#angst hate-fucking and grief ensues

[fortheloveofexy]

@korakos said allichi rights and I may be a renison shipper to my dying breath, but this fic idea caught me:

"It may surprise you to know this," Ichirou says, his words slow and measured, "But I do not endorse the needless slaughter of innocent bystanders." Allison levels him with a cold look, if only to conceal her curiosity. Ichirou's expression is calm, but there is a flicker of feeling in his dark eyes. Something akin to regret. "You can't expect me to believe that," she bites out, "You're the head of the fucking yakuza. Needless slaughter is kind of your whole thing." "Incorrect," Ichirou says mildly, "My business is that of profit and enterprise, not senseless bloodshed." He pauses to sip at his whiskey, a hint of weariness settling around his mouth. "My father's second son did not understand this. It is why I killed him." Allison sniffs, taking a long draught of her own drink. The whiskey is fire down her throat, burning away the aching chill of Seth's absence. It hurts still, to think of him. The wound has never really healed. "I suppose you're expecting gratitude, then." "Far from it," Ichirou murmurs. Glass clinks softly against the marble bar top as he sets aside his drink and turns fully towards her, his knuckles brushing against the back of her wrist, "Though I may be foolish enough to hope for forgiveness." Allison swallows, her traitorous heartbeat picking up at the touch. She downs the rest of her drink all in one and rises to her feet. "You still have your room key?" Ichirou slowly nods, patting his suit pocket where the room key is undoubtedly hidden. Allison holds out her hand and waits until he hands it to her. "I don't need to forgive you," she says curtly, "Just to fuck you." She doesn't linger long enough to register his shocked expression, but the weight of his gaze follows her all the way back to the elevator in the hotel lobby. Soon, he'll follow her back upstairs. Soon, she will lose herself in him, burying her sorrow and her fury where it does not belong; in the arms of a man she should despise.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

I was wondering if you knew any fics with Scott being a good friend? I feel like people villainise Scott too much, and that they ignore that fact that they've been friends for literally nearly two decades. I don't really mind the ship, I just rally want a Good Friend Scott McCall fic for once.

Hi @woopy-doopey! @kevaaronday made this fic and said "Ngl i do love a good bad friend scott fic, but good friend scott always hits the spot!"

You Can Stay As Long As You Want by jacyevans (5/5 | 26,116 | Teen | Sterek) When Derek arrives upstairs, Erica takes one look at him, rolls her eyes, and takes the bags of groceries from his hands.

“So I see Mr. 5B has arrived,” she says, leaning against the counter, shoulders shaking with laughter.

Derek hates his pack.

Stiles and Scott are the new tenants in Derek's apartment building. While Derek and Stiles attempt to ignore their burgeoning interest in each other, their respective packs make sure nothing will keep the two idiots from falling in love - except maybe the faulty elevator.

Then There Was You by WaitASecondWhat (4/4 | 16,913 | Mature | Sterek) Stiles Stilinski was Scott's best friend and no one could say anything different. They had been friends since they were babies. Unfortunately Stiles had to move to New York when he was 11 to see if a special doctor could help his mother, Claudia. They couldn’t and she died that year. Stiles' dad didn’t expect her to pass so quickly and had already secured a job so they stayed. It had been 6 years but they were still as close as ever. Except Stiles didn’t know about the whole supernatural thing. 

Then Stiles comes back and happiness, crushing on Derek and angst ensue.

the banana bread incident by Thealmostrhetoricalquestion (1/1 | 10,287 | Teen | Sterek) "Is this a plastic spoon?" Stiles demands in disgust. "You do realise that there's actual cutlery in the kitchen, right? I'm surrounded by morons who don't know how to use a kitchen."

“I know how to use a kitchen,” Derek protests lazily. “It’s just that all the other spoons were dirty.”

“There’s this revolutionary new invention,” Stiles says, widening his eyes in mock-amazement. “It’s called a sink.”

In which there are tiny pink shorts, a kissing gate, a cat called Pumpkin and a plethora of awkward moments.

Scott McCall’s I Saw It First by WhereDestiniesMeet17 (1/1 | 5,875 | Teen | Steter) It's as he's drifting off to sleep that he has revelation number three. They have no fucking idea. Not a clue that they are in love, much less with each other. Scott laughs so hard that he wakes not only himself, but half the pack. 

-

Or the one where Scott figures out that Stiles and Peter are in love way before they do. Meanwhile, they have monsters to take care of.

Diary Of An Overworked Nurse by RoryMarx (1/1 | 4,636 | Gen) If you have it… we’ll do something,” Scott suddenly said, and then they were hugging.

Crystal looked at them, could feel the other adults do the same, and the only word she could describe the hug with was desperate. Scott and Stiles clung to each other like two people afraid to drown. It was heartbreaking. These teenagers loved each other. No matter what the MRI showed today, Crystal knew Stiles wouldn’t just have his dad to count on – he would also have Scott.

OR: Over the years the nurses and doctors of Beacon Hills Memorials watched Stiles and Scott grow up - they saw a lot of tears, hugs, laughter, and grief.

5 Times Scott and Stiles Celebrated Their Humanity + 1 Time There Were Werewolves

Hold the Sugar; You’re Sweet Enough by Dani Mahealani (1/1 | 2,846 | Gen | Sterek) Stiles loves his friends, he really does. But as he’s making Derek’s latte, he catches what Scott’s written on Derek’s cup and groans.

“What are you, twelve? You know Derek already has my number. He’s had my number. We text every day,” Stiles says as he works on the latte.

Scott looks over at him from the register with the most innocent grin in the world and shrugs. “I know, but I wanted to make a statement.”

Stiles rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “You mean adding ‘+ SS’ underneath his name and drawing a heart around it wasn’t enough of a statement?”

“If you’re not going to flirt with him yourself, I’ll just flirt with him for you,” Scott says, shrugging.

or the one where their meddling friends decide it's high time for stiles and derek to get their acts together and date

Summertime Fling by TheSlyestFox (2/2 | 2,740 | Teen | Stiles/Brett) After all the supernatural drama over the last few years, Stiles is ready for a break. Summer brings the perfect opportunity for a respite when he signs up for a painting class through the local community college. He loves his pack, but a little R&R is just what he needs to reset for senior year. His plans go awry when Brett Talbot unexpectedly joins him at his table. He's annoyed at first, but Brett's flirtatious and jovial personally cuts right through his defenses.

[lulalulens]

Steddie fanfics recomendation (1/?)- 'If you liked [insert popular fanfic here], then you will probably enjoy [insert similar vibes fanfic] edition'

All right this is very simple, I will recommend steddie fanfics that are pretty damn popular on the fandom, and will try to match their vibe with other similar works. Hope I wont disappoint!

If you liked [Throw me one], by Adure, you may like…

Kind of Vibe: the two idiots can't figure whats going on between them, Friends With Benefits kind of situation, a whole lot of pinning even tho they are already hooking up, "what are we? is just sex?" kind of fic

[Is your light on?] by the same author WIP - 120k+ - 11/15 Chapters - Secret relationship - Angst with a Happy Ending Post S4, Eddie trying to heal, Steve being a major A Asshole but getting better, a lot of push and pull coming from both ends, it gets Much Worse before it gets better (or so we hope, Vio has us holding on onto that "angst with a happy ending" tag for dear life)

[And I walk these streets, a loaded six-string on my back] by Lagardere and Miss Antlers Completed - 70k+ - 9/9 Chapters - Fix-it - Eddie comes back as a ghost - fast burn sex/slow burn romance Post S4, Eddie comes back as a some kind of ghost that only Steve can see and interact with, and has the time of his life tormenting and haunting Steve. NO SLOW BURN AT ALL, Steve spends half the fic on absolute denial while also putting his tongue down Eddie's throat as much as he can, there is a Cursed Guitar my Beloved, a lot of hilarious moments, absolute fav

[You looking at me, looking at you] by emryses Completed - 65k+ - 10/10 Chapters - Friends with Benefits - Miscommunication Ah, the good ol' friends with benefits that start acting like a married couple but Refuse To Talk About What Is Going On, and therefore, miscommunication and angst ensues

[It has no place here] series, by 3MinsOver Completed - 70k - heavy smut - "enemies" to lovers The filthiest (yet somehow sweetest?) "enemies" to lovers I've ever read. Follow their journey from Very Ugly Hate-Fucks to Feelings Realizations. There are a LOT of kinks in here, make sure to read the tags first

[someone else's favorite song] by fastcardotmp3 Complete - 120k - FWB to lovers - Grief/Mourning - fast burn sex/slow burn romance What it seemed like a very clear, very no-strings-attached friends with benefits situation between Eddie and Steve suffers a 3-point-turn after Steve loses someone important to him and needs someone to comfort him and keep an eye on him. My summary makes no justice to how beautifull this fanfic is!!

[Carve your name into my chest] by hexiewrites Completed - 42k - 8/8 Chapters - Enemies to fuckbuddies to friends to lovers- modern AU Both Eddie and Steve are hockey players, long time enemies and rivals, or so it seems. The truth is that they have been hooking up for quite some time, and no one else but them knows about it - but for how long can they keep a dirty secret like that from the public?

[bubupop]

a thousand and one lives.

I am, shamelessly, back. Where have I been? Won’t say. I will be back? Of course. Anyways, hope you enjoy my comeback with this angst/fluff thingy. Hmmm, crisp. No proof read cuz we die like men. --------- You were frail. They knew that since you’ve arrived and, regrettably, haven’t always treated you as such. But now, you being their greatest treasure, and even knowing that this day had to come they weren’t yet prepared. Some say humans know their time has arrived, they have a so-called gut feeling. But you weren’t supposed to get a hunch like that, ever. You were supposed to... You were supposed to… To stay, with them. That day was unforgettable. A day burned forever into not only their memories, but their hearts as well. How could they ever forget? It was all after celebrating how long you’ve been with them and how long they hope it will continue like that only to be met with such news once the party quieted down. 

“I’m dying. It might be today, I don’t know.” You said something along those lines, or at least that’s how they heard it. The problem was how you said that with such a peaceful smile, so accepting of it, like those words coming out of your mouth didn’t make all of their worlds crash down. The room went quiet and everyone could hear each other's heartbeat, or lack of thereof. Them being them, of course, chaos ensued.

There was a way. There MUST be a way to keep you. You couldn’t leave just like that, could you? But their time ran short and after tears and shout downs at each other and pretty much going through all grief stages in the span of what felt like a minute time passed. You left their world with a smile on your face, what looked like a peaceful smile surrounded by them was nothing but death masked as a dream. You stood there, and they were hoping you’ll open your eyes and exclaim how it was all a prank, your mischievous laugh filling the room and then they can all move on.

But your eyes never opened again. Your laugh wasn’t heard again, neither was the sound of your steps on the House of Lamentations floor. 

You weren’t in the garden, at school, in your own room. They were robbed of you. 

After your death it’d be a lie to say they didn’t hate you, just a little bit. 

Okay, maybe a ton bit. Their anger waving in and out of them, but could they be blamed for that? They lost who had become their everything, their glue, they had lost you. Why, why had you waited to tell them? Was it because you were unsure you would actually die? How long had you had that feeling, then? Some take it harsher than others. Sleeping away the days without you, reading, gambling, working, eating, gaming, partying them away. 

It soon became clear it wasn’t you who they resented, it was rather your fickle life, the curse of loving someone who had to die so soon, fast like a blink to them. They had loved someone whom death could touch and now had to live with the consequences of such, but letting you into their hearts was the best mistake they could have ever made. Like a flower who wilted too soon, you departed nonetheless if they were ready for it or not. A part of some of them, the most naive, hoped at least your ghost could be found around the halls. That never happened. 

Beel would often send you messages, dreaming that you’d answer from wherever you were now. Sometimes funny anecdotes that happened through the day, or memories from the time you shared together. He’d end up crying by the end of it.

Leviathan customized characters to look like you and often adventured with them in his open world games. And, while Mammon said he wasn’t all that faced he named a crow after you, and kept a chest under his bed with all his mementos of you, next to a vault full of the things he wished to give you.

Satan was the first one to find the notes you left, needless to say he ripped it to pieces, anger getting the best of him only to weep once it subsided. You knew, you fucking knew. He hated you and yet longed for you to come back to him. To read with him, write with him, to exist near him. He wept and wept and no one had it in their hearts to be truly mad at him and, by the time he was done bawling his eyes out he realized he wasn’t the only one. Even when Lucifer denied it they could see it, even if it was just the smallest of tears, they saw it.

You helped  make them who they are today and you wouldn’t have wanted to see them like that, they were never quite the same as before, though.

That day Mammon had gone out of a pure whim, nothing less and nothing more, he could have easily ignored them as he had done before. He had no reason to really appear, but he did. Another one of those “cults” to him, if you may. But it wasn’t the riches and shiny things that caught his eye, rather the figure hanging from the ceiling, swinging from side to side. All of his devotees were kneeling, not daring look him in the face but the sacrifice, as they called them, was looking straight at him with eyes wide open. Filled with what seemed like tears, but not a trace of fear. 

“Mammon!” They chirped before being shushed by the head member of the cult. Feeling the goosebumps all over his body, he soon approached the sacrifice. It couldn’t be.

“O Great Mammon, forgive—” The man was brought to a halt by his fierce gaze. 

“Silence, human.” And he stared at the figure still hanging from the ceiling. “What are you?” His hostile gaze did not seem to face the individual.

“A human, of course!” His anger was getting the best of him, and just before he was turning around to leave that shitshow the human spoke again. “How mean! How could my first man not recognize me? And after all the trouble I went through to become your sacrifice!” 

His mask almost fell for a second. Before showing any emotion to his followers he soon took the hanging person from the ceiling and disappeared. 

Later on, back to the House of Lamentation, and after disappearing for a while he popped up again. Beaming. And just as his brothers were about to get in his case you appeared next to him. Before he even had the chance to explain his infuriated big brother was already going apeshit. 

How dare he? How dare he try to replace you with another human? He knew Mammon as foolish but not this way. This is the angriest he had been since a good while ago. But the human didn’t back up, even more Mammon confronted him in his demon form, too. Confusion and hurt apparent in his face for a split second before the new human got in between them. 

“Luci, you just don’t change. Why won’t you listen to your brothers?” They scolded. Him. Diavolo 's right hand demon. One of the strongest and fearest demons around. Before he could even say any other thing, though, Beelzebub was already running towards the human.

He felt it, too. You, it was you! When the fifth brother held you up into the air your laugh was unmistakable. Features, while different, still resembling you. As they dreamt since you’ve been gone, you found your way back to them. A brand new life, body and life story, yet the same soul they knew and love.

“I promised,” You said, in the middle of the group hug. “That I’d be back, didn’t I?” They did not remember such a promise but it all seemed meaningless now that you were back. For the first time in a long time, they felt complete. 

Life went on, and on, and on. And you died, once again. This time, though as sad as the past one, they felt lighter knowing that you promised to be back again. They just had to wait.

And wait they did, and come back you did. You came once as an old office worker, an overworked woman who had four cats and took a while to remember. Next time you were a handsome man, a model. Sometimes it took you too long to remember and others it seemed like it was your life purpose to search for them. Once they even made a game out of it, turning out Belphegor was the winner, finding you first.

Maybe, just maybe, you were always meant to be with them.

[minijenn]

Keys to the Kingdom AU Master Post

Ok so now that Keys to the Kingdom has reached its first big Plot Twist that I had to keep hush hush about for over a year, I’m excited to finally be able to share everything we’ve been cooking up over on my Discord server (PM me if you want to join the chaos)! This includes a whoooooole bundle of Keys AUs, many of which hinge upon the Grandfather Twist, but some are AUs I’ve talked about/drawn for on here before. A lot of these are things I’ve written oneshots/commissions/ect. for, so I’ll be sharing those previously unreleased pieces too over the next few days. Either way, this post is your one stop shop for all things Keys AU related. Enjoy! (also spoilers ahead for anyone not caught up on Keys, obvs)

Family Ties AU: Instead of staying on the islands, Thalassa decides to leave the islands with Xehanort. Venturing out into the worlds shifts her worldview to one similar to his and eventually, she joins him in his schemes (though eventually, she starts developing plenty of evil schemes of her own, basically Thalassa is a villainess here and she’s one of the best parts of this AU cause she puts her dumbfuck husband to shame). Xehanort and Thalassa still have Tsuki, who they raise to follow in their footsteps and, once he’s older, basically kidnap Himari and force her to marry him. The pair has Sora, who is basically raised within the Organization here and is kind of a villain/anti-hero who goes through Character Development? Either way, this is definitely one of the most developed Keys AUs here, there’s a lot of Lore behind it, and a lot of differences in characters’ roles, like Roxas’, Xion’s, ect. You can learn more about Family Ties by checking out this somewhat semi-incomplete timeline of how it all goes down here. 

Trifecta AU: Instead of just Sora, Riku and Kairi are also slowly being corrupted by Xehanort’s darkness at the exact same time (as a way to ensure Sora falls in line mostly, he’s still the one Xehanort wants most but hey, two more vessels, why not?). Caught between fear and lies and pain, each of them hides the truth of their worsening conditions, failing to see just how much the others are suffering as they all slowly slip into the shadows. (Rage Form (Sora), Fear Form (Riku), Grief Form (Kairi)). I’ve actually talked about this one on here before, and I’ve drawn each of the trio’s “dark” forms, you can check those out here. 

Heir to Hatred AU: This is basically just Tangled but Keys Edition. Xehanort steals Sora away from his parents as a baby and raises him in isolation. He’s an abusive fuckhead about it though, and Sora longs to see more than the World that Never Was, which is where he’s lived all his life. Just so happens that Riku, who’s kind of a fugitive bc of working with Maleficent in the past, is on the run from the Guardians of Light, and happens to stumble upon the CTNW and finds Sora, helps him outta there, and the entire time they’re being chased by Kairi (a representative of the lights) who they win over, and Xehanort finds out his little shit grandson is gone and is pissed and chaos ensues. It’s a fun time (also the Heartless pet that died in Keys lives here! It basically fills the role of Pascal lol) 

Chains of Memory AU: Keys kicks off as usual but when Sora is norted, he loses all of his memories somehow. Xehanort immediately takes advantage of this and takes the kid in, immediately making the grandfather reveal and also lying to this amnesiac child that he’s meant to be with the Organization and that the lights tried to destroy his heart or something. Basically, its just Keys but if Sora was willingly in the Org. the entire time (Xehanort lies and tells him YX is hiis older brother and Ansem and Xemnas are his uncles). It’s a lot of Sora being absolutely sunshiney and oblivious, while the Org. is baffled by this kid they all hate slowly winning them all over, and also the lights fucking panicking because Sora doesn’t remember any of them and thinks he hates them all. Yay, angst!

Wayward Destiny AU: Upon returning to the guardians of light, Yen Sid proceeds to be a Shithead and does what Sora feared would happen to him if he went back, he locks this traumatized kid up, thinking Xehanort has already corrupted him too much and that he’s too far gone. Riku and Kairi, upon finding out, are pissed, and so they save Sora, take him, and run. Meanwhile, Yen Sid lies to the rest of the lights, making them think Sora has also “corrupted” Riku and Kairi and that the need to find all three of them; at the same time, these three dumb kids are trying to survive on their own while not being captured by the Org. and by the lights. An alternative title for this AU could be “Yen Sid is a Fucking Asshole AU” 

Survival AU: Tsuki survives Xehanort’s attempts at killing him by summoning his own Keyblade; he takes Sora and Himari and they flee the islands, hopping from world to world to get his son out of his father’s range. Throughout the years, Tsuki becomes very overprotective of Sora to the point of stifling him, and even refuses to teach him how to use his Keyblade after he summons one. Along the way, the family eventually joins up with the other Guardians of Light, though the events of Keys still happen and when they do, family drama abounds. I’ve actually written a oneshot about this one way back when, which you can read here. 

Brotherly Shove AU: Sora manages to talk Vanitas down from his attempts at killing him out of revenge, and they both decide to figure out Rage Form/Blight Form together. They bond along the way in the weeks that Sora is on the run from the lights, and eventually Vanitas gets to the point where he starts to care about Sora and strives to protect him from Xehanort and Maleficent alike. Because I just can’t get off my fucking high horse that Vanitas deserves a redemption arc, can I?

A Mother’s Love AU: When Sora briefly returns to the islands while on the run, he goes to see Himari, who’s heartbroken when she hears what’s happening to him. To the point that she actually follows him through the dark corridor he tries to leave through and ends up stranded on the run along with him. This eventually leads into her striking a bargain with Xehanort that leads to her heart falling into his hands, with her ending up norted as a result. Queue a whole bunch of mother/son drama that I wrote about in a short story I’ll be posting soon! 

Equivalent Exchange AU: Riku goes to Xehanort and challenges him to a duel; if he wins, then Sora will be set free. If he loses, then Riku will become Xehanort’s newest vessel in Sora’s stead. Riku loses, but Xehanort doesn’t set Sora free, and thus both boys are stuck in the Organization together. 

Destiny’s Embrace AU: Kairi goes to Xehanort and offers herself up as his vessel in Sora’s place; in this one, Xehanort tricks her and does NOT let Sora go, and both of them are trapped in the Organization together, trying to keep their love strong while Riku desperately searches for a way to save them both (basically Equivalent Exchange, Kairi Edition) 

Guardians of Darkness AU: The guardians of light lose to the Organization in the final showdown and as punishment for their “infidelity”, Xehanort forces every last one of them to join the Organization, each of them essentially serving as personal slaves to the other members. 

Dearly Beloved AU: In the aftermath of claiming his thirteenth vessel, Xehanort invites the guardians of light to a “celebration” where he forces Sora to “propose” to Kairi. In the weeks leading up to this mysterious wedding, the lights try to scramble to free Sora and Kairi from this situation, while also trying to figure out why Xehanort is so keen on seeing a “union between pure light and pure darkness” take place. (kind of a dead AU, Family Ties absorbed it)

And those are basically all of the big/named ones! Some of these are def more talked about/developed than others, but if you’re curious about any of these, then please don’t hesitate to ask! I’ll be sharing art and drabbles that I’ve written for the Keys AUs over the next several days, so keep your eyes peeled for that!

[alloftheimagines]

bucky barnes | let it end here

masterlist | request

words: 2.5k

warnings: death, violence (w/ guns), trauma, depression, and slight hint towards suicide. angst. fluff. reader pulls gun on bucky.

Reader was made into a Hydra assassin like Bucky. When he stops her from killing a Hydra agent and cleans her up, she doesn't know if she can keep going after everything they've been through. Comfort ensues.

You’ve never felt a rage like it before. It licks through your blood like fire, leaves your ears ringing. You’re punching, kicking, the gun forgotten in its holster at your waist. This isn’t your job, and you know it, but you can’t remember what your job is. When you see his round, scornful face, killing is all you know. So you keep going, until he gurgles on his own blood and teeth, his eyes a swollen mess and his breathing laboured.

“You took everything from me!” you screech. “You heartless fucking bastard. You ruined me!”

He laughs. He isn’t afraid of you even now. Hydra agents never are. They aren’t afraid to die, aren’t remorseful of the torture they’ve put their soldiers through. They’re empty and wrong on the inside, and they made you that way, too. He made you that way.

“I’m glad they haven’t softened you, yet, soldat. You were always the one with the most fire. Always the one who enjoyed it the most.”

The words make you stop, though you keep his wrists pinned down as bile floods your throat. He’ll never get the chance to beat you again, and you need him to know that if nothing else.

“You’re lying,” you whisper, and you hate how your voice shakes. Because there are nights when the idea of that life feels like a comfort. You didn’t feel anything then. You didn’t have to hurt like you do now. You didn’t have to try every day to be a person, you just had to fight, kill. You just had to pull triggers and throw punches and watch the life leave people’s eyes the way it already had yours, and that was easier than the nightmares and the guilt and the grief for the person you was before Hydra broke you.

The agent shakes his head knowingly, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. “Look where you are. Look how you still fight. Nothing has changed. You’re still the soldier we made you.”

Your upper lip curls in disgust, a sob building in your chest. And somehow, you want to prove him right. You reach for your gun; press the barrel against his head. His grin is oily, teeth stained crimson. “That’s it. Remember who you really are.”

“I was an innocent. You made me into a monster.” You clench your jaw, your hand shaking. “I deserved better than that.”

“I set you free,” he rasped. “You were nobody before me. Now you’ll never be nobody again.”

Tears rolled down your cheeks, smearing the blood spatters. You wanted to be nobody. You wanted to be the naive, innocent girl who only dreamt of a nine-to-five job and a family. The woman you were before they snatched you off the street to fight their battle, experimenting on you and hollowing you out into an assassin.

Your finger tensed tighter on the trigger. There were so many things you wanted to spit at him, so many ways you wanted him to hurt, but there wasn’t time, and even if there were, the agent was fading fast.

“Go to hell.”

“It won’t be long before you join me.”

The words only make your rage burn brighter, and you slam the butt of the gun into his nose, watching the blood spurt out.

And then you’re pulled away, a familiar cold metal hand curling around your bicep. “You’re done now. It’s done. That’s enough.”

“No!” you scream, thrashing in his arms as Bucky tears you away from the man who tortured you, who ruined you. Your gun slips from your blood-slick hands to the floor. “No! I need to kill him. Let me go!”

“You’ve done enough!” Bucky slams you against the wall opposite. Sam and his agents watch. Taking in the massacre. The Hydra agent was supposed to be your last kill. Before that, you’d stormed in and shot four dead before they’d so much as blinked, another two who had put up a fight. Blood and brain matter smattered every surface, dead bodies littering the floor.

“You have no idea what he did to me.” You’re trembling, straining to try to get out of Bucky’s grip, but he’ll always be stronger than you. You aren’t the Winter Soldier. You’re just a ghost, an assassin who’s no longer required to kill. Perhaps you are nobody after all.

“I know exactly what he did to you,” Bucky hisses, all bared teeth as he leans in close, until his breath hits your skin. “And I know, okay? I know. But if you don’t stop now, you never will. It’ll never end, Y/N. Revenge never fuckin’ does. Show mercy. Not because he deserves it, but because you’re not the person he made you. Because you’re better than he’ll ever be.”

You shake you’re head. You don’t want to be better. You want them gone. “I’m not you,” you spit. “There is no ‘better’ for me.”

“I don’t believe that. You wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t some part of you worth fighting for.”

You can’t breathe, and as though sensing it, he loosens his grip. You suck in a breath, glancing between Bucky and the agent on the floor. He’s cuffed now, being taken in for information no doubt, if he survives his injuries long enough.

You look down at your hands. They’re bruised and ripped open at the knuckles. Covered in blood, yours and his. They shake. They never used to shake. Now they never stop.

“Look at me,” Bucky whispers. When you don’t, he tilts your chin up roughly, forcing you to meet his steel-blue gaze. “Walk away. He isn’t worth it.”

“It’s too late.” You gulp, feeling emptier than ever. “I already killed.”

“Let them be your last.” He tucks a matted strand of your hair behind your ear, so gentle when you’ve only ever known roughness from him before. “Let it end here.”

“It never fucking ends, Buck.” You close your eyes to try to trap your tears, but they come anyway, bringing with them a wave of exhaustion. You collapse against the wall, putting your face in your hands. “It never fucking ends.”

“It can. It will. We’ll find a way together.”

You don’t know if he believes his words. He’s as fucked up as you are, after all, and he’s told you about his nightmares, about how losing Steve made him question whether he’d ever been worth saving. But he’s been a rock against your crashing waves whenever you fall back into old habits, and you want so badly to believe him now.

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s go home.”

You don’t know where home is, but you let him pull you away, his hand supporting the small of your back as though you’re the one injured, not the agents you’ve attacked and slaughtered. You sneer at their bodies as you walk out of the base, each corpse burying a new cavity in your chest. You are full of holes, each one a life you’ve taken. You thought one day you’d stop noticing, but even now, even when seeking vengeance, you feel the new ones festering.

Because it never ends.

***

Bucky sits you on his couch like you’re a ragdoll, and you like it. Ragdolls don’t have to feel. They’re weightless and carried around, and it means you can exist somewhere nobody can get to you. You’re still staring at your hands, still feeling the holes drilling themselves in your chest. One day, you’re certain you’ll crack open and everyone will find out just how hollow you are.

Silently, he dampens a cloth in the kitchen and then strides over to you, kneeling at your feet. “C’mere.” He gently pulls your hands, wiping the blood off them. It doesn't matter. It still sticks beneath your fingernails.

“Am I gonna get another lecture from Sam?” you ask, your voice sounding empty even to your own ears.

The corner of Bucky’s mouth twitches with a smile. “I’ll tell him to go easy on you.” And then: “Who told you where they were?”

“Doesn’t matter. I forced it out of them. They don’t deserve to get in trouble.” Another needless lot of blood spilt, if only the one punch you had to throw for the information.

He nodded, always too understanding.

“He was the one who made me into a lab rat.”

Bucky pauses at that, glancing up at you carefully. “I didn’t know it was him.”

“I’ve been searching for him since we got out.” Your mouth is dry, grainy, and you lick your lips, wincing when he presses the cloth to your torn knuckles. “Wanted to be the one to kill him. I deserve that, don’t I?”

“Maybe.” He sighs, hovering over your forehead as though asking permission. You don’t even feel an injury there, but you tip your head all the same, shuffling forward on the couch. You both know, of course, that you don’t need him to clean you up. You both know that you want him too, though. “Believe me, I’ve thought about ripping off every one of their fucking heads a million times over. But it never gets me anywhere, Y/N. The killing never did. It only made me worse.”

“Maybe I don’t care about getting better.”

The cloth is cool against your forehead. A relief. Your eyes flutter shut.

“Maybe I do,” Bucky answers, voice low.

You pry your eyelids back open, breath hitching at the intensity you find there. You tell yourself it’s just the shared trauma, the understanding, but it doesn’t feel that way. When he looks at you, it doesn’t feel like he’s seeing a soldier, an assassin. It feels like he’s seeing something you no longer see in yourself.

“Don’t,” you beg, because as much as you want him, appreciate him, you can’t bear to have him expect more than you can give. You’re not good like he is. You’re not Steve Rogers’s best friend, and you’re not the White Wolf. You’re just a machine that no longer serves its use. “Don’t care, Bucky. It’s easier if you don’t fucking care.”

“I’m trying not to settle for easy these days.”

He smirks, but it isn’t funny. None of this is funny. And if he thinks his charm and his flirting and the hidden meanings behind everything he says to you can put you back together, he’s wrong. You could kiss him now, fuck him on the couch, pretend that a healthy relationship is possible, but it won’t change the darkness in you. It won’t soften your sharp edges.

He can’t fix you, and you won’t let him try. He deserves better than that.

So you lean in close and swipe the gun from his holster just to show him. Then you press it to his head just as you did the Hydra agent.

He doesn’t so much as blink. “Am I on your hitlist now, too?”

“Stop looking for good in me, Buck. You won’t find it.”

“I’m not looking for anything,” he says. “Nothing at all.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

“I don’t want anything from you.” You press the barrel harder into his temple. He squeezes the cloth in his hands, licking his lips warily. “I get it, Y/N. You know I get it. And when we got out, we did it together. It’s the only way I can deal with this, knowing someone understands. Knowing someone went through the same fucked up shit as me. We're a team. A tragic, fucked up team. Aren't we?”

You waver only slightly. You can’t believe even for a second that there is nothing he expects of you, nothing he wants. You have been torn apart and sewn back together. You’ve been disassembled right down to your skin cells. People take things from you. It’s what they do. They pull you apart and they look for your purpose, and when they find it, they make you serve it. That’s what you are. That’s what being a soldier has made you.

“You’d be doing me a favour.” Bucky’s voice is gravelly, and it cuts through you.

Those words make your stomach twist, no matter how badly you want to prove you feel nothing at all. Because he deserves better than that. And maybe if he does, you do, too.

You slam the gun down on the couch beside you, another spike of anger jolting through you. You can’t take it anymore. You can’t. You’re so fucking tired and angry and lost, and he’s looking at you like that’s okay. Like any of this is okay.

You stand up, your hands curling into fists until your knuckles break all over again, your nails digging into your palms. You want to scream. You want to end it. You want peace.

He just watches, still motionless where he kneels on the floor by the couch.

“Do you mean that?” you whisper finally.

He shrugs. “Don’t know. Do you want to do it? Will it make you feel better?”

“Nothing makes me feel better.” The admission shatters through the apartment, through you, and you clutch your stomach just to hold yourself in one piece. “Nothing.” Tears stream again, and you choke on a sob. “Nothing, Bucky. Nothing takes it away. I can’t…I can’t…”

He rises slowly and catches you just as you collapse. You fist his shirt between your fingers, tears dampening the fabric. He’s strong beneath you, his breaths even and his voice a low rumble against your ear.

“I know.” He strokes your hair, keeps you pressed tightly to him, and you lose yourself. You sob until your throat aches, and he lets you. “I know.”

“I’m sorry,” you cry without knowing what you’re apologising for. Killing the Hydra agents before Sam could get there. Putting a gun to Bucky’s head. Crying and bleeding all over his fucking apartment. Breaking apart while he works so hard to keep you both together. “I’m so sorry.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He rocks you gently, placing kisses into your hair. “I know. You’re not alone.”

You never want to let go of him. You’re only safe when you’re here, with him. He’s the only one who knows how bad it hurts. “I don’t want to feel anymore,” you confess. “I don’t want to keep doing this.”

“Feeling means you’re finding your way back,” he mumbles. “It means you’re still you. And it’s gonna fucking hurt, Y/N, but we’re gonna keep doing this. There is no other option.”

You want other options more than anything, but you nod. It’s the “we” that keeps you here, keeps your last slither of hope from leaving you. Because you’re not alone, and Bucky has endured decades of torture. Yours is nothing in comparison. If he can do it, if he can still get up and fight the right battles every morning, you can, too.

You will. With him, you will.

“There’s no other option,” you repeat. You say it until it rings true, until every time you want to go out and kill, or every time you want to give up, it’s the voice of reason pulling you back.

There’s no other option. So you choose his, and he keeps you going until you’re strong enough to make your own.

[creativeashproductions]

Shattered Hearts // Luke Patterson

Summary: The teenage years are supposed to the best time of life but not when fate has other plans for Sunset Curve. Not feeling well reader stays home while Luke prepares for the performance of his life at The Orpheum. Shit hits the fan hard and the fallout ensues.

Warnings: Swearing, death, hospital, cancer (type is not detailed) angst, and fluff.

Words: 2.3k

Requested: @lolychu​

A/N: I didn’t go into detail about the kind of cancer because I didn’t want to, I want it to be as general as it could. I’ve never gone through it or had someone close go through it so it could be wrong and I apologize for that. Broken heart syndrome is REAL by the way.

Masterlist

Los Angeles, 1995

There are articles of some medical mysteries that can’t fully be scientifically explained, such as when someone dies in excellent health following the death of a loved one. The scientific term is takotsubo cardiomyopathy, but the world knows it merely by Broken Heart Syndrome. It was a day that was supposed to be the greatest of your teenage years, but the day couldn’t have gone any worse.

First, you woke up with an incredibly high fever and newfound bruises. Pain in a wrist out of nowhere but you wrote it off. You had plans, and illness wasn’t scheduled for the day. Your boyfriend and his band had gotten their big break, well their almost big break. Today was the day Sunset Curve would perform at The Orpheum, and you were gonna be backstage cheering them on.

Luke made his appearance at your house in the morning before early rehearsal, and you managed to convince him you were feeling okay. He went on to their studio, and your mother drove you to the hospital in fear.

Life was an asshole. While you waited for test results pale against the hospital sheets, an ambulance rolled in. Carrying three bodies that would go to the morgue for positive confirmation of death. You wouldn’t know for a full day, Luke’s parents too grief-stricken to call you and that’s okay. 

“Mom?” You asked as her form caved in on the floor near your hospital bed, “Mom!”

Her eyes filled with so much pain brought you fear and concern. With a struggle, she came closer to hold your hand tightly and spoke brokenly the fate that would snatch you.

“Baby, you don’t have the flu.”

“That’s good? So just meds and we can go home?” You asked heart clenching as her eyes closed tight and you knew whatever the doctor had told her after pulling her out of the room wasn’t good.

Couldn’t be good with the slump in her shoulders, the pain in her eyes and the guilt coating her every word. Mom wasn’t a housewife; she wasn’t a flower in need of protection, but she never kept something from you. Always said it straight and as it is.

“Sweetheart, they’re gonna move you to another ward.” You knew deep in your heart the news had to be the worst because Mom wasn’t telling you the whole story. Finally, she broke down, “The doctors got the results back as soon as they could. The fever, the bruises, and the broken wrist have a reason. You have cancer.”

Cancer. A word that sealed your fate. It left you reeling in shock. It shattered your dream with just one single name. Couldn’t be seen but made its presence known. The coming hour was spent with the specialist detailing the type and a tentative treatment plan he wanted to initiate immediately.

A nurse escorted your mother out as the orderlies and nurses prepped you to be moved to a new room. Knowing you were in good hands, your mom walked to the main doors for fresh air only to be astounded at the sight of Mitch and Emily Patterson. Equally shocked, they came together.

“Emily?” Your mom spoke, looking carefully at the parents of your boyfriend. She wondered how the Patterson’s had found out, “Did someone call you?”

“No.” Emily spoke with a numb voice. Your mom took a step back, understanding that one could only react that way for one thing. Something had happened to the Patterson teenager.

 “Luke isn’t here, is he?” Your mom asked, turning to look up at the tall building of the hospital, “Y/N, hasn’t had a phone. She only found out, but Luke hasn’t been with you-“

“The cops came,” Mitch spoke tucking his upset wife into his arms. He was equally as grief-stricken and bitter, but he had to be calm for his wife. They wouldn’t get anywhere if one of them couldn’t get answers.

Your mom gasped, “No.”

“I always knew that band-“Emily’s own sob cut her words off as her knees threatened to buckle. Your mom helped lead Emily into the emergency room before she jogged off to join you but not before turning to the Patterson parents.

“We’ll meet up. Discuss why we’re all here.” 

Being told you had cancer and then informed your boyfriend died all in one night was the most painful thing you had to live through. It was weeks of screaming, invasive procedures and therapy sessions. Your father came from his business trip to Dubai as soon as he could and didn’t leave your side.

A painful six months rolled with cancer stealing your hopes and a fucking bad hotdog taking your dreams away. Nothing made you curious. Nothing felt worth living for.

Not the realistic watercolour tattoo your parents let you get of Luke’s blue guitar you loved so much. It seemed to have a terminally sick child made it practically impossible to say no to, so you got a tattoo of your favourite lyrics of Sunset Curve.

In pretty font, it said ‘When all the days felt black and white. Those were the best shades of my life’ just like it said in Now or Never. One of your favourite songs, you got the privilege of watching Luke create.

“Mom, can I have a popsicle?” You asked from your bed. Eyes barely open as she nodded off her chair, “My mouth is dry.”

“Of course.” She nodded, leaving the room with a kiss on your forehead. Both of you mumbling I love you just in case. You felt like your clock was close to the end, so every word had meaning.

It was a good day so far; you hadn’t had to press for more pain medication like the last couple of weeks. You had managed to turn to stare out the window at the pretty sky. Your eyes fluttered shut completely content that this was it.

Your mom returned to a room with doctors and nurses trying to resuscitate you with your father screaming. No one could figure out if it was the cancer or the broken heart syndrome that killed you first. Your death was a double blow to Luke’s parents the most, along with Reggie and Alex’s own parents. 

Los Angeles, 2020

So much had changed since you died in 1995. Phones had changed, and buildings were torn down. You changed as well too. In relief physically, you had changed from the gaunt, skinny, pale patient to the girl you had been before the diagnosis.

Your hair now looked as healthy as it had been before you had cancer and you weren’t gaunt looking. You were looked just like you did a few months before you got diagnosed and you hoped so since you were dead. It would have sucked to be dead and beyond ugly.

“Do you think she went on to have a family?”

You kept your attention on the waves crashing the beach content to watch the waves doing the same movement they had since the beginning. You paid no attention to the group walking by. Not until one tripped over you landing in an awkward heap.

“Ouch!” The voice hissed. Your eyes flicked down to Reginald fucking Hastings’s blue eyes in pure shock. You scrambled away from the teenager with a sharp scream that pierced the ghoul group.

“Jesus.” You grumbled pushing the little sand that had stuck somehow to your body made of air.

“Oh my god. I think I just summoned Luke’s girlfriend.” Reggie hissed towards the equally astounded members of former Sunset Curve and current Julie and the Phantoms bandmates.

“No, you idiot we’re dead.” You spoke, taking a deep breath in, “After not seeing you for five years I thought you passed on. I’ve been travelling around America and Canada. Something felt like I needed to come home.”

“When did you die?” Alex questioned sadly when you were quiet. His sad blue eyes unable to leave your expressive face, he hoped somehow you had lived to your 90s and died to come back youthful.

“It’s wasn’t harm-“

“No, Luke. I don’t think I’ll ever positively know what happened, but the night you guys died my life ended as well.” You revealed sitting back, letting the three boys join you for an intriguing story to them. Luke wasn’t hesitant in grasping your hand in his, “Funny enough your bodies were being unloaded in the morgue while I was being told by my Mom, I had cancer. The battle was hard but short.”

“Cancer?”

“Our love story was destined to be tragic, whether it be cancer or a hotdog.” You told the teenage guitarist to experience in the afterlife to be gentle about it. The three boys flinched from the indifference, “Have you visited your parents yet? My parents are home for a few weeks.”

“My neighbourhood was torn down. Alex doesn’t know about his and-“ 

“-I’ve seen my folks once so far.” Luke finished playing with your fingers, “You say our love story was tragic, I say it would be tragic if we hadn’t had the chance in life that we did.”

You nodded your head, “Where have you guys been?”

All three boys took their chaotic turn in describing their last meal to Reggie tripping over you with the belief of walking through you. They were in a band with a lifer who made them visible to the public when playing music together. You told them that your parents would choose a destination from your dream travel journal; you would follow them on the adventures.

Slowly you met Julie who put up a distance as she acclimated to having the girlfriend of her crush around always. Julie couldn’t help the feeling of jealously when Luke focused on the teen ghost girl. She couldn’t even hate you! You were so lovely and welcoming to the girl with respect for boundaries, in fact, you were exactly the girl she would have been friends with. Julie loved Flynn, but she could be over the top and dramatic sometimes.

“Good rehearsal. I’ll meet you outside.” Luke spoke, pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You nodded before walking through the white, painted barn doors.

Everything put away properly; Luke was quick to meet up with his girlfriend for their date. Alex noticed the stare by Julie. He had seen it for the past few weeks since you were introduced to the passionate musician with a beautiful voice.

“I’m really sorry, Julie.” Alex softly told the sad Puerto Rican girl yearning to hug the teenager but alas his ghostly body couldn’t allow it.

“Did I have an honest chance before she came back?” Julie asked. Her doe brown eyes bringing Reggie’s attention to the conversation at hand. 

“No.” Reggie answered this time solemn with his blue eyes holding no mirth or childlike glee, “Luke’s been in love with her for years. She’s his all or nothing.”

“I didn’t have a chance between them, and I don’t want you between them either. It’s not a nice place to be even if I was mutually breaking up with his as well.” Alex soothed the live girl yearning to physically comfort her but alas that damn hotdog ruined everything.

“Luke also said when the first big payment came, he would marry her. He wanted to give her the wedding of her dreams.” Reggie unintentionally rubbed the salt in Julie’s wound on the topic of her tragic love story.

Julie learnt to deal with the pain of seeing Luke, so in love and happier than before you had reconnected. In her fashion, she had hidden a new box for her thoughts that was so well hidden the boys would never find it. It was filled with papers that progressively got less romance angst.

“I’m just saying,” Alex spoke, raising his hands in the air after another one of Luke’s emotional rants on the loss of things in death. Such as marrying you.

“Dude, we’re dead, and our ghost connections happen to either be our band, Willie or a very questionable sketchy vintage magician.” Luke snapped slouching on his couch sulking as you were spending time with your family no matter how oblivious they were to your presence.

“I’m ordained.” Willie supplied sitting next to the blonde drummer who had easily swayed from Caleb to the good side again. At the group’s looks of disbelief, he continued, “I was bored! Took some art classes too. It won’t be the average wedding, but you could still call each other spouse.”

“I can check local clubs for wedding dresses. Flynn can easily put together music and Alex can find a venue.” Julie piped up, avoiding the sympathetic look from Reggie, who still thought the teenager had feelings for his bandmate. She no longer did. 

“You can use one of your rings on a chain as well. Maybe hold off on getting a ring until we get money from the band.” Reggie gave his input, earning himself a proud expression from Alex; an expression the drummer rarely was able to give his friend.

“I guess I’m proposing.” Luke beamed already thinking of ways to make his proposal special, not like being ghosts wasn’t already impressive enough. 

It wasn’t the ideal wedding, but it honestly didn’t matter as long as the two of you were able to vow yourself to each other. It no longer mattered on the details other than you two.

Tag List (PLEASE SEND AN INBOX TO BE ADDED! I CANNOT GUARANTEE YOU WILL BE ON THE LIST VIA POST COMMENTS!)

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[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello! I haven't really been in Johnlock scene, but I suddenly had a MIGHTY NEED for mutual pining between the two, and your fic recs delivered in the best possible way. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing so much about these two! (and now it seems I'm lost to Johnlock, send help, but not really, this is awesome)

Hi Nonny!!

AHhhhh thank you for your kind words about my lists!!! I’m so happy you enjoy!!

You’re in luck, my friend!! I have a Part 2 list of my Mutual pining fics with enough to start a new list, so here we are!! Also, if you’re interested in exclusive pining, I’ve a part 2 to my Pining Sherlock list in its final stages of cleanup, so keep an eye out for that one!! <3 Enjoy!!

MUTUAL PINING Pt. 2

See also:

Mutual Pining Pt 1 

Pining Sherlock || [MOBILE FRIENDLY VERSION]

Pining John

One Sided Pining

Santa Knows by Itsallfine (T, 1,719 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Party, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Matchmaking, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock and John both get exactly what they want from the Yard's secret Santa exchange. Pure holiday fluff.

Like Euphoria and Scotch by FinAmour (M, 1,856 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Fix It, Five and Ones, Drinking, Pining, Second Person POV Sherlock, Armchair Sex, Cracky and Fluff, Sherlock’s Imagination, Happy Ending) – 5 different ways it all could have gone + the one way it actually works itself out.

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

To the Nines by suitesamba (M, 2,724 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Magical Realism, Pining, Angst, John Whump, Time Travel, Fortunes, Time Jumps) – John skips forward in time, and Sherlock reads the signs that point to nine. John knows he’ll eventually be with Sherlock, but the waiting is nearly impossible, and his body is a lot more than transport. A foray into magical realism where all the canon events occur, and a hell of a lot more.

Better Late Than Never by sussexbound (NR (T), 3,021 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4 / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock POV, Love Confessions, Drunk Sherlock / Sober John, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil) – He suddenly wants John Watson out of his bedroom, out of his flat, out of his life, because he has been lying to himself these last few months, he realises. He doesn’t want John here, not with the way things are. He doesn’t want 221b Baker Street to be nothing more than rest stop John returns to on his journeys between women. He doesn’t want to play co-parent if Rosie is going to be snatched away from him and placed in the arms of whatever nameless woman du jour John lands on next. He doesn’t want to keep being so careful, so generous, so, so…

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

Bathroom Accessories by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 3,324 w., 1 Ch. || Sex Toys, Butt Plug, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Horny Sherlock, John’s Patience Wears Thin, Humour, Bottomlock) – John discovers that Sherlock has been playing with some very adult toys in the bath.

Apodyopsis by QuinnAnderson (E, 3,347 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Rough Sex, Table Sex, Anal, Sexual Tension) – Apodyopsis: (æpəʊdaɪˈɒpsɪs) noun. the act of mentally undressing someone. Part 2 of Undressed

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

Sleeping next to you by Salambo06 (E, 5,018 w., 2 Ch. || ASiB Fic, Bed Sharing, Frottage, Mutual Masturbation, Rimming, Anal, First Kiss/Time) – Based on an Anonymous Prompt: "So, that scene from ASiB when Mrs H has been attacked by the American CIA guy & John, Sherlock & she are in Mrs H's kitchen when John says "She’ll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. We need to look after her." to which Sherlock replies with "no". John of course suggested that because he cares about her safety, but maybe he also did it cause he /wanted/ that to happen. What if they finally agreed on letting her have John's or Sherlock's bed & J&S sleep in the same one?" Part 12 of Tumblr Collection

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5,798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) –  When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

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

Time on my hands by Mildredandbobbin (M, 7,179 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-S3, One Night Stands, Mutual Pining, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Sexual Exploration / Discovery, Desperation, Body Worship) – Virginity’s a construct, a concept—what does losing one’s virginity entail for a gay man anyway? Sherlock wants to fill that particular gap in his knowledge but John won’t, can’t, never will assist and there’s only so much desperately unspoken pining even Sherlock can take.

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

You fit me, Sherlock Holmes by orphan_account (G, 10,077 w., 1 Ch. || It’s An Experiment, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Questionable Science) – An unfortunate series of events leads to John accepting being a part of Sherlock's study in physical intimacy. As the days pass by, John realizes he might be in for more than he bargained for. He doesn't entirely mind.

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

Fucking Cake by Random_Nexus (E, 12,965 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Humour/Crack, Inanimate Object Smut, Frottage, “For a Case” / “Experiment”, PWP / Kinky, Mutual Pining, Fluff) – Sherlock brings home a chocolate cake, John finds him about to have sex with said cake, then exceedingly weird hijinx ensue. Part 1 of "Fucking Baked Goods" - Sherlock BBC

Kintsugi by distantstarlight (E, 14,772 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Regret / Remorse, Loneliness, Separation, Drug Use, Healing, Protective John, Sad Sherlock, Dev. Rel., Complicated Relationships, Love, Angst With Happy Ending, Sherlock is Called Freak, John’s Penance, Voyeurism, Doctor/Caretaker John, Guilty John, Detox, Fingering, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Slight Non-Con Turns Enthusiastic Consent, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes becomes estranged from the man he had once considered his best friend after John lets him down horribly in public. It seems that the world's only consulting detective will be on his own once again...or will he?

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Traitor's Gate by roane (E, 17,714 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mystery, Bets and Wagers, Undercover for a Case, BAMF John, Scientist Sherlock, Teasing, Established Relationship, Military Base, Sexting/Texting, Military/Uniform Kink, Frottage, Dirty Sex, Anal, Bottomlock) – John and Sherlock go undercover at a top secret government lab to find out who is selling research. John is back in uniform and Sherlock is back in a laboratory, but they have to pose as strangers. Sherlock thinks he'll have an easy time of it, but John has his doubts. It's up to them to find out who is responsible for putting a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands, and try to keep their hands off each other at the same time.

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

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

You're On the Air by prettysailorsoldier (M, 20,616 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock, Matchmaking, Radio, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Flirting, Bisexual John) – The Consulting Detective and The Woman dominate the airwaves of their university radio station, doling out advice on everything from meeting the parents to sexual positions. When their ratings start to dip before the holidays, however, manager Mike thinks it's time for some fresh blood, and who better to fill in the gaps than rugby captain--and notorious flirt--John Watson? Part 1 of 25 Days of Johnlock

Silhouettes by allonsys_girl (E, 28,585 w., 7 Ch. || Canon Compliant, POV John, Heavy Drinking, Sad/Depressed John, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Foot Jobs, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Cheating, Drug Use/Abuse, Anal, Switchlock, Rimming, Parentlock) – Sherlock and John find comfort in each other's arms, but as ever with these two, it's not your typical relationship. It's fluffy at the beginning, gets deeply angsty in the middle, gets porny at the end.

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

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

Sentenced by SarahKnight (T, 44,777 w., 30 Ch. || Dev. Rel., Alternate S4 Canon, Drama, Angst, Pining, Feelings are Hard) – Virtual series 4 opener. Sherlock's in prison being targeted by a murderer, John's married to a pregnant assassin and Moriarty's back.

Impossible to Feign by achray (M, 49,204 w., 12 Ch. || TRF Rewrite / Reverse Reichenbach, Suicidal Ideations / Discussions, Drug Use/Abuse, Mutual Pining, Friends With Benefits, John Accepts his Sexuality, Anxious Sherlock, Meddling Mycroft, Depression, Hallucinations, Secret Agent John, BAMF John, Reunion, Make-Up Sex, Ambiguous Ending) – Sherlock leant forward, his long fingers curving round to grip John’s.“I won’t let him win,” he said, eyes hard. “I will do whatever it takes to get you out.”

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

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

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of the SpaceBois go to Space series

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

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

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

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w., 24 Ch. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn't have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU ||  Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 Series by distantstarlight (E, 96,540 w. across 31 stories || Prompt Ficlets, Assorted Kinks, PWP) – A collection in response to the 31 Days of Porn Challenge issued by AtlinMerrik! Thanks for doing that because this has been buttload of fun (that joke never gets old). All stories will be brief stand-alone one-shots.

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

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Mise en Place by azriona (M, 161,004 w., 28 Ch. || Restaurant (Kitchen Nightmares) AU || Sherlock is Gordon Ramsay / Celebrity Sherlock, Restauranteur John, Harry Plays Prominent Role, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, Cranky Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn) – John Watson had no intentions of taking over the family business, but when he returns from Afghanistan, battered and bruised, and discovers that his sister Harry has run their restaurant into the ground, he doesn't have much choice. There's only one thing that can save the Empire from closing for good – the celebrity star of the BBC series Restaurant Reconstructed, Chef Sherlock Holmes. Part 1 of Mise en Place

[miss-choco-chips]

North star

Core disaster week Day 1: Bart’s Birthday// First kiss

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Cassie smiled, sitting down in the picnic blanket. There was so much fucking food- it was awesome.

But not as awesome as being together, all of them. It’d been a while since they managed to meet like this. Kon, particularly, had been hard to pin down and convince to come; but exceptions had to be made on certain days, and Bart’s birthday was the height of special occasions.

Tim, too. She risked a glance at him, stony and silent, and smiled sadly. It truly had been too long.

Sitting each on one end of the blanket, like a flesh and blood compass rose, she smiled again at the unintended philosophy of it all. Bart to the east, bringing the sun into their lives, his energy and warmth a hope for the new day; Kon to the south, lost in memories of the past but a steady, firm ground beneath them; She herself to the west, holding the weight of it all on her shoulders like the sky held the heaviness of sunset; And Tim, sweet, depedable Tim, was undoubtedly their north.

“Cassie? Wonder-honey-baby-dearest girl?”

Snapping out of her reverie, Cassie waved Bart’s concerned face off.

“Don’t worry, just lost in thought. C’mon dude, it’s your day, we can’t start eating until you do!”

A little unsure, Bart sits back on his spot, glancing to his right at Tim. He hesitated a bit, something extremely unusual for a speedster presented with a widely varied menu (Kon and her had flown all over the world picking and choosing his favorites from every possible country- there was a lot).

“He doesn’t mind”, interrupts Kon softly, before anything else can be said.

Taking his word as the gospel it is, Bart’s face broke into the biggest smile and cleaned up his first plate of ‘a little bit of everything’ in less than a blink, already reaching out for more. Without even pausing his chewing, he started babbling out at Tim, who for once didn’t reprimand him on his table manners, nor tried to use a napkin to clean his chocolate-stained cheek. Cassie tried very hard to hide the pang that surprise-attacked her heart.

Desperate for a distraction, she turned to her right, to Conner. He was looking at the other two fondly, a small smile breaking through his face of steel like it was butter.

She remembered back when they were younger, just children, before all the tragedies and the losses; he had smiled easier, then. Wider, unprompted, freely. Giving that handsome smirk like it was candy on halloween.

“It was a good idea to come here”, he acknowledged, once again making her snap out of her head.

“One day, you’ll just accept that all my ideas are good.”

“Do I need to remind you about the deal with the beet demon?”

“That wasn’t that bad.”

“Cassie. We had to eat borsch for every meal. For a month. I don’t think Bart ever forgave you about that.”

They both waited for a second to see if the speedster was about to interject, but he seemed to have missed their conversation, regaling Tim with a tale of his latest training session with Wally.

“Anyway”, Kon coughed, drawing her back to their moment, “it really was. I… I know I wasn’t the easiest person to convince, so..”

“‘The easiest person’? I had to track you down across an entire hemisphere, lasso you like a wild animal and drag you here kicking and screaming. Literally. My bruises have bruises.”

“Anyway, thanks. I… needed to see you all again. I never thought we’d be able to just… sit here and enjoy ourselves, without… you know, all the…”

“Angst?”

“... yeah. How did you even manage to secure us this spot?”

Cassie smiled, leaning back against her arms, enjoying the sun on her face.

“You can thank Tim’s brother for that. I made him promise to make sure no one interrupted us today.”

The other meta snorted.

“It’d be a cold day in hell before I thank Nightwing for anything.”

She winced a bit, but refused to let the implications ruin her good mood. “Come on, you know he’s not my favorite person in the world, but he’s really doing his best to be here for” -a quick glance, Bart still talking his heart out to Tim- “the new Robin. If you can bury the battle axe...he’s not so bad, nowadays.”

Unsure, he shrugged.

“I don’t really care if he discovers the cure to cancer and spends the rest of his life in seclusion as a monk. If I see him on fire and I have a big water bottle, I might help him put it out- after taking a few drinks, first. But that’s as far as I’d be willing to go for him.”

Considering the numerous times Kon had tried to outright attack the older vigilante, Cassie was going to take it.

“How's Jon?” she asked, subject change as unsubtle as a kick to the chest, taking a delicious french pastry between thumb and forefinger and examining it.

He copied her, selecting something brown and salty-looking from the assorted items

“Nothing new. He’s still a better mentor than Supes, though his choice in friends leaves much to be desired. Still, like I told you, I’m… better? I think?”

A pause, as he washed down whatever he ate with a raspberry slushie. Bart’s incessant chatter, once annoying, was now a beautiful background noise. He was just so damn happy, Cassie felt more accomplished even than the time Diana first told her ‘good job’ after a spar. All he’d asked her for his birthday, soft and broken among his tears, had been this; just the four of them, together.

And she’d done her best to make it happen, securing this place and guilting Kon into accepting. She’d done it, and the memory of Bart’s genuine laugh as he told Tim about his last caught villain would -hopefully- be enough to deter the nightmares sure to come with sunfall.

“Anyway, he’s good. What about Donna?”

Cassie let her head fall back between her shoulder blades with a groan, closing her eyes against the glaring midday sun.

“Ugh, don’t remind me. I love her to pieces, but honestly? I can see why my mom has so many grey hairs. Diana is lucky she’s perpetually young and perfect and thus doesn’t need to deal with stress lines. If this is what I was like when she trained me, I have a lot to apologize for. Starting, but not limited to, our days in Young Justice. We did so many stupid things back then.”

“So, the Titans are a riot?”

“They are a bad influence, and I hate how they taught Donna to disobey when I tell her to go to safety and let me do the fighting, but honestly, it’s so much like looking at our past, I can’t help but want to wrap them up in a blanket and wish them luck.”

“I wish you luck. This is why I refuse to take a younger hero under my wing. Too much responsibility.”

“You are a weak bitch. Even Bart is mentoring someone. We have to nourish the younger generation, Kon. Think of the children.”

“You are nineteen, stop talking like you just turned seventy.”

“Well, Cissie is retired. It’s not such a stretch.”

“I’ll tell her you said she’s old.”

“Don’t you dare.”

After those first few hiccups, the rest of the afternoon went smoothly. Uncharacteristically restrained of them, no food fight ensued, but even so it was a pretty fun day. They caught up with each other, teased about past exes and questionable fashion choices, and every silent, solemn moment was endured with joined hands and hearts, a united front against the grief.

Bart’s wet eyes shone, filled with gratitude, when he blew the candles. Cassie caught the exact moment on camera, having learnt the value of getting those precious seconds immortalized forever somewhere other than her own mind.

He kept his wish to himself, but it wasn’t really a mystery. Just by the way he glanced at Tim, they could harnett a pretty solid guess.

Heartache was a familiar, almost comforting feeling to her now, but the wave of raw emotion that almost washed her away at Kon’s crystalized eyes and Bart’s trembling hands gave her pause. Cassie looked away from them for just a second, giving herself this moment of weakness, and in the fleeting light of sunset, she could have sworn she saw a familiar face, looking over them from the shadow of a tree, smiling fondly.

But it was missing with her next blink, so she just shook her head to dispel any traces of wistfulness and turned back to her boys.

It was in silence that they picked up their stuff. Super speed would have made it a chore of just a millisecond, but none felt the urge to run away, so they took their time, hands brushing and then clutching while they cleaned up this sacred place they had borrowed for the day.

Cassie really needed to thank Damian for coming through for her on this. As much as she had despised the other vigilante in the past, a leftover feeling from Tim’s own feud with his older brother, she had learned to forgive and forget. It was, she’d come to accept, the only way she could move on.

Basket finally full with the blanket, empty plates and chocolate stained napkins (Kon’s hand had trembled as he cleaned Bart’s cheek in their leader’s stead), they stood together, arms around each other with the birthday boy in the middle. One by one, they said their goodbyes. It hurted a little less than the last time they could manage to do this, perhaps helped by the fact Kon hadn’t stormed off midway this time.

Cassie smiled. It was sad, it was raw, it was heavy. But it wasn’t broken. She-they- weren’t broken. A puzzle with a missing piece was incomplete, not shattered.

The hand not around Bart’s shoulders stretched, as Cassie’s finger traced the poem they had Bruce engrave in Tim’s tombstone.

“He was my North, my South, my East and West,

My working week and my Sunday rest,

My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;

I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,

Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;

Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;

For nothing now can ever come to any good.”

The kids that had chosen that poem as immortalization of their grief had been drowning in it, she knew. Had needed a way to let the world know “we are not okay, we’ll never be okay again”. It was, maybe, what saved them back then.

But she wished she could crouch down in front of those lost, overwhelmed kids and tell them ‘you never stop missing him, but you learn to be happy again; and he brings you all together, just like the first time’.

So Cassandra Sandsmark, former Wonder Girl (now something more), lets her head fall back, looks at the setting sun and smiles. Because she can. Because she’s alive, and she’s gonna fucking smile for him, if its the last thing that she does.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The shadows of the coming night hide him, embrace him, want to keep him; he puts a stop to that, let’s himself be kept from wandering eyes but avoids the eternal retaking. He’s seen that side of the road and is under no hurry to visit it again.

Instead, he watches the young heroes, bathed in light and laughter, sitting around a dead bird’s grave.

He yearns. He wants, more than anything, to go to them. To join them in the warmth, in happiness. To go back to the only home that never felt anything else than welcoming.

But he has work to do; there’s a new Robin in the streets, and he needs to ensure that what happened to him doesn’t happen to this frail, rough around the edges and full of life bird.

He waits until they pick up and leave, before donning his suit and walking in the opposite direction. Hopefully, a time will soon come when he can smile with them again.

But, for now, the Red Hood has a clown to hunt and a criminal underbelly to conquer.

[sargentr]

my fave drarry fics of all time, part one

so, after discovering i’ve officially been reading drarry fanfic for 4 years now, i decided to show my (quite big) list of favorite drarry fics. there are 46 in total, but i’ve listed 10 down below. the first three are my absolute favorites but the rest are equally as good

most of my notes are fresh from when i wrote them post-reading. i’ve changed some, seeming less like a crazy unstable bitch, but fuck these were all emotional as fuck. enjoy

ps: i dont really know how to tag people i dont follow. i cant try and tag the authors later. soz!!

pps: most of these i read when i was really into a bottom!draco phase, so most of them contain that, some are switch tho (as it should be, yikes past me)

1. Everything That Happen is From Now On / ~43K 

After surviving a brutal assault, Draco tries to navigate the tumultuous waters of his mind, and embrace a bit of love and trust in his life. After all, the smallest steps forward can begin to heal the most fractured of souls

okay so before i get in to how beautiful this story is, i wanna say that it does touch on rape quite explicitly. i cried like an idiot reading the entire thing, because draco’s pain is navigated in the most beautiful and realistic way. it touches on a subject very risky for me, very personal, and i still can’t think of a better drarry story. draco’s very draco about it all, and harry is very harry about it all. it’s just perfect, and messy, and tender, and sad. i’ve reread it more than any other fic, and it doesn’t disappoint. 

2. Pocket Full of Starlight / ~46K

When Scorpius Malfoy and Jamie Potter meet at Quidditch camp, they take an instant dislike to each other. Then they discover their lives are more connected than they could possibly imagine.

ah yes. the magic of kid fics. the TASTE

parent trap au. i read this one recently, like 3 months back, and absolutely fell in love with everything about it, partially because the parent trap is legit one of my top 10 favorite movies of all time. its just. the essence, the IDEA, is soooo mf beautiful. i cant get enough of reading when harry or draco finally meet the other twin, or how they cant stop loving each other even after 11 years. my heart clenched throughout the whole thing. 

3. Temptations on the Warfront / ~180K

Draco Malfoy is forced into hiding with the Golden Trio and dragged into their search for horcruxes. What ensues is a journey of redemption, unexpected friendships and an unwanted, turbulent romance with Harry Potter. Warnings for swearing, sexual content, and dark themes. 

this was the first drarry fic ive ever read, and before this mf i HATEDDD this pairing. so you can imagine how much it took to convince me otherwise, bc i was 100% scorbus before this.

to be fair, horcrux hunting with draco involved is, possibly, my favorite trope ever. its unique. theres tension, both sexual and life threatening. in some ways it romanticizes the war, but fuck it it aint a real war. 

slowest of burns. amazing. life changing. long as hell. nothing else to be said except read it right now i demand it.

4. Clouding the Senses / ~58K

As everyone returns to Hogwarts for a final eighth year, some people are coping better with the aftermath of the war than others. After encountering a very drunk Draco Malfoy one night, Harry realises that maybe those that lost loved ones aren’t the only ones trying to escape the war. Blaise Zabini seems to think Harry can help Malfoy, that the Slytherin might actually listen to him. Harry is not so sure. Dependence is a tricky thing, and one addiction can quickly shift to another.

everyone that reads drarry loves 8th year fics, but this ones just kinda different from all those normal (yet entertaining) ones. draco’s an alcoholic in this, and one night harry tries to help him and whoops, one thing leads to the other and they start having casual sex. its really, really amazing how both draco and harry navigate the addiction, i really cant say it has any flaws. 

i know the author got a lot of hate on their fics and thats why they took them down, but they’re truly one of the best drarry authors out there. i’ve reread this a couple of times, and the tenderness, the love and confusion is all very on character. a+

5. Restraint / ~153K

Someone casts the Imperius curse on Draco Malfoy, and whatever the instructions may be, Harry finds himself an unwilling target. The encounter leaves him torn between pleasure and revulsion. As they fight in the aftermath, a tense game begins. Harry fights to convince Malfoy, and himself, that he was not affected by that initial encounter, or any of those following it.

Faced with a series of escalating encounters, Harry must come to terms with desiring things he never thought he could, things he wishes he didn’t respond to. They each use signs of arousal as weapons against each other in a mad struggle to finally shame the other into backing down for good. 

But it’s only after the game is over that Harry starts to understand.

this is by the same author of clouding the senses, and i read this just this week. at first, it’s shocking, because it plays around with consent in a very unsettling way. when communication comes in, and its starts getting healthier, you can really understand where the author found the idea of playing with consent. it is, in my opinion, 100% characteristic of how they would behave post-war, with that grief and confusion. it’s also dom/sub in some parts, and that’s mf hot. 

it also has my favorite tropes in it, but it’s a spoiler to say which one. i’ll probably mention the trope in the list along with a bunch others, but when u finish reading you’ll know which one ;)

6. Humbug / ~30K

Draco has been taking his casual relationship with Harry for granted. Visits from four key ghosts the night before Christmas just might shake up his priorities in life.

(felt like it was valid to just paste what i wrote in my notes app after reading this)

(FUCKKKKKK HOW TO EVEN START?!!!?? just a fucking bonus, draco is THE best bottom o ever exist i love my bottom son so much. this story isnt only amazing it’s excruciatingly painful to read, harry and draco have been sleeping together but harry is completely in love with him. draco doesnt see how much harry cares for him or how much hes hurting harry by treating their fling like its just that, a FLING. with that, draco is haunted by three ghosts. one of the past, the present and the future, AND THEY SET THAT IDIOT STRAIGHTTTT 1800000/10. the gays DO KEEP MF WINNING!!!

7. in your arms, rests my world / ~24K

Harry presses his mouth to Malfoy's forehead; he wants to tell him that he’ll never leave, that he wouldn’t dream of it.

“You make me feel safe, Potter” Malfoy whispers. “You keep me safe.”

the friends with benefits trope doesnt ever disappoint, top 5 tropes fr, especially if its also 8th year. harry and draco get into their little thing, but of course nothing ever is simple between them. by the preview, you can clearly see how much draco likes harry (also another 10/10 trope, the ‘i’ve been in love with harry potter since i was 11′ one). my only tiny issue with this is that harry fucks it up just a tad, but it of course adds up to the drama of it all, which i absolutely love.

noting it also touches on non-con/rape and, and all in all, is extremely angsty. one i was tense from beginning to end. but i am gonna say it ends amazingly and v happily.

8. Playing the Hero / ~29K

Nobody kissed me like Harry did. He kissed like he flew; he kissed like he duelled - with his whole being, not caring about anything else. I had never felt as vulnerable as I did when he kissed me, seizing all and any control I had over myself. But when Harry kissed me, I felt free...

so the thing about angst is that it ignites that mf feeling side u that even tho it hurts you cannot get enough of. this fic was EVERYTHINGGG. it made cry and laugh and smile. also another trope i absolutely adore is them breaking up and not being 100% ok with that, bc ding ding!! YALL STILL LOVE EACH OTHER!! 

i cant describe how i felt, honestly. i would just paste my notes (i wont bc spoilers) but it looks like i went thru sum shit. deadass

9. fine i’ll hold my breath / till i forget it’s complicated  / ~ 15K with the two parts

Harry and Draco become friends with benefits, and Harry thinks it's more complicated than it actually is.

u know, fluff is a drug. i dont know if its beucase 90% of drarry fics are about angsty get-togethers, but i had butterflies in my stomach when i read this. its adorable. draco is so clearly in love, he jusT SMILES A LOT I CANTTT. 

its cute. i love it to death. have some fluff before starting your day.

10. Un Noël très parisien / ~14K

When Draco crossed paths with Auror Potter at a political function in Paris, he was not expecting their former animosity to change into something rather more intriguing. But he could be certain their casual flirtation would not last more than the night, couldn't he?

look. i know i named a lot of my favorite tropes here, but i cant end this without mentioning how much single dad draco affects me. i love scorpius and how much he changes draco in every fic he appears. i love parent draco and i shant be silent about it (especially when scorpius is legit just a year old in this. i died)

as it states, harry and draco have a one night stand but draco thinks thats it, that it was all he was ever gonna have. he’s wrong of course, and the path it takes, with both scorpius and harry there, just melted my mf heart.

well kids that’s all i have for now. imma work on a part two with 10 other fics i really love!1

[okaybutlikeimagine]

Harringrove for Australia: Ihni♥

hi there!! the gorgeous and fabulous and fantastic @ihni asked me to write this for #HarringroveforAustralia! and here it is!! ♥

prompt: someone wants to get back at Billy so they do something Very Stupid that leads to Billy getting hurt; guilt and hurt/comfort ensues!

tags: mentions of abuse, bruising, implied (light) blood, past child abuse, hurt/comfort, angst, hopeful ending (♥!)

You can catch it on AO3 here if you so desire!

Word Count: 4,452 (i’m legit the worst i’m so sorry i went over my word limit!)

thank you babe and thanks again @tracy7307 for putting the whole thing together!

(kay time to finish and essay, bye, love you)

---

~On Your Best Behavior~

Steve may not be the smartest kid in school. He’s right at average in even his favorite classes, and, truth be told… there’s not a lot of those. He likes to think he has street smarts, but Tommy always has to show him up; has to remind him what position his “rich boy privilege” has left him in. It’s gotten to the point where he feels like there’s nothing special about his own knowledge. He doesn’t know about history, or grammar, or even music, or movies… some days it feels like he doesn’t know anything. Like everyone’s right when they say his head is just there to carry his hair around.

But if there's one thing he knows… one thing he’s absolutely sure of… it’s that Billy Hargrove is the biggest asshole in all of Indiana. And Steve has met Mayor Kline.

But Billy takes it all. He’s the culmination of every jackass in the state, all rolled up into this punk who can’t seem to keep his fucking shirt on. He saunters around like he owns the place, shoving into Steve in the hallways and wagging his tongue like it’s some kind of… threat or something, Steve isn’t sure.

He just blew into town like a wild thunderstorm a little over 2 months ago and already he’s given everyone grief- at least, everyone Steve knows. He cheats on every girl he’s out with (if the girls of Hawkins are to be believed), he’s in detention every day for mouthing off to teachers, he stole Steve’s friends which… yeah he’s having a hard time reconciling that one because if they left that quickly maybe they weren’t too good of friends but still.

And worst of all, what absolutely takes the cake in the Shit-Show that is Billy Hargrove and his bullying….

He picks on the kids.

He picks on Steve’s kids. He scares Max, he bullied Lucas, he nearly killed all of them with his little stunt with the car that first week he was here. He splashed them with rain water once as he drove past them, he kicked over Dustin’s bike when he was standing outside of the arcade, he dropped Max’s backpack in the mud the other day. Hell, one time they were all bouncing a basketball around and Mike missed it and it accidentally rolled over to Billy (who was leaning against a wall smoking a cigarette) who took out a pocket knife and stabbed it, letting all the air out before tossing it back and walking away.

He’s a jerk. An outright punk. And yeah, maybe the stuff he’s done isn’t criminal. Maybe most of it at this point is just kind of bratty and petty. Maybe Max explained away the Lucas thing pretty definitively (with a lot of “He didn’t mean it that way”s and “You don’t understand the whole situation”s and “He hates all boys who look at me”s and one quiet “It’s his dad who’s the strict one…”), but… but still. It doesn’t matter, he’s still an asshole and people shouldn’t just be able to get away with being an asshole like that.

Yeah, sure, Steve himself was kind of an asshole for a little bit. Yeah, sure, Steve got let off the hook a lot of times for doing some of the same things Billy has done. But Steve had reasons. Plus he was young when that stuff happened. He doesn’t do that anymore.

Either way, it shouldn’t really matter why Billy’s doing it or not. They’re horrible things to do and Billy needs to stop.

Which all leads up to right now, which finds Steve in a diner with Dustin, Lucas, and Mike (because Will and Max had a project they had to stay behind and work on). They’re on the heated topic of Billy because apparently the older boy popped the tires on Dustin’s bike.)

“He’s such an asshole.” Dustin lisps into his soda (that Steve was very reluctant to give the boy, but he pouted about his bike enough that Steve gave in.

Mike nods, mumbling angrily into his french fries while Lucas, across from Mike, rolls his eyes.

“We need to do something about him.” Dustin says again, before getting that sly little grin on his face that lets Steve know he’s hatching a plan.

And if Steve’s honest, it’s a very very childish plan. Mike is even adamant that it’s childish, claiming they could come up with something better before switching his tune with very little convincing, citing Billy as a child. So it really is childish. And Steve knows that because someone did this to him once back in the 5th grade. It pissed him off to no end which, honestly, is the only reason Steve begins to consider it. It’s not like any real harm can come of it, it’ll probably just be more annoying than anything which is honestly what Steve wants.

He mulls over it for a second before deciding: “Yeah. Sure. Fuck that guy… tomorrow. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

Dustin and Mike laugh triumphantly with each other.

Lucas has become stunningly quiet as he takes a big sip of his water.

----

When Steve rings the doorbell around 5:30 pm when he’s sure his intended target will be home, the sound comes out as a far more pleasant chime than he was expecting. He doesn’t come to this side of town very often, even though Tommy used to live on this street back when they were kids. It’s not bad, but Steve definitely notices the dying grass, the empty front yard, the worse-for-wear sidewalk…

He waits patiently, mentally preparing what he’s going to say, while hearing heavy footsteps approach the door in a way that Steve can only describe as menacing.

The door swings open, and there before him, in all his 6’ glory, is Billy’s dad. Mr. Hargrove.

He’s only an inch taller than Steve and yet he carries himself like he’s got a foot over him.

“Can I help you?”

Steve clears his throat. The house is deafeningly quiet, even from the fully opened doorway. It confuses Steve for a second, because any time he drops Max off home and Billy is there, the house is raging with music. And Steve knows Billy is here now, if the arrogant blue Camaro is anything to go by.

“Hello! Mr. Hargrove, right?” Steve offers his hand up, putting on his best ‘good rich boy’ voice that he saves specifically for meeting friends of his parents. “Steve Harrington.”

“Harrington.” Mr. Hargrove says with some kind of bitter admiration in his voice. “I’ve heard about your parents.”

Steve isn’t surprised. Neil takes his hand firmly. It feels like a power move, how hard the man grips, but Steve does his best to rival the strength. He needs to be as credible as possible here.

Steve just isn’t quite sure what to say about his parents. He opts for a charming smile that doesn’t quite disarm Mr. Hargrove like he was hoping.

“So,” Mr. Hargrove begins, letting go of Steve’s now sore hand. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, well Mr. Hargrove-”

“Go ahead and call me Neil, son.” The man says in a way that feels more intimidating than he thinks it should. Steve hears a door close rather harshly from inside the house. Mr. Hargro- Neil grimaces at it for a split second.

“Okay uh… Neil. I just wanted to talk to you about your son. Your son is Billy Hargrove, correct?”

“That’s correct.” Neil’s face stays as stoic as before.

“Well I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but I felt someone should bring it up with you. Your son has been a… a… menace. To a lot of people at school.”

Steve worked through so many words in his head and menace is what tumbles out of his dumb, nervous brain. It’s like he’s holding cotton in his mouth, he feels so stupid.

It does the job though. If human eyes could turn red, Neil’s eyes would be like a firetruck. Or maybe the fire itself.

“He has, huh?”

“Yes, sir.” Steve hates saying sir. Feels he needs to, here. “And outside of school as well. To a lot of little kids and… and even to your younger daughter.”

Steve knows Max isn’t his biological daughter. At least, he’s pretty sure. Pretty sure the dad is Billy’s and the mom is Max’s. But it slips out before he can stop it. More cotton balls falling from his mouth. Still, it’s working as he meant it to.

Right? This is what I’m trying to do?

Because suddenly, seeing the tension in this man’s jaw and the fire in his eyes, Steve’s not quite so sure he wants to be here anymore.

“Oh really? And have your parents witnessed this?”

Steve blinks. He doesn’t really understand the question.

“Uh… excuse me, sir, my parents?” Steve starts to pick at the side hem of his jeans.

“Yes.” Neil’s teeth are clenched. Steve fights not to take a step back. “Your parents. Do they notice too?”

Steve really has to wrap his mind around the question before he can come up with an appropriate answer. This man has heard of his parents, probably because people gossip. If people are gossiping, it’s probably about their money. It’s always about their money. Their influence even though, if anyone were to ask Steve, they don’t really have any. They’re never around to influence the town like everyone seems to swear they do. They just have money, and apparently money talks. As far as Steve is concerned, it’s more of a whisper, but he knows not everyone feels the same way. He knows someone who lives in a house like this, with untended gardens and unpaved walkways, probably doesn’t feel the same way.

He thinks he has an answer now.

“Yes, they have noticed. They think it’s a little… embarrassing.”

Neil looks like he’s going to growl. Steve takes that step back now, even though he doesn’t think about it.

“That’s very interesting.” Neil really might as well be snarling at this point. “Well, thank you for telling me, son. I’ll definitely have a chat with William.”

Steve nods his head and before he can think about it or even say a word, the door is in his face and the man is gone, the only thing left behind being the sound of heavy footsteps.

Steve feels like he’s in a bit of a daze as he walks back to his car, but not before tripping over the crack in the poorly paved walkway. And Steve may not be the smartest kid in school, may not be the smartest kid in Hawkins at this moment, but if there’s one thing he does know, it’s that Billy is getting grounded right now.

He’d call this a success.

---

Billy isn’t at school the next day.

Steve tries to pretend like he’s not nervous about it.

And really, he isn’t all that nervous. Sure, it’s in the back of his mind for most of the day, but he’s not exactly nervous. He's not even sure what he would be nervous about.

It’s not until he sees Max yelling at Dustin and smacking him upside the head that he gets a little nervous.

It’s not like it has to be a particularly special occasion for Max to do something like that to Dustin, but still. There’s something in Steve’s gut that tells him he’s involved in this. If Max’s angry eyes that turn on him are anything to go by, he’s right in his assumption.

“Did you come to my house last night?” She asks like she knows. It’s hardly a question.

“Yes.” Steve shoves his hands in his pockets to keep them from lifting in the air in submission.

“You idiots! What were you thinking?” Max yells, smacking Dustin then Mike then Lucas, who whines that he didn’t want it to happen. She then turns to Steve, punching his arm harshly.

“Woah woah woah, what did we do?” Steve asks like he doesn’t know.

“Like you don’t know, you moron! You- you! Did you talk to Neil?”

Steve is so taken aback that he just nods. Max growls.

“You moron! Never come to my house again!” Max’s face is red with anger, absolutely fuming as Dustin and Mike and Lucas sputter all at once in a vain attempt to make things right. But Max isn’t listening, she’s laying her board on the ground, about to skate away.

“Wha-? Max, what’s wrong? We were just-”

“I don’t care what you were trying to do!”

“Your brother is an asshole! You say so all the time!” Dustin yells in a desperate type of defense. Max’s eyes look far more hurt now than anything else, even as she’s still glaring daggers.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She says and there’s a lot less malice in her voice now. Her shoulders are slumped as she starts to skate away.

Steve can’t take it.

“Max.” It’s in vain. He tries harder. ”Max! Where’s your brother?”

“Stay away from him.” Max calls back, pushing off to skate faster.

The boys all look to Steve, who knows in an instant.

---

At least, he hopes he does. It’s not until he’s about a mile out from the quarry that he starts to have second thoughts about if his gut was right.

He’s driving slowly, mind reeling, heart pumping blood so loudly through his ears that he can’t hear his music, when he sees a figure he wasn’t expecting to see.

Hop?

It is. It’s Hop. Standing above a hunched over boy that Steve is praying is the boy he’s been looking for. He knows it is- no one else has that haircut in Hawkins.

Steve steps out of his car gingerly, does his best to avoid twigs and leaves on the ground as he walks up to the pair to listen in on what they’re saying.

Hop’s face is serious, with a tone to match.

“Look, like it or not you’re still a minor. If you keep not showing up for school your parents are gonna get in big trouble.”

“Promise?” Billy’s voice is weak.

“Har har. Get to class tomorrow.” Hop says, entirely unimpressed. A few seconds go by, the white noise of Indiana bugs fill in the silence between them in the strangest way Steve has ever experienced. Suddenly the air is different. It shifts in a very personal way. Steve immediately picks up on the fact that he shouldn’t be here, right before Hop begins again with:

“… You... know, right? If you need someone to drive you I can-”

It’s soft and sincere and Hop’s hand is reaching out towards Billy’s shoulder gingerly, like he’s going to pet a strange animal, when he catches something in the corner of his eye- and that something is Steve.

Hop clears his throat, and Billy looks over to Hop at the sound.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone.” Hop says, voice void of emotion. Billy turns his head just enough to see Steve out of the corner of his eye before he whips back around. “Stay outta trouble, kid.”

And with that, Hop gives what looks like a sad smile in Billy’s direction before leaving. He gives an odd nod of acknowledgement to Steve as he passes, his face looking rougher than usual. More tired.

Steve takes a couple of steps forward, suddenly finding himself in the position of approaching a strange animal. This “strange animal” that he’s seen almost every day for the past couple of months.

Billy’s still sat on the ground, his legs in a folded up form of criss cross that allow his elbows to hook around his knees. Steve thinks he looks rather small like this. He hasn’t moved to look up at Steve at all. Steve isn’t even sure if the boy looked at Hop when he was here.

“Hey…” He starts, hoping it’ll get the boy’s attention. It doesn’t. “Uh, Billy?”

He’s met with the white noise of the screeching bugs. They stand there until Steve can’t take it, which is only about 3 seconds tops.

“Billy?”

Again, nothing. Billy doesn’t even move-doesn’t even flinch.

“Hargrove.” Steve is stern with it this time.

Steve’s getting impatient, but Billy’s a rock. Steve shifts to sit in his hip.

“Hey, asshole!” He calls a little louder than he needs to when he’s a few feet away. The response is rather instant this time.

“You called?” Billy’s voice drawls and it gets under Steve’s skin like nothing else.

“God you’re annoying…“ Steve groans, exhaustion visible in his face and audible in his voice. He rubs a hand down his cheek as his heart races with the words building up in his mouth. The cotton balls are back. “Hey uh… Why weren’t you at school today?”

He doesn’t know what to expect, but the unattractive snort definitely isn’t surprising.

“Ha…” Billy’s laugh comes out more like a puff of air. “Got some new accessories that I don’t think fit the dress code.”

Billy’s looking at the ground when he says it and Steve almost doesn’t hear. Certainly doesn’t understand.

“What? What are you talking about?”

Billy’s shoulders shake and it takes a few seconds of debating if Billy needs a comforting hand or something to realize he’s chuckling and not crying. The boy shakes his head, curly mullet bouncing in a way that’s far too light for how Steve feels right now.

“Why do you care, huh Harrington? Miss me that much?” Billy looks to his feet now. Steve sees the hint of a smirk on his lips, past his curls. “Can’t handle a day without me?”

“Shut up, it’s not like that-”

“You came all the way out here to look for me.”

Steve pauses.

“I was heading here anyway.” He lies. Billy snorts like he knows it’s a lie. Because he does know.

“Right. It’s fine to miss me, babe.”

Steve’s face burns.

“Don’t call me that.” He hisses, blood boiling where it’s pumping fast through his body. Billy cackles for good measure.

Steve’s got half a mind to turn around. Damn this guy, whatever he got, he fucking deserved it. He’s an asshole. Whatever happened should have happened.

But…

But Max. The image of her red face and tired eyes flashes into Steve’s memory. She was livid. Screaming. Close to crying.

You don’t know what you’re talking about.

Steve didn’t like that. Because how is he supposed to know if no one says anything? How is he supposed to understand if no one tells him?

He sighs.

“Look Hargrove I… I’m sorry. Okay?”

He feels defensive. Billy almost looks at him, but looks at Steve’s shoes instead. Steve still can’t see his face from the shadows of the trees and curls.

“Sorry for what?”

“I… I-” Steve stammers because he didn’t expect a question.

“Use your words, princess.” Billy says on a snort and Steve breaks.

“I don’t know! Okay? I don’t know. It’s just… Max was upset this afternoon and said something about your… your dad, I guess and now I… she made me feel awful and I don’t even know why but I do know I’m sorry, alright? So can you just quit being an asshole and accept my apology and-”

Steve’s eyes wander back to the boy at his feet. Billy’s shoulders are tense. Up by his ears, muscles taut all down his back, absolutely strung out.

“What do you know about my dad?” His voice is dark now. Dangerous. There’s a growl in it. A familiar one.

Steve fights his step back.

“I just… Not a lot. I just met him-”

“Shit.” Billy whispers, loud enough for Steve to hear. His shoulders are shaking- like a leaf in the fall wind and suddenly Steve feels that concern again.

Billy throws his head back, eyes closed and grimace on his lips as he shakes his head in what looks like disbelief, hair falling down behind him as the sun catches him and makes his face light up in a way that's near blinding and Steve knows this is a serious situation and thus is definitely not thinking about how the late evening sun does Billy and his gorgeous skin every favor.

“Shoulda known. The rich and famous Harringtons.”

Steve rolls his eyes at the statement.

“We’re not famous. We’re not even that rich, I-”

And that’s when Billy finally turns his head to Steve. Finally lets Steve see what he’s been wanting to see- that stupidly smug face with that stupidly cocky grin, telling Steve everything is fine and-

And-

“Holy shit… Billy, what happened?”

Billy’s face is more purple than it is tan. The skin around both eyes is bruised, his left worse than his right. There’s a bit of red on his cheek and his lower lip is split. The side of his neck has a few bruises as well, and Steve knows just from looking at them that they weren’t done out of passion- not romantic passion at least. No, rather a far more malevolent passion.

And now Steve notices the way Billy is moving. Gingerly and slow, like everything aches. It probably does.

Good lord…

“Billy?”

Billy’s looking up at Steve with the saddest eyes and it hits Steve like a freight train. There’s no anger to be found in them. Any fire that was there is there for a split second before they just turn tired. Bloodshot and worn and tired. His lips curl up into a grin that carries poison in it.

“I ran into a wall. Fell down the stairs.” Billy says, in a voice that tries so hard to be innocent that it’s haunting. “I’m a real clumsy kid.”

Billy’s voice wavers at that last part and it strikes Steve like a knife to his chest. Because he doesn’t want to say it, doesn’t even want to think it… but he thinks he knows. This happened to him once. Those words sound familiar and they link back to when Steve was 13- the first and last time his father ever backhanded him- and Steve could see the fear in both of his parents faces as they implored him to tell everyone he just fell down the stairs.

Steve doesn’t know what to say. What to do with his hands. Just looks into Billy’s eyes until he can’t anymore. Until he’s fidgeting and his mind is racing and his heart is threatening to rip a hole in his chest and-

“Can you do me a favor?” Billy asks, voice quieter than Steve’s ever heard him.

“Uhm…” Steve has to bite his tongue before he starts babbling.

“Real simple favor.” Billy turns his eyes to his own shoes. “Never come by my house again. Alright?”

Steve’s heart drops. He sees Billy heave a heavy sigh after he says those words.

“Wha-?”

“God, Harrington.” Billy’s exasperated. Tilts his head back and this time the light catches all of that purple on his face. It’s a universe of the most confusing pain Steve’s ever felt and he feels stupid even thinking that. “Can you hear me or do you have too much dried hairspray caked in your ears? I need you to listen.”

“I’m listening.” Steve’s voice is near a whisper. He can’t take his eyes off the bruising.

“Good. Don’t come by my house. Ever again.”

Steve feels a lump in his throat. Billy turns blue, expectant eyes on Steve, who just nods in what feels like shame. The most hideous and painful shame.

“Yeah… yeah okay I uh… fuck Billy. Shit, I’m so sorry-”

“Save it.” Billy stretches his legs out in front of him, head tilting back, face catching the sun.

“I’m serious I-”

“I said save it.” Billy screws his eyes shut. “I don’t wanna hear about it, alright?”

Steve nods, heat prickling the back of his eyelids.

Billy sighs.

“I’ll be back in school by Monday. I’ll be sure to be a real asshole. Make up for lost time.”

Billy’s acting like this is normal. Like this isn’t major. Like Steve didn’t just discover something he’s sure in a million years he wasn’t supposed to see.

The curly haired boy looks up with tired blue eyes and Steve can’t do anything. All he can do is watch this boy ache when he moves and it makes Steve livid. Saddened. Frightened.

“Billy… I don’t know who’s doing this-” A lie. He’s pretty sure. He has a good inkling, at least. He saw that man. “But they shouldn’t be. You don’t deserve it.”

And now all Steve can think about is how he didn’t believe that statement not 20 minutes ago. Any action Billy made always left Steve begging for a comeuppance. The boy’s an asshole, sure, but… no one deserves this.

Steve is boiling over it. Boiling in a cold sweat because it took this- this horrific moment of realization to realize the boy’s just a kid. Like him and Tommy and Jonathan. Just a stupid 17 year old who does some bratty things.

Billy looks up at Steve and chuckles in tired disbelief.

“You don’t deserve it.” Steve implores, made desperate by the disbelief he sees in Billy.

Billy just looks up at him, looking utterly hopeless, utterly defeated.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Neither can take their eye off the other, and Steve’s sure it’s for different reasons, but his mind is racing, rushing, flooding with his own- with his own concern for the exhaustion that he sees, with his fear of how long this has gone on, with his (truthfully, surprising) anger towards the fact that this boy’s beauty has been bruised and bloodied and that’s a new revelation… beauty…

Billy looks away first. He tells Steve to go. Raises his voice a bit when Steve takes a step in the wrong direction and moves to sit with him. Insists he’ll see Steve at school and it’s all a blur as Steve’s voice doesn’t allow him to say anything.

And in a few minutes of his rushing blood deafening him, he’s back in his car and Everybody Wants to Rule the World comes to life through the speakers as he drives away from this boy that he didn’t know he cared this much about until… until maybe too late.

And Steve’s blood is rushing, boiling inside of him until... until a near calm smile rests on his lips. A small, hopeful smile.

Because Billy promised to talk to him Monday. To keep their dynamic going.

Maybe the ball is back in Steve’s court. And if it is, he’s definitely running with it.

[bowieandqueen11]

Afraid/ Barry Berkman Angst

Request: hello i love ur barry stories and I was wondering if I could request one where the reader finds out of Barry’s true job and barry tries to get her to stay by saying that he’s a good person and some angst ensues 🤭 thank u keep up the good work 

Hey lovely anon, why you got to make me cry like this??

If Barry Berkman were to tell you when he was ten years old how his life would turn out, he would have guessed he’s be riding a dragon before he guessed this.

Standing in the cold kitchen, he couldn’t fault it for its sleek, methodically planned design; every detail was intricate, every granite counter spotless and stainless with its steel appliances. A clean folded tea towel swished against his hip, nearly falling out of the back pocket of his jeans as his shoes tapped against the tiled floor, enjoying the slight heat that radiated with each movement. His mind was far away, allowing himself to relax for a moment and hum a gentle tune as his fingers went on autopilot with the knife, expertly dicing the garlic cloves, hoping you’d be hungry on this fine evening once you woke up from your nap. 

He smiles softly to himself, imagining the soft snores of you on your pillow, the way your face smooshes down like a marshmallow, the way he wanted to kiss every inch of your cheek but decided instead you needed the rest, and he really needed to make dinner. Turning his back away from the counter to stir the tomato sauce, he doesn’t hear you patter into the kitchen.

He doesn’t see what’s in your hand.

‘B-Barry...why is there a gun under our mattress?’

He nearly freezes for a second, placing his hand down without thinking onto the stove only to pull it away with a yelp when it burns his fingers. He’s almost afraid to turn around, shaking his hand out with a grimace and pretend shock on his face. But Barry had never seen you look this way before as your eyes met his and they dipped; your eyes had a deadness, a stillness. With one look the verdict was told. 

But it was more than that. There was a tenseness you weren’t even trying to mask. He backed away slowly until his hip bumped into the fridge, nothing about this making sense. Not your curling fists or the anger that radiated from your skin. This wasn’t supposed to happen, he was too careful for this, he couldn’t let his defences slip.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. And it broke his heart.

‘Y/n-I-I promise, I promise you, ever since I met you I just- I just.... Shit! I am not good at this-’

‘At what, being a normal, functioning person?!’

‘At feelings! Look, starting from now-’

‘No! No now, Barry! This is it! This. Is. Over. I have to- I have to call the police, Barry, this is FUCKING INSANE!’

You felt emotionally bankrupt. The was nothing left to feel, nothing left to say, nothing left but the void that enveloped your mind in swirling blackness as you dropped your arm, and the gun it held to your side, staring at Barry with a slack mouth and tears beginning to spring up in the corner of your eyes as you tried to figure out how the hell to get out of this situation. He was much broader, and taller, and stronger than you, but you still have the element of surprise, and agility in your hands. You make as if to reach for the carving knife on the counter, its glare harsh and bright in Barry’s eyes as he moves forward to stop you.

‘No, no, hey don’t do that, don’t do that. We can figure this out.’

Reaching over to you, he took the gun from your grasp, trying to ignore the familiar burn of anger that rumbled in the pit of his stomach like a wound as he gazed down at you. But the worst part, the worst bit was the fear. The colour drained from his face, unable to speak, wide eyed, the blood running into his ears as he raised his palms flat against your shoulders, as gently as possible squeezing his fingers into your muscles, trying to get you to look at him.

He kept his eyes steady, resting on your face like they were home, but just briefly, the sorrow already building.

‘I promise, y/n...I’m a good person. I’m a good person- you MADE me a good person, and look, I’m trying, okay, I’m trying to be better, but I need you to trust me, and I need you to forget-to forget, well, about that.’ He threw his head towards the gun he placed in his belt, but you just stayed rooted to the spot, your features buckling just slightly before you spoke.

‘You say that like it means anything. What is love to you? Lying? Who the hell are you, Barry Block?’

Barry had known that to love deeply meant to risk great pain, but the tears that dripped down his cheeks now were proof of how much worse the pain was than he ever expected; they were not quiet and controlled, they fell as fast as the fall rain and he sobbed to draw breath. His lungs heaved and he knew there was no cure for his heart. He slowly bowed his head, crumpling down onto his knees and nearly knocking you over by wrapping his arms around your waist. His grip was as tight as a viper’s, his thumb stroking into your skin as you felt his tears stain your shirt from where his head nestled into your stomach, his stubble itchy from where it rubbed into you. His shoulders fall from where you gingerly place your hands on them, your fingers slowly stroking patterns over their broad expanse as you feel them wobble and shake, his lips falling as he buries them further into you.

‘I love you, y/n, I love you I love you I love you I-I love you. I swear.’

[moonwaif]

Work in Progress Wednesday: “Seven Year Itch”

Sharing my progress on a oneshot I’ve in drafts for a long, long time.

Summary: Seven years after Noct’s disappearance, the kids are not all right.

Pairings: Gladnis, Promptis

Tags:

Bitter exes who are still in love with each other

Angst

Prompto is injured and the bros give him some much needed TLC

Gladio gets vulnerable (eventually)

Trigger warnings: suicide mention, depression, suicidal ideology

----------

Prompto's first perception of the afterlife is a splitting headache. This isn't a total surprise, since he's spent his last three days of existence on a bender. What’s more surprising is that he can't move, or see, and that he seems to be at the scene of what sounds like a lover's quarrel. 

Or more accurately, an ex-lover's quarrel. 

"Oh, okay. So this is my fault then, is it?" The voice is gravelly, familiar. "Well if any of you actually bothered to tell me anything, I might have had time to get there first." 

"Well if you ever bothered to answer your phone, Gladiolus, it might be easier to actually tell you!"

"Right, because reception is so reliable these days. I can't control the satellites, Ignis." 

If Prompto could move, he would rol. his eyes. Is this really his fate—to float suspended in nothingness while Gladio and Ignis hashed out their petty differences right over his deathbed? How disappointing. He'd been expecting more from death—some peace and quiet, at the very least. But ten again, why should his death be any less disappointing than his life? 

'That's always been your problem,' he thinks dismally. 'Unrealistic expectations.' 

A harsh sigh. "There's no use in arguing about it now. What's done is done. All's left to do is wait and see if his condition improves." 

"Hmph. Good thing Cindy had an elixir left, or he'd be a goner for sure. Where'd she manage to get that thing, anyway?" 

"An original she'd been saving, from before." 

"Huh. Explains why it worked so fast. They really don't make 'em like they used to." 

"Yes," Ignis replies softly. "Indeed." 

Prompto's heart sinks. So he isn't dead after all. On top of that, they’ve wasted an entire elixir on him—an elixir that could have been used on someone else who actually deserved it. This really is the worst possible timeline.

"What the hell was he thinking?" The sound of a fist slamming. "I mean, I know this time of year is always kind of rough on 'im, but this was a suicide mission." 

Ignis exhales sharply. "That's exactly what it may have been, I'm afraid." 

"What? No. You're not saying . . ." 

Prompto doesn't like this. He doesn't want to listen to them speculate and dissect his private thoughts like so many insects under a microscope—like a lab specimen. It reminds him of the way they all used to sit around and whisper about Noct when they thought he was asleep, or when he lingered in the bathroom. Time to talk about Noct's feelings, how he was handling things, his lack of appetite, the pained murmurs in his sleep, and didn't it seem like the headaches were getting worse lately--? 

No wonder Noct had hated it. 

"You shouldn't talk like that, Iggy," Gladio says at last. He sounds a little scared. Uncertain. 

"You heard what Cindy said, Gladio. About the refugees." 

A heavy silence. "Yeah." 

"I should have been more attentive." Iggy's voice is tight and harsh, like it hurts to speak. It makes Prompto feel nauseous. "If I had only returned from Lestallum as soon as I'd heard, then maybe--" 

"Hey. Don't do that. This isn't your fault. That outpost needed you." 

"So did Prompto." A brief pause, then, "How did you know about the outpost?" 

A chair creaking. Prompto imagines Gladio shifting, embarrassed. "Word gets around." 

"Does it? Strange—we move in the same circles, yet so rarely encounter one another in the field. I wonder how long it's been since the three of us have all been together like this." 

"Little over two years," Gladio rumbles softly—a reluctant confession. "That camp right outside Ravatogh." 

"Ah. Yes." 

Prompto hears shame in their silence. He knows they're remembering everything, just like he is. He can still taste the blood in his mouth, feel Gladio's hand on his lower back as he spit up thick ropes of saliva onto the cracked pavement. The anger—the disappointment—the grief washes over Prompto now as he lays, immobilized. Like it all happened two weeks ago, instead of two years. 

"Listen, Iggy." Gladio's voice is infuriatingly subdued, like he actually has the right to wallow in his own emotions right now, or something. "I've been thinking . . ." 

"Oh dear. That's not good." 

"I'm being serious," he grumbles. "Look. I know that I . . . messed up. I let you guys down, big time." 

"The past is the past," Ignis murmurs. Prompto suddenly feels a surge of anger for him, too. When Gladio left, Iggy was a complete mess. He couldn't sleep, he threw himself into work with a desperate abandon. Prompto used to have to remind him to eat. So why is he trying to act all cool and poised about it now? 

"It's not the past," Gladio answers quickly. "Not for me."  

Ignis says nothing. A rapid tapping ensues. Gladio must be jiggling his foot.   

"I don't expect you to forgive me," he continues. “I’m not asking for that. But I wanted to tell you, not a day goes by I don't regret what I did. I know I'm not really around, but I never stop thinking about you guys. I never stop thinking about you, Iggy. I . . . well shit, I never even stopped l--" 

"Are you okay, Ignis?" 

A third voice, but one that Prompto recognizes—one that he knows Ignis recognizes, too. 

"Yes, thank you, Aeleus. Was there something you needed?" 

"It's late. I just . . . wanted to check up on you." 

"Ah. Yes, well, I appreciate the concern, but please don't stay up any later on my account. You have an early hunt tomorrow. You should rest." 

"All right. I'll see you back at the house." 

There's scoffing, followed by heavy footfalls coming from Gladio's direction. It doesn't take a wild imagination to know that the glares being tossed around the room are sharper than the Star of the Rogue. Ignis remains neutral. 

"Good night, Aeleus." 

A pause, then the door shuts. Gladio at least has the decency to wait until the footsteps have retreated before he lays in. 

"That supposed to be my replacement? What a downgrade." 

"His name is Aeleus," Ignis says coldly, "and he's a friend with whom I occasionally spar and share a good book." 

"Sparring and reading? Yeah right. I know how that goes." 

"I must ask you to refrain from being so crude." 

"Why? I've heard way dirtier things come out of that pretty little mouth of yours." 

"Because you don't have a right!" 

There it is, Prompto thinks with some relief—the anger. It laces Ignis's words like venom. 

"You don't have the right," he says again. "To waltz back in, to dredge up the past. To pry into my personal affairs. As if I should feel ashamed over having someone who likes to read to me, who eats my cooking, to train with, and yes, who fucks me when I bloody well feel like it!" 

Prompto can hear the sound of distant voices. The night shift, he thinks vaguely; they must be getting ready to patrol. 

"Let me guess." Gladio is unexpectedly calm, almost resigned. "You haven't told him about us." 

Ignis sniffs. "Do you ever tell any of your paramours about me?" 

"Does he make you happy?" 

"At least he's here." 

Prompto's eyelids flutter open. 

The light is glaring. 

[Draft ends here]

Thanks for reading~~

[cutelipsonaboy]

Hi, i was wondering if you could write a Elliot x Reader imagine where Elliot goes to see Krista and he tells her how much he misses you, since you are away on a business trip, and one night he gets really lonely and gets upset but luckily its the night you come back and you find him crying so you comfort him. Thank you!!!

What a sweet idea, hope you like the read xx

Y/N = your name

title: The Silence

genre: angst

words: 2229

I’ve been seeingKrista for a long time now; sometimes out of choice, most of the time mandatory.She’s managed to get a lot of things out of me over the years that, until thatpoint, I fully intended on taking to the grave. We’ve spoken in depth about my drughabits, abhorrent thoughts surrounding world corruption, hell, even the factthat I see my dead father every now and again, and she’s never once made mefeel like I was doing something inherently wrong. That’s not to say she hasn’t triedto change me; we’ve had our fair share of fights, but I never hold any of itagainst her because I can recognize the toxicity of all those things. It’s herjob, after all, to guide me in the right mental path; I’m just stubborn. I knowthat. What I didn’t expect, however, was to ever be in the position I’m in now,talking about this. Krista puts her hands neatly in her lap and almosthesitates before she speaks.

“Elliot, I’m worriedthat you’ve become a bit emotionally dependent on (Y/N).���

“What’s thatsupposed to mean?” I ask. It comes out a lot more aggressive than I intend, butthat’s purely because I’m embarrassed. Me? Dependent? Krista purses her lips asthough she’s about to say something she knows is going to upset me. I’velearned to chart her facial expressions by this point.

“She’s been gonefor six days now, correct?” I nod but I don’t look at her. “And you called mehere for an emergency appointment. Elliot, I thought something tragic might’vehappened.”

“I’m allowed tomiss her.” I mumble through dry lips. She’s right though. I’ve never seenKrista on a day other than when I was scheduled to. But I didn’t know who elseto go to.

“I know that. Ofcourse you are.”

“Shouldn’t you behappy I’m not alone anymore?”

“Well, it’s notreally about that, is it? Of course I’m happy for you, Elliot. But you justsaid–”

“I know what Isaid.” A fraught silence. I can feel myself forming walls around my mind toavoid the anguish that inevitably follows vulnerability.

“Look, I’m yourtherapist. I have to show my concern when a patient says something like ‘I’mgoing to kill myself if she doesn’t come home soon.” I look away from her andstare at an unidentifiable stain on the wall to keep myself from biting my lipsraw. “Elliot, what are you thinking about?”

It’s obvious,isn’t it? (Y/N). Her smell. The way she holds me into her chest for hours withoutspeaking because she knows I just don’t have the words sometimes. How much Ihate that I need it. The silence,since she’s been gone.

“Nothing.” I say.Krista frowns. She knows I’ve already initiated emergency shutdown in my brain.

“Perhaps yourreactions are a result of something deeper, Elliot.”

“Never mind,Krista. I’m sorry for wasting your time. I’m not going to kill myself, I wasjust…kidding.” Some joke. I snatch up my backpack and stand up from the chairbefore she can even react.

“Maybe if you talkabout how you’re feeling I can understand a little more. Take a seat, Elliot. I’mno stranger.” She’s right. I wonder if her masters in psychology has given herthe ability to smell out when her patients want to say more but are afraid to.I sit back down. “Why do you feel so anxious when (Y/N) isn’t around?” Thewords are begging to pour out of my mouth but I’ve got it on latch. “Go ahead,start small.”

“When I’m aroundpeople I still feel… alone. Like nobody can hear me.”

“Why do you feellike no one can hear you?” She crosses one leg over another and leans back intoher chair.

“Because, I don’ttalk.”

“What do you mean?”This is hard. I look at Krista’s face and I wonder if I’m just another patientto her. I wonder if she really wants to help me or if it’s all for a paycheck.The words trickle slowly. If not for her, for me.

“I mean of course Italk but… it feels like my mind isconstantly running. Like a million things are sprinting around and bouncing offthe inside of my skull and I can’t get any of them out.”

“You are a deepthinker, Elliot. That’s something I’ve learned about you. You’re alwaysthinking, and while that’s not a bad thing, it’s healthy to take a pause oncein a while to breathe.”

“It feels like Ican’t breathe sometimes. But (Y/N), she can hear me. Even when I don’t talk.”For some reason, this pulls a smile out of the corner of Krista’s lips.

“What does she do?”She asks. I run my hands through my hair a few times.

“I don’t know. Idon’t know why she cares. But she does.”

“Everyone deservesto be cared about.” What a completely delusional statement. Not me. Not afterthe things I’ve done. “And she’s not the only one, Elliot. You are not alonejust because she isn’t here. Have you guys been talking?”

“Yeah, kind of. I don’treally like talking on the phone but I’ve been calling just to hear her voice.”

“Well, maybe youshould consider calling her whenever you’re having a bout of anxiety. Thatmight help ease it a little bit, at least until she’s home.”

“She didn’t pickup any of my calls today.” The words come out dryly.

“She is away onbusiness. Have you considered the fact that she’s just been busy?”

“It went straightto voicemail every time. It’s been hours and she hasn’t said a word.”

“I understand howeasy it is for the mind to go immediately into the worst-case-scenario, but that’swhere you have to reason with yourself. If she’s that special to you then you haveto understand she’s most likely not ignoring you, Elliot.”

“She always picksup my calls.” I’m getting more insistent because Krista doesn’t seem to get it.“What if something happened to her? How the fuck would I find out if she’sacross the country in Seattle? She could be dead…or…” I have to take a momentto catch myself. A horrible, familiar feeling washes over my chest and spreadsdeeper into my body. “Or she could be fine.”

“Exactly.”

“And she’s justrealized she doesn’t need me.” This makes Krista frown again, but I couldn’tcare less. I feel like the weight of the world has settled itself on my throat.

“Jumping to conclusions like that is only going totear you apart, Elliot. You have to learn how to reason with the voice in yourhead that tells y-“ I don’t even let her finish. I grab my backpack and headout the door with my head ducked down. Krista doesn’t call after me.

My apartment is inshambles when I walk in; not that it was any different with (Y/N) here, but atleast she made the mess feel like home. I start picking up some of the clothesoff the floor and run across one of her Sonic Youth t-shirts I’ve been sleepingwith. I press it into my face and take a long inhale to scrounge what I can ofher smell.

It’s funny howfast things can change, even after long periods of stagnant routine. A year agoI was living here alone. The only people who ever visit me are Darlene and Angela,and even that is a rare occurrence. Loneliness owned a large part of me. Itnestled itself into a deep, dark crevice of my mind that I never kept an eyeon, and it grew. After I met (Y/N), it was still there; reared its ugly headwhenever she was asleep before me, or when she got home late. But all thatmattered was when she silenced it. As soon as her eyes would open, as soon asshe walked in through the door and kissed me, I forgot all about it. Lonelinesslost its power to her.

But now she’sgone. I slide my phone from the pocket of my jeans and desperately try callingher again. The picture I have for her caller ID pops up on my screen. It’s one ofher kissing me on the cheek on Valentines Day and I almost look content. Thefirst Valentines day I ever spent with someone else. How could a picture thathas so many happy memories tied to it, bring so much grief? The voicemailrecording answers and something comes over me that is even worse than the loneliness.It almost feels like anger, but darker. Loss, maybe. Mistrust. My heart feelslike its fighting to come out of my chest. Just like that, she’d decided toabandon me just like everyone else. Why did I ever think it would be anydifferent?

I flip the table overin a fit of blind rage and all of its contents go flying across the room.Flipper whines at my feet, afraid of what’s happening. I’m afraid too, so I can’toffer her any condolences. I storm into the bathroom and stare at myself,buggy-eyed. What looks back at me is repulsive, naïve, undeserving. I take thehairbrush (Y/N) left on my sink and throw it at myself, smashing the mirrorinto fragments but I can still see this gaunt, pale face through it all. Ipunch the mirror again until it splinters so much I become unrecognizable. Isit my fault? How could I have not learned by this point that good things willnever stay by the side of someone as miserable as me?

When my ears stop ringingI can hear Flipper barking frantically in the other room. I wash my hands ofthe blood and lean on the reddened sink as I chew the inside of my mouth,trying to calm down. It’s alright, I’ve been alone, I can learn to be aloneagain. Maybe loneliness is all that I have. It’s safe, at least, and consistent.I close the bathroom door behind me so Flipper doesn’t cut herself on theglass. She won’t stop crying. Her whole body jumps every time she yelps. The noisejust adds to the chaos in my mind.

“Flipper!” I snatchher up in my arms and realize the door is being knocked on rigorously. I hadn’teven heard it from the bathroom. I pet Flipper a few times and place her backon the ground where she continues to bark. Flashbacks of 5/9 and the chaos thatensued wash over me; the danger, the loss. Dark Army? FBI? Why would theybother knocking?

Suddenly theknocking stops and I realize I’ve been standing in the middle of my apartmentstaring at the door. The doorknob begins to jiggle and I fear that it could beanyone. Slowly my feet slide towards the door. I think about grabbing a knifejust in case.

“Elliot!” The doorswings open and (Y/N) drops her bags to the floor. “I almost didn’t think youwere home! Why didn’t you answer?” My jaw drops open and releases an exhalethat purges whatever feelings of grief I had just conjured. “Wow… what happenedin here? You have a big rager when I was gone?” She points towards the table I knockedover. Despite the mess, her face gleams with excitement to see me and her voiceechoes like a familiar tune over all the madness in my head. I run over to herand wrap her in an embrace so tight, she laughs.

“What are youdoing here?” I can’t ask her soon enough.

“I came home earlyto surprise you! We finished a few days early, and Seattle was a bore anyway.”(Y/N) kisses me and plops onto the bed. I feel like I’m in a dream and I’m notallowed to touch her. Her presence alone, a shining light in a desolate place. Istare at her and wonder how she always manages to catch me when my arms andlegs are hogtied and I’ve tossed myself into a hole. “Well? Come here! I need asnuggle after all that traveling!” She kicks off her sneakers and pulls her shirtover her head, patting the mattress beside her. I shuffle over without saying aword like a catatonic patient in a psych ward.

“I thought… youhad left me.” The words roll out of my mouth like lead balls.

“What in the worldare you talking about? I couldn’t wait to get out of that place. I’m sorry I missedyour calls, I was on the plane. And I wanted it to be a surprise, but I forgotyou hate those.” She laughs and it fills the room with color. I slide into thebed next to her and pull her into my chest. “I bought you some cool things fromSeattle though, wanna see ‘em?”

“No, not rightnow. Let’s just lay here.” I stroke the back of her head and soak in as much ofher as I can. She traces a finger up and down my back and I can feel the stressleaving me, all of it.

My questions areanswered through the silence. She is my angel.

[cynicalkairos]

Saturday Night’s Alright for Fighting

CHAPTER THREE

Word Count: 2333

Warnings: Mentions of alcoholism and drinking alcohol, implications of drinking alcohol, language (as always), brief mentions of violence, self-doubt

Summary: Days have passed and the others watch Ted and Henry fall apart without each other. This is Ted’s chapter.

A/N: This is a bit longer than expected, but it’s okay. Enjoy a hint of fluff in this angst.

Previous || Next

———

Days passed and Emma watched as both Henry and Ted deteriorated into former shells of themselves.

Without any surprise from the other residents in the house, Ted regressed back into his heavy drinking habits and reputation as an alcoholic. Bottles and bottles of liquor disappeared almost as quickly as the fight occurred and it was not too long before Ted emerged and claimed more. He moved into one of the spare rooms and spent most of his time there, drinking and relishing in the alcoholic haze that ensued. Emma attempted to talk to him, but he refused to talk to her because he thought that Henry sent her to talk to him. He closed the door on her time after time, only to relish in his drunken stupor once more.

As a last resort, Emma convinced Paul to talk to him, hoping that his friendship with Ted helped. Paul stood in front of the door nervously and went to knock on the door until it flung open rapidly. Ted leaned on the door and nonchalantly looked at Paul. He reeked of alcohol and sweat and he looked absolutely plastered. His hair fell in his face and he almost had a complete beard on his face. Ted cleared his throat and said, “What the fuck do you want? Is this another stupid attempt to get me to apologize to Henry?”

Paul’s eyes widened and he shook his head violently. “I just want to talk. Emma told me what happened and…I wanted to hear your side.”

Ted raised an eyebrow and chewed on his lip, before letting Paul inside. The room was filthy with alcohol littered everywhere and everything in total disarray. Ted closed the door behind him and stumbled over to the bed, sitting down abruptly and asking, “So, what do you want to know?”

Paul stood in the corner and placed his hands in his pockets, thinking about what he was going to say, before settling on, “How did it start?”

“If you’re looking for some juicy gossip—”

“I just want the truth,” Paul admitted. “You look like shit and it’s not a good look on you.”

“Gee, thanks, Paul.”

“No problem. Look, we’re all worried about you. I am, Alice is, Bill and Charlotte are most definitely are, even Emma is.”

“And? Why should I care? If I knew that you were just going to guilt me into—”

“Just stop!” Paul pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Ted, stop. I’m here for your sake. Look at yourself. You’re stuck in this shithole because you can’t say three simple words.”

“We both know it’s not that easy. Besides, it’s not like Henry wants to speak to me anyway.”

“You know better than I do that he does. I bet he’s more worried about you than himself.”

Ted scoffed. “No, he’s not. He’s probably worried about saving the world more than me.”

“Stop with that bullshit. He is. You just don’t want to admit it to yourself.”

Ted went quiet for a second, scratching the side of his head and nodding, saying, “Okay, whatever.”

“Alright, then,” Paul started and trailed off while gathering his thoughts. “Back to the beginning, how did this all start?”

After a while, Paul decided he was not telling him, so he turned to leave. Just then, Ted said, “It was really late one night about a week ago...”

———

It was when Ted heard footsteps in the bedroom that he knew Henry was in the room after he exited the shower. He looked at his watch and the time read, 10:06. Now, this would have been a normal occurrence had it been for Henry’s absence throughout the late morning and the entirety of afternoon and evening. Ted frowned as he wrapped the towel around his waist, wiping away a gap in a mirror to look at himself. He tossed his hair and after being satisfied with the results, walked into the bedroom. 

Henry was taking off his shoes and placing them on his shoe rack, walking around the room and putting things in their rightful places. While doing this, Ted took in Henry’s figure. He looked different somehow like he’d been outside. The knees on his pants were covered with dirt and dust as was the rest of his clothes really upon further investigation. His hair was matted down with something, but he couldn’t tell what. Henry just looked...different and Ted didn’t know how to word how. 

Henry noticed Ted’s presence after a minute and cleared his throat, a blush creeping up on his cheeks when seeing his intent gaze on him. He looked away to place his watch on the dresser, saying, “Oh, hi, Ted. What’re you doing?”

Ted snapped out of his trance and then regained his composure, before sauntering over to Henry and wrapping his arms around his waist. “Just enjoying the view, babe.”

“I figured,” Henry replied, turning around to face Ted and wrapping his arms around his neck. 

“Where were you? You missed dinner. I was worried.”

“I apologize for causing you grief, but I was just working.”

“I checked in the lab and you weren’t there.”

“I... was out in the garden. Must’ve taken longer than I thought.”

Ted didn’t believe him but nodded anyway, pressing a kiss on his forehead and then his cheek. “Just tell me next time, okay?”

“I will. I promise.”

Henry pulled Ted in and kissed him gently out of reassurance. All of Ted’s concern for the situation melted away as the kiss deepened and he felt the fabric of his partner’s turtleneck press against his chest. Henry ran a hand through his hair and Ted rubbed circles into Henry’s hips. Soon, Henry broke the kiss and rested his forehead on Ted’s. 

The two of them stayed in that position for a while, swaying slowly to no particular rhythm. Neither of them knew that they were moving unless someone else interrupted the moment to let them know that they were about to run into a coffee table or they noticed that they moved from one spot to another. This just occurred naturally as Henry or Ted never stopped moving. Henry seemed to always be darting from one place to another with some sort of idea that his mind manufactured and Ted’s mouth seemed to never cease talking. 

“I’ll be back. I’m going to take a shower,” Henry said after recognizing his surrounding once more and separated from Ted just enough to look him in the eye.

“Okay. Don’t take too long,” Ted replied and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Ted let Henry leave his arms and he watched him go. He sighed and changed, before getting into bed. He knew that Henry was hiding something from him, but he didn’t want to pry. On the other hand, he needed to know if he was okay. So, Ted got in bed and left only the lamp next to him on.

Henry returned soon after his shower in sweatpants. That was when Ted saw the damage. “Holy shit,” Ted thought to himself as he examined his partner from afar. Henry’s arms were covered in scratches and bruises with some looking deeper than others, but the most notable mark on his body was a large bruise on his shoulder. More damage was scattered across his back, refuting the lie of gardening.

“So,” Ted spoke up, startling Henry and making him almost drop the shirt he was holding. “I didn’t know gardening was that rough, Hen.”

Henry looked up at him in surprise and quickly pulled the shirt on. “Ted! I thought you were asleep.”

“Nope. I’m clearly not. Are you going to tell me how all that happened?”

Henry walked over to the bed and sat down on the end of it, opposite of Ted, before responding by saying, “In the morning. You looked tired.”

“That’s a lie and we both know it,” Ted said, glaring at Henry the entire time and not averting his gaze. “So, what were you doing?”

“I went on a supply run.” 

Ted’s brow furrowed and his jaw fell slack slightly out of shock, before mustering up the words to say, “Without me?”

“I didn’t want you to get hurt. I know how dangerous they can be.”

“Yeah, I can see that! Henry, I don’t care about getting hurt as long as I know I’m there to protect you.”

“I know, but—”

“Henry, babe. It’s not safe out there. You shouldn't have gone alone.”

“I was going to ask you, but—”

“But what?”

“Can’t you understand that I didn’t want you to get hurt?” Henry asked too loudly, tears brimming his eyes. He crawled forward and laid next to Ted on the bed. Henry took Ted’s hand with both of his and stroked it gently with his thumb. “I just wanted to protect you.”

“And I can’t protect you if I don’t go with you.”

“I know. I apologize for not asking you to go with me.”

“Okay,” Ted replied after a beat, bringing Henry’s hands to kiss them. “What happened to your chest, babe?”

“I got in a fight. It was mainly debris or other minor things.”

“And that bruise?”

“Well, one found some type of a blunt object and then hit my shoulder with it,” Henry confessed, looking at the sheets. “It’s fine, though. I killed it quickly and escaped.”

“Good.” Ted smiled and moved under the covers. opening up the blanket for Henry to crawl underneath. Henry joined him and engulfed Ted in a tight embrace. The smile on their faces only grew as Ted held Henry equally as tight and Henry buried his head into his neck, falling asleep in no time at all.

———

“I found out the next morning that not only did he get some of the things that we were running out of, but he also found a sample from a dead one and brought it back. And ever since that night, it’s been...tense. We both kind of avoided each other unconsciously. I know I should’ve apologized, but...” 

While Ted talked, Paul could not help but sympathize with him. He tried to imagine what that was like and his heart sped up at the thought of Emma getting hurt or risking anything for him. And Paul knew that she would do it without hesitation. 

He remembered that night that Ted described at dinner. For once, he was quiet and it was strange. Paul hated to admit it, but Ted kept the conversation going without awkwardness, whether it just be him and Henry talking or Ted replying sarcastically to someone else. That night, he just stared silently at Henry’s seat, occasionally putting spoonfuls of food into his mouth. Worry was plastered across his face. Emma tried to talk to him about it, but it took Charlotte to calm him down and convince him to try to sleep. That night and the past few days only showed how much Ted truly loved Henry, even if neither of them saw that.

Paul frowned when he heard Ted pause and put his head in his hands. He rubbed his face and looked at the floor. Paul noticed that Ted was crying when continuing, “Paul, I know this sounds fucking stupid, but… I’m scared. He’s the one good thing in my life right now. I don’t want to lose him to this stupid, alien thing. I… love him, Paul. I love him so fucking much. I can’t stand to think that he could die and I wasn’t there to stop it. He’s the strong one. He can go out there and be brave and shit. Me? I’ve been sitting here drunk off my ass most of the time and feeling sorry for myself.”

“Then why don’t you talk to him? I’m sure he feels the same”

Ted’s head turned quickly to look at him, but then lowered after a moment. “I can’t. I’m not good with apologies. I can’t— I can’t do it. He’ll just stay with out of pity or break up with me for being so pathetic.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Paul thought. One thing that was for sure was the overall change in Ted’s demeanor from being in a relationship with Henry. The Ted that he remembered back in the days before the apocalypse would never open his heart and pour out all of his feelings to anyone, especially Paul. He barely knew Ted, yet the man that sat in front of him confessing his fear of losing the man he loved to the point of crying varied drastically from the scumbag that hit on anything that would walk in his direction. Although the drinking habit remained, the Ted back then never admitted defeat, putting the blame on the people who denied his advances.

And he knew that Henry was the cause of the change.

He then walked over and sat next to Ted, pushing some empty bottles out of the way. He took a deep breath to gather his thoughts and said, “I think you’re not giving yourself enough credit, Ted. I can tell from what Emma has told me and…things that I’ve seen that he’s head over heels for you and, from what you just told me, I think that you’re excellent at apologies. You just don’t believe that you are capable of being forgiven or even loved. Maybe you even blame yourself for what happened, I don’t know. But, just tell him what you told me and you should be fine.”

“Thanks, Paul,” Ted looked at him and grinned wildly while opening his arms for a hug. “Come here, big guy.”

Ted hugged him tightly and Paul never felt so uncomfortable in his life. He just patted Ted on the back and attempted to move away from the hug as soon as possible.

Once Ted let go, Paul stood up and turned to him, saying, “Just get some sleep and… shower, definitely shower before going to talk to him.”

“Will do.”

———

A/N: Hope you like it!

[wegoddessofhell]

We Don’t Always Get What We Want

Summary: Sam dies, and Dean and his daughter have very different ways of dealing with the grief.

Pairings: Dean x daughter, Sam x niece in memories?

Word Count: 3792

Warnings: Angst, mentions of death, mention of underage drinking, some swears (2? 3?) and then some fluff?

Author’s Note: This fic was written for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing’s SPN Beautiful Word’s Challenge. Not gonna lie, I bawled my eyes out writing this, but it was also so much fun! The word I picked was Chrysalism, and I think it turned out well! I hope you guys enjoy, and if you wanna give me some feedback, I wouldn’t be opposed to it!

Dean’s felt pain before.

He felt it when his dad died.  He felt it when Bobby died. He felt it when Charlie died.

He has never felt a pain like this.

He swings another bunch of logs over his shoulder, dropping them onto the growing pile of wood. He managed to find a quiet, private beach, perfect to burn a body on. He stares at the pile of logs for a long moment, before he shifts his eyes to the car where his daughter was, refusing to leave. Through the darkness of the night,  he can see her in the front seat, her knees tucked to her chest, her head resting on the window. He swallows hard, looking down at the bagged body on the ground. He lifts the body up, struggling slightly as his brother was bigger than him, laying him down ever so gently.

Sam was dead.

Dean blinks away the tears as best he can, grabbing the salt he had brought from the car. He looks at it in his hand, realizing he was slightly shaky. He sprinkles it over his brother’s lifeless, bagged body, before he drops the salt to the ground, not caring if it was spilling everywhere.

“I’m so sorry, Sammy,” Dean whispers, not being able to contain the tears anymore. “I had one job in this world, and I screwed it up. I let you die and-” Dean has to pause, bringing his hand up to his face to wipe the tears away quickly. “I messed up, Sammy. I’m gonna carry this weight for the rest of my fucking life. I’m so sorry I let this happen to you.” He reaches to the ground, picking up the gasoline jug, squirting it all over the black sack. Setting it down, he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a matchbox. He takes a single match out, striking it as he watches the flame burn. In a quick motion, he throws it onto the mound, letting the tears from his eyes carelessly fall. “I’m gonna miss you, little brother.”

Sera shifts her eyes to her dad, watching as he drops the match onto the pile of wood that was holding her uncle Sammy up. The same uncle Sammy that had taught her the alphabet when she was in preschool. The same uncle Sammy that helped her with all of her homework. The same uncle Sammy that was there for her in all the times her dad couldn’t be. The same uncle Sammy who was killed by a demon. A fire erupts on the  beach, close to the Impala, as Sera shuts her eyes briefly. How could her dad just give up like that? How could he just his burn his brothers bones, ensuring the fact that there was no way he could come back. She shakes her head, before she opens her eyes, pushing the Impala door open. She needed to say her goodbyes to her uncle. Dad be damned, I owe it to uncle Sammy. She holds the blanket she was wrapped in around her shoulders, as she walks towards her dad and the fire.

“When will Daddy be home?” a 5 year old Sera asks, sitting next to her uncle on the couch.

“What, am I not good enough for you?” Sam teases, poking his nieces side. “He’ll be back on Monday, he’s only gone for the weekend.”

Sera nods, shifting her eyes back to the kids movie that was playing on the tv. “Uncle Sammy?”

“Yes monkey?”

“Would you still like me if I had 3 eyes?” Sera asks, looking up at her uncle.

He chuckles softly, pulling her closer to his side. “I would still love you if you had 3 eyes.”

“What if I had blue skin?!”

“I would still love you if you had blue skin.”

“If I was-,” she starts, before Sam cuts her off.

“Where are all these questions coming from?” he asks her, watching as she shrugs slightly. “I’ll always love you, kiddo. Even when you’re big and think you’re cooler than me, even when we get in fights, even when you say you hate me, I’ll always love you.”

Sera smiles, leaning her head back on her uncles side. “I’ll always love you too, uncle Sammy.” Sam smiles, leaning down as he presses a kiss to the top of her head.

She pushes the memory away, fighting back the tears. When she reaches the fire she stops next to her dad, looking at him quickly, the fire illuminating his face just enough that she could see the tear stains on his cheeks. Neither of them speak, the only sounds filling the night air being the waves rolling and crashing onto the shore, and the crackling of the wood in the fire. Sera can feel tears forming in her own eyes, as she looks back at the black body bag that held her uncle, her partner in crime, and one of her favourite people. “You should’ve tried harder,” Sera manages through teary eyes, breaking the tense but peaceful silence.

“What?” Dean asks, looking over at his 17 year old daughter. “You should’ve tried harder,” Sera repeats, her jaw clenched now, tears streaming down her face. “You gave up. You just stopped trying.” “Sweetheart, I tried everything,” Dean tells his daughter, almost offended that she thought he wouldn’t. “I contacted every angel I could, I tried to sell my soul again, I looked into faith healers and black magic and everything in between, but there was nothing. I couldn’t- I couldn’t do anything.” “S-so you give up?” Sera asks, attempting to control her sobs. “Dad, you’ve told me my entire l-ife that you don’t give up on people you l-love. How was it so e-asy for you to give up on uncle Sam?”

“Easy?” Dean demands, watching her. “You think this was easy for me? I’ve spent my entire life trying to protect him. That’s what I’ve done since I was 4 years old. My entire being was built around him being safe. So no, Sera, giving up wasn’t easy, but there was no way in hell I was letting Sam turn into a vengeful spirit. You and I both know that he wouldn’t want that.”

Sera stares into the fire, before she speaks. “You should’ve tried harder.” With that, she turns and walks away, heading back to the Impala. Dean watches her leave, before he looks back at his brother. Silence ensues again, only the sounds of the wood snapping and the waves crashing heard.

---

It had been about a week since Sam had been gone, and things around the bunker hadn’t been the same. Sera and Dean had gone the entire week, not saying anything more than a “hi” or “hello” when passing each other.

Dean feels as if he’s lost his daughter. They’ve always been close, but right now he’s never felt more distant from her. He knows that right now they need each other more than anything, but with both of them being so hard-headed, neither of them were willing to take the first step to fix things.

Dean was done with not doing anything.

He takes a deep breath, standing outside his daughter’s bedroom in the hallway. Sera didn’t leave her room other than to get food, go to the bathroom, or go for a drive. She did her best to avoid her dad, or so Dean thought. He knocks on her door lightly, calling out to her. “Sweetheart, you in there?” “I’m here,” Sera answers from behind the closed door. “What do you want?” “Can I come in?” Dean asks her, not moving to open the door until she allows him. “No.”

Dean sighs, resting his forehead on her bedroom door, his voice soft. “Baby girl, please. We’ve gotta talk about this.”

“No we don’t.”

Dean hates this more than anything. He hates how his daughter is pushing him away. “It’s been a week, kiddo. I miss you, please don’t shut me out.”

“I’m busy, maybe later,” Sera states, and Dean can tell she’s done with this conversation. He steps back from her door, nodding slightly even though she can’t see him. “Okay, I uh- I guess I’ll be around if you want to talk.”

---

It had been two weeks now, and Dean was beyond glad that Sera was doing things out of her room more and more. She would eat her meals in the kitchen. She’d do some reading in the library. She’d spend some free time in the war room.

But with that came the going out more with her friends, which of  course, Dean was still happy about. He was glad his daughter was feeling better and was willing to do more, but he wasn’t quite happy with the activities that she was partaking in.

Dean checks his watch, rubbing his face afterwards. It was 2:30am, and Sera hadn’t come home yet. Recently, she had been staying out later and later, and Dean was concerned for her safety. She wouldn’t check in with him, wouldn’t answer his phone calls, wouldn’t interact with him at all.

He’s torn from his thoughts when the bunker door slams. From his seat in the war room, he shifts his eyes up to the top of the staircase, seeing his daughter stumbling inside. “Sera? Are you okay?” “I’m better than ever, daddy-o,” she slurs, smiling down at him. Dean gets up, walking to the bottom of the stairs as Sera descends them, gripping onto the railing as she walks. “Y’know, it’s amazing what some alcohol can do for you.” “Have you been drinking?” Dean asks, his eyes meeting his daughters when she reaches the bottom.

“Pfft, no dad. Have you been drinking?” “Don’t lie to me,” Dean threatens, not taking his eyes off of her. “You smell like alcohol. You’re drunk.” “I swear to drunk I am not God,” Sera slurs, giggling as she looks at her dad. “I feel all floaty right now.” Dean’s mad. He’s more than mad. He is beyond pissed. All of his being wants to yell at her, to tell her that this kind of behaviour, the underage drinking, the curfew breaking, that all of this is unacceptable. But he un-clenches his fists instead, bringing his hands to set them on the sides of his daughter’s face. He leans in and plants a kiss on her forehead. “It’s okay.” For a moment, she stands there, letting him interact with her for more than a second at a time. Sera all of a sudden pushes him back, stumbling slightly herself.

“Go away!” she exclaims, steadying herself on the railing. “Don’t- don’t touch me!”

Dean’s hands fall to his sides, his heart breaking slightly as he watches her. “Sweetheart, come on. This isn’t you. The drinking and the curfew breaking, this isn’t you. I need you back. I need my real Sera back.” Sera chuckles, blowing a dramatic breath out of her mouth. “Yeah? Well I need my dead uncle back, but we don’t always get what we want, do we?” Dean looks at her, his jaw dropping slightly at his daughter’s outburst, before he watches her turn and head towards her bedroom.

---

It had been a month now, and there was still no change between Dean and his daughter. They still weren’t talking normally to each other, Sera was still rebelling, and Dean has had about all he can take. He walks outside of the bunker, knowing exactly where his daughter would be. He sees his daughter in Sam’s BMW. He looks up at the sky, almost as a silent plea, acknowledging how dark and gloomy it was outside.

He saunters over to the car, noticing how his daughter was sitting. She had her knees tucked up to her chest, her chin resting on them. She was staring straight ahead, probably lost in thought. Dean knocks on the passenger side window after trying the door, which was locked. She shifts her eyes to to him, not moving to do anything.

“Unlock it,” Sera can hear her dad say, as she rolls her eyes, pressing the unlock button on the door. Dean gets in, looking over at her. “I’ve had about as much as I can take, kiddo.” “That’s nice,” Sera tells him, looking straight ahead again.

“That’s all your gonna say? Aren’t you tired of this?”

Sera swallows hard, shrugging slightly. “A little, I guess.”

Dean shifts his eyes to her, staying quiet as he observes. She looks exhausted, the bags under her eyes darker than ever. Her eyes are red, and Dean can tell she’s been crying. “Sweetheart,” he whispers, trying to start a conversation. Before he can continue, she breaks down, sobbing into her hands. “Hey hey hey,” he tries, pulling her towards him.

“Don’t!” she screams. These were more than tears of sadness. These were tears of anger. She pushes him back, opening the car door, slamming it after she gets out. Dean gets out quickly, rounding the car so he was standing across from her.

The skies had opened up, rain pouring down around the both of them, thunder heard out in the distance. “Come here,” Dean says softly, opening his arms for her. If it were up to him, she’d have accepted his hug, and they’d work things out. But it wasn’t up to him.

Sera shakes her head, feeling the anger build inside her. “This is your fault!” she shouts, not bothering to stop her tears. “You’re the reason I’m like this!” Dean watches his daughter lash out, shaking his head slowly. “It is! Uncle Sam is dead because of you! Because you gave up on him!”

Dean watches his daughter barrel towards him, her fists out. She slams into him, pounding her fists into his chest. Her attacks were random, and Dean knew they weren’t meant to hurt him. They were mindless in a sense, not meant to harm or disable him. They didn’t hurt, he was a lot stronger than his daughter. So he stands there, letting his teenager attack him. “Why aren’t you fighting back?!” she sobs, not giving up.

“I’m not going to fight you, sweetheart,” Dean tells her, watching as she pauses for a moment to look at him.

Sera glares at her dad through teary eyes, before she starts to pound on his chest again, pushing him back slightly. “Fight back! Fight me back!”

“No,” Dean replies calmly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“F-fight me b-back!” she repeats over and over again, not giving up the relentless attacks on her dad.

“You can blame me all you want, kiddo. You can hit me and you can yell at me, and that’s okay. If it makes you feel better, do it. If this is how you want to work things out, I’m all for it. But I’m not going to fight back.”

Through Dean’s speech, he almost misses the fist that was coming straight for his jaw. He quickly catches his daughters wrist with his left hand, twisting it up behind her back. He was gentle, making sure he wasn’t hurting her, just making it uncomfortable. He grunts when his daughters foot connects with his shin, before he uses his foot to softly kick out Sera’s feet from beneath her. She falls to the ground, with nowhere to go. Her right arm still twisted up behind her back, her left pinned underneath of her body. Dean kneels down next to his daughter, using his own leg to keep the two of hers pinned.

“Are you done?” Dean asks softly, kneeling next to her. He feels his daughters tense body beneath him relax, and he knew that was the moment Sera had given up. He looks at his daughters form, it was pathetic almost. Not in the bad sense, but in the sense that this was how she wanted to deal with her emotions. He meets her one green eye that peeking out through the mess of wet, blonde hair. Her face was covered in wet gravel, her jeans ripped from falling. He lets go of her arm, sitting back on the ground. He bends his knees, resting his forearms on them.

“You used to talk to me, kiddo. We used to never go to bed angry with each other. You’ve barely said a word to me this past month,” Dean sighs, watching Sera. She hadn’t moved from the position she had fallen into, her right arm still just hanging behind her back. “I don’t know what you want from me, baby girl. I’m trying here, I’m really trying.” Dean looks up at the sky, letting the rain fall onto his face, his eyes closed. “I don’t know about you, but I’m tired, Sera. I’m tired of the fighting and the anger. I’m tired of you bottling everything up inside until you explode.” He stays quiet for a moment, trying to see if Sera would take over, but she doesn’t. “I don’t know what to do anymore,” Dean sighs. Suddenly, Sera’s reacting. She moves slightly, bringing her arms over to her face, as if she’s trying shield herself from him. “I miss him,” she says in a whisper so quiet that Dean almost misses it. He can feel his heart break. She’s miserable, she’s destroyed. When she breaks, intense sobs escape her, tears streaming down her face. Like lightning, Dean is over beside her, sitting next to her. He pulls her into his lap, cradling her. To others it may look strange, Sera wasn’t a little girl anymore,  but Dean didn’t care, knowing all his daughter needed was comfort right now. He holds her close, using his body as best as he can to shield his daughter from the pouring rain. “I m-miss him s-so m-much,” she continues to sob, Dean holding her tight.

Dean presses his lips against her wet, blonde hair, before he speaks. “I know, baby girl. I miss him too.”

“H-he’s g-g-gone,” she sobs, her arms wrapped around Dean.

“I know,” Dean whispers, not releasing her. “I know he is.” There’s silence now, the only sounds heard being the rain pounding onto the ground, and Sera’s sobs. She’s clutching to her father as if he’s keeping her alive, because in this moment, maybe he was.

It had taken almost 5 minutes of Dean whispering words of comfort and rocking his daughter back and forth before Sera begins to calm down. These motions bring Dean back to a memory, as he presses his lips against his daughter’s head.

Dean groans, trying to calm is wailing daughter. “Shh, it’s okay, sweetheart.” He bounces Sera gently, trying to soothe her. “You’re not hungry, you’ve got a clean diaper, what else do you need?” Dean turns when he hears his brother enter the nursery.

“She’s still not sleeping?” Sam asks, speaking loudly so Dean can hear him over the baby.

“Clearly,” Dean mumbles. “I don’t know what she needs.” “Lemme try?” Sam suggests, walking into the room more.

Dean nods, passing the baby over. “Be my guest.”

Sam takes his niece in his arms, carefully getting her situated. “Hey monkey,” he smiles, speaking softly. “Shh, shh, shh,” he tries, rocking her back and forth slowly. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. What’s wrong, huh?”

Dean backs up, leaning against the wall as he watches his little brother interact with his daughter. “Y’know, kiddo, your dad’s pretty tired. I’m sure you’re tired too. Being a baby is hard work,” Sam chuckles softly, realizing that Sera’s sobs from before had turned into quiet cries. “You don’t have to worry about a thing, monkey. You’ve got me, and you’ve got your dad, and we’ve got you. We’ll always have you, I promise. Even when you get older and don’t want us to, we’ll always have you.” Sam’s slightly surprised when he looks down at his niece, her eyes now shut, and silence in the room. He walks over to her crib, gently laying her down before he covers her with a blanket. “Sweet dreams.” He turns, greeted by his brother who had a huge smirk on his face. Sam rolls his eyes, leaving the nursery.

“Who new the moose could also be a baby whisper?” Dean asks, raising his eyebrows in a teasing manner, “Shut up,” Sam chuckles, shaking his head. “You’re just jealous that I got her to sleep.”

“No- I- whatever, bitch,” Dean mutters, brushing past his brother. “Jerk!” Sam calls after him, smiling slightly.

Dean’s drawn from his thoughts by a loud clap of thunder, feeling his daughter flinch slightly, still gripping onto her dad. “You’re shivering, baby girl. Let’s move inside out of the thunderstorm, okay?” He can feel Sera pull away from him, as she stands up. “Get a shower, we’ll talk after?” he asks. She nods, turning as she walks inside the bunker. Dean sits there for a moment, watching her leave, before he stands up himself, following her inside.

Sera walks out of her bedroom, dressed in some sweatpants and a shirt, her hair wet from her shower. She walks into the war room, looking around. “Dad?” she calls, walking into the kitchen now. “Where are you?” She shrugs, heading to the bunker stairs, taking them two at a time. She yanks the door open, noticing her dad leaning against the Impala, his arms crossed, looking up at the sky. The thunderstorm had ceased, as Sera slides her shoes on, shuffling outside.

“Hey,” Sera greets her dad, leaning next to him on the Impala.

“Weird weather, huh?” Dean asks, as he sees Sera nod next to him from his peripheral vision.

“Dad,” Sera starts, as Dean shifts his eyes to her. “I’m sorry I blamed you for uncle Sammy dying. I’m sorry for hitting you and blocking you out, I-”

Dean cuts her off, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I forgive you, and I’m sorry too.” She leans her head on her dad’s shoulder, Dean leaning down and planting a kiss on her head. “But the drinking, the curfew breaking, the sneaking out- it’s all gotta stop, you understand me?”

“You knew about the sneaking out? How?” Sera asks, sitting up as she looks at her dad, her green eyes meeting his. Dean smirks, placing his hand on the side of his daughter’s face. “I’m your dad, I know everything.”

Sera laughs, looking down briefly, before she looks back up. She’s met by her dad’s soft eyes, a gentle smile on his face.

Dean’s felt peace before.

He felt it after burning his dads bones. He felt it after burning Bobby’s bones. He felt it after burning Charlie’s bones.

He’s never felt peace like this. Peace with the fact Sam was dead. Peace with his daughter. 

Peace with himself.