#HER SCREAMS WERE SO UNSETTLING WITH THE REAL AUDIENCE CLAPS

[hoarder-of-dragons]

Finally watched The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals and now I'm mentally ill...no one touch me

[storiesnobodyreads]

Hard To Be Loved 2

Characters: Tom Holland x Reader

Story: Reader is Tom’s girlfriend, and he’s taking her to the premiere of Infinity War. You are worried about how the fans will react to you, and unfortunately your concerns are proven right, and Tom isn’t there to support you. | The rude fan from the premiere shows up when you least expect it, and she turns out to be full of need for vengeance. 

A/N: hahahaha I’m afraid I have to apologize for writing this in parts, but I hope part two came fast enough! it’s more intense than the first one. thinking about writing a part 3 :)

PART 1 ... PART 3

Three minutes before the movie started, Tom managed to find his seat next to you. He was slightly sweaty thanks to the burning sun, moved around restlessly, and had a permanent smile on his face. Quickly, he moved in to kiss you, and you reacted too slowly to dodge him.

You should have walked out, you realised now. This was going to be terrible. You couldn’t say anything now because, god, this was one of the most important days of Tom’s life. The premiere of this gigantic movie, and he was a part of it. You could impossibly ruin this for him because you were insecure and jealous.

But the image of the redhead throwing her hair back while pulling herself closer to Tom, and her voice, I hope you fucking die, you don’t deserve Tom! You couldn’t stop hearing her voice.

“Whoa, that was insane, right?” Tom gushed beside you, snuggling in closer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders. “All those people... I mean, everyone was so nice and supportive, you know!” Only when your lack of enthusiasm became obvious due to your lack of response, did Tom look at you a little better. “Love, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Tom frowned. “Are you sure? You don’t look fine.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted. “Let’s just... I’m happy that you’re happy. Let’s watch the movie, okay?”

Tom looked completely unsettled. Perhaps he knew you too well. “Y/N, come on,” he murmured, reducing his voice to a whisper since Tom Hiddleston was sitting two rows in front of you. Tom was never a fan of public drama. 

“I said I’m fine, Tom,” you hissed.

“Y/N, I don’t know what--”

Thankfully, the lights in the theatre started lowering, a sign that the movie was on the verge of starting. The rumour of the audience heightened for a short second in excitement, and then vanished, for there was absolute silence demanded. It was cute to spot all the thrilled actors in the crowd, since most of them presumably knew about their own part but not about the others.

Tom, however, stared at your face, with his eyes angrily narrowed that you hadn’t told him what was upsetting you.

Tom Hiddleston turned around and spotted Tom Holland, smiling and sending a wink to Spider-Man, then waving to you. He was clearly looking forward to showing the movie to the world.

Then Avengers: Infinity War started. You thanked the lord that you were a massive Marvel fan and had watched all the previous Marvel movies, making you absolutely fascinated with this one. You’d been waiting for it to come out for a year, though it felt like longer, and the fact you got to watch it with the cast was exuberayting. The Marvel logo appeared, quietly, and immediately you got absorbed into the screen.

*****

The movie was fucking fantastic. You laughed and cried. Laughed some more. Then cried a lot more.

Tom Hiddleston was laughing his ass off after the first scene, when he died, and everyone screamed out in horror and disbelief. How the hell had he managed to keep that a secret from everyone? you wondered. Looking over at your Tom, whose mouth was wide open in awe, you couldn’t help wishing that he’d succumbed to tell you what was going to happen to him this movie.

The audience whooped and cheered and shouted, and at the end, the ending that you despised, Josh Brolin rose from his chair and bowed to the crowd, which resulted in all the actors teasingly throwing popcorn at the man.

Then they started vanishing, turning to dust. Every single time another character disappeared, long and agonised ‘Noooooo’s’ emerged from the audience. Finally, you heard Peter’s, or Tom’s, voice. He had the final, most crushingly heart-breaking scene of the entire movie. The way he clung to Tony Stark, the way he begged not to go... Fuck.

You couldn’t stop the tears from rolling down your face, which sent a wide smile to Tom’s face.

The movie ended, final speeches were held by the Russo’s and Robert Downey Junior, directors, some actors, and then was announced that everyone was free again, but also free to join the party.

“Screw you,” you said to Tom, after everyone was allowed to talk again.

Tom raised one eyebrow at you. “Is that about the movie or about the other thing?”

It was a pity that he reminded you of the other thing. “The movie,” you replied, feeling a weight sinking down your chest when real life kicked back in. “How could you not tell me you died? Asshole.” You then quickly kissed him on the lips. “It was fucking amazing, though. Great movie. Great scene. You were my favourite throughout all of it.”

Tom was laughing, “Jeez, I better hope so! How weird would it have been if you’d been like, I love Chris Hemsworth so much more.”

Your look was serious. “I do love Chris Hemsworth.”

Tom’s look turned just as serious as yours. “Yeah, me too.”

Precisely at that moment, it was Chris Hemsworth who clapped Tom on the back, embracing him in a large Australian hug. “Holland!” he crushed your boyfriend with his massive arms. “I didn’t know you were going to die! Man, great scene. I’m so proud of you.”

“Thanks, mate,” Tom looked like he was about to burst with happiness when Chris Hemsworth released him. “You were amazing. Should have gone for the head, though, eh?”

“Right.” Chris Hemsworth then took your hand a pressed a kiss on top of it. “Y/N, good to see you! What’d you think of the kid’s performance?”

“Fantastic, of course,” you beamed, and you couldn’t help feeling proud. “I didn’t know, either. I’m mostly amazed that he managed to keep a spoiler.”

Tom’s smile was wide. “Sorry. Love you.”

“I’m going to go find Tom,” said Chris, glancing at Tom. “The other Tom. I trust you two will be at the party tonight?”

You loved a good party; had been looking forward to this one ever since Tom had asked you to come as his date. “Yeah! See you, man!” Tom excitedly replied, but you only smiled and gave no reaction out loud. As soon as Chris Hemsworth walked over to Tom Hiddleston, did Tom Holland turn to you. Decisively, he took your hand and pulled you with him, marching to the side of the theatre.

“Tom, what are you doing?” you squeaked.

Tom crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re going to tell me what’s going on. Now.”

You copied his posture, feeling a combination of anger and stress and the very recent need to cry thanks to watching the man you love die, flow through you. “Tom, it’s okay. I don’t want to ruin your day.”

“If you’re not telling me what’s bothering you, that will ruin my day,” Tom emphasised. “I won’t stop worrying until you tell me.” He noted the hesitance in your eyes, and added a soft, “Please?”

He was right, of course. You hated how logical Tom was, rational and positive and always kind.

“Well, okay,” you growled. “Remember when I said that people would hate me? Because I... you know, because I ruined everyone’s chances of getting together with you?”

There was a dark glare in his eyes, one that you had never seen before. Dangerous. “Yeah. What happened?”

“Oh,” your heart was feeling heavy. It was crazy how badly you didn’t want to tell Tom. They were his fans. There was probably one in a thousand who would be rude to you like that, perhaps even less. You didn’t mean to mess up his faith in humanity, in his fans, in Marvel. “Well, there was just a girl that said some things to me.” You hated that you were wearing that stupid dress that was only destined to make you pretty but not comfortable at all, and you forced yourself to not start crying because you’d mess up your make-up, and everyone would see you cry.

Something in Tom’s jaw tensed. “What did she say to you?”

You chickened out. Couldn’t go through with it. “Oh, I don’t know. She was just screaming, but I couldn’t really hear over all the noise, you know. She looked very mad at me, though. Sebastian was with me, and security took her away.” And then she found her way back to talk to Tom, somehow. 

Tom studied your expression worriedly and saw the tears shining in your eyes. He let his arms fall and quickly wrapped them around you. He held you, closely and strongly. “That sucks, love,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “Luckily she’s gone now. Right?” 

“Right.” 

Robert came swaggering over with his wife on his arm, eyes sparkling with happiness clearly visible through his glasses. “Hey, kids,” he smiled, “Would you like to join us in our limo to the party?” 

What were you gonna do, say no?

*****

You came out of the restroom stall, carefree, a little tipsy, enjoying yourself. It was a nice party; the entire Infinity War cast was there with their family and spouses. There was free alcohol and loud music. You’d watched drunk Chris Hemsworth dance his ass off, and it had been highly amusing. 

You found your place at a free sink to wash your hands with soap, when an unexpected voice rang through your ears. 

“Y/N,” said the redhead standing next to you. She had changed clothes; from her Spider-Man shirt into a slutty black dress that reached just till the end of her ass. Her cleavage was more than visible, her deep v-neck revealing almost everything. 

You hoped that she wouldn’t notice your shock and, a little, fear. “Oh, hi,” you brought out. “How... how did you get in here?” You had an internal war going on in your mind, wondering whether you had the obligation to remain polite for Tom’s sake, or whether you could punch her in the teeth. 

“I used my charms,” she responded calmly. Her expression was the definition of a bitch face. “Flirted with the guards, told them I was Chris Evans’ niece. They had no fucking idea I was just here to talk to Tom.” 

A white anger stifled your senses. “Well, I hope you have a great time,” you muttered through clenched jaws. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to get back to my boyfriend now.” 

You attempted to move past her, but she caught your arm and held you back. “He won’t be your boyfriend much longer, Y/N,” she spat in your face. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He doesn’t really love you. You don’t make him happy. You don’t fucking deserve him--you’re the most fucked up girl in the world.” 

You weren’t even remotely equipped to deal with this. “What... you’re the most fucked up girl in the world,” you countered weakly, feeling your hands tingle. 

She flashed a smile at your inability to come up with a come-back. “You can’t make him happy, but I can. You’ll see.” She arched her back to reach for the towels, confidently drying her hands. “Now why don’t you do yourself a favour and drown yourself in the fucking toilet.” She walked away, her ass jiggling, her arms swinging. Like a diva.

Like a fucking bitch. 

You stood in the bathroom for a solid ten minutes, staring at yourself in the mirror, letting this sink into you. 

You supposed that this was what you were going to have to deal with if you wanted to be Tom Holland’s girlfriend. You realised your hands were shaking when you went to grab a towel to dry your hands. What gave this girl the right to talk to you that way?

Why don’t you do yourself a favour and drown yourself in the fucking toilet. 

“For fuck’s sake,” you murmured to yourself, deciding you couldn’t let yourself get pushed away from a party that you were actually invited to. So you mentally prepared yourself, and returned to the festivities. Thinking you could do a couple of shots with Tom, you went to find him. But when you did, he was already in the company of someone else.

Of course it was her. You weren’t even surprised anymore.

You really just wanted to go home and cry. You’d been at the party for long enough to be socially acceptable, it was okay to leave. But you also didn’t really want to leave Tom alone with her. 

*****

You sat at a distance, far enough for the redhead not to see you, close enough to just be able to make out what they were saying. Chris Evans had joined you and had tricked you into playing a drinking game with him. You had fun with the man, who had told you that he loved his family very much, but drinking games were much more fun with someone like you. Once you tried cheating, but Chris got so confused by your non-righteous behaviour that all you could do was apologise to him, “Sorry, Captain.” 

Your eyes darted back to Tom, who was still laughing with the redhead. You could see that they were now both holding a glass of fancy champagne. Even though it was an open bar, you wondered if Tom had offered her a drink. 

Sebastian found you in Chris from the other side of the bar, standing atop a stool to wave at you, and then he basically came skipping over. He smiled at Tom, which he passed, then stopped, and looked back. Frowned. Looked at the girl Tom was talking to. 

You could see it all going to hell. 

Sebastian tapped Tom on the shoulder. “Excuse me,” he cleared his throat when Tom turned around, and the redhead’s eyes widened. “Tom, I take it that you don’t know who this is.” 

Tom glanced from Sebastian to the redhead and back. “Uhm, she’s a fan, Seb?” he brought out confused. 

“Not just any fan, are you?” Sebastian’s voice was laced with sarcasm; he might just as well have been breaking her fingers, that’s how pained she looked. “Yeah, we met before. She met Y/N, too, didn’t you? Said some lovely things.” 

“Seb, what the hell are you talking about?” asked Tom. 

“Y/N didn’t tell you?” Sebastian wondered, crossing his arms over his chest. “This is the girl that yelled at her. I had security take her away, but somehow, here she is.” His murderous gaze bored into hers. She tried to ramble something but failed to produce any words. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Get the fuck out of here, you disrespectful child. Have fun on the internet tonight.” 

The redhead sprinted out of there; she didn’t know how fast she had to get away from the Marvel party. You gave her a point; Sebastian Stan could be hella intimidating if he wanted to be. 

“Right, you were there with Y/N,” Tom determined, looking bewildered as the girl stormed off thanks to Seb, who was usually so shy and polite. “I didn’t know... I didn’t know it was her. Wait a second, Y/N said that she couldn’t make out what the girl was screaming at her? What the fuck?”

Sebastian grunted, shaking his head, still clouded with anger. “I believe her exact words were something along the lines of: ‘Fuck you, I hope you fucking die, you don’t deserve Tom Holland’.” 

Tom’s jaw dropped. He seemed to have difficulty processing this news. “What?” 

Your heart was beating in your throat. “Chris, I’m so sorry, but I have to go,” you excused yourself quickly. Chris opened his mouth but you were gone before he could say anything. You rushed past the celebrities, accidentally bumping into famous shoulder, saying sorry, and hoping to get the fuck away from this party. Yes, you had messed up, you had ruined Tom’s night. Fuck, you didn’t deserve him. He was too good for the world and all you did was ruin his goddamn night. 

“Y/N?” you heard Robert Downey Junior’s confused voice, but you kept going. 

You tossed your ID from the party at the security guard, who had already recognised you and had started saying “hey”, but you pushed past him and finally you were outside. Thankfully, you had gone through the back entrance, where there were no more fans who had followed the cars of the stars to the party. You let the cool air flow through your lungs and tried to calm yourself down. There were tears inevitably rolling down your cheeks. 

I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He doesn’t really love you.

“Stop crying, you fuck,” you cursed to yourself, taking a deep breath, wiping the tears from your face. You figured that you’d take a cab home after you’d managed to get yourself together. You wanted to wear you unicorn onesie, eat popcorn and watch movies. Movies in which Tom didn’t act. 

You didn’t think that anyone would follow you out. Or at least you hadn’t suspected that Tom had watched you run away. You couldn’t have known that Chris would have steered Tom in your direction, and later Robert had pointed to where you had gone, after which the security guard would tell him that you were just around the corner. 

“Thanks,” you heard his voice. Your head shot up as you watched him jog out of the building. He found you just as fast as you found him. “Y/N, come here,” he said, his voice breaking. 

But you were angry. Your soul had been crushed and your heart had broken a little. All the confidence you had had in your relationship with Tom had been brutally ripped away from you. All the confidence you had had in yourself had been stomped to death. And now you were just pissed. 

You held Tom at an arm’s length distance. “Please, Tom, I don’t want to ruin your evening,” you said, shocked by how badly your own voice was trembling. “Just go back inside and have fun. I’ll go home.” 

“What, no!” Tom protested, trying to get closer to you while you kept pushing him away. “Love, please, how can I have fun when I know you’re like this?” 

You can’t make him happy. 

“Just pretend it never happened,” you instructed, fury slipping into your intonation. “Come on, you talked to her all night. Was a lovely girl, wasn’t she? Made you laugh. Made you happy.” You knew it was unfair to blame Tom for the things the redhead had said, but you couldn’t stop yourself. A wave of anxiety overwhelmed you, and you started marching away, thinking you’d go find a cab. 

“I swear I didn’t know that any of this had happened!” Tom brought out, his voice panicked as he rushed after you.

“Yeah, right,” you scoffed, “Like you didn’t know you were going to die in Infinity War?”

“Y/N, please,” Tom ignored the last comment. “I understand that you’re upset but it’s not fair to blame it on me. I didn’t know what she had done to you. Just talk to me about it, I’m begging you.” 

“She told me to go fucking drown myself in a toilet, Tom!” you snapped, loud and furious, tears in your eyes. “I ran into her in the restroom, and that’s what she said. I should just fucking kill myself because I don’t fucking deserve you, because she had seen the way you looked at me and you don’t really love me and I can’t make you happy. But that’s not the worst part--the worst part is that she’s right. This should have been the best day of your life and I fucking ruined it.” You swirled around on your heel. 

“Y/N, stop.” 

You kept trying to walk away, but suddenly Tom’s hand was around your wrist. You yanked yourself loose. Tom then grabbed both your upper-arms firmly, forcing you to look at him. You tried to push him away, but he determinedly wrapped his arms around you, in a tight hug, and refused to let go. You struggled for a while, cursed him, but he never let go. And finally, you surrendered to his embrace. 

You were sobbing dramatically, wrecking his fancy suit. “Tom, I’m sorry--”

When he spoke up, Tom’s voice was surprisingly forceful. “You didn’t ruin my day. You didn’t--Y/N, listen to me. I love you so, so fucking much. Really, I love you. I love you more than probably should be possible, like, in the universe. There is nothing that makes me happier than you. When I was up on that stage, I looked at you, and I was so fucking happy that you were there. And I’m sorry that that girl was such a bitch to you, and that I didn’t see it, and that I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry. If there’s anything, I don’t deserve you. You are the best person I’ve ever met.” He pressed you even closer to him. 

You lifted your head, your eyes now dry, your heart full. “Whoa, I really thought that we were just going to break up after today.”

Tom frowned, holding your face with both hands. “Bold of you assume that I would let that happen.” 

“Right,” you hummed, “I forgot for a second that you’re a superhero. A dead one, for that matter. We’re going to have to discuss that. Are you out of a job now? Are you not Spider-Man anymore?” You knew very well that he had filmed part 2 of Avengers Infinity War, and that Spider-Man Far From Home was on its way. 

“Fuck you, I am Spider-Man,” Tom smiled at you, wiping the residues of falling tears from your cheeks. 

“I know. I love you.” 

Tom didn’t need any more confirmation that you had forgiven him, and kissed you roughly, with all the passion and excitement that had been building up over the day. He’d been wanting to hold and kiss you ever since you’d appeared before him in your gorgeous dress, looking like an angel, waiting to be ravished. He kissed you with everything he had in him. And you really wanted him to. 

*****

The next morning, you woke up by Tom’s side. The sunlight peeked through the curtains and enlightened Tom’s sleeping face, his lips slightly parted, his upper-body above the blankets. The sight of him, so very much at peace, sent a smile to your face. 

You heaved yourself up, rethinking the rollercoaster that yesterday had been. You, however, were more than happy with how the day had ended. Picking up Tom’s white blouse, which he had worn under his suit yesterday, from the floor and pulling it over your head, you decided to make eggs with bacon. Tom would love it. 

First, you checked your phone to see whether you had any messages. 

With a frown, you noticed you had much more notifications than you had expected. Harrison was at the top, a WhatsApp message that read: ANSWER YOUR PHONE, Y/N. CALL ME. Sebastian Stan had texted you: It’s going to be okay. Don’t let them get to you. Chris Evans’ message said: People can be assholes. Ignore the assholes. You had fourteen missed calls from Robert Downey Junior, which was just excessive, four from Harrison, seven from your mother, and many, many more from your friends. 

What the fuck had happened?

You scrolled down, all the way to the first message. It came from an unknown number. This person had sent two images. With your heart beating insanely fast, you opened the message. The first thing you saw was the profile picture of the unknown person contacting you: the redhead. Rebecca, her name was revealed. Her text message read: I told you I’d show you. I’m going to make you regret that you sent me away from Tom. Followed by two images. 

It was the dark alleyway behind the building where the Marvel party had been. You were clearly crying, in action, trying to get away from Tom, but Tom was grabbing your wrist, holding you back. From the blurry picture, it appeared a violent action. On the second picture, you had both your hands on Tom’s chest, seemingly aggressively shoving him away from you. Under both images was a caption in capital letters: UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIP.

Stunned with panic, you scrolled through the internet, scouring through Instagram. It was everywhere. It was everything people were talking about. Going viral. You felt like you were going to throw up. Your screen blocked for a second, and then showed Harrison’s face calling you again. 

You stared at your screen, numb, letting Harrison go to voicemail.

This redhead wasn’t going to stop until she destroyed your life. 

*****

@starshipofhope @delicately-written @chims-kookies @loveallthingseverything @parkerprotectionprogram @fandom-is-my-middle-name @fab-notfat @fandomlover2091 @peterparkers-waffles @iiincognitoo @roses-hxlland @cobalt-gem @wheresmynandos @marvelbabezz @theojjjames @call-me-myrtle @minim236 @neighborhoodparker

(some tags aren’t working, don’t ask me why not, because i have no clue)

(thank you everyone for asking and motivating me to write a part 2! literally couldn’t have done it without you. you guys are AMAZING)

Edit: here’s PART 3

[insomniaacs]

Shattered - Benedict x reader

A/N: Okay, but may I just say how frustrated I am that I lost like most of the original ending to this story?? I kid you not, it was 2 in the bloody morning here in Brazil and I was almost pulling my hair out... Nonetheless, I managed to rewrite it! Hope you all enjoy it, and let me know what you think!

Requested by anon: Would you write anything to do with past abuse. If so could you write another Benedict story. The reader was in an abusive relationship before she was with Benedict. While she’s filming bond. Playing 009 (I just made up the character) Benedict is watching some of the filming when her abusive ex is one of the extras on set

Word count: 1774 Warnings: mentions of physical and psychological abuse

The theater was cold when the lights went off.

Benedict was sitting next to you on the front row, a few other cast mates of yours beside you as well.

The audience was packed with celebrities and well known figures in Hollywood, all excited to finally be seeing the first ever screening of the latest Bond movie.

You were somewhat anxious, and for various reasons.

For one, you were one of the main characters in the movie, so you had plenty of screen time. And then there was that other matter, the one that perhaps bothered you the most...

You felt Benedict squeeze your hand excitedly, and tried to smile as brightly as you could despite the way you were feeling. Your palm was clammy against his but he didn't seem to notice it as he watched with eagerness the first few minutes of the movie.

It was an amazing movie, you knew it was, but there was a specific scene in which your acting had been too close to reality.

You remembered the day of the filming.

It was a particularly intense scene; one in which your character had been kidnapped by the bad guys, and the information had to be tortured out of her.

The scene was set in a small, dark room with no windows and a poor excuse for a bed set on the floor near you. You'd been tied up to the ceiling above you with chains that bound your wrists together above your head, and your makeup had been made to give you a sick, pale appearance. Your character had a huge gash in her forehead and her clothes were dirty and ripped.

There had been no need for you to film more than once. As soon as the director had yelled 'cut', the room had been filled with clapping. The chains that had been holding you were loosened and the producers had pulled you aside to congratulate you on your performance.

'That was amazing!', they'd said, but you hadn't smiled. Instead you'd only nodded and rushed towards your dressing room, only allowing yourself to break when you were alone.

Now the movie was going on, but you couldn't pay attention to it. Your mind kept going back to the day of the filming, and you kept anticipating Benedict's reaction to the scene.

When it finally arrived, he felt your body tense. Benedict had noticed something was wrong ever since you'd arrived at the premiere. You'd been quiet the whole time and your eyes had roamed the red carpet with fear, and he was starting to worry.

There was a scream on the screen, and he watched as the camera approached the torture room your character was in. You were dangling from the ceiling in an uncomfortable position, and then the camera cut to film the back of the other occupants of the room. There were three men with menacing figures, and your character clenched her teeth as one of them hit her hard on the face.

And then your character lifted her head and Benedict felt you flinch beside him. The camera pointed quickly to the faces of the three men and then suddenly, your features on the screen were of complete horror.

Your character flinched away from the three men, and Benedict frowned as he felt your hand in real life tighten its grip on his arm.

He looked up at the screen and couldn't help but think that your character's reaction had felt perhaps a little bit too real.

The movie went on normally, but Benedict couldn't say he paid any attention to it. His thoughts kept coming back to the torture scene.

He definitely was used to the acting industry and the methods it used to make the acting seem legit. There were plenty of camera angles that could capture the perfect shot and make it seem like a character was really being hurt, and many ways for actors to simulate normally impossible situations, but if there was one thing that the directors and film editors couldn't create was one's ability to lie. And you were definitely not lying on that scene...

When the credits finally rolled on the screen, the audience beside you started clapping excitedly, and you were called to the front of the screen to take a last picture with your cast mates inside the theater.

You parted from Benedict despite your wishes to just sit beside him and stay nestled in his arms. Your picture was taken, and after another round of applause, you were escorted outside for the cocktail party.

Benedict found his way to you after a while, and you sighed in relief when he asked if he could borrow you from the people congratulating you for a moment, stirring you away from them and towards him by the waist.

The look in his face was one of concern, and you merely looked at your feet for a few moments before glancing back at him through your eyelashes, brows furrowed together on your forehead. He smiled tightly at you, but placed a warm hand at the small of your back and rubbed his thumb over the fabric of your dress comfortingly, in a gesture that said both 'it's okay' as well as 'we'll discuss this later'.

You only had time to nod before someone stopped in front of you two though, making both you and Benedict look away from each other and at the figure standing next to you.

The brown eyes staring back at you were enough to make the color vanish from your face. Your feet faltered, and the only thing that kept you upright were Benedict's hands holding you.

"Hello, (Y/N)," his cold, intense voice spoke with venom, and you felt all the air leave your lungs in a heap. If it wasn't for Benedict's support, you'd be in the ground already.

"Trent," you said, but your voice came out so little in comparison to his that it seemed like you hadn't said anything at all.

He smiled; that sickening, dark smile you'd learned to hate, and you wished you could just go home and sit on your couch drinking tea with milk and biscuits and never have to look at his face again.

The thought did little to comfort you.

"Mr. Cumberbatch," Trent said after a long moment, raising his glass of champagne and running a hand through his carefully stylised hair, looking you up and down with his brown eyes, making you flinch. "A pleasure to finally meet you," Trent said, finally sparing a glance at your boyfriend beside you. There was something disturbingly wolf-like in the way his lips stretched, his canines exposed as he smiled.

"Likewise, Mr...?" Benedict inquired, his voice distant and unfriendly. He was not liking the way that man was looking at you, much less how you were reacting to it.

"Trent. Trent Davis," he answered, offering his hand; an arrogant raise to his brow like he thought it was an outrage that he hadn't been recognized.

Benedict did not shake his hand.

"Nice work on the film, (Y/N)," Trent looked back at you, seemingly unfazed by Benedict's coldness. In fact, he seemed to be ignoring your boyfriend entirely, taking one step closer to you and smiling as he took another sip from his glass. "I never knew you could be so... intense," he commented, and there was a hint of an innuendo to his words that made you want to vomit.

You felt completely sick and uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his gaze, and you felt Benedict tighten his grip on the back of your dress.

"People change," you said, proud at the steadiness of your voice. He was too close for comfort, but you tried to stay as tall as you could despite the fear coiling inside your chest and making your hands sweaty and cold.

"Oh, but some really don't," Trent said infatuating the 't' at the end, speaking so lowly that his voice came out like an animalistic purr. He was looking at you like he could devour you, and you felt the familiar prickle on your nose and eyes that indicated you were about to tear up. You held it though; looked away from him and tried not to think of the horrible images resurfacing from the back of your brain. The ones you'd repressed for so long...

Benedict cleared his throat beside you and Trent finally seemed to acknowledge him. His hand was still on your back and he was still holding you closer to him in a firm but gentle grip, but there was a fire in his eyes that you'd never seen before. Benedict was furious; you could see by the way his mouth was pressed into a thin line and his breathing was slightly altered. Aside from that, he didn't let it show as he smiled at Trent; this small, meaningful smile that you'd never seen him give anyone in his life.

Then again, Benedict Cumberbatch didn't really get unsettled by many things.

"Well, Mr. Davis, it was a pleasure meeting you," Benedict said, which finally seemed to earn him a reaction. Trent's eyebrows twitched in surprise, and you noticed the way he took a half-step back before regaining his composure. You almost smiled. "I must say you did a great job in Bond! Your two minutes on-screen were definitely the highlights of the movie," he said sarcastically, smile still in place as Trent's own grin faltered. He looked a mixture of offended, taken aback and angry. "Now if you'll excuse us, I promised my girlfriend here a nice celebratory dinner. You know- for the Oscar nomination and the win at the SAG Awards last week," Benedict looked at you momentarily, seeing the thankful look on your face for a brief second before his eyes were back on Trent. The man in front of you had his face red with anger, and the vein on his neck looked about to pop. Benedict's smile only widened. "Have a good evening," he said with a nod, turning on his heels and leaving without another word. You followed beside him, still gripping his arm for support as the two of you exited the building and proceeded to the car to go back home.

Benedict was incredibly quiet on your way home. His hands held yours gently the whole while, but his eyes were distant as he looked out the window in deep thought. He was very tolerant as well; didn't corner you with questions or pressure you to answer them, just sat there beside you and rubbed at a spot on your hand softly.

When you finally arrived home, he allowed you some space so you could clean yourself, and you chose to take a bath. You were feeling dirty and disgusting despite the fact that your skin was clear and your hair perfectly stylised.

You got into the water and watched as your skin became red from the heat, not really bothered by the pain that came with it. You just sat in the bathtub with your knees drawn to your chest and observed the reaction that the scalding water had on your skin.

The images of years back were coming to haunt you again. They were only flashes; glimpses of fingers forcefully pulling your hair and rough hands wrapping around your throat. The memories were brief and unclear, but you could almost feel the sensation of being choked; could practically feel the air being cut out of your lungs by hands more powerful than yours, and you lifted your fingers to touch your neck desperately.

You heard your sob before you felt the tears coming. Your eyes were watering; the world became blurry and you tried to inhale and exhale, but your chest didn't seem to rise or fall.

You were choking on your own memories, and you opened your mouth to try to breathe, but ended up only coughing.

The door to the bathroom opened with a hard thud that echoed against the walls and helped bring you back to reality. Your eyes focused on Benedict's tall frame on the doorway, and before you knew it he was running towards you and helping you sit down straighter on the tub, his expensive dress shirt now drenched in water.

You felt more tears swell on your eyes, and Benedict placed his hands on your bare shoulders, the worry etched across his face and making him look more fragile than he ever had. "(Y/N), what happened?" his voice faltered, and you could see the panic in his green irises. "What is it, love?" he asked running a hand over your wet hair and face, frowning when you couldn't stop crying.

"I'm sorry," you said in between sobs, and felt his hands shake as he cupped your cheeks and examined your naked body for any injuries. "I don't know why this is happening," you said incoherently, "he wasn't supposed to be there tonight," you cried even harder at the mention of him, and your shaky fingers went to hold Benedict's against your face. "I'm sorry," you whispered again, and felt his hands leave your cheeks.

Benedict took off his shoes and socks but didn't bother to remove his clothes as he stepped into the bathtub with you. You allowed him to position himself behind you, and tried not to flinch as he touched your neck momentarily to pull you closer to him. His hands seemed warmer than the water as he cradled you in his arms, and you clung to him like your life depended on it.

At that moment, it did.

You spent several moments in silence. You weren't sure how much time had passed; just knew that your fingers were wrinkled and the water was getting lukewarm against your naked body. You'd stopped crying, but your eyes were still puffed up and your face was still red when you spoke; almost inaudibly.

"He was my boyfriend," you said, and wasn't even sure Benedict had heard it until you felt his body stiffen behind you. His hands stopped the comforting motion on the skin of your belly for the briefest moment, and then you allowed yourself to go on. "I was fifteen when I met him, and he'd always been such a great guy..." you shuddered, and Benedict brought you closer into his warmth. "We started dating short after high school. He even came with me to New York when I had my first audition for a real role-" Benedict's chest was rising and falling in a steady rhythm, and it was helping you calm down if only a little, "-I loved him like I'd never loved anyone before, and we decided to move in together as soon as we came back to London."

You didn't have to look up to realize that Benedict was anxious. You could feel by the way his hands slightly tightened around you, and tried to offer him the slightest bit of comfort by brushing your fingers against his.

"Things were pretty great and all," you went on despite his silence. You just had to get it out of your chest; not because you owed it to him, but because you owed it to yourself, "but then he started getting violent," you finally admitted, and felt Benedict's hands ball into fists. "He didn't drink and he wasn't bipolar or any of that," you said very quietly, "he just...- he had a temper," your throat was dry, and you had to grit your teeth to keep from crying, "and he tended to take it out on me," your voice wavered, and you felt the tears blur your vision again.

Benedict drew in a shaky breath behind you, and you suspected he was about to cry as well. You were used to people's pity, but you knew what he was feeling was far from that. Benedict was shocked and angry. He was devastated and... outraged. He cared far too much about you, and he couldn't bare to even listen to the things you had gone through. It hurt him just to think about the things that man had done to you, and he couldn't imagine how much it had hurt you.

"It happened two or three times before I finally decided to do something about it." You remembered perfectly the day you'd realised that what he was doing was unacceptable; remembered the look of insanity in his eyes as you told him you wanted nothing to do with him anymore. "I pressed charges and the case went to trial, but by then I didn't have any evidence of what he'd done to me, so they let him walk free." You felt Benedict stir and looked up at him to see that he was indeed crying. His bluish-green eyes were blurred and his mouth was trembling slightly, and you gave him a tight smile as you felt your own tears run down your cheeks.

You turned to face him, kneeling on the tub between his legs and sighing as he lifted a hand to wipe away your tears. Benedict was sobbing as he pulled you towards him again and pressed a long kiss to your forehead. He held your head between his hands like it was something precious.

No one had ever touched you like that before. Like you were made of glass; something sacred and holy. He looked at you with so much respect and affection and... love, that you actually thought you might burst.

You smiled genuinely for the first time that night.

Because you'd been in great, great pain before Benedict had come into your life. You'd been mistreated and under appreciated; falling into a deeper state of depression each day. You'd thought love was something distant and completely out of the question for you.

It had taken you a long time to understand that people could only love you if you loved yourself. Your past was filled with sadness and sorrow, but you realised all of that was necessary in order for you to have this.

Benedict pulled you into a tight embrace, which you returned wholeheartedly. Your arms clung to his neck as he pulled you as close as possible, and the two of you stayed there until the water was cold and your tears were dry on your cheeks.

There was something warm growing on your heart though, and you looked up at him and thought for the first time that, hell, whatever fucked up shit you'd been through in the past... it had been so worth it.

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