#making this post pre thanksgiving but uh. its about thanksgiving

[l-0-s-t-at-s-3-a]

me returning to the function like I didn't just pvrge in the bathroom ✨🥀

[destieltropecollection]

Destiel Trope Collection 2020 Day 17: Hurt/Comfort & Whump

the time has come | @elizaeverafter

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1068 Main Tags/Warnings: no archive warnings apply, non-graphic pet death, angst with a happy ending, hopeful ending, established relationship, married castiel/dean winchester, emotional hurt/comfort Summary: The second Dean walked into their home, he should’ve picked up on the fact that something was wrong. Looking back on it, it was so silent that it was suffocating. There was an unnatural stillness, like their house knew something bad had happened and was trying not to involve itself.

Beautiful | @ialwayscomewhenyoucall

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1367 Main Tags/Warnings: human!cas, hurt/comfort, injured cas, first kiss Summary: “How long has he been sitting there?” Dean starts; he’d been watching Cas and hadn’t heard Sam behind him. “Five hours.” Dean practically spits out the words. “He won’t eat. He won’t move to a more comfortable chair. He won’t even take his damn pain pills. And he can’t tell me that doesn’t hurt, I know what a broken collar bone feels like. He’s just so--” ***** In which Cas, now fully human for several months, has been injured, and Dean has to Use His Words to comfort his friend.

Teardrops For You | @envydean

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1500 Main Tags/Warnings: Grief, Character Death, Established Relationship, Funerals, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Dean and Cas holding each other, Sadness, slight fluff, Angst, Car Accidents, Nightmares, Cuddling, Holding, Crying, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting Summary: The accident killed her and left Dean alive and emotionally broken. He's a disgrace. His best friend is dead and he can't even cry for her.

Soup & Syrup | @suckerfordeansfreckles

Rating: General Word Count: 1548 Main Tags/Warnings: best friends to lovers, getting together, sick Cas Summary: Cas started feeling sick two days ago, throat raw and hurting, every part of his body in pain as if he’ll burn up with fever any second. Then he had to cancel his and Dean's weekly study date in the library this afternoon, to stay home and take a quick nap that accidentally ended up four hours long and left him groggy and sweaty and weird. Dean has been sending him texts, five since he cancelled earlier, and as soon as Cas felt awake and present enough to respond, he called. This is where they are now, around 1 a.m. on a Saturday. He didn’t really stop to look at the clock before he called Dean, but — well. He was just hoping Dean would be awake, maybe out with friends. He was just hoping that maybe, maybe, Dean would come by and dote a little on him. Just because having his best friend around always makes him feel better. Not because he craves Dean’s presence, his palm on Cas’ forehead and his hands tucking him in beneath his blanket. Absolutely not.

The Admission | @deservetobesaved

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 1720 Main Tags/Warnings: season 13, all the feelings Summary: Castiel finds out Dean threatened to kill Jack. He also finds out how broken Dean was when he died. So, naturally, he confronts him about it. A sort of fix-it coda, in or after 13x06.

Knowing | @unexpecteddreamz

Rating: General Word Count: 2013 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel & Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Demon Dean Summary: Of all the things Castiel might have expected to see, this was the last... It might well be the last thing he ever sees! Castiel is ""Always willing to bleed for the Winchesters"". Sam doesn't know how to fix what is broken. Dean is having nightmares. How did everything go so wrong so fast?

The Snow's Captives | SargentMom573 (AO3)

Rating: Mature Word Count: 2126 Main Tags/Warnings: Blizzards & Snowstorms, Sick Castiel, Caretaker Dean, Cabin Fic Summary: Dean was not going to make it alive down the mountain in a week’s time. Why? Because Cas was going to kill him, that’s why.

Skin Wars | @cr-noble-writes

Rating: General Word Count: 2319 Main Tags/Warnings: Angst, Artist!Dean, Model!Cas, body painting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cas protecting Dean from himself, shy!Dean, introvert!dean, Baby, graffiti artist!charlie, artist!Balthazar, art critic!Crowley, TV host!Anna, Skin Wars AU Summary: Dean, a traditionally trained artist, is competing for $100,000 in the reality body painting TV show, Skin Wars. He’s lucky enough to get paired with a friend as his model, Cas, for a particularly personal challenge. Dean feels his painting isn’t up to snuff, but what will the judges think?

Take Me Home | @misha-moose-dean-burger-lover

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 2683 Main Tags/Warnings: Mentions of Rape, Mentions of Sexual Abuse, Non-con/Rape outside of Castiel/Dean Winchester, Hurt Dean Winchester, Protective Castiel, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, TW: Mentions of Non-con/Rape Summary: “I want to go home.” Dean let out, in a strangled voice. “Of course -” Cas reached for Dean’s hand, prepared to fly them away. Dean pulled away his hand, and rested his head backwards, against the seat. It seemed impossibly long before he finally asked. Unsure, as if somehow he still felt like Castiel could deny him anything. “Could you drive?”

Cold Comfort | @noiproksa

Rating: General Word Count: 3232 Main Tags/Warnings: Sharing Body Heat, Hypothermia, Huddling for Warmth, Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Banter Summary: Dean and Cas are trapped in a room with temperatures well below zero. When even sharing vessel heat doesn’t seem to help anymore, they need to do whatever it takes to keep each other alive. (Intended as gen, but can be read as Destiel pre-slash.)

Exodus | @spnsmile

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 3365 Main Tags/Warnings: Explicit, noncon, hurt/ comfort Summary: Endverse!Dean comes back alive. He comes back to the camp to find he was gone for almost a month and that Castiel now serves a different captain. Like hell Dean Winchester will let that happen.

save that light | @specsofwings

Rating: Mature Word Count: 4779 Main Tags/Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Assassin Dean Winchester, Human Castiel, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Whump, Kidnapping, Implied/Referenced Brainwashing, Blasphemy/Religious Imagery and Symbolism, Crucifixion, Major Character Injury, Heavy Angst, Angst With a Happy Ending, Trauma, Healthy Relationship, Hurt/Comfort Summary: He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive— Dean isn’t sure if it’s his brain, if he’s speaking aloud, if it’s Jody, next to him in the car, but he’s alive, Castiel is alive, and then there is darkness.

The Empty's Curse | @cloverhighfive

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 5380 Main Tags/Warnings: major character death, angst, fluff Summary: Dean is dying and there is no getting out of it this time. After a round of goodbyes from friends, Castiel takes Dean on one last ride.

Shiver | @nickelkeep

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 5714 Main Tags/Warnings: Modern with Magic, Witchcraft, Getting Back Together, Blizzards and Snowstorms, Car Accident, Snowed In, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, NSFW Summary: In desperate need of his journal to complete a spell, Dean braves a snowstorm to return to the cabin - and the man - left behind. Can a freak accident repair what's been damaged? Or will their lack of communication push Dean and Cas apart forever?

Six Feet Under Water | zaphodsgirl (AO3)

Rating: Mature Word Count: 7638 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending Summary: This story is inspired by the amazing art of dragonpressgraphics, accompanied by this prompt: "Can be canon or AU (though Canon preferred - see below why) where Cas almost drowns and either Dean witnessed it or rescues him - would love a fic where Cas then has to deal with fear of drowning afterwards - maybe Dean too has nightmares about Cas drowning because of the same experience (bonus if references are made to season 6/7 where Cas walked into the water because of the Leviathans). Loads of angst more than okay as long as story has happy ending"

This Path Is Paved With Kitty Litter | @navajolovesdestiel

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 8392 Main Tags/Warnings: Alternate Universe, Grieving Castiel (Supernatural), Caring Dean Winchester, Veterinary Assistant Dean, Deanna The Kitten, Explicit Sexual Content Summary: The man moved from cage to cage, petting each cat in turn. Dean could hear his sigh from where he was standing. Dean walked over to him. The guy looked up at Dean and again, his eyes made Dean’s knees weak. “Hey, guy, you spend a lot of time with these cats. You thinking about adopting one?” The look on the guy’s face went from sad to stricken. “Uh… n-no, I’m… I’m just looking at them.” The look made Dean’s chest hurt.

After the Fallout | @cr-noble-writes

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 8832 Main Tags/Warnings: Post-Apocalypse, Post-Nuclear War, some body horror, Major Character Injuries, Nightmares, Mutants, Minor Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, Smut, Angst, Conspiracy, top!dean, Bottom!Cas Summary: Its been years since the nuclear catastrophe that decimated the world. From the moment Dean Winchester stepped foot on the surface again, he’s been running from mutant creatures that want to kill him. When will it end?

I'm Thankful I get to Leave | @sheinthatfandom

Rating: Mature Word Count: 11079 Main Tags/Warnings: thanksgiving dinner, alternate universe- human, dysfunctional family, uncomfortable topics, red flags, emotional manipulation, emotional incest, homophobia, ableism, racism, bad parent mary, bad parent john, bobby used to be married to mary Summary: Screw you Columbus now we have to eat at Mary’s pretending to not be the Jerry Springer version of the Brady Bunch instead of getting ready for Christmas.

The Last Thing I Wanted | @nickelkeep

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 11492 Main Tags/Warnings: AU - Fantasy, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Whump, Prince!Dean, Concubine!Cas Summary: When Castiel is grievously wounded during an unsanctioned battle, it's all Prince Dean can do to make sure he lives the rest of his life comfortably. However, due to the archaic laws of Terra, Castiel is too lowborn to hold lands, deeds, or titles. What better way to solve an archaic problem than with a just-as-antiquated solution?

Healing an Angel | @noiproksa

Rating: Teen & Up Word Count: 12017 Main Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Castiel, Canon Compliant, Friendship, Team Free Will, Wing Grooming, Aftermath of Torture Summary: Cas has been captured by shapeshifters who have been torturing him for weeks. The aftermath is not pretty, but Dean will do anything to get his angel through this and get him to trust them again. To make matters worse, the mastermind behind Cas’ capture is still alive. Will they be able to keep him from coming after Cas again?

Cloned to Perfection | @fangirlingtodeath513

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 16298 Main Tags/Warnings: Castiel/Dean Winchester,Castiel (Supernatural),Dean Winchester,Sam Winchester,Bobby Singer,Charlie Bradbury,Cain (Supernatural),Alastair (Supernatural),John Winchester,Alternate Universe - Future,Marine Castiel (Supernatural),John Winchester Being an Asshole,Canon-Typical Violence,Human Experimentation,Government Experimentation,Genetic Engineering,Clones,Gun Violence,Shooting Guns,Fugitives,Hacking,Government Conspiracy,Blow Jobs,Come Swallowing,Interrogation,Truth Serum,Needles,Brief Mentions of Torture (Not TFW),Alternate Universe - No Monsters,Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss,Castiel/Dean Winchester First Time,Hand Jobs,Angst with a Happy Ending,Happy Ending,Minor Ellen Harvelle/Bobby Singer,Minor Charlie Bradbury/Jo Harvelle,Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester Summary: For thirty years, Dean’s been in the dark about a bombshell of a family secret. When an AWOL soldier shows up on his doorstep in the middle of the night, he’s shoved into a world he had no idea existed. He never asked to be cloned. He never asked to have his genome edited to make him a super-soldier. He didn’t even know. Now his fate rests in the hands of a ragtag group—Castiel, the AWOL soldier sent as a warning by Sam and Dean’s father; Charlie, an ingenious hacker and Dean’s best friend; and his brother Sam, who’s also being chased by the government for the same reason. Can they pull the rug out from under the military general who’s after their father’s research, or will Sam and Dean be doomed to live the remainder of their lives being experimented on by the military?

He Can't Sleep | @pray4jensen

Rating: Mature Word Count: 18970 Main Tags/Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Marriage, Domestic, Case Fic, Angst with a Happy Ending, Summary: He’s done soaping up Cas’ hair. He grabs the sponge at his side and starts to scrub at Cas’ skin, up along his arms, his neck, down his chest. When he runs it up his legs, to his thighs, Cas shudders and then there’s a hand cupping Dean’s cheek, cold and dripping water and soap, and Dean falters, looks at him for the first time. “Will you sleep with me?” Cas says. “Tonight?” Dean swallows. He says yes.

One Last Time | @confusedcasishere

Rating: Mature Word Count: 27370 Main Tags/Warnings: Sex Worker Dean Winchester, Dom/Sub, Dom Castiel/ Sub Dean Winchester, Lawyer Castiel, Top Castiel/ Bottom Dean Winchester, Porn With Plot Summary: After some convincing, Castiel agrees to try out a sex club. He’s nervous and looking for any excuse to back out, until he stumbles across a photo of a beautiful sub with captivating green eyes. Cas has to have him.

Highway to Hell (WIP) | @tucuxia

Rating: Mature Word Count: 31551 Main Tags/Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Castiel/Omega Dean Winchester, Gabriel Has a Crush on Sam Winchester, Alpha Sam Winchester/Omega Gabriel, Alpha Balthazar/Omega Crowley, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Dean's life hasn't been great, Biker Castiel, Biker Sam Winchester Summary: Castiel, who shares leadership of the Hells Angels biker gang with his two older alpha brothers, finds out that a rival gang has been encroaching on their territory. During a tense meeting with the Devil's Blood gang in Lawrence, KS, he becomes the owner of a scared, broken young omega named Dean. Having forgotten how to speak after a decade under Azazel's cruel ownership, can the young omega learn to trust his new family, and maybe reconnect with the one he lost?

I Choose You (WIP) | @baby-in-a-trenchcoat7

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 43284 Main Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Destiel, Slight Smut, High School Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester Summary: High School AU. Castiel Novak has a dirty dream about the captain of the baseball team, Dean Winchester. Dean has a dirty dream about the nerdy Novak boy who hangs around the art room a lot. Castiel becomes Dean’s tutor, and the two soon learn that keeping their relationship platonic is harder than they thought. As their relationship develops, the two have to fight to overcome their problems while doing everything they can to stay together. Rated Explicit for sexual scenes.

Emergence | @ellis-park

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 58862 Main Tags/Warnings: Canon fic, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, amnesia, graphic depictions of violence Summary: Something’s been missing from Dean’s life for the past three years, a void left after a hunt gone terribly wrong. He often feels a sense of longing with no discernible cause, a need to talk to someone who isn’t there. A call from an acquaintance leads Dean to James Novak, a man who disappeared more than a decade ago, and suddenly Dean gets the feeling he’s found what he’s been missing. But James isn’t really James — he’s the angel Castiel, who’s wanted by angels, demons and hunters alike. And he may be at the center of the storm that wrecked Dean’s life all those years ago.

Forbidden Fruit (WIP) | @amyoatmeal

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 95427 Main Tags/Warnings: professor student au, stripper au, age difference, top!castiel/bottom!dean, unrequited castiel/balthazar, unrequited dean winchester/aaron bass, dean winchester & charlie bradbury, threats of noncon/sexual abuse, threats of violence, mentions of past trauma/abuse, angst Summary: Castiel Novak is a respectable, if not a little boring professor at his university. He lives a comfortable, financially stable life with his cat in his modestly-sized apartment. It would appear he has everything he needs, including an over-eager friend and colleague, but when fate tempts him with a seemingly familiar new student by the name of Dean Winchester, Castiel's comfortable life threatens to get turned on its head and things start to get a little juicy.

Stay With Me, Sweetheart | @a-mandala-rose

Rating: Explicit Word Count: 108710 Main Tags/Warnings: Dean/Cas, Dean/Lisa, Past Dean/Others, Past Cas/Others, Kid Fic, Serious Major Character Injury, Car Accident, PTSD/Panic Attacks, House Fires, Past Minor Canonical Character Death, Minor OC Death, Past Emotional Abuse, Slow Burn, Friends to Lovers, Referenced Top Dean/Bottom Cas, Explicit Top Cas/Bottom Dean Summary: “Alright Cas, here comes the hard part. We’re gonna get you out of here, but we’ve gotta take the roof off and while we do that, we’re gonna have to cover you with a sheet to protect you from the glass. I’ll be right here though. I’m not going anywhere.” As he starts to drift away, he suddenly feels the press of Dean’s forehead against his own through the rough fabric and hears that warm, sunlit voice murmer quietly in his ear, too low to be overheard by the firefighters currently working to remove the SUV’s roof, “Stay with me, Sweetheart.” A single moment's distraction ends with a serious car accident that leaves Castiel trapped in his vehicle. Fortunately for him, fire fighter Dean Winchester is there, never leaving Castiel's side as the rest of his company work to free him from the mangled remains of his SUV. When the two meet again in the ICU, Castiel finds himself just as drawn to and comforted by the handsome fireman as he was during his accident. Dean is certainly attractive, but single father Castiel doesn't have time or space in his life for a romantic relationship. Then again, there's no harm in making a new friend, is there?

[vanderwoodlings]

Author Self-Interview

well @rainathorpe put out an open-ended tag so uh. here we go

Fandoms: I’ve published stuff for gossip girl and dc comics (mostly batfamily but I’ve also got a supersons series) and young justice 2010, took brief stops in pjo, rvb, and spn. I’m also working on stuff for btvs and hp (though given… certain things, I have no idea if any of those will ever get published) and I’ve put out some art for rwby

Most popular multi-chapter fic: that’s like a weird, murdery uncle you don’t invite to thanksgiving (batman, batfam&rogues gen) technically, which is a two-shot batfam fic, and also one of two multi chapters I’ve ever published, so… it’s kind of weird to see that given that’s it’s not one I think about much, but then again it’s very much something with wide appeal, so it makes sense

Favorite story you’ve written so far: this question is rude, but also Boy Hostage (supersons, jon&damian, au where damian doesn’t leave the league: jon gets himself kidnapped) which is the kind of “getting to where you can deal with your trauma” fic that I write over and over again, and it’s centered around the growth of a platonic relationship, which always makes me, as an aro, like. Vibe

Fic you were nervous to post: uh. All of them? Posting fics is kind of terrifying in terms of how much I crave validation lol. But in specific, but what good is a quick healing to go (yj, artemis-centric gen set in a soulmate au) because a) it’s the other multi-chapter and it’s actually got a plot, b) it’s a genfic in a soulmate au, and c) it’s one that’s does draw some off of my own experiences and that made posting it pretty uh. Exposing

How do you choose your titles: mostly just track down some songs to listen to that have the right vibe, and wait for a lyric to feel right, but there are a few titled after Shakespeare quotes/mangled versions thereof (see: If music be the food of love, then—shut up, Epsilon!) and a couple that are allusions to motifs or events in the fic (e.g. gorgeous)

Do you outline: not usually, but most of my stuff is pretty short — I do have an outline for the Michaelverse, aka the hp fic of doom, and one for an untitled spn series that I’m still debating about whether to even write, but both of those are rewrites for like. Entire series

Complete: uh. Not sure what I’m being asked, but I will say that I try to complete my fics before posting them — posting something and then abandoning it is a fear of mine

Do you accept prompts: I’d like to, but as contained under the above fear, I wouldn’t want to accept a prompt and then not fill it, and I’ve got the adhd so

Upcoming story you’re most excited to write about: recently started a Henry pov fic set in an au that diverges from canon post-series but pre-epilogue and its a lot of fun

Stories you’re most excited to read: thinking about the future is extremely hard, but I’m always excited to see what @rainathorpe comes out with next, and whenever @strideofpride updates I'm still alive (or, the Pearl Jam trauma series) I get inordinately excited

No pressure tags: anyone and everyone who sees this. Go wild

[fanfic-scribbles]

Fir

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: A trip to a tree lot results in a much bigger relationship milestone. Also, Bucky and Steve are idiots. It works out pretty well for everyone involved.

Quick facts: Romance – [established] Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, the tiniest bit of angsting, sappy ending

Words: 1983

A/N: I was going to wait to post this until tomorrow because ‘Christmas season’ and all, but in case you need something else to read today here’s a little fluffy holiday something. For folks in the US, Happy Thanksgiving! For folks not in the US, Happy Thursday!

  ~

    Normally, you might find this funny. But they actually think they’re getting one over on you.

It’s almost offensive.

Sure, you may not have the most innocent blue eyes to ever blue, or the saddest pout on this side of the world, but you have a fucking brain.

“You “accidentally” bought a tree too big for my apartment?” you ask. They both nod rapidly. You stare at them. ‘Greatest tactical mind’ and ‘world’s greatest assassin’ your ass. “It has been five minutes since I lost track of you. How did you find the “perfect tree” and have time to pay for it before you found me? To, you know, ask my opinion on the tree that was supposed to go in my apartment?”

They are either good actors, or they feel a little bad. They are not and nor have they ever been anything resembling good actors. “Sorry,” Steve says and once more flashes you weaponized innocence. Eye lasers. They’re eye lasers. “I guess we just got excited. I mean, look at it!”

You roll your eyes. It is gorgeous, full and vibrant. It must have cost a fortune. “What’s done is done. It’s huge though– will it fit in your living room?”

“Of course,” they say in unison. With such certainty only an idiot could believe this wasn’t pre-planned.

“I can just tell,” Steve says quickly. “My eyesight is really good, and we have those high ceilings.”

“Uh huh.” You’re pretty sure the serum didn’t put yardsticks in Steve’s eyes, but Steve is the only expert in the matter, and you are 99.99999% sure that actual measuring tape was involved. You can only hope they remembered to factor in a tree topper. “So much for putting it in the backseat. By the way, you two are on your own when it comes to figuring out how to get it home.”

“We’ll tie it to the roof,” Steve says.

The car is certainly big enough to handle it. But you want to see how prepared they came. “Do they sell rope or bungee cords here?”

“I’m sure we have something,” Steve says with forced nonchalance as Bucky runs off to get the car.

Sure enough, when Bucky comes back, he and Steve are able to get right to work tying the tree to the roof. “Amazing,” you say as they finish. “How you just happened to have rope hanging around in your car.”

“Always be prepared,” Steve says.

How can you resist? You grin. “Kinky.”

Steve chokes on nothing and Bucky ducks his head. “Can’t take you anywhere,” he mumbles. You laugh, because it is entirely reasonable to have rope or cords in the car (and you hope they have the good sense to keep other emergency supplies in there too) but they’re so caught up in their tree deception that they don’t seem to remember that.

“Hey,” Steve says once you’re all belted in. “Since all your boxes of ornaments are already out, we should pick them up on the way.”

“That’s a good idea,” you say. “Since the tree is so big it had to go on the roof, we have all the space in the back now.”

“That works out really perfectly,” Steve says blithely, still pretty performatively cheerful as he drives off. Bucky is about to say something, with a similarly dumb smile on his face, when he looks at you and the smile loses some of its zeal. You don’t know if it’s the crossed arms or if your maxed-out bullshit meter is finally showing on your face, but Bucky quickly turns around in his seat and faces forward, stealing little glances at Steve.

You all stop by your place to grab the ornaments. All but one box, which you surreptitiously push under the coffee table with your foot. If Bucky or Steve take notice, they don’t mention it to you. The whole affair is very quiet, but you all make it to their (admittedly very nice and much more spacious) home, where they put the tree up in its stand with such ridiculous coordination you wonder if they practiced. Honestly it wouldn’t surprise you if they did (they are almost always very committed to their very dumb ideas), but they also make an incredible team, so it could be either-or.

Steve’s still in the kitchen when Bucky finishes adjusting the tree skirt and he admires it for a moment before he looks back at you. He grins and you smile. Genuinely. “Like what you see, sweetheart?” Bucky asks and flexes.

You consider. “A-minus,” you decide.

“A-minus?” Bucky pouts.

“It would have been better shirtless,” you say and poke him with your foot. He grabs your leg and starts kissing up it and you laugh and squirm, even though his lips only connect with your pants.

“Maybe we have enough energy to do more than just the lights tonight,” Steve says and sets down a tray filled with mugs of hot chocolate. He starts passing them out. “Bucky…me…and extra marshmallows for you.”

“Ooo.” You settle in with the mug in your comfy armchair while Steve takes the couch and Bucky stays on the floor. You blow on the steam. “Is this guilty hot chocolate?” You take a sip that burns a little, but it’s worth it. “Yum.”

“Why would it be guilty?” Steve asks like he has nary a clue and only a passing curiosity, and stirs his drink like he’s rehearsing for a commercial and can’t get a natural rhythm down. Bucky ducks his head lower like he’s incredibly into his drink, but his eyes flit up and move between the two of you.

“For picking a tree too big for me,” you say and wait to see how this is going to go.

“It was an accident,” Steve says, buckling down on stubbornness like only Steve Rogers can.

Well two can play at that game, and you’re pretty sure he’s going to lose. “Yes, well.” You sigh theatrically. “It’s lovely and good for you to have. I’ll have to stop by the lot tomorrow and get a tiny one for me.”

“What?” Steve asks and even Bucky lowers his cup and licks the line of chocolate from his upper lip.

“Why do you need another one?” Bucky asks.

“Because I don’t have one,” you say and lean back. “And I want a tree in my house.”

“But we have this beautiful tree here,” Steve says.

“I don’t live here,” you remind him. “Not all of the time.”

“But you could!”

Ah ha. However the admission doesn’t ease your annoyance– it just makes it burrow that much deeper. “I’m not going to intrude,” you say and sip.

Steve opens his mouth but a sharp hiss of his name from Bucky makes him stop and the two of them have a very intense eye discussion for several seconds– or rather, eye argument, from the sheer amount of peaks and valleys displayed by their eyebrows alone. You noisily sip your drink but it doesn’t even make them flinch, so you put the cup down. Hard. That makes them break and they look at you as you stand.

“I’m going to the bathroom; I’ll be right back,” you tell them and then leave.

When you get to the bathroom you sit on the toilet lid and rest your frowning face in your hands propped up on your knees. You’re in the bathroom that you helped decorate and that doesn’t help the problem. Because you do stay here often enough that it feels like home, but any tentative brush at the subject of combining households has been swept right off the table in the last few months– sometimes harshly. You try not to let it get to you, but it does sting. Still, you’re getting used to it. You’ll go back out there and you’ll all ignore the subject was ever broached. Like always.

But it’s Christmas, and despite their complicated feelings on moving in together, you love them and they love you. And you are going to have a perfectly lovely night decorating their tree, and you’re going to get a little one for yourself, and it’s going to be nice no matter what.

You come out of the bathroom and stop just before you enter the living room proper. The tree is halfway wrapped in lights, from the bottom up, and where they stop there is a circle made out of the cord to draw attention to a card propped loosely in the middle.

You look at Bucky and Steve, both sitting on the couch like they can’t imagine what kind fairy could have possibly done this. You roll your eyes but you can’t help but smile. Most people would never believe you if you told them what morons those two can be. That must be why Sam and Natasha are your best friends.

You pluck the envelope off the tree and lift it up and down. It’s heavier than standard cardstock and not completely flat at the bottom. There’s something other than Hallmark in there.

“Why don’t you come over here and open it?” Bucky says and pats the open cushion between them. You plop down in the seat, and warmth surrounds you when they rest their heads on your shoulders. You open the envelope, pull out the card (very pretty, hand-drawn by Steve, going on your fridge for sure), and then you reach in to pull out the mysterious object.

It’s a key.

You stare at it, metal shining in the light and slightly cold against your skin. You run your finger up the teeth of it and inhale suddenly. “Wh– really?”

“We wanted to wait for Christmas, but it’s close enough, right?” Steve wraps his arms around your middle. “But yes: we want you to move in with us. It’s okay if you don’t want to, if you feel like it’s too soon–”

“It’s not and I want– I thought–” You breathe. “I thought you didn’t want to. You always change the subject–”

“We’ve been planning this for two months; we didn’t want to spring it early,” Bucky says and nuzzles you. “You know how shit Steve is at keeping a secret like that.” He leans over you to glare at Steve. “‘But you could,’” he mocks.

“Shut up.” Steve tightens his hold around you and pushes his face into your shoulder.

“Well,” you say, smiling as you close your fist around the key. Your key. “Steve does have a point. There’s no point in getting another tree when I have a perfectly good one at home.”

Steve sits up and they both lean over to look at you expectantly. “I love you both so much and of course I want to live with you,” you say. “But I want it on the record that you are the shittiest liars I have ever known in my life.”

Bucky huffs and Steve laughs. “Only because we can’t hide anything from you, sweetheart,” Bucky says and pulls you into his arms. Steve follows, because of course he does, and you lay there, content to ignore what a fucking pain it’s going to be to have to move. But you have at least another month before your lease is up and you have two of the strongest men you know to help (with at least three friends who are also strong who can be easily bribed with pizza) and at the end of it you are going to be home, with Bucky, and Steve, right in the one place you always feel you belong.

“…The key is nice and all but please tell me your security system code is easy to memorize.”

“You can make your own, only needs to be four numbers,” Bucky says and kisses your head.

You breathe a sigh of relief. “Oh thank goodness.”

“1234 is not an acceptable passcode.”

“Aw man.”

[sigritandtheelves]

I know you *just* posted the second chapter of Simple, but I’m here to implore you to write tons and tons more. PLEEEEAAASSSEEE! I have never loved an AU fic like I love this. I am so, so hooked and I love it!!!!!

I saved this ask to post with part 3–I hope you still like it, anon. 💛

Simple

Chapter 3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

PG-13 |  3.4k wds | pre-XF AU | MSR, Melissa/Samantha

A/N: y’all, this feels like it got a little out of hand, length-wise, so I hope it’s okay. And I swear to god, smut is on its way. Also an actual conflict, maybe.

-

November 23, 1989 - Baltimore

The Scully household was full of sound and light and laughter. Nat King Cole was already singing, despite Melissa’s protests—“At least wait until after dinner!”—but Charlie had insisted and his mother backed him up.

“I don’t see how it could hurt,” she’d said. “It’s nice.”

Melissa rolled her eyes and Charlie snuck a bite of stuffing off her plate while she wasn’t looking. There were two new guests this year, Samantha and her brother Fox, though the family was one short in Dana, a fact they all lamented (one of them, in particular, perhaps more than the others).

“How’s the house, Melissa? How’s that porch roof?” Bill Scully, who still pretended his daughter had only moved in with a friend, stuffed a bite of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“It’s fine, dad. The inspector said it had at least another five years.”

“Huh,” he grunted. “Well. You keep an eye on it.”

“Fox, do you want sauerkraut?” Maggie held the bowl up to him, and he tried not to make a face.

“Um,” he said. “No thanks.” He couldn’t get used to that particular Baltimore turkey-day tradition. She smiled at him and passed the bowl to her older son. The younger Bill kept glaring at him uncomfortably, and at Samantha, too, as if trying to puzzle them out. As if these Mulders were working some angle on the Scully family.

They were all scraping their plates and debating seconds when the phone rang.

“I’ll get it,” Maggie said. “It’s probably Dana.”

Bill Sr. stood up as well, anxious to talk to his youngest girl, and one by one, each of the Scullys popped into the kitchen to say their hellos and happy thanksgivings. Fox’s knee was bouncing, and he was chewing on his bottom lip. Melissa smiled at him from across the table.

“You wanna go say hi? Mom called her back so she’s not running up her long-distance.” She could tell he wanted to, could read his eagerness like a book.

“Does she know I’m here?”

Melissa nodded and Samantha shook him by the shoulder. “Go on,” she said. “When’s the last time you talked to her?”

He cleared his throat. “Ah.” A sheepish smile. “Yesterday.”

Melissa laughed and shook her head while he scooted around the table and into the kitchen.

“—I mean, if you’re able to come then. Melissa said she wants to have a Christmas Eve party? You know you’re welcome to stay here, too.” Maggie looked up, surprised to see Fox tiptoeing into the kitchen. He gave her a shy wave, then stuffed his hands into his pockets. “Uh huh,” she said. “Okay, honey, if that’s what you want to do, that’s fine.” She raised her chin at him in question.

“Melissa said I could say hi,” he explained, and Maggie’s eyebrows went up.

“You want to say hi?” Then back into the phone, “Dana, Samantha’s brother is here and he said he wants to say hi, is that alright?” A brief pause, then she smiled. “Dana says only if you promise not to talk about work.” She passed the phone to him, and he took it with a quick thank you before Maggie headed back to the dining room.

“Hey,” he said into the phone, smiling already.

“Oh hey,” she said, mock-surprised. “Long time no talk.”

“Hmm, it feels long.”

She chuckled. “So you’re at my parents’ house, huh? That’s kind of weird.”

“It is, it is,” he said. “Your parents are so nice, though. Your mom, especially. She kept checking on me all through dinner.”

“She’s sweet. No flack from dad?”

“Nah, he’s too concerned about Melissa’s home repair schedule. I think your brother hates me, though.”

“Bill, right?”

“How’d you guess? Charlie’s alright. They’re all great, really.”

“Well,” she said. “You know what this means, don’t you?”

“What?”

“I’m going to have to go over to each of your parents’ houses while you’re not there and just hang out with them. Maybe I’ll bring Samantha.”

“Oof, Dana, I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

“They’re that bad?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you some day.”

“Good. I want to know.”

“Did you book your flight yet?”

“I did. I fly in on the fourteenth… But here’s the thing.”

“Uh oh.”

“No, it’s good. I got my first interview for my residency. I’ve applied to a few on the east coast, so it’s a good sign. But I’ll be busy my first week or so before the holiday.”

There was a brief pause. “Oh,” he said. “That’s great about the interview.”

“Are you disappointed?”

“Only a little. And I’m happy you’re applying out here.”

“Me too.”

“Hmm, your brother is giving me a look from the other room. I think he’s suspicious. Is he gonna kick my ass?”

“You can probably take him. But, you know. Family dinner.”

“Right.”

“Will you call me again soon?”

“Of course.” He was tucked into the corner of the kitchen, talking into the phone like it was her ear, like they were completely alone. “Hey,” he said.

“Yeah?”

“I miss you,” he murmured. “When I see you again… I’m going to kiss you, okay? I don’t think I’ll be able to help it.”

Her breath sounded just a bit louder on the other end of the line. “Okay,” she said.

“I’ll talk to you soon. Bye, Dana.”

“Bye.”

—

Much later, after everyone had eaten pie and Fox had headed home to D.C., Melissa stood with her mother in the kitchen, drying and putting away dishes.

“Fox seems nice,” Maggie said. Nonchalant, as if it were just chitchat.

Melissa smiled. “He is. He’s a good guy. Sweet. Really smart.”

“How does he know Dana?”

“They met at our house last summer.” She put a plate in the cabinet.

“And?”

Melissa smirked, looked at her mother. “And what?”

Maggie crossed her arms over her chest. “And?”

“And they hit it off. I think she helped him with some work thing.”

“Are they dating?”

Melissa sighed and leaned back against the counter. “Mom. You need to ask Dana. Who lives in California, in case you’d forgotten, making ‘dating’ something of a complicated term.”

“Alright, alright!” Maggie raised her hands in the air, then went back to the dishes. “It’s sweet, though. Dana and your roommate’s brother.”

Melissa’s spine stiffened. “Mom—“

Maggie’s face looked pained. “I know.” She sighed.

“She’s not my roommate.”

Maggie nodded and took a deep breath, but didn’t look at her daughter. “I know.”

Melissa squeezed at the dish-towel in her hands until her fingers hurt, stared at her shoes. After a moment, Maggie looked back at the other woman, took the two steps across the kitchen to stand beside her, and put her hands on Melissa’s arms. “I know, sweetheart. It’s hard for me, but just… know that I love you. We all do.”

Melissa’s eyes burned. She sniffed. “Dad too?”

“Yeah,” Maggie said. “Dad too.” She held her daughter’s eyes for a long moment, rubbing her upper arms. “Come over again next week,” she said. “I think we just need to get used to it.” Another brief pause, as if Maggie were thinking through something. “But she’s lovely, Missy. I really like her.”

Melissa’s lip wavered, just a little, and she nodded, sniffed again. “I should see how she’s doing with the boys.”

She gave her mother a watery smile, and slipped out of the kitchen.

—

December 24 - Baltimore

Their timing was awful. It seemed a truly grand failure of fate that kept them apart for over a week after Dana arrived in town, despite their efforts to meet. First, she had an interview in Philadelphia, and then a case took Fox out of town until the twenty-third. Once, he showed up at his sister’s house and found he’d missed her by only ten minutes and he nearly beat his head against the wall in frustration. And then finally—finally—on Christmas Eve, the stars aligned. They would be in the same place at the same time—but only for one night. He and Samantha were driving to Connecticut to see their mother in the morning. Once again it felt like cruel fate was holding them forever apart.

Still, they would make of tonight what he could. He knocked on the door at 7:23, and stood shaking in the frigid air. The temperature had plummeted, but at least there had been no snow to slow his drive from Alexandria. Sam opened the door with a cry of delight and a “Come in, come in, it’s freezing!”

Inside it was warm and the lights were low and golden, the Christmas tree glowing, fireplace lit, that terrible Wham! song playing for the nine millionth time of the season. “Merry Christmas!” He told her, wrapping her into a hug with his free arm. She wore a red dress and a Santa hat, her long brown hair curling over her shoulders.

“Merry Christmas! Here, I’ll take your bag,” Samantha said, pulling his duffel from his shoulder so he could strip off his coat. He hardly noticed. He was scanning every space he could see, eyes everywhere at once. “She’s in the kitchen, Romeo.”

He looked at his sister and offered a sheepish smile. “Thanks,” he said.

He was sweating, though it was barely 20 degrees outside. His heart was hammering in his chest, blood rushing his ears. She was here, somewhere in the same house as him, after all these months. He walked, hands shaking, head buzzing, through the living room and toward the kitchen.

Sam waited to put away his bag and instead rushed to grab Melissa, who was chatting in the living room, by the arm. “Wait wait, look, come here!” Conspiratorial, she dragged Melissa to the doorway that led to the hall.

Fox was not halfway to the kitchen door when Dana appeared in the corridor and stopped cold with a little gasp.

“Oh!” She said when she realized it was him.

She wore a deep green crushed velvet dress, long-sleeved, to the knee. Her hair was pulled back away from her face. Her lips and cheeks were red, with surprise or wine or makeup, he couldn’t tell and didn’t care. The world had gone black-and-white but for her: radiant, in full color, a beacon of warmth and light in these cold, dark days of early winter. Quiet hung between them for a long moment until he could speak.

“Hi,” he said eventually, feeling stupid. It was like he could hardly breathe in her presence, like no words could possibly do this moment justice.

Her lips turned up into a nervous smile, and she took a small step toward him, eyes drinking him in just as openly as he watched her. “Hi,” she replied.

He took a step forward to match hers, and they were only a few feet apart now, standing at the event horizon of their gravitational pulls. They hovered there, awed by the electric buzz of their attraction. Then they both moved forward at once, like slow motion, and his hand was reaching out to her face and he was bending down and she was leaning in and going up on her toes… and then he was kissing her. She tasted like white wine and her fingers were in his hair, touching him as he touched her. His free hand came to her waist and guided her body to rest against his. He felt her back arch, her breasts press against his sweater, and he was already embarrassingly hard, like a teenager with no self control, but he couldn’t help it, nor did he care. Not when this was really her, solid and true, flesh and blood, soft lips and warm skin after six months of wanting. He imagined hoisting her over his shoulder and dragging her upstairs, party be damned. He wanted to make love to her slow and soft behind closed doors.

There was a squeal behind him, the sound of Samantha’s feet hopping up and down on the hardwood as she still gripped Melissa’s arm. He heard Melissa mutter, “Come on, give ‘em some space.”

Dana’s arms came around his neck, and he wrapped his own around her waist so he could lift her momentarily, holding her tight to him, wanting all of her at once. Her feet dangled by his shins, and she giggled into his mouth, making him laugh too. When he worried they were making a scene, when he felt capable of maybe surviving a separation of a few inches, he set her back down and their lips parted. Her hands went to his shoulders, and his moved back to cup her face. Her eyes looked wet—as overwhelmed as he felt.

“You’re here,” he said.

“So are you.” One of her hands splayed across his chest, and she could probably feel his heart pounding under her palm.

“I’ve been waiting so long to do that,” he told her.  “I’ve been thinking about it forever.” One of his thumbs brushed across her lips and she kissed it. He was utterly, stupidly in love with her.

She nodded. “I know. Me too.”

Then she leaned in again, wrapped her arms around his waist, and tucked her body into his, her head resting on his chest like it belonged there always. She smelled so good, like clean shampoo and sweet perfume; the velvet of her dress carried the warmth of her skin to his fingertips. He didn’t want to let her go, even when party guests began making their way past them to and from the kitchen.  

“Come help me meet people,” she said, and took his hand in hers. “I’m not great at parties.”

He laughed and let her pull him toward the living room. “If you’re looking for a social butterfly, I have some bad news for you,” he said.

She tossed a smile at him over her shoulder, and he felt a kind of click in his mind—like he’d snapped a photo of her wearing that smile, in that dress, that he would keep with him for the rest of his life.

—

It was a smallish gathering, maybe fifteen in total, but for Dana, it felt like a massive crowd. All she wanted to do was be alone with him. Maybe have dinner, talk for a few hours, make out in his car afterwards. A normal date, she thought. They managed quiet moments here and there, a few stolen kisses under mistletoe, a handful of slow dances to Bing Crosby where she pretended not to notice how he grew hard when she pressed her belly against him. It was nice. But she was glad when the party began to thin around eleven and she didn’t have to explain to any more strangers why she was studying pathology, where she was applying for residencies, what she hoped to do when she finished, all while fully aroused.

By midnight, the last of the guests had left, and the four siblings were straightening up, carrying dirty cups toward the kitchen and throwing away paper plates and napkins. When the clock struck twelve, Samantha called out “Merry Christmas!” to the whole house. In the living room, she grabbed Melissa and pulled her into a kiss.

Fox and Dana were in the kitchen, rinsing egg-nog cups. He glanced at the clock and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Merry Christmas.” She flushed and angled her body toward his. He rested his forehead on hers, brushed their noses together.

“Mmmerycrims,” she mumbled against his lips, half kissing, half laughing.

Sam walked in then, barefoot now and sans Santa hat, carrying an armful of dishes. “Hey, get a room,” she said. “Just kidding. Dana, can you go help Melissa for a minute? I want to get these washed up before we go to bed.”

In the living room, Melissa was pushing furniture back into its usual place, out of the corners, angling the couch back toward the TV. Dana helped her carry the coffee table back into the center of the room. “There,” she said. “Looks good.”

Before heading up to bed, Melissa turned to look at her sister. “Hey,” she said. “Can I say something, Day?” Dana dropped a throw pillow onto the sofa and watched her sister carefully. Melissa lifted both hands to Dana’s shoulders and spoke softly. “He is wonderful and I love him. I want you to be happy. But remember to listen to yourself and what you need, too. Think about where you are and what you want, and don’t feel pressured.”

Dana nodded, eyes wide, suddenly grateful for her sister’s words. “I know.”

“Good,” Melissa said. “Now that I’ve said that, there are condoms in the top drawer of the night stand. Be safe and make good choices. Love you.” She squeezed Dana’s arms then turned and walked to the stairway, calling toward the kitchen on her way up, “I’m headed to bed, Sam!”

“Coming!” Samantha’s voice echoed from the other room.

After Sam went up a few minutes later, it was just the two of them for the first time, standing several awkward feet apart in the living room. Dana felt suddenly nervous, like the weight of the past six months had settled onto this moment, these hours that would follow now that they were alone. She watched him watch her, felt his expectations, and felt suddenly unsure. She chewed the inside of her cheek and looked toward the stairway. Her feet hurt. Her makeup felt old. She suddenly wanted very badly to be wearing pajamas and to be curled up in bed.

Fox took a few steps toward her, reached out to touch her elbow. “Are you okay?” He asked.

“Yeah,” she said, perhaps too quickly, fingers fidgeting, swallowing hard. She was shaking. Afraid of what tonight might mean, of what he might think of her. Were they really going to do this?

“Hey,” he said, pulling her into a gentle hug, just enough so she felt warm—safe. He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “It’s a lot,” he whispered. She leaned back to look into his eyes, and he touched her face again. “Too much, too soon?”

She didn’t want it to be, but she was overwhelmed. She felt her eyes filling with tears against her will. She nodded, her bottom lip wobbling.

He leaned down and kissed it, just a reassuring press of his lips on hers. “Okay,” he said. “It’s okay.” He hugged her again and spoke into her hair. “We don’t need to do anything. It’s late, and I’m just glad I got to see you again.”

She let out a little choked sob into his sweater. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m just… there’s a lot going on right now.”

He pulled back again so he could hold her face in his hands, look into her eyes as he spoke. “Dana,” he said. “I am standing in the same room as you. That makes this the best night I’ve had in six months. I’m sleeping on the couch—right here. So I’m gonna go brush my teeth and put on sweatpants and watch old movies until I can’t keep my eyes open. If you want, you can put on your PJs and join me. If not, I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast. Okay? You don’t need to be sorry. You don’t owe me anything.”

His eyes were serious and blue-green, softened by affection and concern. Was this what love was like, she wondered? This careful kindness, this swelling of the heart at the very sight of the other? Wasn’t this too soon for love?

“Okay,” she said. “I’d like that.”

Dana wanted this man very badly. More, perhaps, than she’d ever wanted anything else in her life. And that scared her. This thing they had was still soft and fragile, no mere lust, but the seed of some great flowering organism. She was grateful that he seemed to want to care for it as much as she did. In the upstairs bathroom, she washed her face and brushed her teeth and changed into comfortable pajamas. Perhaps it was too soon for flannel-love, too—perhaps she should have kept her makeup on, maintained the illusion a little. But she didn’t think so. As she walked back down the stairs, she thought, This feels right.

And it was.

-end chapter three-

Go to Chapter 4

[foslad]

Almost Too Good (A Chris Evans Story): Part 18

A/N: I made an entirely separate post detailing my excuses as to why this took so long and my thoughts and feelings about this chapter, so check it out if you wish! Otherwise, HAPPY HOLIDAYS TO YOU ALL <3

--------------------------------

‘Uh, I’ll be brief with my speech. Partly because I don’t like giving speeches; mostly because we have to give the studio space back in twenty-five minutes…’ Ben announced to a low hum of laughter before continuing.

‘…So as most of you are aware, this hasn’t been the easiest year for me, by a long shot, and I just wanted all of you to know that your hard work and commitment to this project has been the sole reason I was able to get out of bed every morning and not feel like I was the world’s biggest loser.’

My face fell into a sympathetic frown, along with the rest of the cast and crew, as I held my solo cup close to my chest and watched on as THE Ben Affleck poured his heart out to us atop a chair.

‘This project has been my baby for a long time and I’m stoked to see it come alive with the help of all of you. So,’ He raised his cup in a toast and we all followed suit, ‘cheers to The Eyes Of Nobody and its future endeavors! No matter what the outcome, it’s been a pleasure rocking with you guys!’

A round of claps and woo’s greeted Ben as he stepped down from the chair and we all engaged in a sip of cheap wine bought with the left-over change from the extended budget from the production company.

Well that was it. It was mid-November and the movie was officially wrapped.

As everyone began to mingle around the makeshift wrap party, I clocked eyes with Ben’s accountant Michael and shot him a wink as he made his way over to me; solo cup in hand. He and I had become “close buddies” as Ben liked to call it, since he had convinced himself that his “matchmaking skills” were out of this world…  

‘What the hell am I supposed to do now!?’ He declared dramatically, taking a big glug of the wine.

Rolling my eyes, I raised an eyebrow at him. ‘You could try, oh I don’t knoooowww, going on a date?’ I teased, leaning in to poke his chest, only for him to shoot me a sheepish look whilst extending his glug of the wine to an outright chug.

Michael and Chris’ brother Scott had been in constant contact via text since I’d introduced them all those weeks ago yet neither had grown a pair big enough to take it to the next level; each expecting the other to kick start it.

‘Hush up.’ He croaked before looking around glumly at the now closed set. ‘So, lay it on me, when are you back off to the Big Apple? And more importantly, when can I come visit?’

I paused for thought, unable to give him an exact answer.

90% of myself couldn’t wait to get back home; to gladly settle back into routine and all that jazz. I couldn’t physically remember the last time I had sat down and watched a movie or taken time for myself to browse through shops and online for new and exciting clothing pieces or even walked through Central Park as a daily reminder of just how lucky I was. At this point I had even gone so far as to start up a Pinterest page, pinning different recipes I wanted to try out when I finally had the time.

I felt a little foreign to myself and of course, like a true New Yorker, I blamed LA for that.

But naturally there was a remaining 10% that, despite being small in number, weighed me down like an anchor…

‘Soon, I guess… I haven’t had the time to discuss it with my assistant yet.’ I blagged.

Thankfully, something I had grown to notice, and was therefore extremely thankful, about Michael was that he had a short attention span. Instead of paying attention to my answer, he decided to indulge in some good ol’ fashioned gossip instead.

‘I’m even losing Ben to it, you know…’

‘To what, New York?’ I asked, suddenly intrigued.

‘Mhmm.’ He nodded, lifting his cup high and finishing off his wine. ‘Between you and me, I think that his little tete-a-tete with that SNL producer is more than just a passing fling. He’s spending the holidays with Jen and the kids, but he’ll be flying back and forth in-between... If you know what I’m saying…’

Oh, the holidays… My favourite time of year! Even the thought of it brought a warm and cosy sensation to my heart. We were a week away from Thanksgiving and I was delighted to have the holiday period completely signed off to nothing but family, laughter, fun and above all else, food…

As a few crew members around us began to pack away the last few fragments of the set, Michael turned and asked, ‘Please tell me your coming to the actual wrap party at Roamers?’

I smiled wide and shook my head. ‘Nope! I have a prior engagement I’m afraid.’

He raised his eye brows sarcastically. ‘Is this “engagement” six foot, with a body like an athlete on his way to the Olympics?’

I smiled even wider. ‘It suuuuure is. I’m teaching him how to make stuffing, the right way, for his Thanksgiving meal with his family.’

‘Sounds like a bucket of fun,’ He jested, ‘and let me guess, the turkey’s not the only thing getting stuf-’

I clapped my hand over his mouth and light-heartedly glared at him. ‘Nuh uh uh, none of that, thank you very much.’

‘Lots of that…’ He whispered when I removed my hand. I rolled my eyes but admittedly, I was still grinning ear to ear as I sipped the last of my wine.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t floating on Cloud 9 right now. What happened after the night of Gracey’s wedding was like something out of a movie. It was as though I was living out some sort of glorious fantasy that never went away, even when I pinched myself.

-

Chris and I had travelled back to LA together the day after my sister’s wedding and I was convinced my happiness was enough to cure world peace.

As I sat on the flight, next to a dozing Chris, gazing out at the orange and yellow hue that had begun to court the pale blue sky, signalling dusk, it occurred to me that I was truly smiling.

And my smile only grew wider when I realised that there was so many reasons as to why I could be smiling right now.

I was heading back to finish off a project that made me feel fulfilled in my acting career; my assistant Amy had informed me that she would be coming back to work full time in the new year (but was now capable of helping me long distance in the meantime), my family were all radiating with joy and love after such a magical weekend and Chris and I were finally pushing forward to bigger and better things.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, I began to feel like the old Adrian again. There was no sadness in me, there were no worries; hell, there wasn’t even any fear anymore.

Just pure contentment.

The view of the sunset from the plane seemed extra spectacular that day. I even took a notion and snapped a try-hard “hipster” picture for my currently dormant Instagram that hadn’t been shown any TLC in almost two years. I cornily captioned it;

When you have every reason in the world to smile; it’s kinda cool when it smiles back at you.

-

‘No! What part of gently fold it in registers in your brain as mix it into oblivion!?’ I reprimanded, yanking the spoon out of Chris’ hand and bopping him out of the way with my hip. From my peripheral, I could see the outline of Scott double back in laughter as he watched Chris and I try to navigate the kitchen together with a beer in hand from the island.

Observing me stir the mixture, Chris’ voice began to raise in protest. ‘You’re doing exactly what I did!’

‘No, I’m not! I’m “gently”, GENTLLLYYYYYYY, folding it in!’

‘Looks pretty fucking similar to me!’ He argued, taking a swig of his beer and shooting Scott a playful look.

‘Uhhh, who’s the teacher and who’s the learner here Evans!?’ I replied, tipping the delicious substance out onto a baking tray.

‘I’m just sayin’!’ He held his hands up in innocence as I placed the tray into the pre-heated oven and picked up my own beer for a smug swig. ‘Well, wait until you taste it, then you’ll see why we “fold”!’

As we waited for the goodness to cook, the boys decided to take the time to grill me on a certain topic that, in general, I had been trying to avoid in my everyday life; so as to not psyche myself out.

‘How’s the training for your Justice League audition coming along?’ Scott asked, after being let in on my little secret a couple of weeks ago and then promptly made to swear to keep silent about it.

Today marked exactly one week after I had received the call from my agent Magda to tell me all systems were ago as far as the audition and truthfully, I was still trying to mentally wrap my mind around it all, never mind even think of the physicality involved.

‘I mean, I gym twice a week, like always, if that’s what you’re asking?’ I hadn’t taken any measures out of my daily routine to prepare…Why should I? I wasn’t even going to get the role for crying out loud!

‘For how long? What do you do when you’re there? You got a trainer?’ Chris questioned intensively.

‘Whoa, whoa, whoa slow down. I do my own thing, like I’ve always done.’ I replied casually.

‘You reckon that’s enough? You feel fit and strong?’ He crossed his arms and eyed me closely.

‘Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.’ I responded defensively. Okay, so I’ve only ever taken to the gym to be able to justify eating whatever I want, but whatever! They didn’t need to know that!

‘Cool.’ Chris stuck his bottom lip out slightly and nodded. There was a solid twenty second silence as he took one last determined swig of beer before laying the bottle down with a bit of force onto the countertop. ‘You. Me. Pull up competition. Right now.’

With that declaration, he pushed himself away from the counter and began to make his way to the glass door that led to his backyard.

‘What!?’ I called after him, shooting Scott a ‘is he for real!?’ look.

‘You heard me!’ His voice trailed off as he exited out of the door.

The sky was starting to get dark but Chris’ garden was well lit. I begrudgingly trailed after him as he walked past his pool and over to the tall oak tree situated towards the side of his garages.

The tree was thick and strong; with Chris reaching up and placing all his weight on it to see if it would hold up. ‘Alright, seems sturdy enough.’ He deduced as he jumped back down.

Standing under it, I gazed up in intimidation. ‘I can’t even reach it’- was my first excuse.

It took all of two seconds for Chris to bend down behind me and wrap his biceps around my knees, swooping me up with ease so that I was eye level with the branch.

‘But what if I fall!?’ - came the second excuse.

‘Well then we’ll scrap the competition and I’ll just stay here to catch you in case you do fall.’ He countered once again. ‘C’mon, grab the branch.’

‘What if it cuts my hands?’ - marked my last feeble attempt. Now that I was closer, the branch did seem a little old and sharp…ish.

‘Just grab the damn branch Warner!’ He ordered, using his strength to give my body a little jolt upwards.

‘Okay, okay!’ Reaching out and wrapping my hands around it, taking a few seconds to secure my grip firmly.

‘You got it? Am I good to let go?’ He slowly let go and lingered for a second to check I wasn’t going anywhere before stepping away. I hung there like a moron, my legs flailing slightly like a child as I tried to keep my balance in check. Chris stepped towards me again and laid his hands on my legs.

‘Knees together and then lift and cross your feet behind your back.’ He ordered. I could already feel the burn in my arms as I followed his instructions and I hadn’t even started yet.

Once he was happy with my posture and positioning, he glared up. ‘I want ten pull ups.’

Okay, that’s not too bad… Ten should be okay…

Harnessing every piece of strength that I’d gathered from lifting light dumbbells for the past nine years, I raised myself up towards the branch and lifted my chin over it.

‘One.’ Chris called out.

Easing myself back down, I felt a sense of achievement. Alright! My first ever pull up! Go Adrian!

Nine more, not so bad…

The next time I felt the burn even more, but I managed it at least. ‘Two.’

When I eased myself down the second time, my arms began to feel the ache a hell of a lot more than they already did.

Mustering the strength for the third one was not so easy. I could feel myself starting to laugh at my own pathetic excuse for upper body strength, but the laughing only made my stomach hurt more and thus caused me to use up more energy.

‘Still two.’ Chris counted, doing his best not to laugh alongside Scott, who had long lost it. Clearly, I was the entertainment for the evening.

My legs had become undone slightly in hopes of helping me complete my fitness mission.

‘Nope! Keep your legs crossed at the back or I won’t count it!’ Chris’ arms were now folded as he started to stare up at me smugly.

‘It’s hard!’ I whined.

‘What? I thought you said you were “up to date” with this training?’ He used the bunny ear gesture to quote me directly before crossing his arms again.

I frowned but refused to give in. Gathering all my strength, I started up once more; unfortunately vocalising every piece of pain I felt - But I made it!

‘Three.’

‘Ohhhhh my God.’ I panted. Why was this so hard???

‘I’ll compromise at five. Get to five and we’ll call it even.’ Chris bargained, leaning back against the tree.

Two more agonising pull ups, which took what felt like hours to complete, followed. Chris moved forward and stepped under me, lightly wrapping his arms around my legs again. ‘Okay, drop down.’

Delighted to be rid of the pain, I let go and slid down into his grip. Chris clenched a little tighter just before my feet hit the ground so that I was now eye level with him. His eyes screamed in triumph as he waited for me to admit that I wasn’t “up to date” with my “training” at all.

Instead however, I simply let out a deep breath through my nose and wrapped my arms around his neck. ‘If you weren’t so cute, I’d be very pissed right now.’

‘Blegh.’ Scott declared before heading back inside to check on the oven.

‘Pissed at what? The fact you have the upper body strength of a kitten?’ Chris inquired as he turned his attention backed to me and lifted his eyebrow in self-satisfaction.

I shot him an unimpressed look in return before pulling away.

With a light chuckle, he lightly wrapped his arm around my shoulder as we trudged back into the house. ‘I was just trying to show you that “fitness” and “strength” are actually two very different things. It’s not about waiting to get the role and then starting training; you gotta show them what you’re made of from the off! Stay ahead of the competition, if you will.’ He squeezed me lightly, causing me to look up at him.

‘You could really slam this audition if you put your mind to it, you know.’

I smiled softly, recalling a similar pep talk I’d received from Ben a couple of weeks ago. I could feel myself light up inside at how supportive he was being; even if that “support” meant that my arms felt like they were about to fall off any second.

‘You should work on your weight lifting and think about getting yourself a trainer.’ Chris advised as he made his way over to the sink to pour me a glass of water whilst Scott declared that there was five minutes left on the timer.

‘Can I hire you?’ I asked half joking, half not.

‘No can-do kiddo, I have my own training to do. Infinity War is coming up and Poppa don’t get in shape as easily as he used to.’

‘Suuuure,’ I teased, gladly accepting the water, ‘because you look so terrrrible right now.’

‘Well, I certainly don’t look like Captain America that’s for sure.’ He replied before sighing and gazing over at the oven. ‘I mean, if we’re being real, I prooooobably shouldn’t even be eating stuffing right now either.’

I squeaked at his blasphemous tone. ‘Stuffing is always okay!’ I walked over and placed my hands on his cheeks and squeezed so his lips puffed up to attention. ‘Stuffing is good for the soul! Say it with me! Stuuuffing is good for the souuul.’

‘Preach it girl!’ Cried Scott from his position at the fridge, as he retrieved three more beers.

No more than ten minutes later, I arrogantly watched on as the two boys went to indulgence heaven and back as they tucked into my creation. I took great pleasure in scolding Chris on how the flavours and different textures of the stuffing would’ve been destroyed had he continued to mash them to death like he had been.

The tail end of dinner took a turn when Scott notified us of the text he had received from one of his roommates. One of them had left their keys at home and with Scott being the only one left in LA this late in the upcoming holiday season, it inevitably made him the only one to be able to help. So, we bid him goodbye as we continued to gorge on stuffing.

-

After binging three episodes of a new series we’d discovered on Netflix, I sat on Chris’ bed, on top of the covers, and glanced through my emails.

All were mostly worked-related; one was about maintenance that needed to be done to my apartment back in New York and then one, I noticed, seemed to catch my eye for the right kind of reason.

After reading it through, a small smile spread across my face and I found myself calling out to Chris in his en-suite.

‘Did you get the email about the Fashion Awards?’ We’d been invited, as representatives of Gucci, to present one of the awards at the ceremony.

‘Oh, yeah, Jake mentioned something about an awards thing. In England, right?’

‘Mhmm! Would you wanna do it?’ It wasn’t compulsory or in our contract to have to do such events, so I felt like I already knew his answer before he even spoke.

‘Eh.’ Chris shrugged before waving it off and walking back into the bathroom; signalling that he wasn’t even interested, never mind entertaining it.

I nodded and smiled, albeit a little sadly, as I pretended to agree with him.

It was the third thing we’d turned down in the space of a month.

The first being an Elle pictorial spread that had been in the works for weeks due to the popularity of our commercial, 2.5 million views and counting at this point. Chris had decided at the last minute, however, that it would just bring unwanted attention to us and that I should just do it by myself.

But of course, they weren’t interested in just me.

The second was an invite to the launch of Gucci’s new Fall Collection. Off the bat I knew that kind of thing wasn’t Chris’ cup of tea, although I had half-hoped he might’ve been swayed with the knowledge of how much that kind of thing means to me and that we could get away with going together because we were still technically “co-workers”. Alas, I attended that one alone.

The Fashion Awards made it a trio and to say it was a little disheartening, was an understatement.

Obviously, I wasn’t completely clueless. I knew deep down he was just trying to protect and preserve what we had. We’d still managed to evade being public knowledge and that was something Chris was passionate about keeping for as long as possible.

Unlike our early days, nearly every evening was spent at Chris’; which was totally fine! Spending time with him was so beyond fulfilling and I was so lucky to have him! It was night’s like tonight, cooking and chilling together, that really brought a special warmth to my heart.

But I’d be lying if I said we weren’t lacking in most aspects outside of that. There were no dates, no dinners out, no movie trips. I wasn’t even allowed to walk Dodger with him. Something as simple as walking down the street and holding hands or going to the grocery store were also out of the question.

Menial tasks that I ached to do.

And I knew he had done them in the past. A quick google search would should him going on dates or holding hands with past lady friends…

But I knew that kind of thinking was toxic. I had become good at steering away from stupid thoughts like that after the promise I had made to Chris to just trust him.

I didn’t doubt Chris or his feelings, it was just the way things were that made it harder for me to adjust to. I wasn’t as big of a “celebrity” (nor did I ever wish to be) as Chris and, up until we started dating, could happily walk around and go about my business without having anybody give a shit. Even outside of my relationship, I was still able to do that. Stupid little things like fashion award shows and clothing launches, I’ll admit, were still fun little ventures to me that meant a different kind of night out to the usual routine.

But of course, I knew that as soon as Chris and I did become public knowledge, I could probably wave that goodbye. Still…

I hadn’t realised I’d been staring into space until the bathroom light clicked off and Chris emerged, zipping up a jacket and grabbing a cap from the side.

‘Alright, I’ll be back soon. Just gonna take Dodger out real quick.’ He informed me as he bent down to give me a parting kiss. I watched intently as he attached the leash to the dog’s collar.

‘Can I come?’ I chanced. It was dark out and already gone 10:30pm, I doubt paparazzi patrolled his street at this time of night on the off chance he might walk out of his door. Besides, in the one in a million chance that they might be, the picture would be too dark anyway; surely.

I just wanted to hold his hand. Outside. That’s it. That’s all I needed.

He struggled to form words as he tried to figure out a way of gently letting me down that didn’t just involve an outright ‘no’.

‘Please? I hate being here on my own...’ I begged, knowing full well it was probably going to make him feel a little guilty. Sure, I wasn’t being wholly honest but even I could see that the truth seemed slightly embarrassing and needy.

A small frown appeared on his face as he made his way back over to me; leaning down again to kiss my cheek. ‘I’m only gonna be gone ten minutes, Adrian, I promise!’

He had paused for my reaction, but Dodger’s light whimpering pressured me into reluctantly nodding my head.

‘…Okay.’ I whispered, allowing him to lean forward for one last peck.

Chris wasn’t stupid. He probably knew deep down that my request was deeper than just a fear of being alone.

-

To Chris’ credit, the front door sounded not ten minutes later and a content Dodger trotted down the hallway and into the bedroom; closely followed by his owner.

I picked up the remote and turned down the volume on the random World’s Wildest Police Chases episode I was watching and looked over as Chris entered the bedroom. Smiling, I scooted over and made room for him in the bed.

As he undressed, I decided to break the slightly awkward silence by asking if we could watch Conan tonight. I was happy to see a smile appear across his face as he crawled under the covers next to me.

‘You don’t have to keep asking Adrian, we watch it every night.’

We continued the silence, although now a little more content, as we listened to Zac Efron talk to Conan about the upcoming Baywatch reboot he was shooting on a low volume. We were half-way through the interview when Chris finally spoke up.

‘I feel bad about earlier.’

‘Don’t! It’s okay,’ I reached over and rubbed his cheek affectionately, ‘I understand why you said no.’

A minute or so passed, I had returned my attention back to the screen, when he spoke again.

‘Listen, I was gonna ask you a little closer to the time, but I guess now is a good a time as any.’ Chris sat up and cleared his throat a little. ‘Every year, around New Year’s, Downey throws this fundraiser for a charity of choice. It changes every year.’ He rambled.

I listened intently, but I’d be lying if I said my eyes weren’t widening by the second.

‘Anyways, there’s no red-carpet bullshit but people still dress up and it’s for a good cause, so I try and make it every year.’

‘That’s nice of you.’ I replied, although my tone was willing him to continue.

‘Would you, maybe, wanna go… with me… this year?’

My lips trembled as I fought back a big, fat, beaming smile.

‘Sure.’ I replied as casually as I could, but it was obvious he could see right through me. ‘I should be free.’

He grinned at me as we returned our eyes to the screen but within seconds, I had turned back and smacked my lips against his. Forgoing Conan for the night, I decided to show him just how I grateful I was for his suggestion.

----------

If you read this one through, YOU ARE A GOD! THANK YOU! New chapter SOON!! Special shout out to mrs-captain-evans and elphabathropp for playing a huge part in my return to writing! I’m sorry I suck but I love you for caring!! <3 

[thetrashthatsmilesback]

Was I blind and deaf and dumb I didn’t know how bad it had become Or how to save you (because I'm basic and part of me hurt me emotionally)

This is a character study of the relationship between Larry and Connor. Its towards the beginning of Connor's junior year, and is a lead up to what is implied to be his first attempt. This is really dark, so please be safe.

Warnings: f slur suicidal ideation psycho used as a slur sociopath used as a slur referenced abuse drug addiction referenced self harm referenced suicide attempt

This is cross posted to AO3 here x.

This is canon compliant, but since its pre-canon it could be considered a prequel to Connor lives AUs

I also took the idea of Connor's middle name being Lawrence from @Ch-ch-ch-ch-cherrybomb as they are my biggest writing inspiration.

Larry Murphy had never been able to bond with his son. Connor was complicated, and a total mama’s boy through and through. Their interests didn’t coincide, their social lives were complete opposites, and while Larry’s masculinity was hard to doubt, Connor had always been a bit… prissy. Of course Larry cared for and loved his son, he just wasn’t sure how to generally interact with him in any way. After their fight last night he wanted to try and fix the bond that had been lost somewhere along the way.

“Connor, where were you last night?”

“Out.”

“Out where? Your mom’s sleeping meds were also missing. I want to see them now, and I want every pill that should be in the bottle to be in the bottle.” Connor scoffed, shaking his head. His eyes were bloodshot and puffy, rimmed with red. There were long fading tear tracks going down his cheeks. His hair had obviously gone at least a week without being washed.

“Yea… I don’t think you’ll be too pleased if you want all of the pills in the bottle. There’s maybe,” he looked at the ceiling in thought, “half? Yeah. Half a bottle left.” He nodded with his lips pursed before speaking again. “Although, I ran into some kid and he made a joke that wasn’t at my expense and I was able to-” Larry finally cut the brunet boy off.

“Half the bottle is left? Did you overdose? How did you not pass out? Where were you?” Connor rolled his eyes, only the blue and brown one visible from behind his curtain of hair.

“Jeez, I didn’t take them all. Like you said, they’re mom’s prescription.” Larry could feel his jaw tensing.

“Well you shouldn’t have taken any. I want the bottle back right now Connor Lawrence Murphy.” The boy pushed his chair out from the table.

“Fine!” He huffed before running up the staircase. About five minutes later he came back down with a small orange bottle with the name Cynthia Murphy written across its label. He handed it to the redheaded woman, and sat back down. His plate had barely been touched.

“Connor, sweetie, you really shouldn’t take anything that isn’t prescribed to you.” She reached out to run her hand over his hair but he jerked away making a strangled noise.

“So, Zoe, how’s school been this week?”  The younger Murphy made a small non-committal sound before looking up.

“My teachers have been trying to cram a lot in before Thanksgiving Break, but for the most part it's okay. I got the solo in the jazz band concert again. You are coming right?” She looked up, hopeful.

“Of course Zoe! We wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Zoe’s hair was in a ponytail, fully showing off the vibrant indigo streaks running through it like lightning.

“Well… I mean, you missed it last year.” Suddenly there was an intensity in the air that could be cut with a knife.

The year before, during the Thanksgiving jazz band performance, Connor had been home alone. During it he went out to get high, but ended up passing out and being found by a young mom and her two kids in a park. Cynthia had missed most of the concert due to being in the emergency room with her sobering son.

“That won’t happen again this year dear. I promise, we’ll be there.” Her look was tight, like a wound coil, but she managed to smile at her daughter. It was in moments like these that Larry truly loved his wife. She’d do anything to keep the family together.

“What about you Connor, how’s school been for you?” As soon as the question left his mouth, he knew he had made a mistake. The evening hadn’t been perfect, definitely tense, with fairly terse answers, but asking this question was like cocking a loaded gun. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Zoe pull her legs up to her chest in a defensive pose. Cynthia began, as imperceptible as possible, to move all of the cutlery away from Connor. His son, for the second time this meal, looked up through the curtain of that damn hair.

“I-uh- it’s been… fine?” He could see Connor clenching his fist into his palm, but for some reason decided to push.

“Has it really?” Connor nodded, looking down at the table. Zoe shot a glance in between Larry and Connor, and readied herself to dart from the room. “Because I got an interesting call from your latin teacher. She said you haven’t been to class in two weeks.”

“Not now Larry, Connor has been feeling sick. We can discuss this later.” Cynthia’s tone was soft but commanding. It was obvious she was demanding her husband to not push their son further. The one in question simply lowered his head more, face completely concealed by hair, and muttered a low ‘fucking bitch’ below his breath.

“No Cynthia. I doubt he’s been sick for two weeks. In fact, the only class that i haven’t been informed of your missing has been English. Where are you during the day Connor?”

“I’ve been out.”

“Where?”

“Larry not right now.”

“God does it even fucking matter?” Connor’s head shot up, and Larry could see the tears forming in his son’s eyes. He’s not high then. He would be yelling by now if he were, the red was simply from crying. For some reason he couldn’t seem to stop himself. He was sick of this, this shit that Connor would pull. He’d do anything to get out of class, even fake stomach aches and claim that the people there made him want to throw up. Larry remembered being a teenager, he was similar to Connor - skipping class to go behind the school and smoke cigarettes with the rest of the jocks. He knew Connor wasn’t actually sick, he just wanted to go feed his oxy addiction.

“It does matter. You need to go to class Connor. You can’t live on our couch forever.” Connor stood up abruptly, causing Zoe to finally dart out of the room, slamming her door shut and driving the lock home.

“You sound like my fucking counselor! You can’t keep failing Connor!” he was sneering in a voice that was definitely nothing like his counselor’s. “English isn’t a viable degree Connor! Your math grades are too fucking low Connor! Don’t you want to graduate? Do you really think that your parents want to be stuck with you for the rest of your fucking life? Do you honestly think, that anyone would want to support a fucking piece of shit like you?” He smashed a glass as he said the last one, tears flowing down his angular cheeks, and gasps falling out of his mouth. Cynthia stood up and began to walk towards him, but Connor backed away from her. “God, do you honestly think I don’t fucking know I’m on the verge of dropping out? Do you honestly think that I don’t know I’m throwing everything away? I can’t fucking do this any fucking more! You’re my parents! You’re supposed to hold me and tell me it’ll be okay and help me lay out my fucking options but you don’t fucking care! No one fucking cares! No one fucking listens when I say that I can’t fucking stand that place! I can’t go in without people making school shooter jokes, or cowering, or shoving shit into my locker, or telling me to just fucking kill myself as if I don’t already fucking want to!” He was full out sobbing now, his hand cut up from the broken glass.

“Connor, oh Connor. You don-”

“Yes! I fucking do. I just fucking want to be fucking dead. I can’t fucking take this any fucking more.” Cynthia walked up to their now hyperventilating son and walked him over to the couch where she held him.

Later that night Larry and Cynthia got into a fight about whether Connor meant what he said or not. Larry just couldn’t accept that his son was honestly suicidal - it had to be for attention. A way to get more drugs to get high off of. Cynthia had argued back that he couldn’t be lying. That this isn’t the first time their son has told them that he wants to die.

He came back out of his reverie in front of the banged up door of his sixteen year old son. The door was banged up, covered in dents and scratches from nights when Connor had come home too drunk or high to even open the door. He reached up and knocked softly, calling out “Connor? I want to come in.” He cracked open the door to see his oldest lying on the bed reading. He was totally engrossed, headphones on, knees at his chest, head buried into the pages so deep that only his eyes - visibly alight with excitement - and a light blush across his cheeks were visible.

Larry stood there a moment, staring at the boy. His hair was getting relatively long, reaching to about his mid neck in length. His jacket - something that Cynthia had picked up from the consignment shop that looked like it belonged with a dressier shirt than what Connor usually paired it with - was rolled up to his elbows revealing a scattering of scars. They made Larry sick to his stomach. Connor had self harmed on and off since the end of sixth grade, and although most of the cuts were so faded you couldn’t even see where they were, the newer ones were a dark red. His shirt was disheveled and had rid up to expose a small portion of stomach, also littered with the dark lines.  His legs were bent supporting the relatively thick book resting on them, in black ripped skinny jeans covered in white and blue paint.

Larry cleared his throat and finally Connor looked up, the light clearing from his eyes to be replaced with a blank stare. “Hey, wha-what are you reading?” Connor looked down at his book, back up at his dad, and then at the book again.

“Its-” his voice was hoarse, desperately needing to be cleared, “It’s War and Peace? Like… the book by Leo Tolstoy?” When Larry said nothing, simply moving closer to his son to attempt to talk, he flushed and continued. “There’s, a um, there’s a musical in previews about it. So I uh, decided to read it.” Larry nodded and sat at the edge of the dark bed.

“You like musicals? I always thought you were more into rock bands.”

“I like both.” So far this was going better than expected. Connor had opened up about his book and taste in music without it becoming a screaming match.

“Why don’t you put on a musical for me then?” Connor looked up at him suspiciously. “I’m trying to bond with you Connor. I want you to feel safe here.” Connor simply looked down again, before carefully opening his bedside table’s drawer. Larry paled and felt sick at what was inside. It was lined with various bags of pills, powders, and weed. Some were obviously painkillers, others were sleeping pills, and some he didn’t want to know what they were.

“My drug issues aren’t exactly secret.” Connor murmured while grabbing his phone out from underneath a bag of light blue powder. He probably felt that this was an excuse for blatantly showing it off to Larry. “Can you just… can you not tell mom? I don’t want her to worry. Like, I know I’m a dick, but I’m not that much of a self centered ass.”

“She’s already worried Connor. Every night when you don’t get home until two, three in the morning - if at all, she’s worried. Every time you come home drunk or high, or come to breakfast hungover, she’s worried. When those damn scars are on display, she’s worried. Last night when you said you wanted to kill yourself, you made her worried.” Connor looked up at him, his eyes hard.

“Is that really why you’re in here? To make me feel guilty? Are you going to record this as well? Hahaha,” his sarcastic laugh was cold and bitter, “How fucking funny is this! Connor Lawrence Murphy feels bad! He’s not a total sociopath after fucking all! Lets all laugh at his drug addiction while he has a fucking breakdown!” His face had grown cold, hands clenching at the book.

“Connor, that’s not why I’m here. Why would I want to show off my own son’s tantrums?” Larry’s voice had risen, he felt it himself. This wasn’t what he wanted, he had wanted to try. “Wait, Connor,” He had taken a deep breath while his son curled himself even more into a ball, “I didn’t mean it like that. Why do you think I’d record you?”

“Zoe would.”

“Your sister wouldn’t Connor.”

“Look me in the eye and say that.” At this Connor looked up and made eye contact. Those peculiar eyes with brown speckling the left sea of blue. Neither Cynthia nor Larry knew where the heterochromia came from, both of them being blue eyed. When Connor’s eye first started darkening Larry had assumed that Cynthia had cheated on him. When she denied it, half in tears, he decided to just leave it alone.

“Connor, I don’t want to do this right now.”

“You can’t can you?”

“Connor-”

“Do you know what they call me at school?” Larry looked back at his son again, raising an eyebrow.

“Psycho Connor, Crazy Connor, Connor the School Shooter, bomber, fucking serial killer. They film me and then put it on the internet. They call me fag and sociopath and revolting, they tell me to kill myself before I kill one of them. I just wanted to know that someone could guarantee that they didn’t believe that about me.” Connor looked up through his curtain of hair. “I’m abusive to Zoe. I’m awful to mom, mom who lets me do whatever. And then to you, I egg you on. I’m an ass. You treat me like a criminal, and I give you every reason to.” Connor looked back down at his legs, biting his bottom lip. “Can you go?”

“Connor I-”

“I just want you to go!” His voice raised, eyes full of tears, face flushing a dark red. Larry did leave at that, and he pretended he didn’t hear the broken sobs. He pretended he had never seen the drawer of drugs. He pretended the scars, and paranoia, and slurs weren’t parts of his son.

Larry had never understood his son, but the next morning when they found him in a pool of his own vomit, an empty pill bottle in his hand, he wished more than anything that he had tried harder.