#an little angsty a little hurt/comfort

[valeriianz]

4 and 6 for the injury prompt thing with 7 and 11 for the dialogue?

4/6: Trying to hide your injury from them, but failing miserably once you faint right in front of them / Staying the night in case they need your help, being asked to sleep on the bed instead of the couch/floor

7/11: "How long have you been hiding this?" / "I don't know it was just... there when I woke up"

nonny knows what they want and i respect that haha (cw: blood)

Hob startled awake, his body going into a fight or flight mode before his brain was fully conscious. He shot out of bed while the pounding at his front door persisted, loud enough to echo off the walls of his house, for Hob to feel it in his bones. 

Pulling a shirt on, he then ripped open his closet on the way to the living room, grabbing his shotgun, knowing it was loaded, and marched to the front door, holding the gun ready.

Hob blinked and felt himself coming back online, cussing whoever it was making such a terrifying racket in the middle of the night.

He leaned sideways inconspicuously during a lull in the assault on his door, peeking through a window to see who exactly was at his door, but saw nothing much besides a dark shadow, their body nearly flush against the door.

“Hob, it’s me,” came a muffled, all too familiar voice. “Open the door.”

Cussing again, Hob nearly dropped his weapon, taking the time instead to carefully set it on an end table and getting his shaking fingers around the deadbolt and chain and lock on the handle before finally taking it and twisting it with enough force to snap it clean off.

He swung the door open and found Dream standing– hunched– before him, one arm around his middle, cradling his side, and the other holding open Hob’s screen door.

Christ, Dream looked a mess. Even in the moonlight, Hob could see how his hair half stuck up and half plastered to his face, with sweat or blood, it was hard to tell. And Hob could smell him, oil mixed with copper and sudor, like he’d been fighting a car. Or was run over by one.

From the way Dream held himself up, like he was using the screen door as support, Hob wouldn’t doubt it.

“Hello,” Dream greeted, pulling his head up enough so Hob could see those unmistakable blue eyes, even in the darkness. 

Everything in Hob screamed at him to take Dream into his arms, pull him inside and hold him close, draw a bath for him, strip him bare to treat any wounds (there surely would be a few) and tuck him in his bed, safe and sound. But Hob had been on the receiving end of this too many times, and so instead he crossed his arms, his heart still running a mile a minute in his chest.

“‘Hello’? That’s all you have to say to me?”

“How are you?” Dream laughed weakly, hissing afterwards, gritting his teeth. 

Hob cussed again, for Dream showing up at his door like this, and to himself for breaking so easily as he stepped forward and took Dream’s free arm, pulling it around his shoulders and walking him inside the house.

“Haven’t seen you in months and this is how you show up,” Hob grumbled, treading lightly through his living room as Dream stumbled to keep up.

“Apologies if my visit is… unwelcomed.”

Hob nearly rolled his eyes as he deposited Dream on his couch. He still hadn’t turned on any lights and couldn’t yet see what injuries Dream had sustained from… wherever he came from.

“Shut up,” Hob grunted, squatting down next to Dream to pull his boots off and heft his legs up as well. “You know you’re always welcome…”

Hob finds Dream’s gaze in the darkness, his hands stuck on Dream’s ankles, rubbing them through the thick material of his socks with his thumb. The touch must be comforting, as Dream relaxes fully into the cushions, his head lolling back and releasing a great sigh that makes his chest deflate. 

Hob sighs too, the last of the adrenaline leaving his body as he stands up again, reaching over Dream’s head to pull the cord on the table lamp. A soft glow surrounds them, making Dream flinch, his eyes squeezing shut. Hob is about to apologize, when he looks down and finds Dream’s coat open, tattered, and his hand, usually pale white and clean, covered in dirt and blood, pressed tightly over a mess of red and gray tatters that was Dream’s shirt.

“Jesus Christ, Dream–”

“It’s not that bad.”

“When were you planning on telling me you had a fucking injury?”

Dream shrugs a shoulder. Hob can see him properly now, sees how much paler his skin is, how it’s slick with sweat, purple bags under his eyes and his throat shuddering as he swallows. 

“Woke up like this.”

“God, you’re a piece of work…” Hob grouses as he stands up fully. “I’m getting my first aid kit. You’ll need stitches.”

“I hate needles…” Dream grumbles, but Hob is already off, rushing to the bathroom and grabbing everything he needs, running the tap until the water is warm and wetting a towel with it.

When he returns, Dream is out cold.

________________

Dream wakes up to the feeling of fingers carding through his hair, his eyes fluttering open and staring up at the ceiling. He feels much more comfortable and warm, the pain in his side reduced to a dull throb.

“Welcome back.”

Dream lolls his head sideways and finds Hob perched next to him, on the bed. His fingers continue combing through his hair and Dream pretends it’s not the most grounding, comforting thing he’s ever felt. Instead he blinks at Hob, his oldest and most loyal friend.

He takes a breath, his lungs aching with it. “You moved me.”

Hob hums, his fingers caressing down to the shell of Dream’s ear, pulling on it lightly.

“You were bleeding all over my couch.”

“Apologies,” Dream says again, his voice scratchy and worn out. He swallows and finds his throat impossibly dry.

As if he can read his thoughts, Hob turns (removing his hold on Dream, who has to bite down a whine that threatens to spill from his lips at the loss), and procures a tall glass of water.

“Careful,” Hob chastises as Dream attempts to sit up a little too fast, flinching at the stab of pain in his side. “I just sewed you up.”

Hob helps Dream to sit up enough to take the glass and gulp down the water. He takes the glass back once it’s empty and Dream takes a shaky breath, flopping back down onto the pillows and willing Hob to put his hands back on him. But not daring to ask, to be so foolishly hopeful.

“Thank you,” he says instead.

Hob huffs, shaking his head fondly, exasperatedly. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Hob says. His hand moves and Dream manages not to smile as Hob’s fingers touch his cheek, trace up the side of his face and back into his hairline. “You have a lot of questions to answer in the morning.”

Cold fear rushes through Dream, forcing his gaze down, studying the texture of Hob’s sheets.

“I can not stay.” It hurts to say, but Dream knows it’s for the best. Dream hates leaving Hob, taking advantage of his hospitality, his friendship, and offering nothing in return. 

But it was the nature of the beast, of Dream’s profession. One he hadn’t chosen, but that he’d fallen into. It would be a battle to get out, to remove himself, and Hob would be safer in the dark, for now. To remain ignorant. Any detail slipped and Dream knew– he knew Hob would come rushing to his defenses. To steal him away and protect him. It was just in his nature, Hob was good.

And Dream… wasn’t.

“You will stay,” Hob insists, and it feels like a threat. Dream’s lips curl despite himself.

He pretends to resign himself, sighing deeply and settling more comfortably into the covers. He allows the image to flash across his mind, the fantasy… of waking up next to Hob. To see him in the morning glow streaming in through the window. Wonders how the yellow sunlight would reflect off Hob’s chestnut hair, his caramel brown eyes. To sit down and have tea with him, curled up on the couch and sharing each other’s warmth. 

Hob had always welcomed Dream in, no questions asked. Always offered a roof for him, a shelter. Dream knew this would happen eventually, his selfish tendencies finally reaching a breaking point, a point where Hob would no longer take “no” for an answer. Wouldn’t allow Dream to continue coming back only for emergencies, for comfort. That wasn’t a real friendship… giving and greedily taking, clawing, begging for more. 

Hob was so warm and soft while Dream was cold and cruel; Hob didn’t know what he’d done, what horrors lurked behind his iron clad walls. And if Dream had any power in him, he'd keep those monsters away from Hob.

To keep Hob safe.

“I’ll stay,” Dream lied, his heart breaking at the relief that washed over Hob’s face.

[mamayan]

★彡Gentle☆彡

Giyuu Tomioka x GN! Reader

Giyuu is always gentle and firm when you need it.

tw: Fluff • Cuddling • Reader is described as “soft” • Hurt/Comfort • Depression • Please do not read if seeing descriptors of depression is triggering to you. This is meant to uplift not harm. Do not read if this does not seem supportive to your journey.

Again.

The day passed by again, and yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to move.

Again.

The thought of doing something as simple as bathing left you feeling exhausted.

Again.

You felt the dread filling you up inside, like the tide rising, and you were drowning once more in silence.

No one liked to talk about it. Reality was far too nasty an image to allow for others to see, so it was smashed down to avoid the light of day. Except, as you woke again in the middle of the night, you realized maybe it was all of you avoiding the light of day. Shamefully hidden away from prying eyes, hushed whispers of servants as they quietly performed their chores in the early morning when you finally went to sleep. Your eyes glanced at the empty bed beside you, numbly noting he still wasn’t back.

Was he dead?

The thought filled you with nausea even as you lay limp.

A divider moved, alerting you to a presence.

“I brought you food…” the voice which spoke was small and unsure. Your eyes were all which moves, seeing the silhouette of a Kakushi, their features hidden like always.

“Thank you…” it was the first time you’d spoken in nearly a week. You forced yourself to sit up, even as tears pricked your eyes as the Kakushi shuffled into the bedroom, placing a tray beside the bed even as your stomach pleaded not to do this. It was lying to you, you knew it was, but you were struggling—

“Tomioka-sama is back!” It was a distant cry, carrying into the room through an echo.

You flinched, cringing inward on yourself as the Kakushi beside you seemed to light up. You didn’t share the excitement, despite your relief flooding you at his safe return. It wasn’t as if you didn’t want to see him. It was the opposite in fact… what if he didn’t want to see you?

They were going to report on you. They always did, nothing deeper than the loyalty of those within the ranks of the corpse. While Giyuu wasn’t the most beloved amongst the Hashira themselves, he was still adored and respected by all the others. His dedication and hard work undeniably charming as he risks his life every time he takes a mission.

Where did that leave you? While he fought for his life and others away you were rotting like someone already—

“Tomioka-sama, welcome home!” You hadn’t even heard his foot steps. Your head snapping up to stare blankly at the stoic face of your lover. While his face didn’t give much away, his eyes seemed to swim with worry as he entered the room you both shared cautiously. He nodded absentmindedly at the Kakushi rushing out, likely overjoyed to no longer be baby sitting you. You looked away, feelings of shame and anger somehow muted beneath the metaphorical water which kept you submerged in your sorrow.

He was quiet. Even as he moved the tray of food to the side to sit beside you, before setting the tray in his lap, hardly any noise passed.

With your head down, you had a perfect view of the chopsticks entering your field of vision. The war with your stomach won, as you open your lips to allow him to feed you. Even as tears slid down your cheeks, Giyuu didn’t hesitate to softly wipe them away as he fed you each bite of food until the tray was nearly empty.

You no longer felt as nauseous, the burning in your stomach gone as well. Giyuu had a hand against your mid-back, keeping you from pulling away as he helped you drink the water brought with your dinner.

“All of it,” his voice a bit husky as he hums in approval as you do as told. Finishing all of the water before he relents and moves the tray completely out of the way.

You sniff, feeling better and worse all at once because you had certainly needed the food but absolutely did not need the shame which followed. It should be you feeding him, he’s the one who’s been on mission, risking his life and who knows what else out there. You knew logically this would pass, it’s not your fault, it’s not anything new but—

“Shh,” he’s so gentle as his lithe arms wrap around you and encourage you to lean into him. He’s gentle as he cups the back of your head and lets you rest your cheek against his collarbone. He releases one hand to lightly trail down your spine and back up, letting you feel his presence but not overwhelming you.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with me like this,” you whisper in confession. His arm squeezes you, his grunt making a small smile tilt on your lips. You could image his brows are furrowed.

“You have nothing to be sorry for my love.” His words released a damn inside of you though, as your tears welled and spilled freely.

He pulled back, cupping your cheek and looking shaken and panicked as you sobbed. “I do though— I’m like, like this, and I, I don’t want to be,” you’re nearly inconsolable, even as he tries to hush and kiss you. Your heart physically aching inside the confines of your chest as you grip his haori tight and cry.

“I don’t know why I’m like this—!” Your world spins just as the words finish leaving your mouth.

You huff, startled out of your tears as you look up at Giyuu, his face stern as he grips your jaw with one hand, the other beside your face keeping him above you.

“You are everything to me,” his voice is deeper, clearer as he speaks now, “and I know just how suffocating this state can be.” He forced your head up, making you look into his eyes which you feared held resentment towards you.

They don’t.

His dark blue gaze is only filled with patience and kindness, breaking your heart and yet somehow repairing it too.

His weight descends as you struggle to fight back more tears. His weight solid and comforting on top of you as you soak in his warmth and the scent he carries which smells like home. He is your home. And you were his.

You wrapped your arms around him, spreading your legs and allowing him even closer. It was intimate yet not sexual, as he circled one arm around your waist and another beneath your head. Your soft body pliant beneath him. His breath fanning over your cheek as he left small kisses on your skin.

So gently.

Whispering words of love to you.

“I’m so lucky to have you…” his lips felt ticklish.

“Thankful to see you after every mission.”

“Always fighting to come back to you…”

“I love you,” you’re nearly asleep in his arms, surrounded entirely by Giyuu as a blanket of safety envelops you.

The sun might rise and fall tomorrow without ever seeing your skin, but that’s alright.

He’s home again and by your side through it all.

Words of love from me to you. I know it might not be possible to leave the bed today, or tomorrow, and the thought of eating or waking might make you sick… but I promise your body needs it. If nothing else, let a gentle Giyuu encourage you through the day. Let your f/o be there for you. Heck, drop in my inbox if you need another character— don’t let yourself suffer in silence alone♡

[honeyhotteoks]

so i actually sat and wrote for like two hours this morning??????? anyways the next chapter of tnt is slowly coming together but i have like lmao 10k words of smut to write so whenever that comes together, you'll know

[nburkhardt]

59. “H-How long have you been standing there?”

ILY 😘

ILY 🥰 sorry it went a little angsty

~

“Maybe being here isn’t the best idea but I can’t handle not knowing, okay? And- and I need to know, even though we, we aren’t friends and I just needed to be here. To know if you’re good and when, when you tell me to leave- I’ll go, I swear” Steve is pacing and rambling, not making any sense but it’s okay sort of.

He’s the only one in here right now, besides well, Eddie. Who can’t respond because he’s not awake, and that’s why Steve’s even talking out loud and pacing like a worried partner. And truthfully he is worried, he’s just not Eddie’s partner.

Not even Eddie’s friend.

Letting out a sound that’s definitely a sob, he continues to pace and shake his head. Wrapping his arms around himself, “you just, you can’t die, Eddie. You’d be making Henderson sad and I can’t handle that and, and i- we need you, man. Gotta have another adult around. I, I’d like to get to know you to need you.”

He whispers the last part out, wanting it to be a secret even if Eddie is clearly out cold from the medication the doctors have him on and probably will never hear this.

There’s movement from the door and Steve spins around to freeze in his spot, coloring draining from his face.

“H-how long have you been standing there?” He chokes out and wonders if he was being too loud again, he can’t tell what his volume is sometimes. Hopes he wasn’t just yelling his thoughts out.

Wayne Munson steps further into the room and he pats Steve’s shoulder as he moves to sit next to the bed, “Long enough to wonder if I should get ya something to relax, sit down”

Automatically, he finds the other chair and sit down with his back straight. Avoiding looking at Wayne, focusing his gaze at Eddie’s hand.

He hears Wayne sigh, “Boy, just hold it. Here, press your fingers right at his pulse point,” he follows it and slowly grabs hold of Eddie’s hand, pressing his fingers along to feel, to know, that Eddie’s heart is beating.

“How, um, how much did you hear?” Steve asks, gaze still locked on Eddie’s hand and now his, moving it to properly hold Eddie’s. “Was I loud?”

“Enough to know you care about my boy, ain’t loud either.”

Steve nods, taking a moment to breathe before looking up at Wayne, “I’m sorry, Mr. Munson, if he- I shouldn’t-” he drops Eddie’s hand and stands up to leave, he should leave.

“Boy, Steve, sit down” Wayne’s voice is rough and he’s shaking his head, sighing, “Ed will be fine, and he’d be throwing a fit if you just left”

“What? How” Steve’s eyes widen and look at him, “we aren’t- he doesn’t, why”

“I know my nephew and who he wants around, you might not know much about each other,” Wayne looks at Eddie a twitch of a grin on his face, “might’ve even just met, but once he knows you, he wants you around. Especially if that person helps save his life”

Steve drops back down and leans his head against the bed, his tension falling as he does, “I’d like to stay, I’d, I’d like to know him”

The room grows quiet, only the beeps from the machines is heard.

Steve shifts, getting more comfortable with his arms crossed on the bed and his head on top to look at Eddie. Wayne nods with a smile, despite Steve not looking at him, leans back in his chair to get comfortable.

In the morning, they’ll talk more. They’ll get coffee and spend the day waiting for Eddie to wake up.

~

This wrote itself, it actually wanted to go on longer butttt I don’t wanna. I WILL say this is after vecna and Steve definitely carried Eddie to the hospital and refused to leave his side. The only reason Dustin’s not there is because his mom has him under house arrest to let his ankle to heal ✌️

Tag list under the cut:

@spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay @littlewildflowerkitten @gregre369 @zerokrox-blog @flustratedcas @carlprocastinator1000 @marvelmwah @solliesolesito @navnae @i-less-than-three-you @grimmfitzz @estrellami-1

[lyoneve]

Just kiss him already, Stede!

[artingstarvist]

...

[the-bi-space-ace]

Oh hey how about another snippet of something I'm working on today:

It felt like the weight of the past year was falling onto Rex. He remembered losing Echo, holding Fives as they both lost control. Fives. Not long ago he was holding Fives as he died, begging the Force that he wouldn’t lose him. Not him too. Saving Echo felt like the first true success Rex had experienced in a long time. Those boys had trusted him, came to him for safety, and he had failed them. Both of them.

I promise this is much softer than the snippet suggests <3

[mediumtires]

Toto is in his office, the distinct sounds of sharing a space with someone dulled by heavy wood, and he’s staring at his bright screen, and somehow his throat has closed up enough for him to clear it, twice. There’s a strangely tight feeling right behind his sternum, in the middle of his chest, one that he can’t quite seem to reach.

short sequel to Growing Pains, from Toto’s POV. 2.6k

Christian has crow’s feet. On the right, it’s eleven deep lines, four of them curving upwards when he smiles, the rest fanning down, and off to the side of his face. Left, it’s seven. A few less, but still just as deep. They pull in his cheeks when he smiles.

Toto loves those lines. He was there when there were only four on the left, six on the right. Deeper though. They were even deeper back then, for some reason.

Toto was also there for the teeth. He was there when Christian started to let his stubble grow, he was there for the first grey hairs that led to a life changing haircut. He was there when Christian quietly started to size up his jeans.

He was there when Christian got appendicitis on New Year’s Eve, was there for food poising more than once, was there for broken toes and bruised fingers when they were renovating the farm. He was there when Christian’s brother got diagnosed with cancer. Was there for the party too, when he was finally cancer free.

What Toto wasn’t there for was Christian winning his first title in eight years. It’s not a secret, he knows, Christian knows. Of course they know; it’s one of the biggest hurdles they ever had to overcome, the fact that he wasn’t there for it.

He’d made his position crystal clear; December 2021, and the months after shaped by the decisions he had made. Toto had his team to worry about that night. Lewis, Valtteri, Bono, Andrew, James, everyone else. Himself. He’d had enough to worry about. He didn’t think about Christian very much that night. Not about his crow’s feet, or the ring on his left hand, or the fact that they were in big big trouble. He’d done it deliberately, knowingly. And he doesn’t regret it. Hasn’t, since, mostly because he can’t allow himself to. He’s regretted many things, the aftermath, the months of fighting. But he doesn’t regret standing up for his team that night.

Only now… Now Toto is in his office at home, behind his big desk, with the door closed, the distinct sounds of sharing a space with someone dulled by heavy wood, and he’s staring at his bright screen, and somehow his throat has closed up enough for him to clear it, twice. There’s a strangely tight feeling right behind his sternum, right in the middle of his chest, one that he can’t quite seem to reach.

There’s a video playing, one that he’s not sure he even clicked on himself, one that he really shouldn’t be watching. What he should be doing is preparing for his meeting with the Petronas people first thing tomorrow morning.

Instead, his eyes follow Christian, champagne soaked, shaky handed, teary eyed, on his way from the pit wall to the garages to the podium back to the garages. He looks—Toto can’t think of the right word for it. He can only think about the look on his face, equal parts mind shattering relief, pure joy and pure devastation, though Toto knows that part is only for him to see. And his crow’s feet. Eleven deep lines accompanying his watery smile.

He looks devastating to Toto. It’s a strange realisation because until now, Abu Dhabi has only ever been painful to think about. And it still is, in most ways. Only now that he’s looking at his husband through a screen, watching him getting celebrated, congratulated, touched by a million other people, Toto is kicking himself that he wasn’t there to see him like this when he had the chance. He never got to see this joy on Christian’s face in real life. Instead, what they did was so much worse, so much more painful.

Toto has trouble swallowing around the knot in his throat. Suddenly he has the stupid urge to put his hand to his computer screen, touch his fingertips to the bright lights and follow the soft lines of Christian’s face, sweaty and champagne wet, teary eyed and grinning so wide it must’ve hurt his cheeks. Toto wants that version of him, badly, so badly in fact, that his heart seizes in his chest, thudding hard.

Christian is in the kitchen. He’s making dinner, the dogs at his feet following his every move with big hopeful eyes. Christian doesn’t turn around when Toto comes in, his voice drowned out by the extractor fan as he says, “Dinner’ll be another few.”

Toto couldn’t care less about dinner right now. He stalks up to where Christian is watching over sizzling eggs in a pan, and a second later he’s got him pressed to the counter, licking into his mouth. Christian makes an undignified noise at the back of his throat and the spatula he was holding topples to the floor. Toto doesn’t care. His hands are on Christian’s cheeks, and he can feel his crow’s feet beneath his thumbs. He tastes salt and the tangy sweetness of cherry tomatoes.

Christian presses his palms flat to his chest and pushes. “Hey!” He tries to bring distance between them, and Toto lets him, of course he does, but he still curls himself around Christian’s body, tucks his face into his neck, kisses the leathery skin there too.

“What the fuck has gotten into you?” Christian’s arms come up around Toto’s back only reluctantly. “I’m going to burn the bloody eggs!”

“Sorry.” Toto should be letting him go. Christian has put effort into making dinner, and Toto respects that. Still, he has a hard time moving away from him.

“What’s—” Christian’s face is one big question mark. “Darling? You alright?”

Toto bends to pick the spatula up from the ground and turns away to give it a quick rinse in the sink. “Ja,” he says. “I’m fine.”

Christian’s expression is critical when he takes the spatula back. He goes back to stirring the eggs, stocky and yellow, then turns the heat down with a flick of his wrist. Toto wants to kiss him so badly. The images of Christian, victorious in Abu Dhabi won’t leave his mind. Nor his chest.

Christian turns back around and this time it’s he who pulls Toto in by the hips, presses their bodies together. He leans in and there’s a kiss to the corner of Toto’s mouth, feathery light. Toto can’t help but wrap himself around Christian again, breathing him in, relieved. “What’s going on?” Christian asks carefully, fingertips dipping beneath the waistline of Toto’s chinos. 

He feels so familiar in Toto’s arms. Toto has so many regrets right now, but he can’t possibly tell him. Not with everything they’ve been through. Not with how hard they’ve worked to come out the other side, he can’t bring it all back up again. 

“Nothing,” he murmurs into Christian’s hair. Eyes closed. He smells familiar too. Toto would recognise him anywhere by this alone, the musky notes of his cologne, a hint of leather from the wristband of his watch, undertones of sweat mixed with laundry detergent. “I just wanted to kiss my husband.”

“Come here then.” This time it’s Christian’s fingers on his jaw pulling their faces close, and then it’s gentle brushes of lips, painfully meaningful, tongues coming together in deep licks, Toto brushing the roof of Christian’s mouth, the back of his teeth, tasting everything. He wants all of it and more, and he’s so mad at himself for everything that happened in 2021. He wishes he could turn back the time, make better decisions, just a couple. Not even to win, it’s not about that. Just. For them. He should’ve done better.

Christian kisses back with the same intensity. One of his hands is on Toto’s cheek, fingertips brushing into his hair, lightly stroking his temple, his cheekbone. His stubble rubs against Toto’s top lip and Toto wants more of it, wants this forever.

 “‘m sorry.”

Christian pulls back, confused. “Mhm?”

Toto wants to kick himself. “Nothing.” He leans in again, but Christian doesn’t let him get away with it.

“What do you mean, you’re sorry? Sorry for what?”

Toto breathes around a deep sigh. He lets his forehead tip to Christian’s but keeps his eyes shut. Breathes him in. So familiar.

“It’s nothing.”

“Toto,” Christian warns.

“I was watching something. That’s all.”

“Porn?”

Toto pulls back with an offended puff of breath and when their eyes meet Christian is laughing. “Darling, it’s fine. I don’t mind.”

“I wasn’t watching porn in my office, Christian.” He’s genuinely offended Christian would think— “I— Come on.”

A grin spreads over Christian’s face, making his crow’s feet crinkle, fanning deeply up and down the sides. “Whatever you’re doing in there is fine with me, darling. No hard feelings.”

“Just—shut up,” Toto tells him even though his heart is still cracked wide open. He turns away. Walks over to the stove to stir the eggs. They look a little more brown than yellow now.

“Hey.” Christian brushes both of his palms down Toto’s back, then wraps his arms around him from behind to press a kiss between his shoulder blades. “Sorry. You’re upset. What is it?”

“It’s nothing.” Toto sighs softly.

“It’s clearly something. You ambushed me in the kitchen. Something’s up.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“Toto. Darling.” Christian’s arms tighten around him, both palms pressed to the softest part of his stomach now, left and right to his navel. He tingles from the inside out.

“I was watching a video about Abu Dhabi.” He admits to it quietly, half of him hoping Christian won’t hear him over the sizzling of the pan. “I don’t even know… It just popped up, it was attached to an email. But I didn’t mean to bring it up again, I’m sorry. I don’t want to talk about it again.”

Christian doesn’t say anything for a few very long seconds. He holds Toto in the same manner as before, his face mushed to the planes of his back, his body warm against Toto’s, over a decade of familiarity to the touch. Then he says, “You said.”

Toto’s face scrunches up in confusion, but he doesn’t move, just keeps staring down at the pan.

“You said you were sorry,” Christian clarifies. “For watching the video, or for what happened in Abu Dhabi?”

Toto’s chest smarts, pulls into a tight hard knot. “I don’t think… Let’s not talk about it again.”

“Because you’re uncomfortable?” Christian asks. “Or because you’re afraid I haven’t forgiven you yet?”

Toto doesn’t have an answer. The only thing he knows is that the eggs are burning. Christian doesn’t let him go but now his hold feels like it could crush Toto any second.

“I know you’re sorry,” Christian goes on. “And we’re past Abu Dhabi. Things are okay, yeah?”

Toto swallows hard. “Yes.”

Christian presses another kiss to his back, soothing this time. “Good. So why are you sorry?”

“I—” Christian doesn’t let him go. “I didn’t see you.” Toto’s voice breaks on the last syllable. “That night in Abu Dhabi. I was too concerned with other things, I didn’t watch the podium, I didn’t even leave the garage. So I didn’t know what you looked like that night until just fifteen minutes ago.” Heart in his throat he adds, “And I regret that. Not being there for it. Because you looked—”

Beautiful. Proud. Relieved. Real. Heartbreakingly authentic.

“I could’ve shared that with you, that night, the win, your success, but I didn’t. And I regret that. More than anything I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I wish I—” And now he’s fucking choking up.

“Oh.” Christian moves then, unfreezes and untangles himself from Toto’s back to turn him around by the hips. “Oh, darling, no, come on.”

Toto can’t look at him, but then again, he can’t really look at anything because tears are blurring his vision.

“No, darling, no, come here.” Christian wraps him up in a hug then, pulls him in, one arm wrapped around his middle, the other around his shoulders, and he presses the side of his face to Toto’s neck. “It’s okay. We’re past that.”

Toto doesn’t say anything. It doesn't feel like they’re past it. This is the first time he has allowed himself to cry about any of this in front of Christian. It’s been months, and it doesn’t feel like they’re past it.

“I know you would’ve been there if things had been different. But it was complicated, I know that. I’m not mad.”

“I’m mad,” Toto croaks, and as he says it, he realises it’s true. “I am so mad, Christian. I’m mad I didn’t get to share any of it with you. It was such a significant moment, and I wasn’t there with you. We won’t ever get that back.”

Christian takes a moment. “Okay,” he then says quietly. “Now I understand. I get it. I’m mad too.” Toto stills. “Not at you. At the whole thing, the circumstances leading up to it. It’s no one’s fault. We knew it would be difficult to keep things separate, and in the end, we didn’t manage. That’s okay. And it’s okay to be mad about it.”

“I’m not trying to bring it all back up again, I know we’re past it. It’s in the past.” Toto curls his arms around Christian’s back and pulls him in tighter, noses the side of his face, the imprint of the lines around his eyes. “I just didn’t realise how much I missed out that night. You looked so—”

“What?” Christian probes, curious.

“Sexy,” Toto croaks and there’s a second of silence before Christian breaks out into a loud, husky cackle. 

“Are you— Toto, are crying because you didn’t get to fuck me that night?”

“Maybe.” Toto cracks a small grin and smothers it in Christian’s hair. They both know it’s more than that. But they also know there’s no way they can turn back time. What happened happened. It’s in the past.

“Oh fucking hell. You have no idea how badly I wanted you to be there that night.”

“Ja?”

“Yeah,” Christian says, and then he pulls back and looks Toto in the eyes and says, “Yes, darling. Of course I wanted you to be there with me. I wanted to—Look, I wanted to come and find you too, but I didn’t. I couldn’t. So I get it. I have regrets too.”

Toto has to pull him in again and Christian goes willingly, presses their foreheads together, noses brushing, and kisses Toto once more, deep. “I get it,” he murmurs to his lips. “But we’re okay, yeah?”

“Yes,” Toto agrees. Eyes closed. Christian smells like home. “Next time.”

“We’ll do so much better this year,” Christian agrees. “I’ll even let you spray me with champagne in front of everyone.”

Toto rolls his eyes, a small grin pulling stubbornly at the corners of his mouth. “You will let me, yes? That is very generous of you.”

“I know,” Christian agrees smugly. “You’re allowed to do it in front of everyone, too.”

“If you’re not careful, I will be doing something very different than shower you in champagne in front of everyone, darling.”

“Oh, don’t threaten me with a good time, darling.”

Toto hates him a little bit, his pleased smirk, the self-satisfaction, the green of his eyes twinkling, daring, his crow’s feet so deep, seven on the left, eleven on the right.

Toto doesn’t stand a chance. Not this season, but more importantly, not tonight either.

[chrzannekk]

david scar headcanons ! the scars on his back and arm are from the time the wolf attacked him, but the burn scars are a headcanon from his childhood hc that davey was physically abused by his family and they boiled hot water and sugar on him as a 'punishment'. now david is the kinda guy to wear a shirt at the pool bc of this

[stargirl-evie]

version where Keefe agrees to stay in Jolies old room after Edaline offers. His eyes get misty when Sophie and her mom walk him in and help him get settled. He cries a little when they leave to let him change and get comfortable. He comes out in these human pajama pants and a black t-shirt and Sophie decides to focus on that and not his slightly red and puffy eyes.

They sit in the couch and Edaline brings them something sweet and a few more bottles of youth. Grady watches from the kitchen with soft, sad eyes.

He thanks her parents and apologizes for all the trouble he’s causing and they wave it away. They say things about how it’s not a problem and that they’re just happy he’s safe and back. He gets a little misty eyed again. After food and only slightly awkward silence, Grady mentions that they should definitely try to sleep. It’s late, and it’ll be easier to talk after some rest.

They go upstairs together and Sophie pushes past her anxiety and grabs his hand as they walk. Neither of them say anything, but he hugs her at the top of the stairs.

She wonders if it’s her awareness of his feelings for her, or if it’s her mutual ones, but she can’t find it in herself to be mad at him. Not when his face is buried in between her neck and shoulder, not when he holds her like he’s trying to make up for everything that happened, not when he stands in front of her looking like a boy. It hits her again that he’s not much older than her, and he’s still incredibly young be elven standards.

She’s sure she’ll be mad again in the morning, or even later tonight, but for now this quite comfort works. She is beyond relieved he’s home with her.

She walks with him to his room. She stands beside him as he gets in the bed and she flicks of the lights for him when she goes to leave.

He calls her. Asks her to stay. She immediately agrees.

She runs downstairs to tell her parents, her dad looks like he’s about to start a very uncomfortable lecture, but her mom cuts in after meeting her eyes and tells her she thinks it’s a great idea.

She runs back to her room to grab some pillows, Ella, and another blanket.

Keefe watches her walk into the room. He’s still laying where she left him, it makes her slightly less worried. His eyes are big, almost childish, and again she can’t help but think he’s just a boy. And he doesn’t deserve to feel like this. She’s mad, but not at him.

He stops her from setting up a spot on the floor near the bed. She’s confused. They fuss about it for a minute before he pulls back the blanket and just says, “please”.

She caves and brings herself to lie down next to him. He’s close, they can feel the heat off each other, and for the first time she’s glad he can’t sense her emotions as much.

They stay like that for a while, on their backs with their respected stuffed animals in their arms. It’s dark, her parents have gone to bed, and they’re both ignoring the quite sniffles coming from both sides of the bed.

After what seems like forever he rolls over to look at her. She turns her head to meet his eyes. “Turn that way” she says, and he does what she asks without question.

Carefully she turns toward his back. She’s anxious again, but confident that this is something they need. She places Ella behind her back and tentatively wraps her arms around Keefes waist.

He tenses for a bit, then let’s out a quite sob. He shakes in her hold for a while, but he never lets go of the grip on her hands.

When he does calm down, he brings their intertwined fingers up, and he presses the back of her hand to his face.

She can’t really call it a kiss, per say, but his skin is warm and his lips are definitely against her skin. She buries her face in his back, and their legs tangle below the fluffy comforter.

They sleep, after days of nightmares and restlessness, they sleep. It’s long, it’s not enough, but it’s peaceful because neither one of them dreams.

The next day will be hard, it’ll be full of hurt and tears and words that are going to sting, but right now, right now and everything that will happen after, it makes it all worth it.

[anawrites3]

I'm feeling a bit angsty today and I'm thinking about Dick doing something that made Damian furious (I'm not sure what exactly. Risking his life on a mission? Accidentally exposing a secret Damian shared with him?) and Damian is yelling at him, his face red with anger. Dick tries to apologize, maybe explain himself but then Damian hits at his chest to shove him away.

"I hate you!" he yells and Dick just... freezes.

Everything falls quiet in the cave, no one dares to make a sound. Dick isn't even breathing, just looking at Damian with wide eyes.

"C'mon, Damian, don't say that." Tim scolds him gently in a quiet voice, stepping closer to them. "You didn't mean that."

"I did mean it! I hate you, Grayson! I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

Damian runs back to the manor and Alfred goes after him. Dick just looks after Damian, after his baby brother he would do everything for, the boy that he helped raise. He doesn’t hear Jason when he calls out to him and is barely aware that Jay steps up to him.

"Dickie..." Jason says again, softly, fingers squeezing Dick's shoulder.

It's grounding and Dick finally starts breathing again, even though it hurts.

"I-I'm okay." he forces out. His breath is shaking. He looks down at his hands and notices that they're shaking too. "I... I should go now."

"What? Dick, no-"

Both Tim and Jason try to stop him, try to reason with him that he should stay, that he really shouldn't go back on his own in this state. Dick ignores them. It's easy when he doesnt even hear what they're saying, when all he hears is 'I hate you, I hate you' playing over and over again in his head like a broken record.

He doesnt manage to go far. Some time later, he finds himself at one of Gotham's buildings, crying and trying to remember how to breathe.

He wants it to stop hurting, he wants to go back in time so he won't make that stupid mistake and Damian won't hate him for it, he wants to forget about this fucking day, he wants- he wants-

He fishes out his phone from his suit before he even manages to understand what he's doing and dials a number that he knows will always pick up, no matter how late it was, no matter how stupid the reason is.

"Yeah?" a hoarse voice answers and Dick finally breaks out sobbing, no longer able to keep it all in.

"Slade-" he sobs and faintly hears the rustling of the sheets on the other side of the line.

"Dick." Slade replies, immediately much more awake and alert. "What's wrong? Are you hurt? Where are you?"

Dick would laugh if the situation was any different.

"Slade..." he cries again instead. His hands are trembling so much he's afraid he'll drop his phone so he sits down.

"Are you in danger?"

"N...no." his breath heaves, sobbing so hard now it’s difficult to do anything else. "N-no, Slade, I'm- I'm fine, I'm-"

"Alright, calm down, Dick. Take a deep breath for me, little bird." Slade orders, firm but in a soft voice and Dick does. "Good. Now again."

It doesnt help much, it doesnt change anything, Damian still hates him-

"Again."

It doesnt change anything but Slade's with him now, Slade's talking to him and Slade always makes Dick feel safe and loved, and so he follows every one of his instructions.

"What happened?" Slade asks gently, when Dick calms down enough to just cry silently, tears running down his cheeks without any sound.

"I... I d-don't want to think about it." he admits and Slade hums. He can hear him moving around his apartment. "Can you... can you just... talk to me?"

"About what?"

"About..." Dick swallows. "About the first time your children told you that they hate you."

There's a moment of silence. Dick has no doubts that Slade connected the dots immediately and already knows what it is about.

Still, he doesn’t say anything.

"Hm, let me think." he begins softly, with the kind of tone he only uses with Dick when they're alone and Slade doesnt feel like he has to hide his feelings for Dick from the rest of the world. Dick instantly feels more at ease and he reaches to wipe his cheeks with his sleeve. "If I remember correctly, Joey was the first one of them to ever say it."

"...Really?"

"Mm. He got really mad at me."

"W-what happened?"

"I was away on the contract. I was supposed to do the work quickly but it got extended and I wasn't able to get home for Christmas."

"Oh." Dick says sympathetically.

"Yeah. Boys got really upset." Slade sighs through his nose and Dick can just imagine the look on his face, the way his eyebrows furrow as he thinks back to the unpleasant memory. "I talked with them on the phone and tried to explain. Joey didn't like it."

"I'm sorry. It must've been hard to hear it over the phone like that."

Slade hums, "It was. I couldn't even try to do anything about it because I was in another damn country. But when I finally got back he’d already calmed down and apologized properly. He was really sorry and couldn't stop crying about it. I had to carry him everywhere with me."

"That sounds nice." Dick croaks.

"Maybe for you." Slade grumbles and Dick's lips twitch weakly in a smile. "You like to be carried around everywhere so you think it's so great. I was the one who had to actually carry him."

Slade keeps talking to him about the fights he had with his kids when they were still little and how much it hurt the first time, he talks about other things from his past and even about silly things that don’t really matter. Dick doesn’t know how much time has passed before Slade is on the rooftop with him.

"Hi." Dick whispers, looking up at him from his place on the ground.

"Hi, little bird." Slade kneels to get more on Dick's level and kisses him gently. "Let's go home."

When they're already in Slade's apartment, pressed tightly in bed, Dick finally tells him what happened. Slade listens and lets Dick cry into his chest, heavy arms around his waist bringing quiet comfort.

Then Slade spends the morning spoiling the shit out of Dick, doing his best to make him forget about what Damian said. Later that day he doesnt want to let the demon spawn in, when the boy finally comes to apologize and then he stands beside Dick like a guarding dog through the whole thing.

Anyway that was supposed to be just a quick thought and now I want to write it into a full fic :)) I simply want Slade comforting Dick, taking his mind off bad things 🥺 also I just want Slade talking about his kids hshsjhfjsh Hope you liked it!!

[seas-of-silver]

The young rabbit hero quickly motioned to the surprised teenager to get into her portal before desperately shouting out, "Luka—Viperion, I need your help!"

The young rabbit hero quickly motioned to the surprised teenager to get into her portal before desperately shouting out, 'Luka—Viperion, I need your help!'

Luka tsked. 'Civilian and hero identity? Bunnyx, you're slipping.'

Bunnyx growled. Luka put his hands up as he chuckled in mock surrender.

'Be glad you found me when I was home alone, Alix,' he said as he entered the Burrow.

'Who's breaking rules now, snake boy?' Alix grouched, snapping the portal shut and stomping across the Burrow, grabbing him by the wrist and dragging him along with a ferocity that made him immediately switch into focus.

Luka knew how playful Alix was; cheeky by nature, a jovial competitor, and while she was a realist, she would be able to find levity in heavier moments. Normally, if he pulled her up on a slip, she'd roll her eyes, cock her hip and sass right back at him with an anecdote of when he himself had stuffed up, just to make it an even playing field. Normally, there'd be a little more banter. This, however, wasn't normal, and it put him on edge. As he observed her, she was pale, sweating, tired, jittery... scared.

'What happened?' he asked.

'No spoilers,' she shot back curtly as she pulled him in front of another portal.

'Hey.' He pulled his wrist out of her grasp. 'If you're going to send me out of my time into something that obviously has you rattled, I'm going to need to know what I'm walking into - which includes what led up to whatever this is.'

Bunnyx sniffled, and that's when he saw it. It wasn't just sweat trailing down her face. Luka wrapped her up in a hug.

'What are you doing, man?' came her muffled voice from against his chest. 'You-'

'I can spare a moment to make sure you're okay,' he told her. She returned the hug, and he felt his shirt dampen with tears. He wasn't sure how long they stood there, but eventually she pulled away.

'Th-the villain, the new holder of the Butterfly,' she began as she wiped her eyes and attempted to refocus herself, 'she's... so much worse that we could have ever imagined. Hawk Moth, Shadowmoth, Monarch - he had at least some boundaries, some morals, some rules about what he did, some lines he wouldn't cross... but her? She's just... there's nothing she wouldn't do, and it's horrifying.'

Bunnyx shivered, her pale facade tinging green.

'Should... should I ask why you couldn't get the Luka of that time?' he asked cautiously. Bunnyx just shrunk in on herself, and his heart sunk at the mortifying, unthinkable reasons she wouldn't, or perhaps couldn't-

'Spoilers,' she whispered with a glimmer of a smile, and he relaxed. So perhaps it wasn't as bad as he wasn't imagining, right?

'We're down a few members of our usual team, and the ones who are fighting are being pushed to their limits,' Bunnyx continued. 'This akuma is complicated, relentless and devastating. When we get on site, I'll inform the team that you're here, and after that, observe, report back to the team, and for goodness sakes - don't let the akuma see you. It'll be game over if you do.'

'What, like Medusa or something?' Luka joked, but at Bunnyx's nod, he grew solemn.

'And that's just one of the akuma's abilities.'

'Shit.'

'Yeah.'

Luka heaved a heavy sigh. 'Anything else I need to know?'

'Don't touch the goo.'

Luka raised an eyebrow.

'Seriously, don't touch the goo,' Bunnyx warned him.

Luka nodded slowly as he called on his transformation. 'Goo is a no-go. Got it.' He looked back at her. 'See you soon, yeah?'

'Yeah,' she agreed softly. 'Be careful.'

He smiled before stepping through the portal. He was halfway through when he felt a hand pull him backwards.

'Wrong portal, dummy!' Bunnyx scolded, shaking her head as she lined him up with the portal to the left of the one he just walked through. 'What would you even do without me?'

'I'd probably be really bored,' he countered as she shoved him unceremoniously through the portal and onto a secluded rooftop.

'I got the young Viperion for you, team' Bunnyx announced into her comms. 'Don't lose him - he can't stay up past his bedtime.'

'Copy that,' he heard the chorus of voices through his earpiece as he put it in.

'See you later, Vipey,' Bunnyx said to him as she slapped his shoulder in farewell.

'Later, Energiser,' he replied, chuckling as she flipped him off before hopping back into the Burrow, the bright portal swirling shut behind her.

~/~

Ask game: Give me the first sentence and I'll write a short piece for it!

[psychofreakforc]

The tara tumblr fandom is so hilarious because we all love her, but then everybody is like AAAAAH I WANT YO HURT HER SO BADLY, PUT HER IN A BLENDER, SHAKE HER TILL SHE THROWS UP AND THEN GIVE HER LOTS OF KISSES.

[just-call-mefr1es]

random brance x thg shitpost because i fucking can🤧🤧😵‍💫😵‍💫 tw: mentions of sh, mentions of torture

fluff💞💞

-they had tons of silly little late night calls (im pretty sure the houses from victor’s village has phoens okay)

-they always sneak off from those capitol parties and talk shit about the other victors behind their backs

-bruce always laughs at vance’s horrendous costumes whevener he has to put on the fucking tree suit (his stylist hates his guts)

-they’d toss grapes into each others mouths during the capitol parties aswell

-always dance with each during the parties aswell

-the reason why there’s so much party shit is cause thats like the only time they really get to see each other in person lmao

-always on call with each other when watching the games so its like theyre watching it together (how romantic watches children die guys amiright)

-naw im joking for the previous one, they watch it togegher so that they can comfort each other while atching it (everyone’s required to watch the games its actually canon /s)

angst now (and spoilers for thg aswell)😻😻:

-theres dents in the walls inside of vance’s dorm in 13 from him punching them out of grief.

-vance dislikes watching the capitol’s lil announcement thingys because they always have bruce after the 3qq and he doesn’t like seeing him so sad

-but he still watches them just to see how theyre treating his pookie (he plans another torture method for the president with each bruise he sees)

- he avoids amy (cause 13 was kind enough to rescue their families) cause she reminds him too much of bruce

-bruce tries to stop himself from thinking about vance in the captiol becase he knows that he’s hurting, and he feels sad about making him feel that way

-vance isn’t allowed near sharp objects in 13 (im sure you can piece that together)

-bruce shuts down any conversation about vance whenever someone asks (mostly robin) and assures them (*cough* himself *cough*) that he’ll be fine

-most of bruce’s torture mostly comes from just taunting him abt his loved ones, which is mostly centered around his family and vance (ik i included his family here but theres still brance so it counts😤)

-vance cried seveteen (and counting) rivers when he and bruce finally reunited🎉

okay thats all i have rn do with this what you will ig🤷

[ambeauty]

Midnight to Morning

Summary: Her supernova light fills the dark night sky and he can’t look away. The tears burn at his ducts. The hard lump in his throat threatened to constrict his breathing. The swelling in his chest feels like a 300 pound weight. The heat flaring under his skin was ready to burn him alive, at least he’d be with her. Hi Daddy.  He blinks rapidly. Still his gaze fixed on the sky as the colors of blue, purple, red, orange surge in the night. Daddy, pick me up. Pure energy. Pure heat. Pure like her. Maybe we can figure it out together. They were supposed to do this together. No one manages alone. All of it. The rest of their lives. That wasn’t supposed to be tonight. He sank to his knees. He thinks he hears his name being called. The tears slide down his mask and caress his cheeks. She’s not— No. no. no. 

Link in the Title 🤭

Tags: @escapism-through-imagination @jonskory @lyanaalvarado @not-so-mundane-after-all @meerakory @selinascatnip @graysonfamfan2021 @koryvndr @meetmeunderthestarrynight

[pfhwrittes]

i've just realised that once again instead of posting little something for wip wednesday i blurted out a whole thing