#even though he had done it a lot over the years

[giannaln4]

I Missed You

lando norris x fem reader

summary: You missed seeing Lando being happy after a race, and you couldn't wait to tell him how proud you were.  (1.4k words)

warnings: fluff, stablished relationship, a bit of mclaren slander

a/n: when i tell you i loved this idea SO SO much. i’m not too sure i’m happy with how this turned out but i really hope you guys enjoy it 🩷 i apologise for posting this just before the race but it was a bit hard to get started for some reason 😭 anyway pls let me know what you think!!

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The weekend in Monza was one you were hoping to forget. The tension in the air reflected not only in the team but also in the comments people were making about it, having even sports commentators and content creators question McLaren’s entire strategy to keep their fighting position in the WCC and also have a shot at the WDC. 

Lando’s demeanour immediately after getting off the car was something you would never forget, though, even if you tried. It was pretty obvious for everyone, even if he tried his hardest to never say something bad about his team and his teammate. That team was his home anyway. He had been with McLaren even before his F1 career started, and even after weekends like this one, he would never doubt he wanted to achieve great things with them.

That is probably what made it harder for him. This year they were competing not only for points and podiums but for something bigger, and after knowing what he is capable of, ending up in that position absolutely crushed him, and you hated to see him debating with himself. 

Once the weekend was finally over and you were leaving Italy, you wanted to make him feel better, telling him how great he was and how proud you were. You even shot some comments at McLaren for everything that went down, but he didn’t want to hear it; he barely wanted to talk about it, so you just dropped it. You understood him anyway, so you had to leave everything behind and just be supportive of your boyfriend.

You were hoping this weekend would be different, better, everyone was, and there was a lot of talking in the team that they would make the right decisions to keep fighting now that they had the chance. This, of course, would only mean something until they actually proved it during the race. 

Lando was in a better mood coming into this weekend; he trusted his team and he was confident they were backing him up. That was until the qualifying came. A yellow flag being pulled out by mistake during Q1 caused him to lose the opportunity to even put up a fight, and he ended up being P17. It wasn’t even his fault, but you knew he was beating himself up for that result. 

“Lando,” you called him right after he came back to the garage to watch the rest of the qualifying. He looked at you with a disappointed smile. “It’s not your fault, baby.”

“I know.” He pulled you into a hug, not wanting you to worry about him too much. “There’s nothing I could have done. We just have to wait and see what we can do tomorrow.”

“I’m sure you’ll do amazing,” you replied into his chest, rubbing small circles in his back to let him know you were there for him, no matter what. 

“We’ll see. The car felt okay, but it’s hard to overtake on this track. It’s quite a long straight.” He let out a nervous giggle as he pulled away; he didn’t sound as confident as you were hoping, but you knew he was right. “Some of it is just going to have to cross our fingers.”

There was no point in fighting him when he got like that, so you just nodded. “I’ll be crossing everything I have then.”

He went off with the rest of his team as you stayed back to watch the rest of the cars complete the qualifying. The air was starting to get tense again, and even though you knew everyone was nervous with Lando’s result, you weren’t sure if it was just your own feelings talking. But like Lando said, you were going to have to wait and see what the team could come up with, you were just hoping they would do the right thing.

Race day was finally here, and with Lewis starting from the pit lane due to a new power unit and Pierre being excluded due to fuel flow rate, Lando had been promoted to P15. Sure, it would have been better if Lando had the chance to fight for his starting position, but at least that was something. 

You could see he was still not completely confident in how the race would go, but you trusted enough for the both of you. 

Watching the race from the garage was something that always made you incredibly nervous, but especially in this position. But Lando managed to get to P12 by lap 2, and everyone was incredibly excited by his overtakes. 

As the race went on and he felt more confident with the car, he started to climb his way up to the top 10, trusting the team’s decisions with the strategy they were sticking to, and you were so glad everything was falling in place. 

The rest of the race still made you bite your nails at how nervous you were, but the bliss in the entire garage when he overtook someone was indescribable. He was driving the race of his life, and even the radios he exchanged with the team radiated that. As always, the last few laps were nervewracking, but the fact that he made it all the way to P6 and was even helping Oscar with his own race left everyone with a good taste. Not a complete terrible weekend after all. 

During the last lap, however, an unfortunate crash between Carlos and Checo pushed him to P4, meaning he gained 11 positions during the race; not that you ever doubted him, but seeing him end up there with the fastest lap after an absolute mess of the qualifying made you excited to see him. After confiming everyone was okay, you took the liberty to celebrate your boyfriend’s race.

Lando got out of the car and went to greet his team, cheers and smiles all over the place. Everyone was praising him for the incredible work he made, and his smile didn’t go away for a second the entire time. 

You knew you would still have to wait to congratulate him; he still had to do media before coming back to his room, where you were waiting for him, but seeing him so happy in the monitors made you grow impatient. 

It felt like it had been a while since you saw him so happy after a race.

After what felt like forever, you heard him come back to the garage. You stoop up from the small couch and opened the door, where you were greeded by your boyfriend. 

“Hey, you.” You said, closing the door behind him.

“Hi,” he replied, smile so big you could see his dimples.

“That was amazing, Lando. I knew you would do amazing, but I can’t even describe how proud I am.” 

He smiled even more at your words. He closed the distance between you when he took a few steps, wrapping you in his arms and kissing you deeply. You could even feel him smiling then, and that filled your heart.

“Thank you; it was a good day,” he said when he pulled away, looking down at you with loving eyes. “I think everything worked out.” You just nodded as you admired him.

“I missed you,” you whispered as you brushed a few curls that fell on his forehead.

“What do you mean? We’ve been together the last three weeks. You saw me just before the race." To say he was confused was an understatement, and you could see it in his face.

“I mean you, this. I missed seeing you so happy and smiley. Looks good on you.”

Lando was a bit embarrassed by your confession; he thought he did a better job at hiding how much the results affected him, at least to you. It was never his intention to be so down when he was with you, but man, was he endeared by your words. “I needed this,” was all he said, and you know he was right. And it wasn’t only him; you knew the team needed this as well.

“I know, and I know you hate to hear it, but I told you.”

He let out a laugh, not a nervous one this time. “Yes, you did,” he hugged you again, much tighter as he buried his face on the crook of your neck. “Thank you for being here and supporting me, even during my bad times.” He spoke with so much sincerity. 

“I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

[lila-lou]

✨Taking her in - Pt. 1✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Underage Reader, Language

Word Count: 4536

A/N: English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

Living with the Winchesters had been a strange yet oddly comforting experience. A few years ago, you were just a scared kid, barely surviving on your own after your mom passed away. The world was a cruel place, and you had learned that the hard way. But that night—when those men had cornered you, when you thought it was all over—Dean appeared out of nowhere like a guardian angel, though with a lot more anger and fire in his eyes.

You still remembered the way he looked after it was all over, standing over the bodies of those men, his breath heavy, his knuckles bruised. Dean Winchester was no stranger to killing, but that night had been different. These weren’t monsters. They were people. And yet, he had done what he had to do, without hesitation, to save you.

When he brought you to the bunker, you were too shocked to argue much. The bunker was unlike any place you’d ever known—safe, hidden from the world, and full of secrets you could never have imagined. Dean had said it was just until you got back on your feet, just until he was sure you were okay. But somehow, days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and now, years had passed.

You never talked about that night, not in detail. Sam had tried a couple of times, but you always shut him down. Dean never brought it up either. Maybe it was because you all knew there was nothing left to say. Or maybe it was because none of you wanted to face what it meant—that Dean had killed for you, that he had saved you in a way you couldn’t quite repay.

But despite the horrors you had faced before meeting the Winchesters, the bunker had become a home. It wasn’t like the life you had before, where survival meant scrapping by on whatever you could find, sleeping with one eye open. Here, you had a family. Dean and Sam—despite all their mess and chaos—had become the brothers you never had. They taught you everything you needed to know to protect yourself from the supernatural, but more than that, they showed you what it meant to have someone’s back, to care about someone even when the world was falling apart.

Now, your 18th birthday was coming up, and you couldn’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Part of you felt like you should leave, like you should go out and start your own life. But another part of you—the part that had grown accustomed to the safety of the bunker, the warmth of the Winchesters—didn’t want to let go.

Even after all this time, the question still lingered in the back of your mind: why had Dean been so insistent on bringing you back to the bunker that night? It wasn’t like him to make such impulsive decisions, especially when it came to something as personal as taking in a stranger. Dean was a protector, sure, but he didn’t make a habit of dragging people into his life, especially not into the heart of the Winchesters’ world.

But with you, something had been different. Something had driven him to take that extra step, to bring you home, and even now, none of you could quite figure out why.

Dean had always been guarded, keeping his thoughts and emotions close to his chest. But from the moment he had found you, something had shifted in him. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The way he watched over you, more protective than usual, always making sure you were okay, even when you didn’t want to admit that you needed it. Sam noticed it too, the way Dean would check in on you late at night when he thought no one was watching, or how he would get that distant look in his eyes whenever the topic of your past came up.

It wasn’t that he pitied you—Dean Winchester wasn’t the type to pity anyone. It was something else, something deeper. And yet, no matter how many times you tried to puzzle it out, you never came any closer to understanding what had driven him to act that night.

Dean never took you with them on a hunt, no matter how much you argued or tried to convince him that you were ready. It was frustrating, especially after all the training they’d put you through, drilling you on everything from how to banish a ghost to the proper way to handle a silver blade. The supernatural world had terrified you at first—so much so that, in the beginning, you’d freaked out so badly that Sam and Dean had to tie you down until you could calm yourself. But you’d learned, adapted, and eventually, you stopped being scared. At least, you stopped showing it.

Still, no matter how much you insisted that you were ready, Dean refused to let you join them on hunts. He was firm about it, more so than usual, and it always left you feeling like you were still that scared kid they’d found all those years ago.

Today, the frustration had reached a boiling point. You’d spent the day in the bunker, alone, while they were out doing what they did best. By the time you heard the familiar rumble of the Impala pulling into the garage, you were practically seething.

As soon as the garage door creaked open, you saw them—Dean, covered in blood, and Sam, looking equally worn out but less battered. You stood in the doorway, arms crossed, trying to keep the irritation out of your voice but failing miserably as you grumbled, “How was it?”.

Dean didn’t even look at you as he brushed past, his expression dark, a sure sign that things hadn’t gone smoothly. His usual easygoing demeanor was replaced by something sharper, more on edge, and that only made your frustration spike.

“Still a bit fucked up since I had to stay behind. Again”, you added, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Dean froze in his tracks, his back stiffening. He slowly turned to face you, and for a moment, you saw something flash in his eyes—something between anger and fear, though you couldn’t quite pin it down. His voice was low, almost a growl, when he finally spoke. “You think I want you out there? You think I’m keeping you here just for fun?”.

Sam, sensing the tension, glanced between the two of you, clearly torn between stepping in and giving you space to work it out. But he stayed silent, letting Dean handle it.

Your irritation flared. “I’ve been here for years, Dean. I know what’s out there, and I’m not some helpless kid anymore. I can handle myself”.

Dean’s jaw clenched, and he took a step closer, his voice dropping even lower. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not keeping you here because I don’t think you can handle yourself. I’m keeping you here because I don’t want you out there, getting hurt, or worse”.

You didn’t back down, meeting his glare head-on. “That’s not your decision to make, Dean. I’ve been through enough. I deserve to be out there, helping, not sitting around like some… liability”.

Dean’s face twisted into something almost pained, and for a second, you thought he might actually tell you what was really going on, why he was so adamant about keeping you out of the field. But then, just as quickly, the mask was back, and he shook his head, frustration radiating off him.

“Enough, Y/N”, he snapped, turning away from you again, as if the conversation was over. But you weren’t ready to let it drop.

“Yes, Dean, it’s enough!”, you shot back, stepping into his path. “You keep treating me like a kid, but I’m not. Why can’t you see that?”.

Dean’s eyes blazed as he glared at you, his face a mixture of anger something deeper, more desperate. His voice came out like a whip, sharp and cutting. “Go to your fucking room, Y/N!”.

For a moment, you were too stunned to respond. Dean had been angry before, sure, but this? This was different. The raw intensity in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, but instead of backing down, you found yourself standing your ground, defiance burning in your chest.

You raised your brows, trying to decide if you wanted to laugh at the absurdity of him ordering you around like a child, or scream at him for treating you like one. The corner of your mouth twitched upward despite the tension, and you could see the effect it had on him immediately. If Dean was pissed before, now he looked like he was barely holding himself together as he saw the hint of a smirk on your face. It was as if your defiance was the last thing holding him together, but also the thing threatening to tear him apart. His fists clenched at his sides, the knuckles still raw from whatever fight he and Sam had just returned from, and for a moment, you thought he might actually lose it.

But instead of yelling again, instead of pushing further, he just closed his eyes for a brief second, taking a deep breath as if trying to regain control. When he opened them again, his expression had shifted—still intense, but with an undercurrent of something you couldn’t quite place. Pain? Fear? It was hard to tell.

The air in the room seemed to crackle with tension as Dean’s voice, low and dangerously calm, filled the space. “I fucking swear, Y/N, if you won’t go to your fucking room now, I’m gonna lose my shit”. The words were delivered with such a raw, barely contained fury that it made your breath hitch in your throat. You’d never seen him like this before, not even during the worst of hunts or the most heated arguments. Even Sam, who had seen Dean at his worst, looked shocked—his eyes widening in surprise and concern as he watched his brother teeter on the edge.

For a moment, you stood frozen, unsure of how to respond. Part of you wanted to push back, to keep fighting, but the other part—the part that had spent the last few years learning to read Dean, understanding the depths of his pain and the limits of his patience—knew that this wasn’t the time. The way his chest heaved, the tightness in his jaw, the wild look in his eyes… He was hanging by a thread, and if you pushed him any further, you weren’t sure what would happen.

Your smirk faded as the seriousness of the situation sank in. You weren’t just in the middle of an argument anymore; you were standing at the edge of something far more dangerous. The fight left your body all at once, replaced by a heavy, sinking feeling in your gut.

“Okay”, you said, the defiance in your voice replaced with something calmer, more measured. You held your hands up in a gesture of surrender, trying to show him that you understood, that you were backing down. “I’ll go”.

Dean didn’t say anything, just watched you with those burning eyes, his fists still clenched so tight you could see the muscles straining in his forearms. He looked like as if the smallest thing might set him off.

You walked away without another word, the sound of your footsteps echoing softly down the hallway as you left Dean and Sam alone in the heavy silence of the bunker. The tension you left behind was palpable, thick enough that it seemed to hang in the air, making it difficult to breathe.

Sam watched you go, his brow furrowed with concern, before turning his attention back to Dean. His brother was still standing in the same spot, fists clenched at his sides, his entire body taut as if he was ready to snap at any moment. Sam knew Dean well enough to recognize when he was dangerously close to the edge, and right now, he was teetering on it.

“Dean”, Sam started cautiously, his voice low and calm, trying to diffuse the tension. “You need to take a breath, man. You’re too worked up”.

Dean didn’t respond immediately. His eyes were still locked on the spot where you had just stood, his mind clearly racing with thoughts he couldn’t quite articulate. It wasn’t until Sam took a step closer, placing a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder, that Dean seemed to snap out of whatever dark place his mind had gone.

“Dean, talk to me”, Sam urged, his voice soft but insistent. “What’s really going on?”.

Dean’s eyes finally met Sam’s, and for a moment, it looked like he might shut down entirely. But then, as if the weight of everything he was holding inside became too much to bear, his shoulders slumped, and he let out a long, shaky breath.

“I’m losing it, Sam”, Dean admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, raw and stripped of all its usual bravado. “I’m losing it with her”.

Sam tightened his grip on Dean’s shoulder, his concern deepening. “What do you mean?".

Dean shook his head, his gaze dropping to the floor. “She doesn’t get it. She doesn’t understand how dangerous this life is. I can’t… I can’t let her go out there, Sam. Not her”.

Sam sighed, understanding more clearly now what was eating away at his brother. “Dean, I get it. You’re scared. But Y/N’s not a kid anymore. She’s strong, and she’s been through a lot. You can’t keep her locked up here forever”.

But that was exactly the point, and it gnawed at Dean in a way he couldn’t fully comprehend—or maybe just didn’t want to. He didn’t want to accept the fact that you weren’t a kid anymore, that you were growing up right in front of him. Every day that brought you closer to your 18th birthday was like a ticking clock in the back of his mind, counting down to a moment he wasn’t ready to face.

No one knew how Dean really felt about you. Hell, he wasn’t even sure he understood it himself. From the moment he had saved you years ago, something had shifted inside him. He could still remember the look in your eyes that night, the way your fear had melted into a kind of cautious trust as you looked up at him, and how, in that instant, his heart had clenched in a way it hadn’t in years.

He’d buried those feelings deep, refusing to acknowledge them, convincing himself it was nothing more than a protective instinct. You were just a kid, after all, someone who needed looking after, someone who had no one else in the world. And Dean was good at protecting people—that was what he did, what he had always done. But as the years passed, that simple instinct grew into something more complicated, something that twisted inside him, especially as you grew older.

Dean knew he was teetering on the edge of something he couldn’t afford to explore. You were still so young, and he had no business feeling anything for you beyond what a protector should feel. But now, with your 18th birthday looming, the reality was hitting him harder than he ever anticipated. Soon, you’d be legally grown up, able to make your own choices, live your own life. And the thought of losing you to that, of not being able to keep you safe the way he had for the past years, was driving him crazy.

Sam’s words echoed in his mind—You can’t keep her locked up here forever. He knew Sam was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to accept. Deep down, he was terrified. Not just of the dangers you’d face out there, but of what it would mean if he had to face the truth of his own feelings. Feelings that he had buried so deep that even he couldn’t fully acknowledge them, but that were starting to claw their way to the surface.

“Dean”, Sam’s voice broke through his thoughts, grounding him. “You have to let her grow up. She’s strong enough to handle this, and you know it. What are you so afraid of?”.

Dean swallowed hard, his throat tight. He could feel the storm of emotions churning inside him, but he couldn’t let them out. Not to Sam, not to anyone. He forced himself to meet Sam’s gaze, trying to keep his voice steady, but there was an edge of desperation he couldn’t quite hide.

“I just… I can’t let anything happen to her, Sam”.

“I get that, Dean. But she’s got a right to make her own choices. You can’t keep treating her like she’s still that scared kid you found years ago”.

Dean didn’t want to think about it any longer. The more he let his mind wander down that dangerous path, the more tangled and twisted his thoughts became, until it felt like he was drowning in them. The knot in his chest tightened, and the walls of the bunker suddenly felt too close, too confining.

“I’m gonna take a shower”, he muttered, the words coming out gruff and clipped, as if speaking them was a chore. Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and headed for the bathroom, his footsteps heavy and deliberate as if each step required more effort than it should.

Sam watched him go, concern etched into every line of his face. He wanted to follow, to press Dean further, but he knew his brother well enough to recognize when he needed space. This was something Dean had to work through on his own, at least for now.

Dean’s mind was still racing as he reached the bathroom. He closed the door behind him with a little more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the small space. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at his reflection in the mirror. The man looking back at him was a mess—bloodstains on his shirt, smudges of dirt and grime on his face, and eyes that looked far more exhausted than they should.

He tore his gaze away from the mirror, not wanting to face the reality of what he saw there. Instead, he focused on the mundane task of stripping off his clothes, each movement deliberate and methodical, trying to find some semblance of control in the routine.

The hot water hit his skin like a scalding wave, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he welcomed the burning sensation, hoping it might somehow wash away the thoughts that were eating him alive. But no matter how hard he tried to focus on the physical sensation of the water, his mind kept drifting back to you—how you had looked at him with defiance and hurt in your eyes, how you had walked away without another word.

Dean leaned his head against the cool tiles of the shower, letting the water cascade over him, trying to drown out the thoughts that wouldn’t leave him alone.

He rubbed his face hard. The tension in his body only seemed to tighten with every second. Frustration bubbled up inside him as he blindly reached for the nearest bottle of shower gel, squeezing a generous amount into his hand. But the moment the sweet scent of vanilla hit his nose, his body reacted instantly, and not in the way he intended.

His breath hitched, and he cursed under his breath as blood rushed down to his crotch, his body betraying him in a way that made his skin crawl with shame. It was your scent—soft, warm, and undeniably you. The same scent that clung to the spaces you frequented in the bunker, that lingered faintly in the air whenever you passed by. He’d never let himself acknowledge how much that scent affected him before, how it seemed to wrap around his senses and pull him into thoughts he had no business having.

Dean’s hand tightened around the bottle, his knuckles turning white as he struggled to control the unwanted arousal that surged through him. He didn’t want this—didn’t want to feel this way, didn’t want to be the kind of man who thought about someone he was supposed to protect like this. But the scent was inescapable now, filling his lungs, invading his mind, and dragging him down a path he had tried so hard to avoid.

“Damn it!", he muttered, slamming the bottle back down on the ledge with more force than necessary, the sound echoing in the steamy space. His free hand pressed against the tile wall. He closed his eyes, trying to force himself to think of anything else—anything but the way your scent clung to him now, making him think of how close you were, just a few rooms away.

But his mind wasn’t cooperating. Images of you kept flashing in his mind—your smile, the way your eyes lit up when you were teasing him or Sam, the way your body moved with a confidence that had grown over the past years. He could see the way you looked at him, the mix of frustration and something else in your eyes, something that made his heart stutter in his chest. And no matter how much he tried to push it away, those thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut tighter, the guilt and shame mixing with the undeniable need that was pulsing through him. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were someone he cared about, someone he was supposed to look after, not someone he was supposed to feel like this about. But the more he tried to deny it, the stronger the pull became, the harder it was to ignore the way his body responded to you.

“Get it together”, he growled to himself, trying to will his body to calm down, to stop reacting to something that should have never been an issue in the first place. But it was no use. The scent of vanilla was too strong, too intertwined with the image of you, and the more he tried to fight it, the more he felt like he was losing control.

Desperation clawed at him as he turned the shower knob, the water suddenly turning ice-cold. The shock of it hit him like a punch to the gut, but he welcomed it, hoping the frigid temperature would snap him out of whatever trance he had fallen into. The cold water rushed over his skin, causing goosebumps to rise and his muscles to tense.

His hand still pressed against the wall, Dean leaned his forehead against the cold tiles, letting the water beat down on him as he tried to focus on anything but the ache that was building in his body. He needed to get control, needed to shove these feelings back into the box he had locked them. But it was harder than he had expected—so much harder than it should have been.

Minutes passed, the cold water numbing his skin. Eventually, his breathing slowed, and the intensity of the arousal began to fade, leaving behind a cold, hollow feeling that settled in his chest. He felt like he’d crossed a line, even if only in his mind, and the shame of it was almost unbearable.

Finally, when Dean couldn’t stand the cold water anymore, he shut it off and leaned back against the shower wall, his breath coming in slow, steadying gasps. The biting chill had done its job, numbing his skin and, to some extent, dulling the raw edge of his thoughts, though the shame lingered like a bad taste in his mouth.

For a moment, he just stood there, eyes closed, trying to push everything out of his mind. He knew he needed to get a grip on himself, to regain some semblance of control before he faced you or Sam again. The last thing he wanted was to let them see just how close to the edge he was, how badly he was fighting to keep everything in check.

With a deep breath, Dean grabbed his own bottle of shower gel and squeezed a small amount into his hand, the familiar scent of cedar and spice grounding him. He lathered it up quickly, scrubbing his skin with a kind of urgency, as if he could wash away not just the grime from the hunt, but the thoughts that had crept into his mind uninvited. He repeated the process with his shampoo, letting the suds rinse away the last remnants of the day, trying to focus on the simple, repetitive motions.

Dean finished rinsing off and turned the water off with a sense of finality. He grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, then stood in the small, steamy bathroom, staring at his reflection in the mirror once more. His face was flushed from the hot and cold water, his hair damp and tousled, but it was the look in his eyes that bothered him the most.

He looked… haunted. Like a man fighting a battle he knew he couldn’t win. And maybe that was exactly what was happening. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, to push it down, the feelings he had for you were there, lurking just beneath the surface, waiting for a moment of weakness to break free.

But he couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t. You deserved better than that—better than him. You were young, strong, full of potential, and you had a life ahead of you that didn’t need to be weighed down by his baggage. By his feelings.

Dean clenched his jaw, forcing those thoughts back down, locking them away in that box inside his mind where he kept everything that threatened to break him. He couldn’t afford to dwell on it, couldn’t afford to let himself slip. He had a job to do, and that was protecting you, keeping you safe.

With that final, resolute thought, Dean wrapped the towel tighter around his waist and opened the bathroom door. His mind was still racing, but he forced himself to focus on the immediate task—getting dressed, getting his head on straight, and burying these unwanted feelings deep where they couldn’t hurt anyone.

———————————

A/N: After I already started a damn long story for Jensen and Soldier Boy, here's one for Dean.

Please let me know what you think.🥰 

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[jo-speaks]

good graces ft. quinn hughes

in which…

quinn hughes realizes you'll be okay, with or without him.

warnings: MDNI. brief smut (again, it's like a paragraph), mature language, mentions of cheating, and i think that's all.

track three in short n' sweet (hughes brothers version) series!

When I love you, I'm sweet like an angel

Drawin' hearts 'round our names

And dreamin' of writing vows, rockin' cradles

“What’re you doing?” Quinn asked, wrapping his arms behind you as you shut the oven door, leaving the sweet treat you made to bake.

You took off your oven mitt before sighing and leaning back into his hold. “Baking cookies. You said you wanted some this morning, right?

He let out a soft laugh, “Yeah. How did you hear that though?”

“It’s not like you’re quiet when you’re on the phone with Conor.”

Quinn rolled his eyes playfully, dismissing your comment about how comfortable he was when talking to his teammate. He set one of his hands to lean back against the kitchen island where he felt a piece of paper under his palm. He furrowed his eyebrows, creasing the sheet slightly to pick it up. 

After a quick examination, he realized it was the recipe you had written down for the cookies. In the top corner of it, he saw his initials next to yours, enclosed in a heart. Quinn felt a warm feeling in his chest knowing you had done that, not caring if he saw it or not.

He held the paper in front of your face, which you had buried in the crease of his right elbow. “What’s this?”

You traced your eyes over the paper, “The recipe for the cookies? Don’t tell me you can’t read all of a sudden.” He gave you a thin-lipped look before tapping his finger over the childish drawing causing your eyebrows to lift in realization. “Oh, that. Got bored, thought it was cute. Something we could show the kids.”

Now it was his eyebrows that rose, “Kids? Like our kids?”

“Yeah, two of them. One of each. We can have them after our billion-dollar wedding.” You stated that like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Quinn knew you weren’t entirely serious. The two of you had this conversation a few months ago and he knew you wanted him to focus on his hockey career while you focused on your career. You both agreed you didn’t want to rush into anything until you were settled. And since Vancouver had been his home for 6 years and yours for 5 of those when you decided to move in with him, maybe it was time to start putting down those roots together.

Don't mistake my nice for naive

“Y/N, please. You’re being ridiculous. You were the one who told me to come in the first place!” Quinn called out to you as you walked away from him.

You stopped and turned back to face him, “Because I thought you’d have fun celebrating with your team here! Not flirt with the bartender the whole night!”

He rolled his eyes, setting you off even more. “I wasn’t flirting with her! I was getting Brock his drink!”

“Whatever, Quinn. I’m going home.” You sighed, not wanting to continue arguing with him in front of a bunch of people.

“I wasn’t flirting.” He mumbled, defeated.

You almost felt bad for reacting the way you did, but you knew him. The half smile and constant nodding all while keeping his eyes on her lips as they moved. 

You weren’t stupid.

I don't waste a second, I know lots of guys

You do somethin' suspect, this cute ass bye-bye

Like, ooh

Baby, you say you really like it being mine?

So let me give you some advice

After the whole bar argument, you decided to repay the favour a few days later when you had gone out to that same bar with your girlfriends. The same night you knew the Canucks would be celebrating their victory there. You watched the door attentively before a tap on your shoulder caught your attention.

“Y/N, this is Josh. He thought you were cute!” Was the only thing your friend said before walking away. The stumbling in her steps was the only thing you needed to explain the situation. 

Josh rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly as he placed his drink down on the bar and took the seat next to you. He cleared his throat, “Hey. Pretty interesting friend you have there.”

You snorted, “Tell me about it. You should see her sober, she’s still the same way.”

He laughed, “So, what’s a pretty girl like you doing sitting alone?”

Before you could answer, you heard the bar erupt in whistles and clapping. You didn’t even have to turn your head to know who had walked in. Josh glanced over your shoulder, getting a view of the team himself. His focus came back to you when you tilted your head to interrupt his view. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. But to answer your question, I’m just here because I’m pissed at my boyfriend.”

You noticed his face drop before returning to the way it was before, “No way. I’m here because I’m pissed at my girlfriend!”

Your eyes widened at his confession, letting out a small chuckle. “Yikes, you’re an asshole.”

“Yeah?” He propped his arm on the bar, “How are you not?”

“Well for starters, I’m not approaching anyone. Second, my boyfriend just got here, so he knows where I am. And it doesn’t take a genius to know that your girlfriend has no idea where you are.” You answered, seeing the team take a seat at the tables next to where you were sitting.

As Josh sat in front of you, stunned at your words, you caught your boyfriend's eyes. He took a double take, not realizing it was you the first time. You looked away, bringing your attention back to the man in front of you as Quinn kept his on you.

“Who’s your boyfriend?” Josh asked.

You smirked slightly, “Quinn Hughes.

Josh’s eyes widened, “Bullshit.”

Shrugging your shoulders, you placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer so you could talk in his ear and look over it to lock eyes with Quinn. “Don’t believe me? You’ll see who walks over to you when I leave.”

You backed up and got off your stool, heading to the bathroom as you kept eye contact with your boyfriend as you passed him. After you did, you heard him get up, his footsteps going the opposite way from where you were heading.

~

“What the fuck was that,” Quinn grumbled as he got into his car.

You shrugged your shoulders, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Quinn scoffed, “This is fucking gold, Y/N. You were all over my ass for doing the same shit on Tuesday, but when you do it’s all good.”

“Yeah, no. See, the difference between what I did tonight and what you did earlier this week is that I actually wasn’t flirting, I just wanted you to see what it was like to feel how I did when I saw you actually flirting with someone else.” You retorted, knowing how ridiculous the words coming out of your mouth sounded to him.

Yet on some level, Quinn knew you were right. He sighed before reaching over the center console to take hold of your hand. 

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t sober, but I still knew what I was doing. I don’t want to lose you over this, so please tell me what I can do to make it up to you.” He whispered.

You turned to look at him, “You like being my boyfriend?”

He nodded.

“Then don’t lie to me.”

Boy, it's not that complicated

You should stay in my good graces

Or I'll switch it up like that so fast

'Cause no one's more amazin'

At turnin' lovin' into hatred x2

I won't give a fuck about you x3

That was cool

I won't give a fuck about you (Oh) x3

Yeah

“She’s the last person I’d want to piss off,” Jack told his brother over the phone as Quinn finished up telling him the whole bar fiasco the two of you had gone through a month ago. 

“Tell me about it. I’m not just saying this because she’s my girlfriend, but she’s literally always right. It’s getting scary.” Quinn confessed, pulling his car into the parking garage of the apartment complex.

Jack sighed, “Well, shit. Good luck with that, bro. Lukey’s calling you later, I gotta go.” 

Quinn said goodbye to his brother, hanging up the phone as he stepped out of his car, grabbing the bouquet of flowers he had gotten you for no reason. After the whole situation, he knew he couldn’t only make it up with verbal apologies. So he went old-school, settling for getting you flowers whenever he felt like they were needed. 

He stepped into the elevator, rocking back and forth on his heels as he reached your floor, walking out the second the doors opened. 

As he unlocked the front door of your shared apartment, he could hear you talking in the kitchen. 

“Yeah, I don’t know. I didn’t want to forgive him, but he’s making up for it.” You said to whoever you were talking to over the phone. 

Quinn stepped in quietly, your back still turned and your AirPods in your ears as you cooked dinner for the two of you. Still unbeknownst to you, Quinn walked to the hallway across from the kitchen, wanting to hear your conversation. 

Was it wrong to eavesdrop on you? Yes. Did Quinn know this? Also yes. Did he care? Not really. 

You let out a sigh, “Listen. He knows better than to do that to me. He also knows that I’m the last person he wants to fuck with because I can switch up incredibly fast. If he wants to cheat on me, he can go right ahead. But he knows damn well I’ll be out replacing him that same night.”

His face dropped. He knew that you were telling the truth, which is what scared him straight. 

“I don’t give a fuck if he wants to go out with Bella Hadid. If he does that without breaking up with me, I’m going straight to his mother and maybe even social media if I’m feeling petty enough.” You laughed, but there was nothing you were joking about. 

By now, Quinn wanted to ignore any woman that came his way.

“Don’t get me wrong, I love him so much. So much to the point where I would get down on my knee and propose to him. But, if so much as lies to me about anyone or anything, he’s gonna need a good lawyer.”

I'll tell the world you finish your chores prematurely

Quinn lined himself up in between your legs, pushing into you completely in one swift movement. You let out a breathy moan as your nails dug into his biceps. He didn’t move, letting not only you but himself adjust to the feeling. 

“Fuck, Q. You feel so good.” You mumbled, your brain foggy from the feeling of him being buried inside of you.

He mumbled something you didn’t quite understand before pulling out almost all the way before thrusting back into you completely. He did this a few more times before letting out a guttural groan, spilling into you.

This caught you completely off guard. Quinn had never finished this quickly before nor had he cum before you did. When he came to, he realized what had happened.

“Shit.” He mumbled, too embarrassed to move or even look you in the eyes.

You cleared your throat, pressing a soft kiss to kiss lips. “It’s fine, babe.” You pushed his body back, pushing him out of you. “I can just use my hand.”

He shook his head, finding his voice once again. “No, let me do it. I don’t- I don’t know what happened.”

Break my heart and I swear I'm movin' on

With your favorite athlete

Shoot his shot every night

Want you every second, don't need other guys

You were scrolling on your phone, swiping up on all the notifications you were getting from Instagram, seeing as you had just posted. 

Quinn was featured in a few of the pictures, drawing the attention of his friends and fans to your account. Your head was propped up on Quinn’s lap as you lay on the couch as he played his video game on the living room TV. 

One notification caught your eye as you furrowed your eyebrows seeing the DM request that had come through. 

‘rjosi90 wants to send you a message.’

“Hey babe? Who’s this?” You asked, turning your phone around to show him the account.

He paused his game, looking down to look. “You don’t know who Roman Josi is? He was that guy you met at the awards ceremony, remember?”

“Oh! The one you never shut up about!” You teased as soon as you remembered the name.

Quinn rolled his eyes, nodding at your words before resuming his game but keeping his attention on your conversation. “What did he send you?”

You opened the message, your eyes widening as you internally debated on telling him the truth, not knowing how he would react. But, you knew you wouldn’t want him lying to you if he got the same message from another woman, so you decided to be honest.

“He said he thinks I’m pretty and that you’re a lucky guy.” You read, eyes quickly flashing back to Quinn.

His cheeks were red and his eyebrows were knitted together. You looked at his hands, which were now gripping his controller so tight that his knuckles were going white. “Are you gonna respond?”

Hesitantly, you shook your head, “Not if you don’t want me to.” 

Quinn had never been an insecure person, but he wasn’t always confident. And your delayed reaction probably didn’t help. You let out a breath before grabbing the controller out of his grip and setting it to the side. 

You sat up, swinging your legs on either side of his lap and taking his face in between your hands. “Hey. I want you. Only you.”

You pressed a kiss on his lips which he barely returned out of his own frustration. Pulling back, you started to litter kisses all over his face in an attempt to cheer him up. Trailing from his lips to his cheeks, then to his jaw, and stopping on his neck. You sucked on a sweet spot that caused his hands to come up and settle on your hips. 

“I don’t want anyone but you, Quinn.”

You do somethin' sus, kiss my cute ass bye

As you stepped into his room, he quickly shut off his phone and turned it face down. You furrowed your eyebrows as you stood in the doorway.

“Am I interrupting something?” You questioned.

He shook his head rapidly, clearing his throat as he rubbed his hands together before walking over to you. “Just caught me off guard.”

You scanned his face. His cheeks were flushed and his face was sweaty. Not wanting the answer you thought it was, you gave him a look before speaking again. “Was just gonna ask if you wanted to watch a movie with me. But if you’re… busy, I can just watch it by myself.” 

Quinn cleared his throat, “Uh, yeah. Let me just do something really quick and I’ll be right out.”

You simply shook your head, walking out of his room and heading back to your room and laying down on your bed with your laptop in front of you as you curled up in a blanket waiting for your boyfriend.

Even though the two rooms were separated by a small hallway, the walls were still relatively thin. You heard his door open and close but his feet remained still. You could hear the noise of his phone keyboard in front of your door, typing one last thing out before he walked into your room.

“So what movie are we watching, pretty girl?” He asked, setting his phone on your bedside table.

You eyed his phone before looking at him, “Everything okay?” 

He gave you a confused look, “Yeah, why?”

“Sounded like you were typing something important.” You shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of what could be nothing.

But, his wide eyes told you everything you needed to know. You sat up, raising your eyebrows in a way that said “Tell me what’s going on.”

Quinn shifted on his feet. “My ex texted me. She was saying she wanted to meet me for dinner and…” He cut himself off.

“And what?” You pressed.

“She wants to try again.”

You scoffed, “Okay. What did you say?”

He took a breath before answering, “I told her about us and that I’ll pass on the dinner because I’m very happy with you.” The way his words came out, you didn’t fully believe him. Yet at the same time, his face and body language told you he was telling the truth. You could tell he was nervous telling you, but you knew he wasn’t lying.

You nodded your head, “Okay.”

“Okay? What does that mean? I can show you the texts if you want!” He rambled.

Pulling him down onto the bed with you, you wrapped the blanket around him as well before setting the laptop in a way where you could both see it while lying down.

“I trust you, Q. If you say that’s what you told her, I believe you.” You whispered.

Boy, it's not that complicated

You should stay in my good graces

Or I'll switch it up like that so fast

'Cause no one's more amazin'

At turnin' lovin' into hatred x2

I won't give a fuck about you x3

Oh, no

I won't give a fuck about you (Oh) x3 

Oh

No, I won't

I won't give a fuck about you, no, I won't

(I won't, I won't, I won't) x2

Quinn sat in the parking lot of Roger’s Arena. You had driven home early, wanting to beat the traffic seeing as the score by the middle of the third period was 0-4. 

The loss of the game and your going home early left Quinn thinking. 

You didn’t need him. 

Sure, you loved him and you loved living with him and the company and affection he gave you, but at the end of the day, you were completely fine being alone. 

The realization had Quinn wiping a few stray tears from his cheeks as he started up the engine of his car. He drove back in silence, hoping you’d be showering and in bed by the time he got home. 

As he focused on the scenery around him in the late hours of the night, that feeling of sadness fizzled into a feeling of relief. If for whatever reason Quinn left you, you would be okay. And now that he understood that, he became even more determined not to lose you.

Because regardless, Quinn Hughes didn’t want to live in a world where you weren’t his.

[oldmanjenkins985]

TW for pedophila since I mention it very briefly at one point I would like to clarify, with all the Tessa age shit that's been going on, that my intent with this was not to prove that Tessa is an adult so she can go on to be sexualized and shit like that. My intent was to prove it was ambigious by showing all the evidence is circumstantial with explanations that both sides could use. And if you boil down *any* character, ambigious age or not, to sexualizing them, that's a completely different issue and one that very much matters. I very much do not care for that stuff, and yes I did have a crush on Tessa once. I was 17 at the time though, meaning that even if she was as young 15 that'd only be a 2 year age gap, so don't you *dare* try and accuse me of being a fuckin' weirdo or anything. I've moved on to other characters now, that being N and Uzi.

Now then, to go along with that, anyone who is uncomfortable with explicit remarks made towards Tessa or Flesha are *completely* allowed to do that regardless of her age. Whether in ambiguity or if she eventually gets confirmed to be an adult, you are *allowed* to be uncomfortable with that. You're allowed to do that with 40 year olds even.

A lot of you who were saying constantly that Tessa is a minor as if it was canon are yourselves minors. So I completely understand why you'd feel this way. The two examples I can think of are @/nuvimuvi and @/kittydragondraws (Don't wanna ping cause I don't wanna bother you with this crap). Your feelings on this are valid and there's no need for you to say Tessa is a minor as if it's confirmed canon when it's not and even one of the people in the Glitch Inn can't give a definitive answer. I don't care that he's not the end all be all, if he has just as much info as the rest of us then why would he come to the conclusion it's ambigious if he could look and see she's "clearly" a minor?

So basically: You're allowed to headcanon Tessa as a minor and be uncomfortable with explicit content surrounding her and Flesha, but that does not mean Tessa is canonically a minor and that people are pedos for saying stuff like that.

Oh, one more thing since we're here. I wanna touch on the Bite Me music video render to clear things up.

So, I've seen a lot of people saying this isn't a "sexy" pose (sorry for lack of better word), but it just...is. And no, that doesn't mean they're sexualizing Flesha, I'll get to that in a moment.

So if you just look up "sexy lean back sitting" on google, you'll find a ton of pictures of people posed extremely similar to Cyn. I'm also pretty certain I've seen pin-up drawings of when in this pose. And one final example: Widowmaker from Overwatch. *The* character who's sexualization is a big part of her design. Her sitting emote is this exact pose. And for as long as I've known this is just *the* sexy sitting pose for women. I don't know where I got that from, just that it's been in my brain for years now.

Now then, let's get back to what I said earlier about this not necessarily meaning it's meant to be sexual. I just went over how it is clearly sexual, so why the fuck am I saying it's possibly not? Very simple, it could be a joke. I've done the "Sexy pose" as a joke for years now. Even when I was 16, 17, hell even maybe as far back as 15, I've done this *exact* pose as a joke. I'm a man, so a pose like this isn't the "sexy" pose most would think of for males and that's why it worked as a joke because it was like "oh, I'm so girly" Now that doesn't mean you *have* to be a man to make it ironic and funny rather than actually sexualizing. You can just be a girl or say...an eldritch horror wearing a girl's skin. Something that horrid looking could be seen as funny when doing a pose like this since it's not exactly something you expect to see. And an even further way to say it isn't sexual: It just...might not be intended that way. It could very well just be how they had her sit. Like I said before, this is *the* go to sexy pose for women, but that doesn't mean every woman sitting like this is intending for that to be how she's percieved. They could just be...sitting.

In conclusion of that, yes this is a sexy pose, stop saying it isn't, but that doesn't mean the intent is that Flesha is supposed to be attractive. It could very easily be a joke or have no intent behind it and that's it. So once again, like most stuff surrounding this, it's completely up to the viewer to interpret it as it's ambigious.

[wheneverfeasible]

Bloody Hands, Broken Hearts: a Mafia AU

chapter wc: 4.6k || rating: M (for now) || cw: blood, violence, reference to death of a minor original character, sex trafficking, past rape/non-con, homophobic language, derogatory language towards sex workers, sexualized use of “Daddy”, mean dom!Eddie, feminized!Steve || ao3

summary: No UD. Years after being sold through a sex trafficking ring to a member of the mafia, Steve’s former master is deposed by one of the most feared men in organized crime, Don Kas the Bloody-Handed. Except, much to Steve’s surprise and horror, he knows him by another name: Eddie Munson.

~

Chapter 1

An annoyed tsk left pale lips as the man picked at the drying blood on his thick, silver rings with his thumb from where he was leaning back against the sturdy mahogany desk. His legs were crossed before him in his repose, one bloody hand pressed against the disordered papers on the desk, uncaring that they were being marked by the deep red splattered across his palm and knuckles, already drying a dark hue not unlike the color of the desk itself.

After a tense, silent moment of the man examining his rings and nail beds, dark eyes flashed up to take in his captive audience. Quite literally. Though they were unbound where they were made to kneel on the floor, the men holding guns on either side of them and on the other side of the door let them know that escape was futile.

Steve was fucked.

The thing was, everyone knew of Kas. Kas the Bloody-Handed. That’s what people called him, at least, and looking at the glint of his silver rings smeared with the umber of dried blood, Steve could acknowledge that it was a fitting name. However, that was not his real name, and it was with mounting horror that Steve realized that that was not the name Steve knew him by.

No, to Steve, the man before him was none other than the boy Steve’s former best friend had taken the most sick delight in tormenting: Eddie Munson.

Munson looked different now, but there was no denying that it was him. He had more tattoos nowadays, including one curling up his neck to brush against his jaw and both his forearms covered in them as seen with his fancy dress shirt’s sleeves rolled up, exposing the dark ink. He also had close-cut facial hair now that was a slightly lighter color than the still long and curly dark brown hair he now had tied back into a low and loose ponytail with a piece of cord. There was a coldness to his dark eyes now too, his once more wiry frame now a little more filled out with compact muscle.

In another lifetime, Steve might have been able to acknowledge that the man was attractive, might have had another reason than fear making his mouth go dry and needing to thickly swallow. However, as it was, Steve could only flinch and duck his head further when those flint hardened eyes passed over him.

He was luckily not at the front of the group kneeling on the rug before their former master’s desk, in front of their former master’s fireplace in their former master’s bookshelf lined study. There were a little more than a half-dozen of them, all trembling with fear at the knowledge that whatever horror they had been living through before, it was about to get a whole lot worse.

Munson, or Kas, was notorious, infamous even. He had been a nobody once, until suddenly he was a Somebody with a capital S. He swiftly moved up the ranks of his clan, earning respect borne of fear for his ruthlessness, until suddenly he was sitting on the metaphorical throne. He was not happy there, however, and all too soon he was making a name for himself amongst the other families too.

All too soon the other families began falling before him like dominos, one right after the other, bending the knee or—if they refused or otherwise displeased him—being eliminated entirely.

Which was what had occurred here to Steve’s former…employer. Not that Steve or the others got paid for what they did. Or had done to them. Steve couldn’t even say that behaving well and pleasing whoever they were sent to had them being treated better, since more often than not pain was part of their client’s pleasure.

As for their master—or Daddy, as they were instructed to call him—he was the worst of the worst. The way he showed his favor was through far more than just simple pain. Pain was something Steve could handle. It was the attention that was the terrifying part. Yet, Steve bore that attention willingly, for it kept it off of all the others.

“Tell me,” the voice of their new master softly intoned, his voice like thunder in the tense silence of the room, despite being little more than a murmur. Munson’s voice was a little raspier than Steve remembered it being, but then it had been years since Steve had last seen much less heard the other man. The man had dropped out of school during his own senior year, Steve’s junior, and no one knew what had become of him. Now Steve knew, at least.

Every ear was straining to hear what their new master would say next, though every eye was trained on the ground before their master’s feet. Steve was suddenly thankful his hair was a little longer than he personally liked, grown to be easier to grab and manipulate the head to which it was attached. It also allowed him now to obscure his face ever so slightly as he swiftly lowered his head and his gaze when Munson’s eyes scanned over them.

“Tell me,” Munson said again, and even with his eyes on the man’s blood splattered shoes, Steve could tell that Munson had a sardonic smile on his lips. “Which one of you was Porzio’s favorite?”

Steve barely withheld a flinch. Of course Munson would want to know that. Unlike his former owner, Munson wasn’t an idiot. He couldn’t be to get to where he was now. An idiot would only get themselves killed. Case in point: Carmine “the Uber Dead Asshole” Porzio, gone and soon to be forgotten in the year of our father…Christ, whatever year it was nowadays.

It was hard to keep track of time when you spent the majority of it on your knees or with your face shoved into a mattress.

But Munson wanted to know Porzio’s favorite. The one who he kept with him the majority of the time, the one used for his own personal pleasure, the pleasure of his most loyal lieutenants. The one who was treated like nothing more than decoration, as though their ears suddenly stopped working just because their mouth was filled.

It was a smart move, really. An excellent way to obtain secret gossip or information that might not be in the books. The favorite was a fount of information, but also a great liability. Sometimes it was better to cut the head off a snake before it could bite. Munson obviously knew what he was doing, which should be evident by now. The only problem?

Steve had been Porzio’s favorite.

He knew what he looked like nowadays. He hardly looked like the King Steve he had once been before everything, hardly looked like the rich and privileged jock Munson would have known him as. His own muscle mass was no longer what it had once been, the loss of weight only natural after everything he’d been through, and bruises littered his body where he’d either been punished or been used for pleasure. Sometimes those were interchangeable.

Not only that, but his clothing was far from what Munson would have last seen him in. No polos, no jeans, no letterman jacket. Instead, Steve wore what the others wore, his body hair waxed away in an attempt to add to his feminization. Aided, of course, by the short black skirt that exposed the majority of his thighs through the fishnets, and the red lace bustier top that only just covered nipples but left his midriff exposed. Matching red strappy heels laced up his calves, with a thick black collar completing the ensemble around his neck, a dainty little silver ‘V’ dangling from it like a license.

It was entirely possible that Munson wouldn’t recognize him. After all, they both might have made a name for themselves in school, but Munson hadn’t been there for the disaster of Steve’s senior year, and it wasn’t like they had ever directly interacted before. Tommy always did the majority of his bullying when Steve wasn’t around, knowing Steve didn’t approve of it, so it wasn’t like Munson and him had spent any great amount of time together.

It helped that the makeup he wore was smudged too, which would hopefully act as a camouflage. Perhaps, if he answered things in a way that pleased Munson, if Munson could look past the fact that he was a guy in this role he’d been forced into, perhaps he’d live to see another day.

His lip was already split and his cheek already bruised by Porzio’s earlier slap, so he wasn’t looking forward to having the rest of his face caved in by Kas the Bloody-Handed.

Swallowing back his nausea, Steve drew in a breath and began to lift his head to call attention to himself and away from the others, when another voice stopped him in his tracks.

“I am, sir,” Janice called out, standing from her kneeling position at the front of the huddle. Steve’s head jerked to look at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. Her fingers twitched at her side, swiping horizontal to the floor ever so slightly, though she didn’t look at him. Stay quiet, that action said. Stay safe.

Steve’s stomach clenched painfully, and all the affection he felt for his girls surged through his bloodstream. He had tried, hard as he could, to protect them from the worst of things. He couldn’t do much, but he had made certain Porzio was focused entirely on him and none of the others. They worked as well, but Porzio was the most sadistic, the most vile; he would happily take it all on to save his girls from that.

To think that now, in the face of one of the most feared men in organized crime, they would try to protect him…it was beyond anything he’d ever known. No one had ever sought to protect him before.

Munson’s brow ticked up, his gaze sliding like oil over Janice’s trembling body, but she held firm with her head up. His sardonic smile only grew. “Are you now?”

He appreciated her help, he did, but he couldn’t let Janice risk everything for him. Before he could stand, before he could come clean with the truth, a firm hand was pressing down on his shoulder as Mona stood up from behind him, forcing him to stay kneeling.

“I was also a favorite, sir,” Mona says, making Steve wonder what in the I-am-Spartacus hell was going on. Still, warmth and fondness for his girls spread through him quickly as he looked around and noticed every last one of them had bunched muscles indicating preparation for movement. For him.

Munson looked a whole lot less amused, however, his brow dropping into a deep furrow as his gaze settled on the new apparent favorite. Kas was well-known for not taking fondly to liars and cheats. If he suspected that they were trying to pull a fast one on him…

Just as Munson was opening his mouth to say something, looking far less than pleased, Steve hurriedly shot to his feet. “It’s me,” he said quickly, almost breathlessly, wanting to say it before someone else decided to shout out Spartacus in a misguided attempt to help him. He moved to take a step forward and away from the others when he froze in place by the sound of a gun being cocked and levelled behind him.

Another tense hush fell as Munson stared at him, his eyes dragging over Steve’s form with both brows raised this time, an almost startled air to his mean smile. He waited a few moments more before flicking his wrist, the sound of the gun and man holding it returning to standby mode. Two fingers were then crooked at Steve to indicate for him to finish stepping forward.

Steve glanced at Janice and Mona, giving their beseeching looks a small shake of his head, and then they were slowly and reluctantly returning to their kneeled positions. Taking a deep breath, Steve crossed the distance and moved to take his place in front of Munson, kneeling at his feet without hesitation. “It was me, sir,” he murmured, keeping his gaze down. “I was Master Porzio’s favorite.”

It took all of his willpower (and training) not to flinch when Munson’s chunky rings came into view, his calloused fingers touching Steve’s chin to lift his face to meet his gaze. Steve couldn’t suppress the tremble at finally meeting Munson’s eyes for the first time, terrified of seeing recognition there.

Instead, Munson’s eyes stayed hard and flat, though with a touch of curiosity. A small smirk curled his lips. “Well now. Who would have guessed Porzio was a fudge packer,” he lightly sneered. His gaze moved over to the kneeling women before back to Steve. “And this is why they lied to me, to protect the fairy amongst them?” He snorted. “Who knew there was honor amongst whores.”

Munson’s thumb slid lightly against the edge of Steve’s bottom lip, and well familiar with the gesture, Steve parted his lips obediently. Something dark but pleased flashed behind Munson’s eyes, and praying he was doing the right thing, Steve let the tip of his tongue flick ever so softly against the pad of Munson’s thumb.

Almost immediately after, Munson pressed the rest of his thumb into Steve’s mouth, pressing down on Steve’s tongue enough to make him briefly gag. “Suck,” he ordered harshly, and Steve obeyed.

The familiar taste of sweat and blood filled his mouth as Steve’s lips wrapped around Munson, but he paid it no mind as he worked at fellating the man’s thumb. He kept eye contact the entire time, his hands curled in his lap, as he worked his mouth over the digit. He swirled his tongue over the thumb like it was a cock head, bobbing his head ever so slightly. Munson’s dark eyes watched him the entire time.

Just as Steve was beginning to wonder if he should start faking some moans, Munson pulled his thumb from Steve’s mouth with a slick wet sound, leaving a small trail of spit over Steve’s lips. Munson lightly snorted, lifting his gaze to look at his men. With silent communication, the men nodded and motioned for the kneeling women to stand, ushering them out of the room.

Steve could feel the eyes on him, knew his girls were looking at him, but he knew better than to return the look. Instead, he kept his eyes firmly on Munson who now leaned back against the deck with his arms crossed watching Steve.

Once the thick doors clicked closed behind the others, leaving Steve and Munson alone, a wry grin curled over Munson’s lips. “I can see why you were the favorite, if you suck cock half as good as you suck thumb.” Munson shrugged, pushing off the desk with a small snort to walk around it, settling in the leather chair behind the massive thing. He reached forward and tapped the desk beside him.

Once more obeying wordlessly, Steve swiftly stood and moved around the desk, settling his ass just to the side of where Munson sat as had been indicated. A derisive laugh left Munson then, but he didn’t look like he was about to punish Steve for being what he was. Or who he was. Instead, he looked mildly contemplative as he rested his elbow on the armrest of his chair, propping his chin up with his fist.

“Tell me, sweetheart, you got a name?”

Relief coursed through Steve so quickly he lost his breath for a moment, as though lightning had struck him down. Munson didn’t know his name, meaning he didn’t recognize Steve. Even better, Steve hadn’t gone by Steve in a while. He needn’t worry about someone slipping up and revealing that information when none of them knew it either.

“I’m Vee,” he answered, fingers moving up to lightly graze against the charm hanging from his collar. “But you can call me anything you want…” Steve swallowed quickly, glancing down before peeking up demurely through his lashes, “Daddy,” he finished on a soft breath.

A grin spread across Munson’s lips, and though it wasn’t quite as manic as the ones he used to smile back in high school, a spark of something like genuine amusement flashed behind his eyes. He leaned forward then, sliding his hand over Steve’s fishnet covered thigh until his fingers brushed ever so slightly under the bottom hem of his tight skirt.

“I’ll keep that in mind, precious,” he smirked. “And maybe you can keep your status as favorite, if you’re a good little boy.” His eyes traveled once more over Steve’s body, his smirk growing. “Though I bet there’s nothing small about you, Vee.”

Steve swallowed, feeling oddly flushed at being on the receiving end of Munson’s gaze. Of Kas’s gaze. He had to remind himself that this was more than just his former schoolmate; this man was perhaps one of the most dangerous men alive. His vast network spread far and wide, spies hiding everywhere.

“I’ll be good for you, Daddy. Promise,” he said softly.

“Oh, I’m sure you will, precious. I don’t tolerate failure.”

What was expected of him now? Should he slide into Munson’s lap? Move underneath the desk? Bend over the top? Wouldn’t be the first time he was in any of those positions in this very room. Munson simply continued watching him, however, indicating nothing.

Just when Steve was ready to beg for an order, Munson sighed and removed his hand from Steve’s thigh, settling back further into the expensive rolling leather chair, pressing his fingertips together into a steeple before him.

“We will be remaining here for several days as we go over Porzio’s records,” Munson stated, startling Steve slightly. He was unused to being addressed about any affairs other than what happened in the bedroom. Or anywhere else his master wanted him. Having Munson tell him what was going to happen now was thus unprecedented.

“You and the other whores will have your room guarded at all times and you will require, let’s say, a chaperone of sorts to move around the manor, at least until I can trust you,” Munson said with another small smirk. “Once I am satisfied with my acquisition of the estate, we will be moving to my main residence. Should you and the others please me during this transition, we can negotiate a reward for behaving so well. Do you understand?”

Though Steve’s insides always pinched at being called a whore, seeing as how neither he nor the others ever chose that particular career path, he had enough practice now to ignore such things. It wasn’t like someone of Kas’s reputation would care overly much about their sob stories. No, Steve gave such things only a passing thought, his mind caught on the end of his new master’s sentence.

“A reward?” he couldn’t help but ask, the words slipping out before he could stop them. Luckily for him, Munson did not seem to be particularly annoyed at his wagging tongue.

“The exact circumstance of which will depend entirely on you,” Munson agreed. “Consider it a quid pro quo situation. You scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours. I can guarantee that this is a far better deal than you had with Porzio. However,” he cautioned, holding up a single finger. “Any failure to comply or please me will make whatever Porzio did to you seem like a shy lover’s kiss.”

Steve swallowed down a grimace. That he understood perfectly well.

“I will also have a doctor visit to ascertain your health,” Munson added with a small shrug, clasping his hands before himself. “I have no use for spoiled goods.”

“Master Por—”

A loud smack of hand meeting wood startled Steve greatly enough that a small noise left him as he jumped, leaning away with wide eyes. Munson stared hard at him, leaning in with a small growl of warning.

“Porzio is not your master now, Miss Vee,” the man sneered mockingly. “You will no longer refer to him as such. You may call him either ‘Porzio’ or ‘that pig’ and nothing else, do I make myself clear?”

Steve swallowed, hastily nodding his head. “Yes, Daddy. I’m sorry, Daddy,” he rushed to say, dropping his gaze and trying not to tremble too greatly. His—Porzio was never consistent. Whether he liked you timid or not could change at the drop of a hat, moving from one extreme to the other at a moment’s notice. He didn’t know if Munson would appreciate a fearful display, or become annoyed with it. Only time would tell.

“I-I merely wished to assure you that we receive regular checkups to ensure our optimum health,” he murmured quietly. “But we will gladly submit to any examination or procedure you wish of us.”

Munson sat back in the chair as he studied Steve with an unreadable expression now. He glanced down at his still bloodied hand and the rings there. He gave a small snort, moving to slowly and carefully pull the stained items off his fingers and settling them in a small pile on the messy desk.

“Clean those,” he ordered. “And then bring them to my room tonight.” He smirked then, his eyes sliding over Steve’s figure once more. “We have much to…discuss,” he murmured, his brows raising slightly. “And Vee,” he added when Steve nodded and moved to stand up, causing Steve to pause.

Munson’s smirk seemed colder then, causing Steve to shiver as though physically chilled. “While I appreciate your immediate acceptance in the change of leadership around here, know that how quickly you switched your loyalties has not been unnoticed. Should you ever attempt to switch them again…you will not find the outcome favorable. Do I make myself clear?”

Dread settled low in Steve’s belly as he stared at Munson with wide eyes. He was standing on the edge of a precipice he hadn’t known existed until too late. He should have realized things would not be as easy as he had hoped they would be, should not have grown complacent when Munson didn’t recognize him.

Licking his lips, Steve swallowed back the threatening rise of bile. He dropped his head, chewing lightly on his bottom lip before glancing at Munson through his lashes once more. “I had no genuine loyalty to…to that pig, Daddy,” he murmured. “He was not a respectable man. Unlike you, sir.”

Had it been Porzio, he would have attempted a coy smile. He had a feeling Munson would be able to see right through it, however, so he instead tried to look as earnest as possible without actively begging. He slowly slid off the desk, catching Munson’s eyes.

“We know who you are, Daddy. None of us would ever dare to oppose you. I know the loyalty of a whore means nothing, Don Kas, but I was the favorite. The other girls will follow my example, and I pledge my loyalty wholly unto you.”

Munson snorted, looking for all the world like Steve amused him. Like Steve was some insignificant insect with delusions of grandeur. The man rubbed at his facial hair with a wry smile that did not meet his eyes. “And what of your body, darling? What if I told you that your dear Mr. Porzio and I shared…similar predilections.”

Steve squared his shoulders, a more genuine smile on his own lips because he had already been expecting this, had known his career on his knees was far from over. One hand on the desk as he leaned over to grasp the waiting rings and the other on his hip, he offered a small shrug of a shoulder.

“My body already belonged to you the second Porzio thought to move against you,” he replied easily. “He was not my dear anything. Not when I was already yours, Master.”

Munson studied him for a moment, but something almost pleased curled at the corners of his lips. “I think I much prefer you calling me ‘Daddy,’” he replied, reaching out to grasp Steve’s chin again for the briefest moment. He withdrew almost immediately. “Go now. And wash your face of that makeup while you’re at it. Make yourself presentable for me tonight.”

It was as he expected. He could not be bitter or regretful when he’d known this was coming all along. It was, after all, much better than his own blood staining the rings he now held in his palm.

“Yes, Daddy. Should I prepare myself for you?” he asked easily as he straightened. He would play his own part well. He was used to this role he’d been thrust into ever since he put his trust in the wrong person. He had seen it enough with his own parents, making him wish that little high school Steve Harrington had known what he knew now:

Love is just a fairytale.

Standing from the chair, Munson let out a soft huff of laughter, amused by Steve’s words. “You really do have your lines down, don’t you?” he scoffed as though reading Steve’s mind. “No matter. We’ll see how well you play your part tonight,” he said in a tone that was almost teasing, his hand moving to settle over Steve’s lower back to guide him around the desk and towards the carved double doors.

He paused then with a hand on the doorknob, eyes almost black as he grinned a shark’s grin, and let his voice drop to an almost conspiratorial whisper. “Trust me when I say that nothing you could do would prepare you for what I have planned tonight, sweetheart.”

Munson opened the door then, ushering Steve out with a slap to his ass, though the soldiers guarding the door didn’t react at all. However, Steve could not spare them even a passing thought as his blood turned to ice in his veins when Munson’s grin grew, uttering the words that sealed Steve’s doom.

“See you tonight, Harrington.”

As the door clicked closed, as his prison guard stepped forward to take him by the bicep to drag him away back to his gilded cage with the others, Steve felt that blade of ice pierce his chest with extreme certainty.

There was no escape for him. His fate had been sealed the day he had defied his parents, had fled town with the boy he had thought loved him, and he had only brought it all upon himself. Munson was going to kill him. Maybe not today, maybe not even tomorrow, but one day. Perhaps even one day soon.

Thrust into the room he shared with the others, he felt the door close and lock behind him, heard the worried voices and careful touches of his girls as they frantically tried to make certain he was all right, but it was like hearing them underwater, like he was wading upstream through a deadly current. He was shaking, he realized, fat tears sliding down his cheeks.

Only belatedly did he realize his hand was hurting where he had curled his fist around the chunky rings. With an almost detached curiosity he glanced down as he released his clenched fist and stared at the rings he may very well be cleaning in preparation for his own blood and skull and brains to stain their surface.

Absently, he reached out with his free hand to pluck a strand of hair caught in the snarled teeth of a silver monster. There was a clump of bloody scalp still attached to the end of the follicle.

Steve laughed.

~

TBC…

~

This scene comes from an idea that would not leave me alone until I wrote it down. I don’t know if I’ll ever continue it as it is quite different from my usual stuff, but I do have some ideas for possible continuation and further backstory for our two leading men

Yeah nvm I’m gonna continue this, it won’t leave my thoughts

~

Fun fact: I almost named the second OFC Monica but then I realized that with the first one being named Janice that I was unintentionally writing it as a Friends crossover and I had to change her name before I named the next one Phoebe or something 😂 oops my bad

Also, Porzio means “hog”, while Carmine means “vivid red” lol

~

Hostage hotties: @derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump

[creativity-deficient]

Random Tweek Tweak hcs bc im thinking bout him yet again :)))

-Has an undiagnosed anxiety disorder, made worse by the increased use of Methamphetamine over the years and mistaken for adhd (canon/implied canon). He is also on the autism spectrum and has OCD

-Has mild Seborrheic dermatitis, a skin condition that causes red and flaky patches of skin and usually flares up due to stress. It starts mainly on his head/under his hair as a kid but worsens in his teens years. Also has dermatillomania (a skin picking disorder), as well. Both of these become a lot worse in his teen years, but do become a lot more manageable for him as an adult. Still however, he does have some faint scars from all the picking and scratching over the years.

-Small tubby lil guy :) (sorta?? implied canon??), below average in height and considerably pudgy compared to most of his peers (genetics/stress eating). Loses a lot of this weight in his teen years due to health issues, but does gain a lot of it back as an adult. Also has a pudgy baby face that he never quite grows out of, even as an adult.

-His eyes a blue hazel, a rare eye color

-Sometimes snaps and hums to calm himself down.

-Enjoys baking as a casual hobby, though he’s still an amateur and doesn’t know how to make much. (implied canon)

-Once joined every school club because he had an anxiety attack and couldn’t decide what to pick

-Habitual nail chewer, again something he usually does due to stress. Nails are very short and stubby because of this

-Bandages on his fingers due to burns, skin picking, and nail biting

-Chronic ice-chewer

-Never learns to tie his shoes. Kept tripping over his laces before finally taking them out. Untied laces to laceless shoes to crocs to socks with sandals to velcro shoes pipeline

-Also never learns to drive, too much stress. Forever in his passenger princess era ✨

-Lowkey a backseat driver, though not in a “know it all” type of way. He mostly just freaks out the entire time.

-Can not sleep in the car because he’s afraid the second he closes his eyes, they’ll crash.

-Doesn’t know much slang/internet lingo and has absolutely no idea what his peers are talking about half the time (pretends he does and usually just ends up looking stupid 😔)

-Has a fear of rubberhose cartoons, as well as those weird old stop motion Christmas movies (he just finds them unsettling)

-Told about the secret family recipe as a teenager by his father, and is reasonably freaked out about it. Is forced to keep his mouth shut about it and suffers through major withdrawals before his parents are eventually exposed and arrested for the distribution of meth/counts of child abuse. Spends most of his high school years in therapy and rehab, though it’s all made easier with Craig by his side

-He and Craig try breaking up their freshman year of high school, both of them feeling like they need to try new things for a bit. It lasts about a week before they get back together.

-TERRIFIED of scissors and refuses to let anyone come near him with them. Grows his hair out long as a teenager before finally caving in and shaving it off as a young adult. He now keeps it managed, but Craig is the only person he trusts to do so.

-Did once try to cut his own hair in middle school though, and he spent weeks looking like a train-wreck before finally letting his mom fix it.

-His relationship with his mom is considerably better than his relationship with his father, and though he never quite forgives her for what she’s done, the two of them are able to reach some sort of closure with each other in Tweek’s older age

[summercreolefanfictioner]

the scent wafts in, her name making him beg on his knees chap 1.1

pairing: dabi / todoroki touya x fem!oc / reader (MODERN AU)

summary: He mentions her name after 6 months in therapy, absentmindedly narrating vivid memories of her. She was the only good thing during his darkest times.

(In which Touya returns home after rebelling against his family for 7 years. And no, it wasn't about forgiveness. He wanted to fix himself because of a certain someone.)

themes: nsfw, domestic abuse, violence, alcoholism, cigarette smoking, toxic relationships, mental health, co-dependency and other related themes (YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED)

notes: for this one, pls keep in mind that touya didn't have much scars on his face; mostly are on his body to accomodate the plot; charas might be ooc since this is modern au

Todoroki Touya has returned; it wasn't a drill.

The eldest of the Todoroki family has returned, and it was all over the news like wildfire. Pictures of him were around tabloids and newspapers, imprinted on TV screens along with family pictures of his 13-year-old self as news anchors and writers all over Japan broadcasted about the Endeavor Corp. finally having its original heir back to where he belonged. Two years ago, Todoroki Shouto announced he wouldn't be the one to replace his father, Todoroki Enji as the owner and CEO of their family business. However, Shouto focused on one part of the Endeavor Corp., particularly their sports and training business, as he wanted to become a personal trainer someday.

Touya was aware of what was happening on the business side of his family despite his rebellion seven years ago. After all, he saw them all over the news, watched his father on TV, and observed how everything was faring for them. So when he returned to the main house, he was a bit surprised at a few details he had missed. For one, his mother, Todoroki Rei, had already been discharged from the mental ward, faring well and welcoming him back with a big, warm hug and fat tears rolling down her cheeks. It also seemed that things were a lot better between his parents, but some of them still held reluctance to forgive their father.

Particularly him and Natsuo.

Enji was aware of their hatred towards him, hence he would talk to them politically, as Enji the CEO of the Endeavor Corp., not as their own father. Toya believed it was only fair. He would've resorted to violence if that wasn't the case. Speaking of which, that was another reason, he returned.

"I have to settle things between this family and me once and for all," he informed them on the first day of his return. "I need to talk to Father."

He knew what Enji would say to him. His father will apologize and be remorseful over what happened. He will also mention about him being his successor in the future, even though he was having none of it.

"I don't need that title anymore," Touya coldly argued, resisting the urge to punch him in the face as he knew he wouldn't defend himself after everything he had done to them since they were kids. "Not from you, specifically."

Enji understood. Touya meant, "I will have that title by my own hands, not because you passed it to me cheap because Shouto didn't want it anymore." Afterwards, his father explained everything he was required to do before his first day in the company. He also mentioned something along the lines of, "You need to undergo rehab and therapy for a while. I knew what you have been up to these past seven years with your cigarette addiction and alcoholism."

Before, Touya would violently react, would be against his decision and say, "You're just scared because I might surpass you." Now, he just nodded at his direction much to Enji's surprise.

"Why are you so shocked? You think I will half-ass my return to this family?" Toya questioned, slightly mocking him.

"I know you wouldn't," Enji commented.

And before Toya left his office, he added: "Just so you know, I am not doing this for the family."

Enji raised a questioning brow.

"I'm doing this because of a certain someone."

------

The first few months of Touya's rehab and therapy were tough as shit, gnawing at him like sharps and digging his soul like he was trapped in darkness. He felt overwhelmed by everything, talking about his feelings all day, breaking out of his shell, and slightly wanting to just break things and be alone. Touya craved darkness at some point, the urge to be violent creeping on his shoulder like the devil even though a rational part of him warned him that it would not be the best choice. He wanted to destroy himself at this point, missing the familiar pain his piercings left on his ears and nose. He was breathing hard to calm himself, persuading his brain to shut its damn trap.

It's getting annoying, fucking shit. Everything's been chaotic.

The first few days were blank, spending it staring at mindless paintings and counting how many times the water from the faucet dropped in the sink. It was eerie yet relaxing, the silence enveloping him like a plague until it bit back to tell him how much madness he needed to unleash but couldn't. He secretly had his mp3 player in his pocket, and he would watch the door and the shadow underneath, checking if someone would come in. To this day, he still couldn't take it out.

He missed that damn voice, but he needed to be patient. He shouldn't miss her. He shouldn't think about her. This is nothing, he convinced himself. This is nothing compared to all the abuse I've endured before. The angry stare. The hateful remarks. The violent beatings. The disapproval underlying Enji's tone. His rough hand smacking him in the face. The burning scars left on his skin from the heating iron. The pitiful stares. The blood he spat from his mouth.

Everything.

EVERYTHING.

I WANNA DIE.

Out of panic, he quickly reached for the mp3 player from his pocket, a secret he kept from the treatment center. He wasn't supposed to have any gadgets with him, but he knew he had to. He couldn't drink alcohol. He couldn't smoke a stick to curb this annoying feeling. He cannot destroy shit. But he had to hear that soothing voice. He had to endure.

He put in the earbuds and played the audio, his breathing coming down in sighs as he felt himself relaxing.

"Touya..."

"Yes, call me that," he said to no one, tears streaming down as he smiled in satisfaction.

"Touya..."

"Touya..."

"Are you awake?"

"I made you breakfast."

"Touya..."

"Do you want me to take an off day from work?"

"Yes," he answered, hugging the pillow beside him and imagining it was her. "Just stay. Stay with me."

"Touya..."

"I love you..."

"Touya..."

I love you too.

------

Touya has learned something, and that therapy was another form of circle from hell, or that was just him. He heard people preach about therapy all the time, that undergoing therapy healed them, made them see the light at the end of the tunnel, and had them humbled in a way they could never explain. Touya wished it was the same for him, but nah. It wasn't. Therapy was another circle from hell. It made him too vulnerable, too open he could feel the burnt scars on his skin itching too much the more the therapist asked him about himself.

He also thought his therapist couldn't care less about his minimal responses, the first few days boring him as the man asked about his name, how old he was, what he did for a living after he ran away, what helped him cope—you know, the basic questions every therapist could ask for.

"Todoroki Touya. 26. I did odd jobs. Alcohol. Cigarettes. Fighting."

The therapist looked displeased, he noted. He probably wanted more answers than that.

"Have you been in therapy before?"

"No."

"What do you expect from this session?"

"I don't know."

"Why are you seeking therapy?"

If he was being honest, Touya's answer would be: "I don't know? Just to get this shit done, I guess?" Not like he would be rude now. After all, he returned as Todoroki Touya after seven years of rebelling. He should keep his damn trap if he wanted them all back.

Even her.

"Do you want to become a better person?"

"Yes."

next chap

masterlist

[batneko]

last night as I was trying to fall asleep my brain gave me a story about Bowser as an imprisoned dragongod who is worshiped but enslaved, kept in a cave where he can't do anything but watch the outside world. He can tell the worshipers what to do (within reason) because his powers are so useful to them that they know if he ever gets angry or miserable enough to off himself they'll all be screwed. They have a LOT of enemies, who all assume that the god is their willing ally, and would be more than happy to crush them the moment they have the chance.

the closest thing to affection Bowser ever had was the woman who decided to bear his child. He genuinely believed she wanted to be the bride of a god, but the moment she was sure she was pregnant she left without even looking back.

years later, when he's told himself he doesn't care anymore (he obviously very much still cares), he sees a beautiful sweet princess and decides he wants her. He orders his "minions" to capture her and present her to him as a... permanent guest. He doesn't think she'll like being a prisoner, of course. HE sure doesn't. But he's stuck down here with no hope of escape, ever, and he can at least make her stay very comfortable. She's a princess, she must be used to being in a gilded cage.

though he knows that the princess has protectors, and they've made things difficult for his followers over the last couple years, he never gives them much thought. Bowser never imagines that they'd be so determined to protect the princess from him that one of them would disguise himself as the princess and willingly get "sacrificed" to the inescapable dragon cave.

(this was briefly brought up as a potential plan by the brothers, but discarded immediately because they don't want anybody to have to be stuck with a dragon forever, especially not each other. But then they got separated and Luigi was the only one left to protect Peach and they were captured and there was no time to spare and... it was the only thing he could think of.)

Bowser is furious, of course, but what he really wanted was companionship. If this random guy is who he's got, it's who he's got. And the random guy is weirdly optimistic about this whole thing, although he's scared of Bowser he never once stops believing that his brother will be coming to save him. No matter how much Bowser explains that not even a god can get out of this hole, Luigi insists that it's only a matter of time. His brother will come for him.

(he does, of course, freeing both of them.)

And that was as far as I got! I probably won't ever write it because it's too dramatic and also absolves Bowser of most responsibility for the evil done in his name. I like Bowser as a villain who really isn't justified in what he does. That's where the spice is! 🌶

But it's fun to think about Luigi being his usual nice guy self around someone who isn't used to being treated like a person, on multiple levels.

[wrongcaitlyn]

i genuinely can’t stop thinking that I Can Do It With A Broken Heart is such an Apollo song (especially after his outing and all that jazz)

this is soo real and he would 100% be singing it nonstop despite the reality being that he could NOT do it with a broken heart. bro quit his job and became a drunk recluse as soon as darren broke up with him😭😭😭 but for the years before that definitely!! he put up with so much over the years, the breakup with darren and outing was really just a tipping point

[lilithofpenandbook]

"Tell your baby that I'm your baby" but it's Severus watching as Sirius laughs and jokes with Minerva and Albus and he's calling her "Minnie" and she swats at him with a laugh and says it seems Azkaban didn't kill that cheeky streak of his now did it "ye wee sugar-tongued menace" but when Severus says anything even slightly disrespectful like that she scolds him and tells him to remember who his elders are, and Sirius is there and he's making her laugh, Sirius is there calling her "Aunt Minerva" after that and she's calling him her "lad" but that's what Severus gets to call her, Severus is supposed to be Minerva's "lad", but it only took a few moments for him to have what Severus has taken 13 years to catch even a tiny little piece of, Minerva's taken it away to give to Sirius at once, and there's Albus just smiling and his eyes are twinkling like stars like they've never twinkled at Severus, he can't remember if Albus ever looked at him like that, and it only took a short while for Sirius to once again have the favour, the love, that Severus has spent over a decade trying to earn even a fraction of, he's their golden boy again, he gets to sit with them and laugh with them and call them his mates, he's their boy, even though Severus has done everything he can, yet no, it's Sirius who they love effortless, it's Sirius who didn't need to do a thing to earn it, it's Sirius who has now taken his place, Sirius is their "snarky lad" now, he's come in and taken it all.

And neither of the two seem to care that Severus is the one who's supposed to be theirs.

[skitskatdacat63]

Fernando Alonso × Unconventional Drinking Implements

[firstroseofspring]

thinking pondering to me john torres is like. what if u met a woman. with confidence and dignity and a strong moral backbone. you meet and she makes a distinct impression with her honesty and her frankness and she seems like she's always sure of what she wants and what she needs and she's so different from anyone else you know and thats exciting and she's exciting and she likes you specifically you. and you don't think much of you but it feels good to be liked by someone like that. you love her of course. you marry her. of course!

[nexus-nebulae]

another childhood bucket list item obtained: i finally have a snuggie

[donnatroyyyy]

Batman has/had some kind of miscommunication going on with every single one of his kids. The bat family is just one big miscommunication trope after the other.

[bobzora]

i think if i tried hard enough i could be an ocguy. if i really tried

[juniestar]

Oh my god one last thing my ex took me to outside lands and when we tried to watch lana del rey he laid down on the grass and had a “panic attack” (this was after months of him talking about how he didn’t like her) so we went to see foo fighters after a bit and he was FINE