. You clung to him, as he whispered how much he adored you, how important and loved you are. Waiting until you were ready to talk and tell him your story.

Vincent van Gogh (TW: SUICIDE MENTION)

Vincent knew you were hurting. He could tell by how you looked, how fake your smile looked, he recognized the look. He had it often during his time as a human, especially before breakdowns that would lead him to be admitted. He asked you to hang out in his room one day ask he painted, he reassured you, you weren’t going to model for him, he just wanted your company.

You settled yourself down on his couch with your own sketchbook, you opened it and randomly started to doodle as Vincent started to paint. You sat in comfortable silence for a while, both of you got lost in your drawings.

“I used to eat paint,” Vincent said after some time, putting his brushes down and looking over at you. “I wanted to poison myself by eating paint and drinking turpentine,” his voice was clear and strong as he revealed a dark secret to you. He said it as if he was making a comment on the weather.

“Vincent?” You asked softly as you rose and reached out to him. Your eyes full of concern as you placed your hand on his arm.

“I wasn’t allowed in my studio when I was suffering from my attacks,” He continued looking at where your hand rested on his arm. “I remember how Theo would always be considered and hurting along with me,” he continued you looking at you the whole time.

“Why are you telling me this?” you asked softly wondering why he shared it out the blue.

“I believe we are similar in the way of when we are hurting, we hurt ourselves on the outside to show others we are hurting,” Vincent started, “ We don’t know how to our words, how to communicate with others we are hurting,” Vincent let his hand rest on top of yours.

You realized the implication of his words and you felt your eyes widened.

“May I see where you are hurting yourself?” Vincent asked quietly dropping his head slightly.

You sucked in a breath, “How did you know?” you were scared and terrified, what he would do if he saw the extent of all the damage you have done to yourself.

“Like I said we are alike in that way, please let me see MC” Vincent answered softly. You nodded and stepped away from Vincent, he looked surprised until he saw that you moved to unbutton your shirt and his eyes widened as scars and cuts appeared as you revealed your skin. Scars decorated your chest, arms, shoulders, where you could reach there seemed to be a mix of scars and fresh cuts.

Vincent’s eyes filled with sadness as you pulled you into a silent hug. You felt vulnerable and raw, you haven’t shown or talked about your self-harming habit in years. You knew it wasn’t healthy, but you didn’t know how else to cope.

You stayed in the hug for a while in complete silence. Eventually, Vincent gently swayed you back and forth in comfort. You felt the tears spring up and you clung onto Vincent. That was when he gently walked you to the couch and made it so you both could lay down. Your head was rested on his chest and you took in a deep breath of his scent and clung to him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Vincent asked, comforting you the best he could.

You started to shake your head no but then sighed. You paused before you looked away from him and started to tell your story. The demons you faced and how they made you feel so worthless, that you weren’t important, and you deserved the pain and suffering. You were destined to be unhappy and you wouldn’t amount to anything. Vincent listened in absolute silence, gently squeezing you occasionally to keep you talking. The more you talked the better you felt but you felt yourself draining. When you finished your story, you hide your face in his chest.

“Thank you, MC” Vincent replied softly kissing the top of your head and tightened his arms around you.

“You are so brave, you’ve done so well,” Vincent continued to praise you. Showing you with love and affection that you felt like you didn’t deserve, and you told him just as much.

“Of course, you deserve it,” Vincent's hand moved to tilt your chin up to look at him.

“But we don’t need to talk about it anymore,” Vincent watched you carefully.

“Thank you, Vincent,” you both feel silent, you snuggled closer to his chest. Letting your eyes fall shut, exhausted.

“I’m here for you MC, always,”

 Theodorus van Gogh

“Hondje?” You stopped dusting in the library and looked up Theo, who had a confused look on his face.

“Yes, Theo?” setting down your dusting rag and walked towards him, returning a confused look.

“Why can I smell your blood? I could smell it down the hall.” Theo’s voice had no emotion, but he watched you intently. You instantly panicked and pulled your arm tighter to your side.

“Hondje?” Theo’s voice cracked and stepped towards you. You were surprised it wasn’t often Theo was gentle, he had a rough exterior and teasing most of the time. You knew it was serious, but you didn’t want to admit you had relapsed. Theo already knew you struggled with self-harm, you had talked to Vincent about it and of course, word got back to your boyfriend. Though he never confronted you about it, instead he waited until you became more intimate with one another and he saw them.

You watched Theo’s face fall, figuring out the answer for himself. He was quick to move towards you and wrap you in a tight hug. He was breathing heavily; you could feel the anger and rage vibrate through his body. You were stiff in his arms.

“I’m not angry at you, MC. I promise,” Theo’s voice was rougher than he wanted. He took a deep breath trying to calm down.

“I’m angry at myself for not noticing you were hurting again. I didn’t always catch it with Vincent, I swore to myself I would always catch on and help before you or Vincent starts to hurt yourselves again. I failed you,” Theo’s voice wavered, his voice is tight, and he tightened his grip on you.

“Theo, no. I should have come to you. This isn’t your fault,” you whispered back at him, holding him just as tight.

“I want you to come to me or Vincent if you are more comfortable with him,” Theo sounded like he was pleading with you.

“Why did it start up again?” Theo whispered

“I don’t know… La Tristesse Durera Toujours,” you finally sighed dropping your head, so it rested on his shoulder.

Theo’s body stilled, you heard him suck in a breath, and you felt his heart start to race.

“MC, no. Please,” It seemed like those words broke Theo, he clung to you as if you were going to disappear if he let go. His breath hitched and you felt his tears fall. You felt drained and emotionless, you felt empty once you said those words.

Theo gathered you in his arms and picked you up. He walked straight to his room, placing you gently on the bed before turning around to lock the door. You laid there absolutely still, Theo headed back to the bed stopping to take off his shoes, suspenders, jacket, and his pants. He then walked towards you and removed your shoes as well before he crawled onto his bed and right beside you. He threw his arm over you and pulled you close to him.

“I can’t lose you MC. I can’t I promise that isn’t true. I can’t lose you like I lost Vincent. It destroyed me. I was dead in six months after he died.” Theo chocked out. You nodded and moved towards him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck.

You both clung to each other, hoping to reassure one another it would be okay, without words.

“I’m here for you MC, always. I love you,” Theo whispered, you pulled back looking at him, it wasn’t often Theo used your name and you couldn’t help but give him a small smile, “I love you too, Theo,”.

“We will get through this together,” Theo rested his head on top of yours.

“Together,” you whispered back in agreement.

 Note: La Tristesse Durera Toujours is Dutch for “The Sadness Last Forever,” and Theo wrote in a letter to one of his sisters that those were Vincent’s last words. Vincent van Gogh suffered from hallucinations and attacks that would cause him to eat paint to try and poison himself and drink turpentine. During one of Vincent’s hallucinations, he cut off his left ear. Vincent van Gogh died in Theo’s arms a few days after shooting himself in the chest and died of an infection (Though there are rumors a group of kids taunted him and shot him and Vincent lied to protect them, but that isn’t confirmed.) After Vincent’s death, Theo's physical and mental health deteriorated quickly. Theo ended up being admitted and passed away on January 25, 1891, 6 months after Vincent’s death. His cause of death was Dementia paralytic, which was determined to be chronic, genetic, and due to overworking himself.

[dragonologist-phd]

💋📙😊🥝🌠🍇🌷 for any of your OCs you feel like talking about!

thank you!! I’ll do these for Imogen March, my captain from The Outer Worlds, since I don’t talk about her much despite her being really great!

Answers under the cut:

💋 How affectionate are they with their friends? Their family? Their romantic partner(s) (if they have any)? Are they more physical or emotional when it comes to displaying their affection? Why?

Imogen’s very affectionate! She’s not the best with words and so tends towards physical affection- lots of hugs for her family, hugs and back-clapping for friends, kisses on the cheek and hand-holding for romantic partners. It’s what comes naturally to her, although if she becomes aware it makes someone uncomfortable she’ll try to keep that in mind and express her affection in other ways.

📙 What kind of subjects (of conversation, of discussion, in school or whatever) does your OC find interesting or engaging or that they can talk for hours about? What kind of stuff do they just find fun?

Imogen was originally a mechanic, and she really loved that kind of work- fiddling with gadgets and technology is a big hobby of hers, and that’s part of the reason why she and Parvati clicked so well! She can really get talking about the projects she’s working, especially if she’s got some prototypes to show for it. She also likes hearing about places she’s never been and swapping adventure stories with other people!

😊 What can make your OC smile even when they’re feeling down? What cheers them up and makes everything feel better for them? Is your OC generally a happy person and do they enjoy making others smile? What about your OC makes others happy?

Things that make Imogen smile: New tech to fiddle with, (real) oranges, brightly colored clothing, adventure serials, witty people, getting new knick knacks and souvenirs to add to her collections

Imogen is generally a happy person- she’s cheerful and is good at finding the silver linings to bad situations. She makes other people smile with her humor and genuine good-heartedness!

🥝 What does a bad mental health day look like for your OC? Walk us through it with them. What kind of things can help them out of this slump and what kinds of things comfort them when they start to feel like this?

The worst days are when it really hits her that she was frozen for all those years and now everyone she knew back on earth is probably dead, and all the people still frozen on the ship are depending on her to save their lives, and the enormity and pressure really start to overwhelm her.

When she gets like that she really just wants to throw herself into any kind of work that will distract her. Having something to do with her hands is actually a good de-stressor for her, but it also help to have some friends to help her relax and not get too carried away. Having people to just be there for her, even if they don’t talk in depth about what she’s going through, helps a lot.

🌠 Who was your OC’s first friend? Do they remember them or are they still friends now? Talk about some of the people your OC has lost contact with over the years. Do they have any regrets about losing these people and would they revist them if they could?

Her first friend was a neighbor kid that Imogen liked to run around with while both their parents were at work. They got into a lot of trouble together, and her memories are all really good. Unfortunately, they lost contact when Imogen’s family moved away for her mom’s work.

Imogen left a lot of people behind when she came to Halcyon, and her feelings on that are kind of complicated. She misses them, and she gets extremely nostalgic sometimes, but she doesn’t exactly regret it. For better or worse, she had a big adventure in Halcyon, and she probably couldn’t stand to miss out on that.

🍇 Day or Night? Sun or Rain? Summer or Winter?

Day, sun, and summer- she likes things bright and warm!

🌷 In what ways would your OC alter their body if they could? How would they do it using mundane means (hair dye, surgery, make-up?). What is their ideal look for themself?

Imogen loves hair dye, and is constantly trying out different colors! She typically uses bright colors like pinks, reds, and oranges. Makeup isn’t really her thing, at least on most days- it smudges up too easy. On occasional occasions, though, she does like to experiment with different makeup styles.

Her ideal look is something practical but fun- bright colors, durable clothing, fun accessories!

[thegrandromantic]

ok so i wrote an usagi x ami one shot fic bc sailor moon is grossly heteronormative and They’re Perfect For Each Other Your Honor. i haven’t written literally anything in absolutely ages so you’ll have to excuse it if it’s not very good, i’m honestly just doing it to practice but i hope someone on here enjoys it :) also if any of the science/baking shit in this is inaccurate it’s because it’s entirely based on my memory of middle school science classes and a very cursory glance at a bread making recipe online lmaooo i just thought the scenario was cute.

Usagi sat cross-legged on the floor of Ami’s room, Ami was a few feet away rifling through some flash cards they’d been using to study for the past few hours.

“Ughhh I’m NEVER going to get this stuff! I’m just going to fail the test tomorrow like I always do,” Usagi flailed out onto her back in frustration and stared at the ceiling.

“Usagi...” Ami began, reaching out to comfort the other girl but withdrawing her hand nervously, “You’re going to be fine! You’ve made it through school this far haven’t you? Besides, now you at least have someone to study with.”

“It’s just not working!” Usagi snapped back up into a sitting position, “No matter what I do I’m always late to class which gets me in trouble which gets me sent out of class and I miss the lessons and that means I don’t understand the material and I fail the test!”

“Well it sounds like what you really need to work on is your sleep schedule, but that can be a problem for another day,” Ami looked thoughtfully at the girl across from her.

They’d been doing this for a few weeks now, even though Ami was always busy with cram school she had noticed how much Usagi struggled in her classes and had tried to take up a hobby of tutoring her. After all, they were best friends and it was the least she could do for her. Ami sometimes wished she had more time to spend on her own studies, but for some reason it was worth it just to see Usagi more often.

After a long silence between the two girls Ami caught herself staring and stopped herself, shifting her gaze back to the cards in front of her, “I think we need to try a different tactic, the flashcards seem to be too frustrating. You seem pretty energetic... Let’s try to get you moving while we do this!” She stood up and offered both hands to the other girl to help pull her off the floor.

Usagi dramatically rolled onto her back again momentarily, “I don’t know why you don’t just give up on me Ami...” before she sat up and took the girl’s hands, hoisting herself into standing up.

“Of course I don’t give up on you! No one’s a lost cause, least of all you,” Ami said, a bit of color rising in her cheeks, “Besides, I really enjoy spending time with you.”

“I thought I was just being a pain to teach this whole time, it’s good to know you enjoy this though,” Usagi blushed a bit as well.

“I absolutely do, now come on!” Ami eagerly tugged the blonde out of her room and down the stairs to the kitchen, “Have you ever tried baking?” she asked on the way down.

“Not much... I’m a bit too clumsy to be allowed in the kitchen very often at home,” Usagi admitted sheepishly.

“Well we’re going to fix that. The science test you’re studying for tomorrow is about chemical reactions and stuff anyway, and that’s all baking really is! We’ll just get you some hands-on experience and maybe it’ll stick better in your mind!” Ami said excitedly, her volume slowly increased the longer she rambled on and she paled a bit when she realized. She called to her mom in the other room, “Hey mom! Do you mind if Usagi and I use the kitchen for a while?”

“Of course not honey, just be careful,” her mom called back.

“Thank you Mrs. Mizuno!” Usagi called into the other room.

Ami started rifling through various cabinets, pulling down the different tools and ingredients they’d need to bake some bread. Ami had spent a fair amount of her free time baking so the process to prepare for it was almost mechanical for her.

Usagi hoisted herself onto a counter, swinging her legs as she watched the other girl go about her work. She watched closely, admiring how methodical Ami seemed about what she was doing but she also noticed a certain excitement about it. Usagi rarely got to see Ami get this passionate about something, since most of the time Ami had a bit of a hard time expressing her emotions. She heard Ami muttering her way through a list of the items she needed in an almost sing-songy voice and grinned when she heard it. It was the first time she’d ever even heard Ami’s singing voice. It wasn’t particularly impressive but there was something so sincere in it, a happiness that Usagi rarely got to hear. The only other time Ami got this excited was when she had aced a test in cram school or something.

“Great! So what’s the first step then? I’m still not sure how this is going to help me pass my science test but I’ll give anything a try at this point,” Usagi giggled and hopped off the counter, approaching the area where Ami had laid out all the supplies.

“Well we start out by making the dough, which is really just a mixture of all the ingredients here,” Ami instructed, waving to the ingredients.

Usagi nodded and grabbed the first ingredient, allowing Ami to explain how much of each one to add to the mixing bowl as she went.

“So now you’ve made the raw dough, and since we haven’t made any chemical reactions yet this is still just a...” she trailed off hoping Usagi would fill in the blank.

“A... uh... a mixture, right?” Usagi offered hesitantly.

“Exactly! I told you you could get this stuff down,” Ami jumped up and down a bit, excited that she had helped Usagi learn something already, “So the next step is called proofing, which is more of a baking term than anything but we’re going to add lukewarm water to the dough in order to activate the yeast, which should start to make the dough puff up,” Ami rambled on.

“Wait! Since it’s changing shape after we apply heat... does that mean we’re doing a chemical reaction to it?” Usagi attempted to make the connection on her own this time.

“Absolutely right! Do you remember what we call a mixture that’s been bound through chemical reactions?”

“It becomes a um... a compound, right?”

“Exactly!” Ami was practically giddy with joy and flung her arms around Usagi, “See, you knew this stuff all along! You just needed to see how it works in real life!”

Usagi blushed at all of the sudden affection from Ami, “Th-thanks for showing me all this, it’s really helped so far! Let’s keep going!”

The two girls worked hard at the bread they were making, Ami occasionally jumping in to quiz Usagi on the different chemical reactions that were happening as they made the bread. It came time to knead. Ami explained the process but when Usagi started doing it she noticed that she was getting the dough a bit thin in places.

“Here, let me help,” Ami offered, gently walking up behind Usagi and wrapping her arms around Usagi’s waist. She placed her hands on top of the other girl’s nervously and guided Usagi’s hands through the kneading process. It was a good thing Usagi was so intent on the bread, if she had turned around she would have seen just how red Ami had become at the intimacy she had accidentally created.

Usagi was surprised at first and stiffened before she eased into it, allowing Ami’s hands to guide her own. The slow rhythmic methodical movements of the other girl lulled Usagi into an almost hypnotic state. She felt nothing in the world except the dough between her fingers, Ami’s hands pressing gently down on her own, and the soft warmth of the other girl’s breath on the back of her neck which was enough to make her hair stand on end. There was an electricity about it all and Usagi felt her heart thumping hard in her chest. She never wanted this moment to end.

At last, Ami sheepishly pulled her hands away and said, “That should be good enough now,” her voice cracked awkwardly on the first word.

“R-right, and now we just... bake it, right?”

“Y-yeah... let’s put it in together?” Ami grabbed one side of the pan and Usagi grabbed the other. They knelt down across from each other in front of the oven and shared a long lingering stare as they pushed the pan in. Ami fumbled with the handle on the oven and pushed it closed. Her breath quickened when there were no longer any obstructions between her and the other girl’s face.

Usagi felt herself leaning in, closing the distance between the two of them almost on instinct. After the experience of kneading the bread with Ami something inside her wanted... NEEDED to be closer to her.

Ami leaned in as well, now visibly reddening again. She had never quite felt this way before, it was new and thrilling and she was terrified but comforted all the same.

Before they knew it, their lips had collided. It was short, both girls taken aback by the kiss. Their lips had hardly brushed and yet it felt to them both as if their lives had changed forever. There was a long silence as they stared intently into one another’s eyes, entranced.

“I’m s-“

“Did we j-“

Both girls had started talking at exactly the same moment. The little awkward foible managed to get a giggle out of Usagi and a weak laugh out of Ami.

“Do you want to...” they both began, again speaking simultaneously.

“Yes.” Ami replied, grabbing Usagi by the shoulders and pulling her into another, deeper kiss.

When they pulled apart both girls were breathless. All Usagi could think to say was, “Well... that was a pretty productive study session.”

Both girls laughed and in that moment, they knew something truly special had begun.

[flightsoffandom]

When You’re Away

Pairs: Tony Stark x Gender-Neutral Reader

Words: 1704

Summary: After going to visit some friends Tony and you have been apart for a few days. When Steve gives you a call you can’t help but worry.

Notes: Left completely gender-neutral. This One-Shot came from this headcanon of mine.

Dating Tony could defiantly be a challenge at times. The thing is wasn’t dating anyone a challenge in some shape or form. So you saw your relationship with Tony as no different. It was also so worth every second of trouble in your opinion. He is sweet and loves to show you off every chance he can. When he is talking to people he always found a way to bring you up and brag about anything you were doing. No matter how mundane. He also had a problem with spoiling you. Extravagant gifts and trips were the way Tony showed that he cared. You could have done without them but you appreciated the thought that went into it all. Also, you would be lying if now and then you didn’t ask him for something you wanted. Or buy it yourself with one of the many cards he had given you. But you refused to abuse it, that’s not what you were in this relationship for. The first year or so could be rocky at times, but you both made it through. You had to see through the sarcasm and when him being an asshole was just a defense mechanism. After that year though everything did calm down a bit. For a man with commitment issues, he seems to have taken to a committed relationship well. Sure there were still issues, every couple had them. You’ll also admit, contrary to what Tony might say or believe. He wasn’t the only person that messed up in the relationship, you messed up all the time too. It was a ride, to say the least, but one you didn’t plan on stopping.

You couldn’t even remember what the fight was about. ‘Fight’ felt like too big of a word, ‘disagreement’ was maybe a better fit. It was the timing though that made it worse. Just a poorly timed disagreement that happened right before you left to go see some friends. It had already been a few days and whatever the problem was had already slipped your mind. Worrying about Tony though, you had a feeling he would see it as his fault even though that wasn’t the case. Hopping on a self-piloted plane that Tony lets you use, you were ready to meet him back at the house. You had tried a few calls and texts but when he slips into his work the outside world fades away. Taking your seat you already felt a bit nervous but you were more than ready to get back home. A bit into the flight your phone rang. When you picked up the phone. It was none other than Steve Rogers, “Hey I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” Steve rarely called you. You knew something was wrong. Automatically worried you quickly asked, “Not at all, Is everything okay? Did something happen?” You held your breath. Your mind playing over all the things that could have accidentally happened to Tony. Steve sighed, “Well…” He pauses, “Its nothing serious.” The panic hasn’t left your brain so you snap at the man on the other side of the phone, “Spit it out, Steve! Please… you’re scaring me.” Steve sounds embarrassed when he replies, “Well I don’t know what happened.” You hear strange voices in the background. Steve continues talking. “But I woke up this morning and everything in the kitchen started talking to me.” You scrunch up your nose and start thinking. You can’t help but facepalm, “Tony came to visit didn’t he... and he starting tinkering with things.” The weird voices in the background continue as Steve pleads with you, “Yes. Can you please come get him? I don’t know if I can handle any more inanimate objects suddenly coming to life.” Even though Steve can’t see you, you nod as you respond, “Of Course, I’ll be right there.” You immediately tell F.R.I.D.A.Y. to have the plane change course and head for the Compound. You settle in for a few more hours of flying time.

As soon as the plane landed you could see Steve already waiting for you. You could see the poor Captain was rubbing the back of his neck through the window. Once it’s safe you sprint down the landing stairs and off the aircraft, over to Steve, “How bad is it?” Steve follows you and makes an uncertain noise, “Well, he has almost finished with the kitchen. So luckily its currently contained.” You walk up to the Compound before opening one of the glass doors. Moving inside you can already hear AC/DC playing loudly. You smile a bit and make your way over to the kitchen. Steve breaks off from you and gives you some space while still staying close enough to observe. Right when you get to the edge of the room a voice coming from somewhere alerts Tony of your presence. Tony looks up and you can see his tired brown eyes light up, “Honey?” He turns the music down and looks around at the tools he has laying about. Tony looks like a mess but you’re relieved to see him safe. You smile and ask, “Everything okay?” He nods, pushing one pile into another as if that will hide the mess, “Yeah. Fine… Uhh... Perfect even.” He coughs hesitantly, “If I knew you were coming I would have met you when you landed.” Tony keeps pushing his mess around trying to camouflage it, “I would have cleaned up.” You start walking towards him. However, as soon as you enter the kitchen, voices erupt from the appliances. You jump as the stove, microwave, fridge, sink and so many other things all greet you in different voices. Standing there wide eyes and startled, Tony grabs a tool. “Their timing is a bit off.” Tony waves a screwdriver at you as he states, “But they are really helping everyone in the Compound.” You turn to see Steve, meeking skirting the edge of the kitchen. Steve shakes his head in silent protest to Tony’s statement. You finish walking over to Tony, gently grabbing his free hand. “This was very…” Understanding why Steve is freaked out. You look around and then continue, “Considerate… of you to make these for the people that live here. Do you have them set so they can turn them off sometimes? Just so it’s not scaring someone in the middle of the night.” Tony nods thoughtfully, “That’s a good idea… I should add that.” You place your hand on the side of his face, turning him to look at you before giving him a kiss. Tony eagerly kisses you back. You pull away and tease him, “Come on what are you waiting for? Show me what all they can do.” Though disappointed when the kiss ended, Tony perks right back up. Tony jumps straight into telling you every single thing he programmed the AI’s to do and to help with. Tony was brilliant and it was fascinating to listen to him, seeing how his brain worked. You could already see his stress melt away as he talked to you. Tony always had the best intentions at heart. Really just wanting to take care of everyone important to him. You couldn’t help but smile the whole time he rambled on. Listening to every last word and making sure to show your genuine interest.

When Tony finally finished going over everything he already looked a lot better. The tired look in his eyes lingers through and you knew he needed some rest. Grabbing Tony’s hand you give him a loving tug, “Let’s go home, we both need some sleep.” Tony is already following your lead as he agrees, “Yes, sleep is good.” You waved at Steve as you passed him. Steve mouthed a ‘thank you’ as you walked outside the Compound. Tony trailed behind you for a few steps but you slow down so you can walk side by side. You turn to look at Tony, “You know every time we argue its not your fault, right? Tony dismissively shakes his head, “I’m a difficult person to live with. I-” You roll your eyes and interrupt him, “Everyone is difficult to live with for one reason or another.” Making it to the plane, you stop. You look him right in the eyes to show how serious you are, “That doesn’t make everything your fault.” Tony rolls his eyes and sarcastically says, “Sure everything’s not my fault… just most things are.” You frown at him, “That’s not true… whatever makes you think that isn’t true.” You try your best to get him to understand, “I’m not going anywhere and I love you, Tony.” You give him a quick kiss to try and drive the point home. Once you break it you make your way onto the plane and get into a seat. Tony follows shortly after you. Tony sits across from you. He faces you as the plane starts to take off. Tony stares at you for a few moments, just taking in your face. He spoke up, “You know how sometimes you don’t realize how comforting something is until it’s not there anymore.” He pauses, thinking and then continuing, “Like the cool side of a pillow... you never truly appreciate it until you need to get away from the hot side...” Tony ruminates and then adds another example, “Or Music... Of course, you enjoy it when its around but when everything goes completely silent then you realize how much the music meant to you and how comforting was.” Tony watched your face, seeing if he had gotten his point across. You smile and give him an uncertain nod, “I believe I understand what your trying to say.” Tony was bad with emotions but you knew what to look for in his actions and his words when he talked. Tony sighs, looking out the window trying to collect himself. “I’m talking about you.” He turns to look into your eyes, “You are comforting to me.” You beam at him. Tony takes your hand ever so gently, “I just want you to know that...” Tony holds your hand like your going to float away before finishing his statement, “I miss you when you’re away.”